live like you were dying

live like you are dying- the song + suggestions

Tim McGraw

I’ve worked around death for quite some time. I washed my first dead body when I was 16 years old. When he had a muscle spasm, I freaked and went running down the hallway screaming “He’s Alive!!”. He wasn’t. 😛 Who knew dead bodies spasm? They should tell you those things before they leave you alone with one, don’t you think?
The point of that story was that I’ve seen death. And in that experience I learned a few tips if you ever want to open your life up and live like you just got told you’ll be dead in a month or two. Because there is no guarantee that tomorrow will come. Is there?

  • Everyone has a bucket list… is there anything on that list you can do now? Just remember you don’t have a hall pass cuzz you’ll be dead soon, so be somewhat sensible. And be somewhat cautious lol Nothing that would break your neck! Or get you put into prison!
  • We all have people we wish we were closer to or could see again. Why do you have to wait to get in touch?
  • Is there someone you need or want to make up with?
  • You have been saving like mad for a rainy day… what if you die first? Was all the scrimping worth that? I’m not saying spend it all, but could you take a holiday? A weekend at a B&B?
  • Is there a hobby you’ve always wanted to do? Why not start now?
  • Are there goals you could set, steps you could take to a dream you have? Feel a little closer to your bliss?
  • Is the anger or boredom you feel worth holding onto? How can you find peace so it is reduced at least?
  • If you have some form of pain, physical or emotional, deal with it. Because who wants that hanging over you like a sword of Damocles? When you could have more in your life?

Who knows, considering how stress plays a role in illness, maybe taking these tips seriously will improve your life enough that you live longer and better. 🙂
If you have any more, please add them 🙂

ouija gate (a story)

It had been years since Veronica and her friends had tried to play with a ouija board. So they decided to get together and make an evening of it. Wine, snacks and jammies all brought and lots of giggles were planned for, as they each planned to shove the needle at just the right moment, when they knew a special someone would ask the right question. And they would elicit the right answer.
They had a couple glasses of wine to boost their courage, before they gathered around the board. They had had some fun writing some questions down to get things rolling. Did the other side know what would happen in their near future kind of questions. Was their partner faithful… Would they find someone to love… Stuff women want to know from spirit about life and love.
They put the candles out to make the mood dark and mysterious. They tried to stop giggling but they were all a bit nervous. And in the thrall of the game, they were getting a bit creeped out when the people who planned to boost the game did. But then they ‘fessed up. Nothing happened, so they put the board back in it’s box. Nobody saw when the pointer moved to the yes on it’s own. The women had thought it was just fun, so they hadn’t sealed the door. They also didn’t really know how or why they should. It was just a game to them…
Until it wasn’t.
They were tired and a bit drunk, so they fell asleep and went off to dream land. Each having a dream about the love they had asked the board about, and smiles were on their faces. They left the next morning a bit headachy and sore from sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags. But fine. It was just a game, right? They had had fun with their friends.
Veronica was left in the house, with an open portal between her and whatever it was that had answered their call…
Each night, she went to bed and had really erotic dreams. Of a lover giving her everything she had ever desired, sexually and romantically. She woke up each morning, more exhausted, but happy. Feeling almost as if she was in a new relationship. You know what i mean, right ladies? Excited, jittery, not wanting to eat, but knowing you should. Sleepy but sleepless. Her friends started to ask if she was seeing someone. That is how she was acting. They’d seen it in her before.
No, she said. Noone. But then she smiled a vague smile and they wondered if she was lying. But if she wasn’t ready to share…
Veronica kept getting more dreamy. Less focused. She lost weight, and her eyes were getting baggy and red from sleep deprivaton. She was starting to see things that weren’t there, and hear things she couldn’t have. She thought her friends were laughing at her. But they weren’t. They were getting worried about her. Esp when she stopped wanting to spend time with them.. Would you want to be with people you thought were laughing at you? To them though, it was like she had an abusive BF who was cutting her off from her supports.
And Veronica couldn’t explain. She was afraid she’d be locked up on a form one. Or more.
Finally her friends all but kidnapped her and took her away for a few days. She got real rest and some of the symptoms abated.
Till she went home again. They came back worse than before…
Veronica wasted away before their eyes, and none of her friends could explain it. She was too scared to.
Veronica died.
Her best friend found her diary, when she was clearing out her place, before Veronica’s parents came to pick up her stuff. You know, the stuff that had to go that would shock the parents. She found Veroniica’s diaries and started to read. Just the past few months. She realized what was going on. And sat down to cry. She was sick at her part in her friend’s death.
She went online to find out how to seal the ouija board and cleanse the house. And went to a spiritualist to have them take ownership of the board. so noone would be trapped by whatever had come thru and killed her friend. And tried to go on with her life as best she could.
Knowing it was senseless. Veronica was dead, for nothing.ouija board il_fullxfull.966042068_o3zf

oracle (a story)


Jocasta left her small house and the small village where she lived and went to bathe in the river. She wanted to purify herself, as was the custom, before she went to the temple for the night.
When she was ready, she entered the temple and placed a mat on the floor, so she’d have a bed for the night. She was one of the first there. Nobidy was yet in the holes, and only two others were resting on mats.
Jocasta stretched, then meditated before she lay down to rest. She put a laurel leaf under her small pillow. Hoping Apollo would be kind and send her a dream. And she fell asleep…
In her dreams, she saw; someone singing, someone playing a lyre, a woman on a boat who turned a war, and a world that was run by ink more than war.
When she woke, she told the priest what she had seen and heard. The priest went to tell the supplicants.
The priest said that Apollo favoured them, as long as only men went on boats and only the holy were allowed to write. Jocasta was confused. That wasn’t the tone of her vision at all. She tried to caution the priest, but he refused to listen.
So Jocasta left the temple and went back home.
She had done what she could.

if love only tracked right for everyone

If Love Only Tracked Right for Everyone

Then we would all experience the age of innocence. Where we first thought it might be cool to hold hands, and talk about our day together, Play a silly game or two of “I like you”. Send a valentine or pick some wild flowers. Just the crush stage of being aware that you’re a bit different than I am.
If we could have the stage of rush where your hormones rise and all you want to do is be with each other. You have to touch their face and kiss them, till you have a chapped lip or two. You flirt with a lot of ideas, but realize that time is on your side. And noone else’s timelines are pushing you faster or apart. It’s all about exploration and being. Just being.
Then it’s all about pushing the limits. Going from base 1-3 as you both feel comfort and trust. Knowing that you have your lives ahead of you. Findinng out what you like in foreplay and connection. Rather than just bumping uglies since you heard that’s what people do.
And finally coming together, with respect and lust to find how we like being together. Starting slow and moving up the ladder. Enjoying the touch and lust.
And when that gets boring, fleshing it out with kinky play. A little spank, tie and tickle. Getting harder and more varied as the base is well laid out for your pleasure. When you’re both ready. When you have more than lust on your side. They are your friend and know what you have already experienced. So it’s a sexual journey, playtime, rather than a bum’s rush to see who can cum the fastest or best.
If only we could start at the beginning again… Oh wait, why can’t we??

dairy, my demon and political activism

Everyone says that dairy is good for you. It’s part of a healthy diet. And I’d agree in principle… but there are always exceptions to every principle. People who are allergic to lactose, and people who can’t deal well with sugar of any kind for example. It may be natural(ish), it may have a good source of protein in it and be tasty for most people. But it could be lethal for some.
One glass is not lethal for me. But it sure could become so if I don’t watch how often I treat myself.
Here’s the reasoning:
[whey and sugar][]
[enzymes in the processing and effect on lactose][]
[chemicals in processing milk][]

## ….
And if you thought this piece was about **just** dairy food, lol You should know me better than that.
It’s also about people who are political activists who think they know what is best for groups of people who they have never spoken to, or asked what would work in their life. They presume that what works for them will work for everyone. The food guide says that milk is good for you, good for them, so good for everyone. Then they get mad when you say it doesn’t work for everyone. That for some people it could be a killer. Or they ask you if you’re lactose intolerant and offer you (eg) white rice milk which is also triggering to some people who have sugar issues or soy milk which also is a problem to people with hormonal issues. So basically they might be taking you from the frying pan into the fire, thinking they’re doing what is right. Yet their error could kill someone. Oh that’s ok they meant well, right? But then you’re dead! OOps!
**So the question is… if you haven’t even talked to someone, how can you claim that you’re acting on their behalf?**


fetishes (story)

Dirty Panties

Bruce had sent the money to the account listed on the site. He was one of many that day, so he was surprised when he received it within the week. And so thrilled too.
He opened the package and even before holding it to his nose, he smelled the urine. And his arousal was instant. It was real, human urine!
He took the panties into his room and put the video on of the dominant lady peeing in the shower, on many panties.
And Bruce started rubbing his cock. He pressed rewind and watched the show over and over. Until he came. All over the panties.
All he could do was smile.
And hope that the next pair of panties arrived before he smelled more of his jizz than her urine. He hated that he could only order one pair at a time.

Her Hands

Once a week, he had a chance to do the one thing that excited him beyond measure. He adored her hands.
First he washed her hands with a soft cloth and towel. With unscented glycerine soap so it didn’t interfere with the rest. Then he washed them with his tongue. His next step was to lotion her hands with an unscented lotion. Then he cleaned off the old nail polish from the week before and applied a clear coat, then a colour coat, then a sparkle coat.
When the colour was applied just so, he put a dab of glue on them and placed a small jewel pattern.
When he was sure he had it done to his standards, he asked her if she was pleased. And usually she was. It was a bad day if he had to do anything over.
When they were both sure it was well done, he asked permission to go relieve himself. Working with her hands always made him hard.
It was like he had a reel in his head. He replayed every step he had just taken slowly, till he came. When he was done, he cleaned and sanitized his hands.
Then he went back to her and kissed her hands.
He was thrilled she allowed such privileges. It was his fave thing to do and the only way he was able to come.

I Collect Your Right Earrings

I have a long sales route that makes travelling far and fast requisites of my life. I spend time in hotels and motels, in diners and gas stations. I spend time in lazy places, when you all are at work.
I see people, but they’re noone you’d know. Not in your condo or townhouse, or even your apt complex. People who have never heard of Michelin ratings or even the star system of food or bed lodgings. They’ve never heard of the great chefs, unless they watch the food channel or gusto on TV. Let alone tasted their food. Though they might have walked by the cookbook aisle in the library, I suppose. But they wouldn’t likely know the name’s significance.
I see crowds of people who society will never miss. The great unwashed, the ones who think perfume takes the place of a shower. They might see their family a couple times a year, if at all. So nobody really misses them. Or so you’d think.
These are the people that predators prey on. Because they think they can get away with it. If predators exist, that is. I guess I have to leave that question up to you. Do they?
So I’m out on the road, seeing all these faces bleeding into each other and getting mad at the nuisances of having them around. Figuring that picking them off is my right. And choosing those who I see my criminal in and getting close enough to touch them.
And I make a symbolic gesture…
As I walk by them I grab their earring and yank. I’m gone before they can give chase, because it’s so unexpected. They stand there in shock.
In the time a gun could go off in a crowd or someone could have a knife flash end their life. I prove that they are not only dispensible, they are also vulnerable to attack.
That’s how I get away with it. And nobody but that one individual it just happened to cares. Noone correlates the data. Or spots the trends. They never mention me on police reports or on the news. Occasionally you might see a facebook post about that odd thing that happened to them on the way home from or to work or school. But nobody cares to even make it an urban legend.
I just wound their ego a little and they might have a nightmare or two till they get over the shock. Then I’m back in the shadows again. It was just a bauble, but it meant something to them. “Why??” they ask.
Why? I like creating that frision of fear, without making someone die of it. I’m a prankster, not a murderer or rapist. All I am is a nuisance. A pest.
Imagine for that second when someone bumps into you, and takes your fave earring from your ear. Before you can catch them, they’re gone. how would that make you feel?
Well it makes me cum whenever i end my day.

long tresses

I was made to be a hairdresser.  From when I first was given a brush and a dollie, i was practicing.  And when I got my first play scissors, I started to drive my mother nuts. I practiced on dolls and my sisters.  Mom had to make a deal with me about how much hair I was allowed to cut off. I’m sure you know the tale of a kid who cut hair just before a family portrait, a big holiday do or a family wedding. That was me!
When I was old enough to date, I spent more time petting their hair than their boobs or butt. I wanted to braid and plait hair more than have sex.
As soon as I could, I started to dye my own hair and my friends as well.  I was sent home more than once for dyeing hair in brilliant hues that their mom or dad shrieked over.  Then I got smart and started asking their grandmas, rather than my friends.  They were tired of the powder baby colours that their hairdressers insisted on giving them.  And really tired of looking like primped poodles all the time. I gave them an option and their grown kids could hardly say no. Or get mad.
I even started to get some pocket money for my efforts.  The local senior ladies were thrilled, but the hairdressers?  Not so much.  There wasn’t much they could do though. Most of the ladies were now looking more like fall leaves and rock or punk stars than baby colours.  And they were thrilled!
My dad started looking at me with suspicious eyes and asking mom if I was ok. She wasn’t sure. So we had a chat. About sex and who I was attracted to. I mean girls were pretty and all.  But I wasn’t much into them. Guys were cute but i was even less into them. She told dad he had a child who was a slow grower, but not to worry. So he trusted her, but every now and then I still got a suspicious look.
I started dating, just to appease him.
I had a chance in HS to train in a salon and jumped all over it. I learned all the new styles and practiced every cut, till finally I was able to do the customers.  I was chuffed! And so were they.
My dates started looking like the belles of the ball at HS. And I was popular. So dad was finally put to rest.
He had no clue though that I was dating the girls who’d never put out, just so I could play with their hair. And they were thrilled that they didn’t have to fight me off.
The thing that nobody knew was that I had a pillow stuffed with hair ends. And every nght, I’d open it and rub it all over myself until I was ready to cum. But I stopped just in time so I didn’t soil the hair. Or the pillow. Every now and then i had to pretend to change my pillow. I just sewed a new slip over the old one to reassure my mom.
I was obsessed with hair. Touching it, cutting it, styling it… hair. I wanted to be covered in hair.

Bessie the Car

Ryan was that guy… I’m sure you know someone who loves their car. They name it, they detail it, they make sure they’re so careful with it. Nobody eats in it, or does anything to mess it up. There are some people who just aren’t allowed in it. They make sure the rain and snow never get on it, they park it in storage in bad weather and drive their runabout. Their kids have never been in it, right? You’d think they would have a GF or wife who had sex in the back seat, but OOOH NOOOOO!! That’d make it dirty. They never parked it in a busy lot or let the valet park it. NOBODY ever drove that car, but them.
Ryan went further though. He slept in the garage with Bessie. He didn’t want her to get lonely, or stolen. He often said that she’d only ever be taken from him when he was dead.
He didn’t write his will for his wife or kids. Or get insurance to see to their needs if something happened to him. But he got it in case something happened to him, so Bessie would be provided for. And he left it to a friend who had always loved Bessie. Not his wife. Not his brother. They always said they’d sell Bessie and get something they wanted to drive. And his wife always seemed jealous of Bessie. She said he should have married the car! He agreed, which didn’t help his relationship with his wife any.
Ryan always thought of Bessie first. While his wife was in labour with their first child, he was driving around, trying to find a safe place to put Bessie and almost missed the birth. His wife almost divorced him. She laid down some rules at that point. He had to agree or she was leaving and taking the baby. So he agreed, as long as she was around. But he circumvented them whenever possible.
What his wife didn’t know was how often he broke the rules. And what she didn’t know was how often he pictured Bessie when he was having sex with her. He imagined stroking Bessie and stroked his wife. He almost called out Bessie one night when he came. He thought of Bessie and got hard. He masturbated in the shower, imagining touching Bessie. He wanted Bessie.
I think his wife might have gone thru with the divorce had she known that. Don’t you?

the backstory of consent violations

the backstory of consent violations

who had a role and who didn’t
What should be a bunch of people saying the same thing often is a bunch of people talking at each other. And I might have an idea why that is… Let’s see!
the empire came thru and in their zealousy to spread their borders, they raped and pillaged as they went thru. It’s because they won that they get to tell their story at all. They say that their citizens get to have things a certain way, the man and woman have relations and progeny are necessary to grow the population. The empires changed over time and century.
the slaves built temples to the gods, the rich became priests and donors to forward the will of the gods. The poor and the slaves milled about trying not to be sacrificed. The man and woman had relations and progeny were necessary .to spread the will of the gods.
art and language developed over time and a local dialect developed which described their experience. The classes and genders divided, as did the adults and children in how their experience was told. Hunter and gatherer became farmer and wife, who became worker bees in the industrial revolution. And man and wife had children to put the pieces together so they could survive, as the cottage grew. Some cultures having more conciliatory and courtesy words than others. I can’t remember the language, but there is one where they have many words for “yes” and none for “no”.
The family changed when people migrated, hoping for a better life. And instead of having support and privacy at war in a small space, there was more individualism. Drugs and alcohol went from being on the mantle for worship to the gods, to a solace for stress or a medication. The family went from many generations under one roof, at times in one bed, to having parent and child with miles of space. A bed and room of their own. And split houses when divorce was encouraged. More and more single parents raising their children.
And as people migrated, they found they were surrounded more and more by strangers, and they felt isolated and like they didn’t belong in their new world.
health and medicine changed from the elders and women caring for you, to the doctors and govt in charge. From more herbalism, magic and alchemy to science.
women and children went from being chattels to people with rights of their own.
Leisure time and convenience became actual concepts and many children went from workers to school and play. Many things were produced that were made specifically to be thrown away soon. When they broke or needed to be updated.
And that is where many find themselves in the division between the old world and the new one. The old cultures being more concerned with people pleasing and manners. And the new ones with success and ambition. Most people feeling caught between the cultural shifts or divides. Not sure where they belong and feeling afraid of the changes and the people around them.

The questions that came forward are:

(old world)

  • how can a chattel say no to the person who has power over them?
  • how can one complain about the people who are their intimate support system, who they cannot survive without?
  • where can you go if you leave? Into a cold, cruel, evil world?
  • can you be abused or raped in a relationship?

(new world)

  • outside your group/culture, do you have a role/power/autonomy?
  • do your rights include the ones to your body and time?
  • who is available as your partner or friend? Who is your peer?

(new era/model)

  • what is a man?
  • what is a woman?
  • what is sexuality? Gender?
  • can a woman refuse to marry or have children?
  • can a man be the stay at home spouse and full time parent?
  • does procreative planning mean sexual freedom?
  • is dating now a sexual relationship?

(what is a consent violation?)

  • incidents

#unwanted sexual advances #molestation #rape #battery and assault

  • patterns

#nuisances #harassment #stalking #incest #murder

And the biggest questions of all:

who has a right to say if they are violated?

the govt, the temple, your family, you?

who is responsible for your safety?

the govt, the police, your family and neighbours, you?

who defines what a violation is?

your country, the media, your temple, your community, your family, you?
Or is that a trick question? Is it all of them or none of them?

does it ever vary, when you feel more or less violated?

when you’re having a bad day, when you’re threatened with death, or isolation?
when you’re an outsider? Or a misfit? And you feel unsupported?

  • when you have been a victim, are you always one? Or do you become a perpetrator if you act what you were taught? Having been shown/told nothing else?

I think this might be an impossible thing.Because there are so many variables and what is here is simply a summary of all the factors involved. Yet somehow it is supposed to be clarified and codified.
Which might be why greater minds than mine keep writing about it and coming up with … nothing?

dear other me…

[Hugh Everett][]

I have lived a life that has taught me many lessons, at least about possibilities.
So when I heard about the multiverse theory, I have often wondered about what my other me-self/ves learned as they formed and grew.
Did any of my other me-selves get to be with their mom? Did their dad drink too much? Did they ever have addiction issues or bad boyfriends? Did they had a beautiful daughter?
What was their social environment like? Were women free? Were men? Was there an elite group who had most of the wealth and power? Was there war? Did people die needlessly everyday? Was there a rape culture? A patriarchy?

If I had one chance to send a letter to another self somewhere in the multiverse, what would I say? What would I ask? If we could exchange thoughts over time, what would we talk about? Could we even communicate? I’d **love** to compare notes with them!

On the off chance that we can, I’d like to begin…

## ……………..
Dear Other Me…

I am a nobody in a possibly nowhere place. I have next to no power or influence over my country. And I wonder how much you have. I hope if our countries/worlds ever meet that we approach in peace. I hope your life is a good one and you are happy!

Your other me.
## ……………..

If you ever had that chance, what would you say to your other you?


the night that changed my life…  (a story)

the night that changed my life…

I had been looking thru the window, cuzz the night was gorgeous and clear. I could see stars all over the sky, so clear they looked like they were right in my yard. Rather than billions of miles away.
Which is probably why they came that night.
I went to bed, and fell asleep so fast, it was like I had been given a hospital-grade sedative. I certainly had not been given one though.
And just like when you get a sedative, you often get dreams you can’t wake up from. Not that I really wanted to. I was having the erotic dream of a lifetime! Everywhere a woman might want to be touched during sex, I was. In just the right way. At just the right time.
The cock thing that went into me was cold though and it reminded me of a speculum. My interest receded a bit at that point. But came back quickly. And I tipped over the edge. I fell into orgasm after orgasm. And then slept within my sleep.
When I woke up in the morning, I was convinced I had had sex. And in the back of my head, I wondered if I might be pregnant. But how?
About six weekes later, I started to have symptoms. So I picked up a kit at the pharmacy. I really was! But how??
So I went to my doctor. I didn’t disclose my story, so she just treated me like any other woman who came in, suspecting they might be pregnant and drew blood.
It came back positive. I dropped the tea cup I had been holding. It was good that the floor had a thick carpet, or it would have broken.
I went thru a normal pregnancy. A normal labour. I started to nurse the baby and was really enjoying the bonding with my daughter.
Then one clear night, when the stars were low in the sky and just stunning, they came back.
I had that sedation feeling again and went off to sleep. And when I woke up, I had no child, and even the nursery had been cleared out. I didn’t remember her either, till years later. When I saw a baby that looked just like her. And it all came flooding back.
And all I could think from that day on was…
where is my daughter???