#notokay, All Blogs, Hearing Voices, Photography, Relationships, Trauma


This is why I write what I write most times.

When does it ever stop?

Will it ever stop?

Most days I’m fine then something like this happens and it stirs up all the memories, all the shit, all the pain.

The most powerful words ever spoken to me: “He can’t hurt you anymore.”.

No maybe not physically, yet carrying years of memories in my skin can’t be of any help either. Because he wasn’t the only one. There were so many.

Sneaky gropes, words, innuendos and the actual physical assaults over the years as a child and an adult.

I ran away from home at fifteen to get away and found myself experiencing even more assaults because I didn’t know how to protect myself except to step away inside, go to a space where no one could get to.

Floodgates have opened here because of #notokay

Now I need to decide whether to shut them down, dam it up or let it loose and wash over me.



(photo credit Wilowispaperio, 2016)







All Blogs, Life, Photography, Poetry, Uncategorized



(photo credit wilowispaperio, 2016)

today I shall not make my bed
I will go out with my camera,
not my phone
my keyboard will not hug today

today I will spend time with friends
listening to jazz
laughing and drinking coffee
and eat a big fat buttery croissant

today I shall stand at the front of the ferry
and watch as we cut through the water
to my most favorite place in the world
I will put my feet in the lake and
feel my senses open to its iciness
I will climb rocks and cut through
the marshes and lay on the beach in the sun

today I shall lay on the ground
and take pictures of tiny microscopic
creatures in the ice and sand
stalk birds while listening to them sing
take deep breaths and close my eyes
and listen to the earth’s pulse

then I will slowly make my way
back to my unmade bed
disheveled sheets and pillow
lay myself down and say
today I did not make my bed



All Blogs, Music, Wookiefoot

Brainwash ~ Wookiefoot


Oh my brain’s awash in the sea of misery
Over stimulated overly complicated from the info-tainment
Nobody to blame man
Just wondering where the people who are sane went now
Alpha beta delta theta
Brain waves up like a storm in a sea
Alpha beta delta theta
Move through the consciousness unconsciously

Got to take it apart look at it now give it a flip and then ripping it out
Wash your brain and make it count
Brainstorms clear the clouds
Of mental hand me downs, gotta get off of the merry-go-round
Synaptic gap connected now
Won’t you help me sing it loud

Oh oh, hey hey!
You got to wash your brain

And I’m amazed by all this pollution in the waves
And how they gain from making us feel lazy and afraid
Subliminal invaders can’t persuade us in a blink
So be careful cause you are what you think
So be mindful that your mind’s full
A fine line between a kind soul and a blind fool
And in the kindness you’ll find the mind less
The medicine is always deep inside the silence

All Blogs, Poetry, Uncategorized

in search of the elusive orgasm

I had an orgasm
a couple of weeks ago

Pure ecstasy

When I close my eyes

I am there
in that moment
I was carried away

sensory overwhelm
melting delectability
blissful oblivion

the thought
there could be more

out there

waiting for me

drives me

to wanderlust



شوكولا, شراب من الشوكلا, لون بني داكن, شكولاتة شوكلاتي



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If Victor Hugo had a thesaurus in 1829 would he have chosen the word sanctuary?

I mean, what if Quasimodo cried “Asylum! Asylum” instead of “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!”?

He may have wound up in Asylum de Bicetre rather than the Notre Dame Cathedral. Esmeralda would still have hung and Quasi would have spent the rest of his days starving and dying in a lunatic asylum rather than while holding Esmeralda at a massive gravesite.

Or what if God had said “And let them make me an asylum, that I may dwell among them”?

The Ark of the Covenant would have been carried not by Levites but mad men.

Asylum conjures images of wet dripping stone, chains embedded in ankles and wrists, rats, defecation, darkness.

Whereas sanctuary, well, think of inner sanctum, velvet curtains, plush floor pillows, soft light, incense.

Same meanings, different connotation.

I find myself thinking about these things when I’m meditating, which I do to gain respite from angst.

Angst, according to the urban dictionary means the following:

“Angst, often confused with anxiety, is a transcendent emotion in that it combines the unbearable anguish of life with the hopes of overcoming this seemingly impossible situation…Angst denotes the constant struggle one has with the burdens of life that weighs on the dispossessed and not knowing when the salvation will appear.”

I’d imagine Quasimodo felt great angst when he realized what was going to happen to Esmeralda, as well as Uzzah, who, according to the Old Testament, was smote by God after accidentally touching the ark.

At what point does angst turn into something else besides, well, angst?

While experiencing angst during meditation the other night, the word sanctuary came to mind.

Of course, for me, meditating means a whole lot of words, as well as voices, music and other distractions.

And I cry, a lot, when I’m meditating, which I’ve attributed to angst.

But what if it isn’t angst?

What if it’s sanctuary?

And this makes me wonder, what word would Victor Hugo have used?

Harmonious? My tears are one with the universe?

Or pastoral… aah, yes, sweet nectar of dew coursing down my cheeks.

Maybe tranquil? Though I can think of nothing tranquil about sobs and snot…

What if my meditative space is crying

“Sanctuary! Sanctuary!”,


“Asylum” Asylum”?