Return From The Dead

I never intended for my blog hiatus to be over two years long. After the gross trolling/stalking experience. I was just going to let things cool down and then resume my writing in this space. It is mine, after all.

Then things got busy. I went back to school. I moved a few times. Trauma. Violence. Eventually some tepid validation and weak sauce justice.

Then Trump got elected. I hid from that version of reality for about one day. Then I knew I needed to use my voice for good, or my version of it anyway. That makes me back in the game of being a general purpose agitator.

So many changes.

Truth is, I can't be me without writing, and the academic papers I have been doing for the last year and a half are not going to satisfy what my muse wants. Let's get real, who knows what kind of bait a muse needs? They are fickle little fuckers. Mine needs me to misbehave, to flood the hotel bathroom with bubble bath, to drink champagne and raise my Kundalini. I need to go Gonzo around at a time in my life that revolves being a single parent with a lot of responsibility.

So, welcome to what is not a rebirth per se, but perhaps a reanimation. I like Zombie imagery. They are a juggernaut. Mere death doesn't stop them.

If my muse shows up, then super yay! But I'm showing up. I intend to have shit to say. Jump in with me. Throw tomatoes if you wanna. All comments will be moderated, and abuse will, as always, be deleted. How about just being respectful of the space?

Subscribe if you wanna. Look back over the archives if you like. Suggest topics if you want to watch me rant.

Thanks for stopping by.

In which My Dream is the Literal Truth

     I just had an intense dream that I walked into an abandoned, filthy, house and found it full of sick and deformed people, all hiding in the darkened corners, including children with contaminated medical equipment jutting from their bodies. I was trying to help, but I couldn't touch one without getting swarmed by dozens. They were all hungry, thirsty, love-starved, and untouchably dirty.
     I was trying to bake bread, boil water, find medicine, bathe people, and soothe crying people, and was overwhelmed by the suffering around me.
     It didn't occur to me to just leave. I kept trying. I asked for help. And even though the throngs kept growing and pressing, I didn't stop trying to alleviate the suffering.
     In my way, in my waking life, I am doing this. But it is hard. I keep trying, but my soul could use some refreshing.