Thursday, 28 July 2016

Get The Hell Out Of Dodge.

On Tuesday I shoved some clothes into a bag, grabbed my toiletries and meds, and fanged it up to Katoomba Station to get the train to Sydney airport to get on a plane to travel across the country to go to Darwin. Wasn't sure if I could do it because I was having one of those lifey moments but my friend had already bought me the ticket and that'd just be a waste.

On the train it got to night time but I still left my sunglasses and hoodie up because then people wouldn't look at me. Listened to Florence and the Machine on the way down over and over and gosh all the feelings. Didn't even know why I was crying. It was kind of a relief tears, missing boys tears, brother tears, I need a Soul getaway tears. Left my sunnies on all through the airport, and my headphones because peopley people and their peopleness ugh.

Missed my flight (what a surprise!) got on the next flight, cried, had a whole row of seats to myself, slept, then Annie picked me up from Darwin airport at 1.30am in the morning greeting me with a huge hug and her dog Sid in the back seat of her car.

So I'm literally actually in Darwin right now .. have been to many places in the world but never the Northern Territory. From sub-zero ice temperatures in the Blue Mountains to heat and thongs and tank tops my Soul is warm.

Annie is my tour guide. Yesterday she took me to the local botanical gardens with all these trees and I told her about this tree that grows in scraggly rocks over in Scotland that need a few drops of water every year to survive and how I've always described myself as that and I demonstrated the tree and she told me to wait while she took a picture.

                                     Scottish Scraggly Rock Interpretation 

Today? Well today she told me to get on a bike and went bike riding and I've never bike-rode like this before, just free and fun and .. something? What haven't I been able to bike ride all these years, with my family, able to enjoy the moment? What has been wrong? Oh!

We rode and rode and stopped at the turquoise teal coloured beach ocean and when I walked on the sand I told Annie I haven't been to the beach in over a year. I made it this whole way to stand on the beach today in Darwin how lucky am I?

Annie tells me everything about everything. You've never meet an Annie like this Annie. She's taking me to the recovery round-up in a few days and we'll sleep in tents and she's got the swags ready and we'll do meetings under the stars.

                                            Me and Annie.

I got ochre on my hands and lagged behind on the bike on the way back because I been so unfit and then came back to sleep and now we're about to go to the night markets and then do a meeting. Annie's waiting right now for me to finish writing this and I'm like FIVE MORE MINUTES I PROMISE. I'm so annoying but I had to get this out and tell you guys but I gotta go. More later. Hey guess what I'm in Darwin and I'm allowed to be here and I'm not doing anything wrong and I stood in the ocean. Again. Hello it's nice to meet me everything is ok maybe.

Missed the June Dalley Watkins boat I still stand like a man whatever.

Wednesday, 20 July 2016

The United States Of My Mental Health.

I can't make plans to meet somebody for coffee tomorrow - how the hell do I know how I'm going to feel tomorrow? Some days I can't even walk up Katoomba Street to buy a goddamn vanilla slice because there's PEOPLE out there and they might look at me. Or even TALK. It's terrifying.

Pretty sure my problems started in the womb at about five months gestation after I'd grown eyes and I opened them and thought I AM IMMERSED IN WATER HOW DO I BREATHE and there was no Siri to ask if I had gills so I just started hyperventilating which didn't help at all because I was breathing in more water.

Fuck. Do you ever get the feeling you've chosen your life, and most events that happen in it? Because if we do, I must have just been pranking myself, leaning on St Peter who is probably in charge of all the souls going down to be born as well as all the ones coming up after they die. Like Newton and the apple or something I don't know I failed all of my schools and thought I was a dumb fuck until I hit 25. I'm intelligent WITHOUT going to university? Who knew?

So there's me leaning on St Peter as he writes on his clipboard and I'm dictating my imminent time on the planet, and we're both PISSING ourselves laughing.

"Ok, Pete - firstly let me be born another daughter to a man who wants a son SO MUCH that he rejects me my entire life because that kind of shit always has serious repercussions for a female. Daddy issues - the core issue of most strippers and callgirls everywhere. So then I grow up feeling unloved, unworthy, invisible. But, let's allow my heart to be broken open early on to prove love is possible ... something like, a younger brother being born. BAM."

St. Peter is humouring me, writing all this shit down down dutifully. Like a goddamn menu order at a cafe but for human soul lessons.

"THEN: my real dad dies, stepfather kills himself, I move out of home and run from one clusterfuck to another. Awful things happen and I let them happen because who cares? A head filled with trauma and depression and raging anxiety SO BAD that I turn to alleviate this by drinking a lot. And more. So I do the rehab shuffle. Fall pregnant while still an outpatient at a rehab. Every single person in my life is disgusted in me for being pregnant because I'm such a fuckup loser but I know with every fibre of my being that it will be incredible and it was, it is. December 2001 is the defining moment of my life, a new soul enters the world. I devote my entire being to being a mother and housewife and stepmother and "keeping house." This was not planned, it just happened. Then I have another baby the same week my husband gets cancer and I have this innocent six-year old and I'm so strong, Pete. Strong as fuck."

St Peter tells me to stop swearing. Then he chimes in: "Ok so you're strong, your husband DOESN'T die, your baby turns two, and you have the first of many breakdowns not counting all the breakdowns you had in your twenties?"

"Yes. After ten years on the straight and narrow I pick up a drink on a family holiday in Bali - 3 drinks, actually. Cocktails, ordered and downed them in quick succession. Go back to my family at the hotel - and nobody notices that I'm drunk. Except possibly my eight-year old son who to this day says how much he hated that holiday. And he and I are very in-tune, always will be, but the rest of the family was oblivious. I felt invisible. We fly back to Australia and about twice a year I kind of fall off the wagon again but get back on and fight. And I'm an angry arsehole. And I'd hate to be married to me because I am an ANGRY ARSEHOLE who now has full blown Bipolar 2 disorder like Winston Churchill but without the accolades. I also got PTSD, clinical depression, agoraphobia, intense anxiety and such intense paranoia that makes friendships impossible."

St. Pete is getting antsy, he's a busy guy so he just fires the next bit off real quick.

"Ok then out of nowhere you manage to write your way to appear on TV and meet the Prime Minister, travel to Africa for World Vision, raise a bunch of money and realise you're a flawed human but an actual viking warrior. THEN ... you watch your much-loved second stepfather die in hospital and go into prolonged shock. Nuthouse admissions galore, your brother kills himself after you talk him out of it for so many years, you lose the entire plot, cannot function as a human much less a mother. Leave your distant marriage and then in retrospect understand why. After so many years of trying and loving and fucking up and starting again you well and truly lose your shit (SWEARING, PETER!) ... your mental, spiritual and physical health disintegrate, you have a huge psychotic episode where you think you're trapped in an App and the sister has to find the brother and you sleep on the streets of Sydney alone. Literally lost your mind - poof, gone. Then reality seeps back, you remember your name, wait at St George bank for four hours until it opens, get enough money out to afford a cab fare to Newtown to collect your car which you parked and just left all the windows open. Drive back up home to the shit house in Leura you decorated with Vinnies furniture, pack it all up in a day, enter YET ANOTHER  treatment facility, most of the people in your life have turned their backs on you at this point because who wouldn't - yeah you're stark raving mentally ill but you're also a blaming shit who is not nice."

"Oh Pete - really?"

"Yes Eden. Life has damaged you intensely but that doesn't excuse you for acting like such a c*nt."


"I'm not - you are. On this staged imagined conversation you're writing on your blog."

"Dude please don't fuck with my head - my grasp on reality is tenuous. So let's finish this - I get kicked out of St John of God Psychiatric Hospital in Richmond by an angry policeman oh noes did I name that whoops. Live in a hotel. Live in a cottage. Live in a flat near the copshop. Fight to see my boys for a year, get all of my shit flung in my face, doubt my capabilities as a mother, possibly fucked up my sons for life. I hardly see them which causes me more wailing grief in the middle of the night surpassing anything I felt over my brothers death because these are my SONS who grew IN MY BODY."

St Peter says time's up, he's bored now and has to move on to the next soul and I'm all .. what the hell Pete, what's going to happen next?

You know what he does? SMILES. And walks away. And I know exactly why - what happens next is up to me. I'm here right now and I'm a writer so I'm writing the rest of my story now. Am I ok? I get asked that a lot - the answer is yes, and no. Yes because I have about three decent and real humans in my life helping me through, not judging, telling me I'll get through this. (My whole fucking life I've just thought .. when I get through this I'll be ok and then some other fucking catastrophe happens.) You know what happened to Chicken Little? The sky fell in and squished her like a poultry pancake. She was right all along. My brother used to call himself "The Little Engine That Could." Alanis says isn't that ironic? I take my medications every day - Prozac, Lamotrigine, and Seroquel. I've had sleep issues my entire life. I can't go to sleep. My brain goes haywire because my brain is, in fact, haywire. The hell is the origin of the word haywire?

Some days I can't leave my flat and I feel like the most useless, pathetic person on the planet. So I creep up to Woolies at 10pm and buy some lame shit like salt and vinegar chips, mascara, and some mandarines. Then go to the self-serve checkouts those machines were MADE for socially inept anxious introverts who hate talking to people.

I never know how I'm going to feel from one day to the next. My moods are extreme and terrifying and AWFUL why can't I just live in Stanmore and work in a bank or some shit and look after my babies properly and be a good housewife? Now I get taunted for being a loser all this time but nobody can be as mean to me as me. I am living with mental illness every day and have done for a very, very long time. My brothers suicide snapped my brain like a dry twig and I could hardly get out of bed and do things. Sorry about that. I'm better now, so much better. It took a year for the meds to kick in and I'm living life and half the time I get out into the world and do constructive shit but I'm battling different hard battles as well as head battles. All that shit about being a warrior and a fighter and a viking - my god some days I'm so low and scared I sit in my flat with all the curtains drawn. You know that scene in Willy Wonka  and the tinker says to Charlie outside the factory "Nobody ever comes in .. and nobody ever comes out." THAT'S MOSTLY MY LIFE. Opening my mail is terrifying. Answering phone calls - oh my god no. Texting people back, catching up on emails ... I have to fight real hard to do that shit and I don't know why. If somebody knocks on my door I freeze until they go away. When somebody cocks their head to one side (cock, lol) and asks me how am I going I just say, "Which bit?" Because everything.

But fuck being a victim to this. Right now I'm in my living room - living. Rocco has destroyed my brothers couch and I love it. Spilt drinks, stains, rubbed in Fantales (ok that was me I sat on one the other night. 44 years old here, people.)

I'm fighting the intense stigma that mental health problems cause - jesus fuck I struggle to do school canteen. And I only do it to see my sons face light up for ten minutes at recess and let him have a running tab for wedges, doodle pops, jelly cups, and chocolate milk. For him and all his friends - because I want him to feel special and adored and like a fucking hero. I want him to impress his mates and I get to see my blonde-haired guys face light up omg. It takes all of my energy to not go to my eldest sons high school and join the P&C and do canteen there and snoop around the halls to see if he's ok. I don't want to embarrass him. I gotta pull back and wait and pray every night for any kind of higher power to take care of him - both of them.

So. What's next? What's to become of us all in this one wild and precious life? For a start a lot of the time I'm not grateful for life, it doesn't feel precious, and life can suck a big bag of dicks. And in this lifetime I've lived probably about twelve lifetimes, possibly seventeen. But I don't pray to get through it anymore - I got through it. I'm here. I'm writing through my motherfucking 12-step work with my motherfucking sponsor and I attend counselling, regularly do meetings, see my GP, AND the big Professor down in the big smoke and secretly tell him my reality/psychosis fears. He says it's ok - I'm ok. I believe that motherfucker. I AM a motherfucker. I burned so many bridges - what's that Dorothy Parker poem? May the light of my burning bridges lead the way?

I'm fighting to go on the fucking disability pension THAT IS SO EMBARRASSING. But right now in my life, I accept that I'm not in a mental place where I can hold down a job. I definitely can and will in the near future - I got plans. And chills - they're multiplying. I am the goddamn motherfucking face of fucking fucking mental illness and let me tell you - stigma from people and organisations is rife and just shameful. It's hard to stay strong and not be paranoid when people are out in their metaphoric fishing trawlers dredging up every single shitty thing I've ever done wrong in my whole entire life. It makes me enraged and reactive and sometimes I need to be home to not stab people in the face metaphorically allegedly. Be the goddamn fucking karma you want to receive back from people Eden you vicious bitch. I talk to myself a lot. Mostly random swear words when I think about my life and what happened. I will remain single for the rest of my days - fuck relationships, fuck filling the void with another person, and I wouldn't be attracted to anybody who would be attracted to me right now anyway because I'm a fuckup slowly standing back up but I'm just not ready ugh.

In conclusion, just because my brain will be in a wheelchair for the rest of its brainy life doesn't mean my soul has to crack in half too. And my real legs walk just fine and most of the time I DO force myself out of my factory to walk up the street because I'm a guts and I want a fucking vanilla slice. God I used to be so capable! LOL. Losertown I mean really, who the fuck gets engrossed in Vampire Diaries? Next month I'm getting interviewed by my favourite magazine of all time and they want me to talk about my resilience. And I can! Because I have it! Soon I'll be pushing waaaayyyyy past my comfort zone to travel to a recovery round-up with heaps of meetings around a fire at night and I'll sleep in a swag scared shitless of huntsmen spiders and we'll cook damper on the fire like I did in year nine all those years ago in Wilderness Education. Real talk will be spoken from real people about real stuff and I can fill myself up with how people got through their lives and their problems because newsflash Eden: you're not the only one suffering.

Sorry about the long post.

Yours in fuckdom,

Eden M Riley
Nutcase, Looney Tune, Mentally Illest.

PS Hey - my blog header is gone? How apt. Does anyone know how to put a new blog header in? Let's get a change of scenery up in here.

PPS Keep walking, soldiers. You can get through. You know what helps me on my worst days? That life doesn't go on forever .. it ends for all of us, eventually. And I'll go up to St Peter and realise this whole lifetime all happened in one day because time is a human construct that doesn't exist and Pete will say "Hey, you got through!" And I'll punch him on the arm for adding the shit I didn't ask for. Then after that I'm not planning on coming back to earth. I'm ready to go next level. The humans in charge of running this planet are getting really annoying. I don't care about what my sons learn at school .. I gave them both handmade machetes from Africa in case of a zombie apocalypse. Guys I am so sorry you got such a warped crazy mother. Maybe you asked St Peter for one before your souls came down?


Sunday, 17 July 2016

Thursday, 30 June 2016

Chasing Asylum.

These grandmothers care enough to take it to the streets ... good old fashioned public protests are where it's at. Even more so now than before, because "raising awareness" and pressing the like button on Facebook doesn't really count for much.

They'd set themselves up outside Springwood Growers Markets on Sunday, I stopped and said good ON you all for doing this and literally taking a stand. We talked for ages, they handed me pamphlets to hand out myself and asked me to please join their Facebook page which I did while still standing there in front of them. You can find it here ... it's full of info and truth. The women weren't surprised that I hadn't seen the film Chasing Asylum as it's only on in a few selected cinemas by people brave enough to show it. The Current Affair "expose" was a manufactured veneer of the truth about the living conditions in Nauru and Manus Detention Centres ... the general public don't see the real story. Children are living in dirty tents and mouldy makeshift shacks. No toys. Utter misery, some have spent their entire lives there. Guards are issued certain kind of knife made to cut down the bodies of people who've hung themselves. The powers that be in charge of running Australia are breaking the International Bill of Human Rights.

I wish I could go there .. but one has to fork out a cool $7k to apply for a visa and if the application is unsuccessful there is no refund. And unsurprisingly there's no guarantee of walking around the place freely.

Chasing Asylum is the film the Australian Government does not want you to see .. has anybody seen it yet? The website and info on ticket sales is HERE. It's showing up here in the mountains at Mt Vic Flicks from the 15th - 17th July, and all around the country at selected cinemas.

The protesting grandmothers urged me to see it, urged me to urge other people to see it.

"We are grandmothers; we demand the immediate release of all asylum seeker refugee children and their families from detention."

Brava to them for taking action, petitioning local and federal government, and making their voices heard. People power is stronger and more effective than we realise.

"Chasing Asylum is a film made by Academy Award winner Eva Orner. It exposes the real impact of Australia’s offshore detention policies through the personal accounts of people seeking asylum and whistleblowers who tried to work within the system."

Wednesday, 29 June 2016

Dog Acts.

I've been saying sorry and justifying my entire existence for my entire life. When I was a girl I'd get lost in books and fantasy worlds, anything to emotionally, mentally and spiritually escape the constant torment I found myself in. This - THIS is why I cannot write my life story out properly unless I omit huge chunks of my experience growing up in a family full of dysfunction, physical and psychological abuse, intense bullying. Irrevocably damaging that child for the rest of her life.

A "dog act" is jail term terminology .. the ultimate insult you can give somebody while you're inside. It's when you do and say something really low and cowardly against another person.

A dog act is addressing your six-page suicide note to your sister, dictating the next steps for her to take care of "all the particulars needed to be done" after you die from your own hand. Kind of makes her out to be complicit and feel like a murderer for the rest of her days on the planet.

A dog act is telling a person their feelings are not true or valid and heaping all of the family blame and shame on that person to make yourself feel better about your own darkness and your own shit.

A dog act is cooking and bringing food to another woman's husband and children while that woman is in a psychiatric facility for numerous mental health issues .. then wondering innocently while she gets so crazy down the track after uncovering deceit. Continually and repeatedly weaselling a way into that woman's family and bed. A dog act is befriending a person and sitting next to them offering support before she gives her first ever poetry performance, clapping and hugging but all the while with ulterior and shady motives, inappropriately talking about sex to gain information.

A dog act is punching your wife in the face while she's holding your young child and when they both fall to the floor, walking away and turning on the television in the next room. A dog act is saying nothing about it when your wife returns two weeks later after she runs out of money from staying in a hotel, wondering what the hell to do.

A dog act is telling a person their entire existence and role in a family unit for fifteen long years means nothing, that she deserves nothing, that she has done nothing and is not entitled to a goddamn thing.

A dog act is leaving a woman financially stranded, unable to obtain government assistance because her name is on six properties she is legally unable to visit. Purposely putting huge debt in her name while her name is nowhere to be seen on any houses. A dog act is waiting for a woman to crumble and fall down. To prevent her from seeing her children.

One of the biggest dog acts is using children as pawns in the biggest greediest dirtiest fight for control; to prevent a mother who is desperately trying to reconnect and make huge amends to her children after she admitted she was not a good mother for four months last year. Four months, out of fifteen years.

A dog act is sneaking into a mans bed in the middle of the night and having sex so loud while the mans children are in the next room .. the children can hear your moaning while your own husband is overseas playing music to the very best of his ability after undergoing the cruellest blow a talented musician could possibly face.

A dog act is flying to Melbourne and taking a woman to the very same hotel your wife picked out for you both previously as your own romantic getaway. Getting tattoos together without a care in the world. Going overseas .. continually lying about the relationship, using smear tactics, baiting and waiting for the crazy woman to react. Which she does. It's so easy to manipulate a person to the point of complete breakdown.

A dog act is using a person on top of their blogging game for your own personal gain and then shunning that same person later on when she falls and doesn't play the game anymore.

A dog act is blackmailing a woman who tried to help when you were homeless while she is at her very lowest, demanding money week after week after drawing her in by telling her that you could communicate with her brother on the other side. Sending her screenshots of her family business threatening she would never see her children again if she does not comply. Degrading her until she is so trapped she cannot break free until your very own kind father tells her to run. Run away.

A dog act is lining up with your sisters husband and giving him information to write his legal affidavit.

A dog act is forcing a person to question their own sanity and reality during a time she is fighting SO HARD .. and already questioning her sanity and reality.

A dog act is watching fireworks with your own children, standing next to a man who runs away when he sees his own wife and child watching the same fireworks.

A dog act is picking up your child from school in the middle of the day to preventing the childs mother from picking up the child herself.

A dog act is talking your way out of hot water after being arrested for assault, then turning the entire situation around to benefit yourself and your lover.

A dog act is spraypainting your husbands lovers car that is parked in his driveway in the middle of the night. Every single panel.

A dog act is having sex with your wife in September, pretending there is hope for the marriage while you're already with somebody else and have been for quite some time.

A dog act is getting the police to serve somebody with an AVO while they're staying in a facility to get better and then accidentally sexting her a filthy message meant for the other woman. Letting her live in a hotel for three weeks afterwards wondering where the hell she's going to live even though houses abound, in town.

A dog act is breaking a child down emotionally, treating them like a worthless piece of shit, bombarding them with hate and anger, violence and harsh words. It crushes a persons soul.

A dog act is being a fine upstanding citizen in the community conveniently leaving out the part where you were a raging drug addict and spent time in jail for serious armed robbery and drug offences.

Comments are off.

A dog act is writing about other peoples dog acts, possibly making you the biggest dog of all but you cannot wear the entire shitfight by yourself anymore.

There's intense freedom when you have nothing left to lose after you've lost everything.

Friday, 24 June 2016

Thank You.

Currently into season two of the Vampire Diaries which is so lame but SO GOOD. It's helping me through the flu. You know when you get sick and you just keep being sick, then get to a point where you just know you'll never get well again? Flu is my reality right now. It's just me and my friend the couch, wondering if vampires are really real but then realising I'd rather be a werewolf. A shewolf.

Being down for the count has forced me to just sit with myself by myself. It snowed up here today so I ducked outside to take photos and a video, so magical and quiet and pretty! But now I'm back inside in front of the fire, burning up also freezing. Good one. And then I walked up the road to go to a recovery meeting and after I shared I looked down and finally realised after many, many years .... that no.

Leggings are not pants. Go home and put some kind of skirt on. I fully blushed. How could I only just realise this, sitting there with messy hair at 44 years old?!

What else have I been blind to? Answer: I've been blind to a lot. Pain, resentment, blame and just basic bullshit.

I need to thank you. For helping me through these past few months with your care, love and emails. I was so terrified of how I was going to pay rent and bills and petrol after falling into a heap like a sack of shit. Things are shifting, and besides the flu .. I'm getting better. My real estate agent came over yesterday and I wasn't joking when I mentioned how relieved I was that she didn't come to evict me. She came with flowers and quiche and cake and juice! I'm so grateful for people. Lately I've been waking up every morning and immediately listing the things I'm grateful for, which changes your whole outlook, Oprah was onto something. Yeah I've had a rough trot the past few years and some traumas in my life hit me in the soul and won't ever go away but the thing is I'm not some unique flower. Everybody has pain and suffering in their lives. Nobody's immune, nobody's owed anything. Life really is nothing like the brochure.

Gone is the same old bravado I've trotted out. The last time I felt good and free and at peace was in 2007 - that was such a happy year! I'm feeling like that again, just under a different set of circumstances. So how? Doing the next right thing. Being open and willing. Caring about people but not about what they think. Looking at the log in my eye. Letting the past go instead of letting it define me.

The white rabbit told Alice that forever is sometimes just one second.

So thank you for helping me when I need it the most. Sorry for not replying to emails and comments, I've been so paralysed with whelm .. now there's a cool subtle change. Can't be sure but I think Cam is helping me, something he could never do in life but I really feel like he is in death. At 1am when I can't sleep I whisper to him to watch over my sons.

Vampire Diaries has a pretty good soundtrack. In one episode this great song came on which was incredible and gave me goosebumps.

"You didn't ask for this 
Nobody ever would 
Caught in the middle of this dysfunction 
It's your sad reality 
It's your messed up family tree 
And now you're left with all these questions 
Are you gonna be like your father was and his father was 
Do you have to carry what they handed down? 
 No, this is not your legacy 
This is not your destiny 
Yesterday does not define you."

Basically a beautiful song about God came through via a ridiculously lame TV show about vampires. This song made me cry, renewed my heart, and reminded me to have faith.

And that's how the world works.

See you soon. Take care this weekend. x

Friday, 10 June 2016

Wild at Heart

                                                         Image: Jeff Davies

Hello so today I prayed by dancing in my kitchen with the headphones on boiling the jug on repeat for cheap coffee sachets that I just don't think I can give up right now. I've given up so much ... worst thing about losing your mind? Losing your mind. Best thing about losing your mind? Losing your mind. So I put my mind in the second drawer of the kitchen because we all know that's where household deitrus ends up and I rocked out to Florence. No bra, sweaty rivulets, pray-dancing. A person once commented here they have never danced to loud music by themselves in their living room and I was just sad, you need to do that shit. Letting go is sometimes the only way to hold on CONUNDRUM.

Siri am I the evil one? Am I the Dark Queen as opposed to the Light Princess? The answer is .. both. THE ANSWER IS BOTH oh sweet baby jesus what a relief. Such an eye-opener in Maleficent, the backstory of why she became the way she was. She had her goddamn wings hacked off. I've been complaining and blaming my whole life about having my wings cut off but standing on the precipice lately I looked back enough to see that I was the one holding the goddamn hacksaw, you want a revelation?

Slide down the snake again while simultaneously reaching for the next ladder, I'm my own worst enemy and my enemy needs an enema, flush the crap away.

Hey just for today I am so blessed I could burst into a million pieces right here in the kitchen and all that would come out of me is white lightning in the purest form. When she is down she is very very down but when she is good, shit gets AWESOME. I've only just realised there's no end to the deepest traumas in our lives. I kept waiting for mine to blend in with all the other colours but they'll always be there, present and accounted for SIR and all that's left to do is on certain days is putting your brain in the second drawer of the kitchen and dance. It's all just a dance and just thank you for it all, Universe. All of it, every single piece that makes me me. To get to the end of our lives and realise we've never lived at all is a tragedy I hit a fork in the road and went straight.

Got a fortune cookie last week when I was dining solo at Canton Chinese just down the road and it said "You are about to meet somebody very special." I did, it was me, have never been this incarnation before it feels extraordinary and powerful.

I feel everything no filter and guess what, it means feeling good too. I'm applying for a job as a factory worker - I'll be a factory worker. And when people ask me what I do I'll say I'm a factory worker. BE the factory worker you wish to see in the world. 

Best be off, have a shower and get ready for a Friday night with my Taylor homegirl cousins watching horror films and eating chocolate brownies. 

Here's Florence, the one I was dancing to in the kitchen. Her parents would worry that she was so different and strange perhaps she was mentally ill? Hell no. Freedom often gets confused with crazy. She's just wild and untameable and you should blast this song loud too because people like her are living proof that wings grow back.

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