holding yourself up on the morning lift

on your hand
a golden band
swallowed in fingery flesh
alludes to health brevity
and marital longevity
'round heart the two enmesh

life skills if not life mates

like riding a bike.
my lips to yours, your hands to-
how many more yous?

My secret for yours

I was browsing around on Post Secret the other day and came across a postcard that particularly hit home for me.
When I was 19 years old, my mother swallowed several bottles full of pills and ended her life.

She made several prior attempts throughout my teenage years which were less serious and more of the "cry for help" variety. Of course I didn't want her to die, and I told her as much on each of those occasions, but it wasn't that simple.

She wasn't an easy person to love. Her behavior as a parent was negligent, belligerent, inappropriate, and damaging. She was an alcoholic, she suffered physical pain, extreme loneliness, anxiety, agoraphobia, and depression, and she was my only parent. Other family members (my brothers) were rarely around, so for the most part I handled her alone. I certainly gave a shit about her, but it was often hard to show it. I couldn’t save her because she didn’t even teach me how to save myself. We fought constantly, and it is difficult to imagine ever meeting another person as unpleasant and aggravating as she was.

All of that said, my mother loved and she deserved to be loved. She wasn’t always bad, and the times when she was good, she was very good. In particular, the years she had the love of my stepfather (before his stroke), was sober, and had a network of friends were quite pleasant.

She had a shitty life, to be sure, and she needed many things to compensate for the bad experiences that drained her dry. Perhaps most, she needed kind shoulders to lean on. Instead, her friends died off like flies and there were no more lovers. She needed her family, but they were settled on the west coast and we lived so very far away on the east (thanks to threat of divorce from my father who died soon after we moved). She needed financial resources, debt forgiveness, adequate health insurance, and assistance with executive functioning. Periodic visits from my much older brothers provided only minimal assistance with money and managerial tasks. For decades, doctors kept her drugged with a medication cocktail that, well, if you’ve read up to this point, you tell me how much you think the drugs helped her.

No one that could’ve given a shit and made a real difference in her life did.

So many would argue that she made her bed and she should lie in it. But we all make mistakes. We’ve forgotten the meaning of community. My mother had none and she needed it more than most. It’s too easy for most of us to tell others the answers and then turn our backs and expect them to help themselves up with our wise words, and it’s too hard for most of us to actually invest the time to figure out what is needed and what providing role we can play.

Changing the World

Early one morning, I received the following email from Jace:

From: Jace Cavacini
To: ManagerMom
Subject: my life is so fucking invisibly unfair

don't let this happen to your kids


i just woke from several hours of PTSD-type dreams. one was specifically about getting screwed by believing i was the one single person wrong in a room filled with people who had no problem. the materials given to me were wrong!

i was vindicated in the end but it cost me stress and embarrassment and i was forced to openly disclose my autism in a classroom environment after already being terribly embarrassed in front of everyone by being treated like i was just being stupid.

here i am, woken up, angry, crying silently, knowing i'm the only person who will ever know that i'm suffering this way every night, how much it hurts and that the dreams' contents reflect EXACTLY the real life experiences that MADE me have PTSD in the first place. it's all fucking INVISIBLE and no one in the outside world can appreciate it nor is there any help, support or justice to combat the damages done.

this is why i exposed my life before the world on my blog and in nowpublic.com articles and why i disclosed my autism at work. the results are why i'm tired of speaking at all.

i sought public awareness. instead i found more personal harassment and injury. insecure and bitter people looking to make other people smaller than themselves so they can feel better about themselves (like john and jefferson and anonymous cowards on comment forums).

i received punishment for exposing my differences and the truth about the people who treated me so poorly. punishment for showing just how fucked up these things have made me. punishment for not just swallowing it all silently. how dare i speak up.

along with medications encouraging me to act on suicidal impulses and other impulsive thoughts, my very existence is agony night and day and there's no way to prove it to anyone. no justice. i'm just an example of life's losers. a loser by "being dealt a shitty hand."

that's the only admission i've received from anyone, even family. "well jace, you were dealt a real shitty hand."

that admission doesn't even come close to helping me because it's just hollow words spoken by people who can't perceive the suffering i'm living because if the suffering i lived.

how am i ever supposed to heal from something the outside world never accepts or understands? what is my motivation to to even try? on the outside, it all looks to people as though i simply have to stop having a bad attitude. fuck that."

I replied to Jace with the following:

Jace,

Thank you for sharing that with me. Although I am happy to say that things in our school are much different and more supportive, it doesn't change the fact that yours was not. That is just one of the many factors that influenced you. I think it's incredibly amazing that you survived all that and can talk about it in a way that helps others see that it is the rest of us who need to change. I have changed so much since meeting you. The way I deal with my children is much different today than it was a year ago.

Last night while we were helping the kids get ready for bed, Ian suddenly became extremely angry and started punching Steve. When he didn't calm down after several thwarted throws, I gently took his hands and led him away from Steve. Then I asked, "Ian, what has made you so angry?" He said something that didn't really make sense. So I asked the question again. Once more he said something very off topic. I asked one more time, slowly and quietly. His breathing slowed and I could tell he was thinking. Finally, we were able to discern that it was the way Steve told him to go brush his teeth that had set him off. I asked if yelling and punching had made him feel better - "no" was his reply. I told him when I am angry, a warm, deep hug makes me feel better. So, he sat on the floor in my lap and we hugged. I could feel his body relax and the anger leave him. I have you to thank for showing me that Ian's outbursts require evaluation and compassion, not punishment.

Over the last several weeks, I have been involved in a very intense argument with someone who used to be a good friend. Her children and mine have been best friends for 3 years. I thought she understood us and how we do things. She does not. This has caused us to part ways as friends, although we are trying to preserve the children's relationships. This is extremely difficult. She feels all non-conformist behavior should be punished, even if the intent was not to harm others. She just doesn't get it. Hopefully, I will eventually be able to help her understand the dynamics of living in a family with autism, but I am not holding my breath. Nor will I lose sleep over it any longer. If she can't look deep enough to see those things which are invisible, to feel them with her heart and deal rationally with them, then she won't be part of our circle of friends who are able to do that.

Thank you, Jace. You are changing the world ... one person at a time.

Love,
ManagerMom

mirror

i, like a mirror,
in closeness wear your image.
your hurt becomes mine.

phantom limb syndrome [Previously Unpublished]

"As I had been looking online for his current email address I discovered his blog (on Blogger, of course) and that he's in a 4-year relationship. That produced a jittery response in me, and for a solid hour it was all I could think of (foot-tapping and all). I was waiting at the DMV for my replacement driver license, so it didn't interfere with life, but I was still a little surprised that my reaction was that intense. Yes, after 16 years he still matters to me. Closure is never what I've wanted there, only acceptance."

i am not at all shocked or surprised. i was with jana for about a year when we (her & i and john&tammy) ran into kristin at Barnes & Noble. i had an intense reaction. It offended jana. It took quite some time for her to be "okay" with and "understand" the situation.

 She had never been through what i had been through. Her longest relationship was "dating" and it lasted weeks to a month or so. She had zero relationship experience prior to me and in the end it really showed, despite spending 7 fucking years at it with me.

 Lazy, selfish, insecure emotional child.

 i would have extremely intense reactions to crossing paths with her today. 

i have enough of a reaction to seeing kristin briefly through her blog, though it somewhat relieves me to find that she is exactly what i expected, as lame as that is. When she appeared at Barnes & Noble, i was pissed that, after months of not wearing it, i was wearing the hooded, over-sized sweater i had that she made fun of, and she even commented to tammy that i was "apparently still the same old jace" ... it pissed me off. i think i threw the fucking thing in a drawer and let it sit for a year or two before jana encouraged me to get rid of it with the clothing we were taking to the Salvation Army shop.

 It bothered me to continue to see [name]'s selfishness in her blog. It annoys me that judy never changed her address with the university, despite me telling her, twice, about mail coming to me. It would bother me to run into any of these people. Most of all, elise.

 i've fantasized about her showing up on my doorstep looking to make friendly and me telling her off, and then realizing that i am not sure i could [tell her off].

These things affect us. We only think we're beyond them because the parts of our brains containing these people stop being referenced. They go dormant. When something directly accesses those parts of our brains, we are shocked to find them still there, and then shocked to find them still the way they were last time. These parts never really go away. We just stop accessing them, for the most part. This is why i envy people who have made friends with their former lovers/mates. It allows a person to change that portion of their brain that holds the internal existence of the person and takes away the potential for future shock and surprise.

phantom limb syndrome, specifically pain, is the exact analogue to my loss of lovers. It happens for the same reason. It also happens because of the other things i said about memory of lovers in the previous email: the brain content is still there. In this case, though, that entire section of brain material becomes "illegal territory" because the removal of the "limb" is painful. This is why people try to close it off, shut it down and eliminate all paths to it. Pathways to these parts become active or available after long periods of dormancy by simply attaining a new lover or mate; it is by association with having had one before... "Which one was that? OW!" and then "and the others... OW!" [insert stimuli and responses here]

[written by Jace, previously unpublished. Originally written 2/2/08 at 4:54 AM - Intransitivus]

nastiness begets nastiness, etc.

posting removed per request of named individuals.

buy her book, she's neat

Katie West: low self-esteem

and, as avolare on flickr,
where i "met" her

(yeah, i'd like a signed copy myself)

do you like stories?

this might not be your thing but this, as cheesy as it might be to some of you, made me feel.
i mean really FEEL.

http://www.starblazers.com/comicshome.php#

me being a sucker for redemption tales, and all...

NOTE: the web page is in REVERSE chronological order. Start with episode ONE at the bottom and work your way up!!

The series has a LONG LONG back story, but this is well written enough to fill you in on needed plot elements. Just take your time.

i share what moves me emotionally, hoping people will learn from it to know me. i hope some of it reaches it's intended goal.


...tears....

who are you when you're alone?

i know who i am
do you know who you are?
which version are you right now?
which version is "the real you?"
when you're not under someone else's influence,
who are you and does it matter?

a friend, lover, care taker, trainer, controller, manipulator, transactional opportunist?

"i'll be better," you said.

this, is not. you're another step over the line.
"the counterbalance" it is not.
that's transactional thinking, which i don't do.
remember?

do you even know who i am,
for all your research?

i should have stopped.
december should have been all i needed.
now i know that it is meaningless,
who and what i am... meaningless.

you've taken more leeway than i've authorized.
but i guess i have no rights, right?

you're finding ways to fault me for your insecurities,
damn me for my honesty, and take a superior position,
just like everyone eventually does.

i'm autistic, not stupid, remember?
i'm not a child, i'm traumatized.

i know a lot more than it seems
and i have a great statistic for being correct.

don't come around again if "that" person is the real you.
the december you.
the aggressor
transactional relationship manager.

i'm so tired of false advertizing, taking the blame, and then being beaten for standing up for myself. so if you're not you, collect your possessions and stab me on the way out. i'd rather it be a real blade, in my flesh, instead of soured memories and hidden injuries for a fucking change.

women want a man they can change.
men want a woman who will stay the same.

everyone, male or female, wants to change me.
control me. shape me. be superior than.
so, why should i behave better?

there's no reward,
save for the limited, one year grace period,
plus or minus six months,
which sours soon after.

why should i continue?
give solid reasons.
the statistics are horrific and stacked against me, long term.

i should sell every belonging,
adopt out the cats,
drive far away,
end it all in isolation.

no notes to misconstrue.
no resolution for you.
no corpse to display.
no wishes to betray.
no memory
to defile and whitewash.

just... nothing
nowhere.

who are you when i'm nowhere?
you can be whoever, whenever.
what ever. no change, really.

this is not a threat.
this is a feeling.
it has a cause.

ultimately,
like myself,
irrelevant.

a message for h. e. w. m.

i miss the times when you were hot for me...
"snap!" you said...

i miss the times when you were open minded,
and thinking about what YOU wanted,
instead of being told who was right for you.

i suppose i only have myself to blame,
since i stopped the "natural flow"
in order to be "responsible" and respect him...

how foolish of me.

seeking the kind (can't live without 'em - ii)

when they are selfish, irresponsible and immature, they are but heartless deadly monsters with hollow words,

tearing at my flesh, my heart, as reavers, ripping me into strips of meat to be devoured...

vegetarian girl or carnivorous woman, there is no distinction; they are but beautiful and murderous predators.

somehow, there are others... different;

responsible, mature, wise, empathetic, self controlled creatures of thought and heart,

who follow through, in action, with the words which they proclaim... more than mere advertisement.

they save a part of me,

with each and every kindness given.

and i love these beautiful creatures of kindness.

it is a shame that the kind ones are so few,

and their acts of kindness are so outnumbered

by the reavers' spears, hooks, blades and arrows of selfish cruelty.

worse, still, some of the formerly kind

are made into the new selfish breed,

by suffering rape and pillaging,

giving in to the reaver within...

but, without those few loving beauties,

the true, the real, the thoughtful and the honest,

i would be dead by the hands of the beautiful...

the beautiful lying beasts.

it is for the love and the kindness i go on...

it is because of the lovers and the kind ones,

that i continue to exist.

trying to reason with an unreasonable girl

three years ago (as of September 2007) elise crushed my heart and soul. i did this to my fist after losing yet another round of trying to reason with her in chat. i beat my fist into the keyboard until blood sprayed around. my brain suggested that i might stop at that point so as not to break any bones (i've never broken any bones).

so i'm dangerous, right?

wrong.

this is me. my hand. my chest. my body. and this is what was done to my mind by elise. i did this to myself and a keyboard. the keyboard did not represent elise. it represented the irrationality and illogical madness that drove me to near insanity. it was me, beating the shit out of a communication device that failed. my keyboard. my mind. my hands.

other people's insanity is something i have a hard time with, being high functioning autistic. no matter how much i try to reason with someone, they remain unreasonable and my brain "short circuits."

i had to be told.

i had to be told that i could not make sense of something that was not sensible.

i had to be told that it is not possible to rationalize something that is irrational.

i had to be told.

no matter how hard i try to tell elise, or any of the others, how much damage they do, they don't get it. incomprehensible.

three years ago... and it still hurts worse than anything else ever did.

i've moved on in action and in loving, but this...
this is still inside.
it will never leave me.

not ever.

wanting to hold and be held

a few good days,

as i've written before,

usually p r e t e x t a crash.

it is part of the sleep deprivation

the t o u c h deprivation.

that crash is n o w.

tonight.

this m o r n i n g.

alone. open.

after a nice chat: a l o n e.

after nice email: a l o n e.

after a nice introduction: a l o n e.

a f t e r reviewing words

sent to elise

which earned me the most recent "called the cops on me" episode.

reminded why i am typing in this fucking little box,

on the fucking little internet,

to fucking no one. a l o n e.

b e c a u s e of her.

& her.

& her.

& her.

& her.

& i s t i l l want

e a c h.

& i can't touch h e r yet.

or her.

or her.

& i will never know h e r.

or h e r.

or h e r.

& her.

alone. o p e n.

wanting to be held and to h o l d.

can you i m a g i n e?

some of them act like i'm "dangerous."

the judy. the elise. the jana.

i appreciate caution

those who have not been with me

who do not yet know me; it is s e n s i b l e

in this s e n s e l e s s world of selfishness & opportunism.

but for those who had me

in their grip, o w n e d

why fear m e ?

with s w i f t n e s s they kill,

and .i. am feared?

closed eyes.

calloused skin.

irrational minds.

and i .m i s s.

e a c h

o n e.

in this crash, i would

a c c e p t.

i would o f f e r

i would g i v e

even e l i s e.

i would a c c e p t.

i would a l l o w.

after being m a d e fool of,

i would .s t i l l. hold,

t e n d e r l y.

i don't think they understand...

to be truly alone. none ever were.

they don't have that p a t i e n c e.

to be

alone. o p e n.

w a n t i n g to be held.

knowing .H O W.

to h o l d & 

.be. h e l d.

trying to meet with death

five thirty am. the only woman ever to show me loving behavior, asleep in my bed. i am not able to have her with me as long as i would prefer. selfish. i know it. five thirty am. she is in my bed and i am in my bathroom, fingers pressed against my neck, seeking a carotid artery. once found, fingers resting, pulsing up and down with the beat.

i didn't want to cut my vocal cords. i didn't want to dig. i just wanted to find one simple spot to open up and sit down to bleed out.

i fell to the floor.

ill.

cried.

thought of the
woman in my bed
cats, family, music, photography

cried.

i couldn't physically end my own life because it made me ill.

and this is where i am. i did not seek this. i did not choose this path.

and this is where i am.

laying at my side as i type, the only person to treat me in a loving manner. crying at each other.

it is not revenge i seek for those who have lead me to this. it isn't even justice. that's not possible. this is not what life is supposed to be. not what i should be doing at five thirty am, or typing at three fifty-five pm when i have loving kindness next to me. but it is what it is. and those that have lead me to this "place" in "my life" are many. no doubt several of them, females, have sought a meeting with death themselves.

from them, i expect nothing. what i want or wanted stopped mattering the moment they exited that space between intimate and foreign.

from the collective known as my employers, i expect the same: nothing. but i know what i want. this is not a desire for revenge. i desire to punish my victimizers. not like spanking a child. but that does have a sort of sweet sound to it when considered. physical acts are pointless. all they know is one thing: money. the only way to "injure" cruelty and greed is to take away some of its toys.

knowing the chances... i've been courting death.

if life springs forth from "woman," why wouldn't "death" be female, too?

i hear the ocean calling

outside my third floor window
cracked an inch to cool the studio
the sounds of waves crashing
on a rocky shore that isn't there

the shade flutters in and out
wind blows with intent
if i don't look, i can see it
the ocean calling me

you brought me here, now
throw me over the ledge

i want you to see me smash
at your hands, on the bottom

outside my third floor window
no air flowing from the opening
the sounds of waves crashing
on a rocky shore that isn't there

watch my blood run down the edges
along the cracks in my skull, lapped
your wolves of desire and possession
thrown to, by your haste and cruelty

see the ending you wrote for me
watch my water turn clear in earth tears

you brought me here
years ago now,

finish what you began

weak forces

you identify me,
become the synonym to my heart,
my needs...

i am everything to you
for a moment,
an unmeasurable fraction of time.

i enter your event horizon,
yours forever... then,
you reverse polarity

return to your origin;
the antonym of my heart.
i have no needs before yours

foreign matter,
you are immune to me,
eyes closed, deaf to my sounds

i was everything, and became-
...
yet you still remain everything,
to me.

each and every one of you.
forever, till death and beyond
if there is such a thing.

"the catch" turns 32

yeah, "the catch"
as in "catch 22"
"you're great, but you're not worth my effort"

she actually said this bullshit...
"jace, you're a catch,"

as she was snipping the line,
tossing me back into the salt water,
her hook still embedded in my torn flesh.

"a catch"
"a real man"

you know what this "real man" wants to do?
spit in elise's face, just like pat did.

another year of my life gone and
all i have to show for it is the bullshit lines
the erratic, selfish and cruel behavior
handed to me by women like her.

if this is what you are,
and how you've treated other people,
you deserved getting spit on.

all i am, today...
naked, cold, fearful, traumatized.
as you, and those like you, have made me.

i'm a tool

and that's all i'll ever be to women. a mascot. a target for projection. play thing. toy.

same goes for authority figures with their assholes where their heads belong.


the people who have hurt me the most are the ones i fell in love with or trusted.

fuck that.

the ones who say it the most know it the least

love
friend
flexibility
acceptance
working for it

SO MANY MORE!

fuck you. you don't know the meaning of the fucking words.

how about:
traitor,
user,
abuser
and cyclic "personality disorders" like
borderline personality disorder, and
sociopathy

some of you are even supposedly educated, self aware, lucid and introspective...

well fuck you, because you're full of shit. you're uneducated in humanity. and why is it that so many of you are females? oh, stupid me, because i SEEK OUT YOUR COMPANIONSHIP.

you don't know shit. except something to exploit when you see it. like myself. free validation. money, paint, cat, love, respect, tenderness, valuation, my life, my job, my sweat and tears... oh and free custom porn. free loving sex. free to nail against the fucking wall when you need to project the things you hate about yourself onto someone else instead of DEALING WITH YOUR OWN SHIT.

YOU'RE DANGEROUS, HEARTLESS, SELFISH AND CRUEL OPPORTUNISTS TAKING WHAT YOU WANT WHEN YOU WANT IT AND GIVING NOTHING OF YOURSELF IN RETURN BUT LAYING BLAME THAT YOU DESERVE ONTO THE CHESTS OF OTHERS.

and at heart, deep inside you, the place you hate being the most,
YOU FUCKING KNOW WHO YOU FUCKING ARE

and

YOU KNOW i'm RIGHT.

FUCKING TRAITORS.

this is my childhood santa

(click to enlarge)

people ask me about my childhood. i usually have nothing to say. a lot of the positive childhood sensations comes from my Nana. she spoiled me well on xmas and my birthday. in later years, we conflicted because it was now adult to adult. i eventually understood her and we made peace. at her death (which i personally do not feel was peaceful, and i will never know), i again said my words of love and admiration for her presence in my life. the thing that always confounded me about Nana was that she lost her husband at such a young age and never accepted the idea of ever having another man. "I had a husband. He died." she would say forcefully when anyone would suggest she make a male acquaintance. i don't know if this is her upbringing or her heart of hearts. every year, and this i admire, respect and love about her, on xmas eve night, she would burn two candles in memory of her husband. i never met him. He died when my mother was 16. This was terrible for all involved, especially my mother who was not expected to "need a father" as much as her brother "needed his father." But every year, every xmas eve, the candles. When i asked my mother, she explained why. i was in awe. it is giving me painful tears just typing this. so i will stop. but i will add one more note: if not for the heartless bastards at KU, i would have had more fortitude to include Nana in my life before she died. this is another thing they stole from me and my family.

more wasted tears

on things that people never meant to follow through on.
the harder i try, the more they reject me.
if i don't try, i'm called a quitter.
mixed messages, as always.
i know everything, and
nothing at all.

the key:
i MUST stop trying to reason
with those who are unreasonable.

but since i'm wired that way, i'm terminally fucked.

(listen)

image vs. reality vii (disappointment)

there is a great difference between
being disappointed by someone
and
being disappointed in someone.

the former hurts,
yes,
but not as badly as the latter.

windowsill

unlike the rain,
these tears fall silent
as the snow
beyond your window

as you never look close,
never will you know...
defenseless and open
i appeal to thee.

all facts and all figures
to know me, have been here
but you only wanted the happy parts;
(the rest is, to you, unappealing)

too much time
to accept what i am...
...two minds alone,
one within me.

you block out the unknowns,
make unknowables undesired;
complex and estranged, i am alien...
i am foreign...

(xenomorphology...
...meaningless to you)

i am not what you think...
you expect the unreal
the romance, the drama,
effortless, perpetual bliss.

but,
responsibility... no,
not for you
no, not this lifetime.

but, you only get one
and you miss,
i am this:

knowable
truthful
simple.

yet, complex you see me...
i've been shaped to conform;
expectation, socialization,
application of sin.

though, if quiet, walk softly,
listen you, and see...
in this little cage, on your porch
you may find me.

metal to cement,
blankets obscuring,
cold wind and snow
blowing through...

have a heart trap, set
with bait to attract me.
it sits, you must wait...
...with some patience.

awakened at night
in dark and with torch,
checking the trap
before cold becomes death...

and i am... and i see you,
through double glass doors
and i see that you see me, too...
(what should i do...?)

a hunter, monster, a fighter... i am not, as
timidly i appeal to your graces,
i caress you, i lick the gloved finger extended
in between bars you ventured, to test me...

Look!
i am friendly,
don't hurt me...
...i'm hungry...

by these simple things
you should have known me.

yet still i gave all,
dedication ever after,
patience beyond all i've known
my gentle touch and my love- but,

you felt nothing.
in the end,
when you were done,
you felt... nothing.

now here, with sleeping feline,
and otherwise alone,
i find myself thinking of you
(as always, i will)

at the glass,
watching tears
falling from the sky
without sound.

panic, because i care

i have a friend who is being abused. abused in a similar way to how i was abused by jefferson. subtle, mental harassment and torment. judgments, distortions, twisting of reality.

i told my friend: get out of there asap.

the description of the whole thing brought someone else to mind. someone who has been in my heart for some time. someone i had a very high opinion of...

... until she abruptly pulled the plug and deleted me from her world, citing MY judgment of her as the reason for breaking it off.

as usual, it was her assumption of my judgment. her abrupt solution to a discomfort: project the emotion to a target and cut it off. (and no, sairuh, this is not about you, though you did do the same)

why do these two people connect in my mind?

feelings...
respect.
attraction,
identification,
care...
love?

fear and worry are paramount, at the moment.

i am feeling panic.
first, for my abused friend.
second, because i decided to break the silence with the other;
i responded to her disconnection.

i asked questions.
because i wonder...
what abuse does she allow herself to suffer?

people don't think i care or feel for them, but that's the central motivating factor of my behavior with them. the selfish bit is that i like these people and want them in my world.

i have enough fear, uncertainty and doubt about myself and my motivations. but, damnit, when it comes right down to it

i never pushed anyone do to anything.
i never subtly intimidated
or harassed or
pushed and pulled.

i have always been, and always will be, open and direct.

and so i panic.
on the whole, society doesn't like honesty.
people don't like truth.
they do not like questions

they especially dislike being seen through.

what shitstorm will i suffer for these latest acts of
honesty,
out in the open,
blunt and direct?

time will tell.

i love

i love my family
i love my ladies

i don't think anyone understands that.

for Nana

a love story

For those who are empathetic and th