Fight The Smoke!
Fight the smoke!
The most rebellious thing to do today on 4/20 would be not to smoke weed. Am I right, or am I right? Otherwise, what’s the point of doing it, if it’s almost expected of you?
Fight the power, just say no! I’ll see you tomorrow! 💨
More Posts from Hog-mage and Others
This one night
Short Story:
I turned into someone else, someone that I hated and envied all at once. I stared at him, knowing he was my undoing, all at once afraid and in love with him. His years of grip on me was tight and strong, but my more logical side breathed for freedom from his chains.
He had told me that I was his, that I belonged to him, that every kiss, be it forced or done in silent surrender, was his branding of me. His touch was like fire now, pain so intense that I wanted more, just to have a feeling of no longer feeling empty. Sometimes, the slighted touch would make me whimper, wanting more, needing more, needing him.
Every night he is like a warrior, he being the sword, and I, his scabbard. No longer do I resist, it has been years since I’ve last resisted, but with stillness in need and thought, comes the realization of freedom, of it being so close in grasp that I can taste it. The more I succumb to him, the more logical side of me knows that what I’m starting to love; him, his grasp of me, my willingness to stay, my acceptance of everything, is wrong and deviant.
So tonight, here I stand, with my own sword in hand; a chefs knife, from under my pillow, I straddle him, moving against him like butter, he awakes, both his desire and his eyes open to me above him; him staring at my slightly mad eyes. I kiss him, putting all my sorrow, all my love, all my years wasted in his silent threats, and take my revenge.
When I remove myself from his final hold on me, his blood dripping down my chest, I look at him. With every beat of my own heart, I remember everything he’s done to me. I wipe his blood from me, and I remember wiping blood from my own wounds, from the tears shed. I dress myself and remember when he would cut away my clothes with knives, or sheer force of will. Finally, I walk out the door, the door that I was pushed though, time and time again, the door that I walked through willingly, holding hands with him.
The air tastes sweet; new. I am still left empty.
Eating before you shop, going alone, making a list and sticking to it, taking advantage of student discounts, using mobile and printed coupons, getting in-season produce, and buying generic store brands can save you thousands of dollars a year on groceries.
Source
I love me some Tilly.
Noir Jennifer Tilly
Am I feeling dirty feelings?
This needs to happen.
Mind over mind
Sometimes the part of my mind that says, “you’re not good enough,” is loud and unrelenting. It says, “Who do you think you are that you think you can be who you are, do what you do, live the way you do,” so on, and so forth. But I’ve learned to stand up to it and say, “You are not stronger than my happiness.” Over and over I say this, sometimes the little voice quiets down in a few minutes, or sometimes it doesn’t, but it never puts me to sleep, because my happiness wins out.
Divine Madness
She made a mistake, she made a horrible mistake. She was stupid, she was insane, she was only 12, she was a stupid, insane 12 year old. She was the only person her age to be in an asylum, or that she knew of. It was because of the voices, the bad voices that made her do bad stuff. Her parents thought she was insane, why should she think any different? They had enough of her burning herself, talking to herself, cutting her hair with a razor to try to get to the root of the problem, or so she said. So they drove her to a Psyche Ward and the people in the white uniforms interviewed her. They looked at her with smiles, but their eyes told something different, something evil. The voices told her that.
She didn’t test very well; she wouldn’t cooperate when the people in the white uniforms tried to takes some blood from her arm. It was her left arm, her useless arm, she wrote with her right hand. Why couldn’t they take samples from her right arm, her strong arm, the arm she used knives with when she ate steaks. She struggled, she bit, she spit, she punched, she cursed, she screamed, it took 5 people to get her to sit and settle down. She was pissed! There were two people holding each of her arms, 2 people holding each of her legs, and one man holding her head still, he was an evil man.
The voices went ballistic when they saw him through her eyes. They wanted to crawl out of her skin and eat him up alive. The evil man holding her head smirked at her, trying to hold back laughter. “Butterflies, I see butterflies dancing on your skin, drinking in your lust.” The evil man’s smirk died as his eyes hardened. The voices said they saw images in his head of what he would do to her if he ever got to be alone with her. ‘The big bad wolf is going to eat you all up,’ the voices chanted in her head.
The men in the uniforms and her parents discussed her situation as she sat there motionless, her heart full of rage, no matter what she did, she couldn’t express it. Maybe it was the drugs they forced down her throat. So she did what the drugs told her to do, she danced around the room in circles with her arms out wide humming a song in her head. Her mom stared at her helplessly with tears in her eyes, her dad watched her with concern and some embarrassment as the girl started to laugh.
Two men, the bad man from before and another man who looked like a model tried to get her to settle down as they cornered her against a wall. The man model tried to sooth her with words as the other man try to give her another shot. The look that the bad man gave her made her feel like prey so she spit on him. His nose flared, his face got red, and as he wiped the spittle from his eye he slapped her across the face, causing her lip to bleed. Seeing her distraction of shock he stabs the syringe in her arm as he laughs. She in desperation struggles, but when that doesn’t work she starts to hit him, but that made him seem happier to cause her more pain. As the effects of the sedation calms her down she cries as she falls to the ground. Her mother tries to sooth her with a hug, but the girl only pushes her away. The blurry white uniforms take her away to a white room. She heard the man in charge tell her parents they would do everything they could to cure her of her madness as the doors were closed behind her.
In her fear she tries her best to stay awake, to be stubborn as hell, to do everything in her power to get out. She pounds on the door cursing, even made death threats that the voices told her to say. A while later she collapses in exhaustion and dreams of stones and bones and little wormies crawling.
She woke up some times later when she heard foot steps. She sits up as the door opens to reveal a woman, the evil man, and the man in charge. The man in charge looked like her grand-pa, so she put a little trust in him. The woman kneels down as she inspects the girl. The woman sees the bruise on the girls left cheek and eyes the evil man. The evil man shrugs saying, “Some girls need a little tough lovin.” He smirks as the girl glares at him. The woman soothes the girl by singing her a song as the old man takes her pulse, shines a light in her eyes, and checks her head for deep cuts for when she cut her hair with the razor.
The voices were getting louder, so she did her best to listen to the woman, she was nice. But they didn’t like the song, they complained, they screamed, they got louder.
“No, no, please no more. Stop! No more, Amy good girl now, Amy good girl now!” The girl screamed as she pounded her head with her small fists as she rocked back and forth on her knees. The nice woman tried to stop her fists, but was unsuccessful. “Amy, tell me what’s wrong. Please, we’ll help you. Tell us.”
Through her tears the girl said, “In my head, too much in my head, it hurts, it swims, it pleads with me,” the girl babbled between each sob. “Make it go away…”
