Thursday, December 3, 2015


Come on in. There's some veggies and the skins are thrown back to get the last of this fresh air before winter really hits.

I want to talk to you about moments.

I want to speak of those times when you are the perfect you.

Maybe not the true you, maybe not the real you, but the perfect you.

I want to talk to you about moments.

That moment when you just know you're in the right place at the right time.

That moment when you can hear reality snap, and everything is so in focus, so on point, that you just feel unstoppable.

I want to talk to you about moments.

It could be when you're doing something physical, and the weariness just drops off, you body snaps to attention and you feel invincible.

It could happen when you're creating a piece of art, and you write the most perfect prose, rhyme, make that brush/pen/pencil stroke that you didn't so much plan as just do, and you know it will always stay with you as so incredibly beautiful.

I want to talk to you about moments.

Looking into your children's faces, seeing the unbelievable potential you've released into the world.

The moment when you realize it doesn't matter, just as long as you can love that person freely.

I want to talk to you about moments.

When a second wind hits, when the fever breaks, when time stops, when all the fear is gone and it's just you, and a grin takes your face so fiercely you're sure someone would claim your brain just snapped.

I want to talk to you about moments.

And the reality is those moments are just our body releasing all the hormones and chemicals that make us feel good, feel right, feel unstoppable.


I want to talk to you about moments.

It's those moments you are the perfect you.  The fearless you.  The unstoppable you.  The unshakable you.

When all the fear, anxiety, doubts, self-recriminations, and negative thoughts just drop away, are shed like an old skin and you shine.


I want to talk to you about moments.

Because those moments, those are the times that makes the rest of the pain worth it.

That perfect you is always there, always waiting to just happen, when you do what you are meant to do.  When you are on your path.

I want to talk to you about moments.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Boom pow WOW

Come on in, the sun is high and shining, the skins are pulled back, but it's still a bit chilly, so if you need to warm yourself, the fire is bright.  Sorry about the lack of snacks, but I'm pretty broke.  If you brought something, feel free to share.

So here's the thing.  Depression saps everything about you.  It just takes you and drains it like when an old cartoon is about the faint and all the colour drains out of the character.  It just keeps sucking you down into this terrible terrible emptiness, where everything is an echo, a shadow, a shade, a mote of what you once were and once loved.  It makes everything good just terrible and the terrible becomes the uncontrollable tsunami of doom.

Of course, most of you who read this know that already, it's preaching to the choir.

And so I've been working on those ANTs and using that CBT to get my head around things.  I've been smudging, praying for the little bits of my brain to shake loose the scales on my eyes.  I have been putting in the work.

And the dreams, the dreams are wonderful, even if they are exhausting.  I'm dreaming in large living colour in worlds and places I used to tromp through and explored all the little corners of my brain.  Dreams that seem like years take place in moments and I know the little demons down below are lurking but they can't hide forever.

And here's what I've realized.

I'm fucking amazing.

I don't mean that like 'positive thinking will make it true.'  I mean holy shit people, do you realize just how fucking amazing and mind numbingly improbably my entire existence is?  Lemme tell ya.

I shoulda died at birth.  They had to yank me out and I came out looking like I'd done 15 rounds with Ali.

I choked on a chunk of steak that could have lodged in an alligator's throat.  I passed out and landed on a chair in just the right way to dislodge it.

I have ingested and inhaled more substances than most rock bands.  Ok, well maybe not Lemmy but please, who is Lemmy?

I've taken so many brain bruises my grey matter should be close to slurry.  But it's not.

Let's not forget the diabetes which led to the pancreatitis which had the abdominal surgeon honestly ask me 'Do you want to die? Are you trying to die.'  I might've been.  Was a pretty rough patch during that.

And in spite of all these things let's list some well known facts about the Coyote.

I'm devilishly charming.  I mean, I'm just so wonderfully charismatic that what others do that would get them in trouble, just makes me more interesting and fascinating.  Seriously, I could tell you some work place stories.  Or the shit I say in academic settings.  ANYONE else who did what I do would get just hung out to dry.  When I do it people are like 'Fuck, that dude speaks DA TROOF!'

Smart?  Oh my.  I am so smart.  I'm so smart I know I don't know shit but I probably know a lot more than 99% of the people.  I'm also so smart that when I DON'T know something I'm all good with admitting it and looking it up or going to the folks who DO know.

Talent?  I sing, I dance, I write prose and poetry.  I tell jokes, I make the ladies swoon (that's right I said swoon muthafuckas).  I am the ultimate jack of all trades because I have mastered many.

And willpower?  When I want to do something, it gets done, even when it shouldn't.  And when I wanna be good at something, oh my god people.  I'm just unstoppable.

And my body?  While a bit pudgy and out of shape right now, let's look at the abuse it's taken yet I can still do what needs to be done.  And last physical? Sure the cholesterol and sugars were still a bit off, things like my heart, lungs, and kidneys were all working in tip top shape.  Whee!!!

And I got blessed with this hyper sensitivity disorder, which means I technically have super powers like Daredevil, just no radar sight.  Seriously, my sense of smell lets me identify people before I see them, and know how they're feeling.  My sense of touch is so sharp, I can find all a body's aches and pains and make them feel better.  And when it comes to intimacy.  Well.  That'd be a porn story if I were to tell that one.

Add it all up and I'm fucking amazing.  And I know it.  And now so do you.

Let's do this fuckin' thing.

Monday, March 30, 2015

A Tidal rant

Come on in, I'm sick tho, so stand a bit back.  As well, there's some tea and chicken noodle soup available for y'all.

So Jay-Z, he went and spent $56 million on a streaming company so he can 'revolutionize how music is listened to.'  But I'm gonna disagree with ole money bags there because he's doing what every other rich person does when someone ELSE revolutionizes what they do.

See here's the thing Jay, can I call you Jay, or maybe J? Or just Juh.  There are several hundred artists who have revolutionized how we get our music these days, and they've used various different ways to get into our ears, worked hard, and are reaping the benefits.

Take Walk Off The Earth.  I'm a proud WOTE-ling.  These folks took other people's songs, did some very interesting covers, changed things up, did that neat guitar thing that was the second most watched video on the YouTubes one year, and also produced an album of their own music.  I've seen them live, they are remarkably talented.  THEY revolutionized how I listen to music.  Through them I stopped looking at the radio and started digging through related artists, and found others.  And they let a lot of their music play for free in a ton of places.  That I can listen to it free certainly did not stop me from buying EVERY SINGLE ALBUM THEY'VE PRODUCED, including their two cover albums, because they deserve my money for being such incredible artists.  And they come anywhere near me you bet I'll rob a music store, steal all your albums Juh, and sell them to the first dumbass I see to get tickets to see WOTE.

Or perhaps Juh, we can talk about Sarah Donner.  I heard about her through The Oatmeal with this song.  And her voice was so awesome I had to check her other stuff and found a song that, when shit really seems to be sinking me into my deepest depressions I listen to.  Because you won't find me in the valley when I hear Sarah sing it.  AND Juh, she also runs a kitten rescue, and she responds to fans on twitter, and is generally just this hilariously wonderful person who lets people see who she really is, which seems pretty messed up but awesomely so.  Like THE REST OF US.

Or, and this is my latest find, let's talk about Julia Nunes.  Here is an artist who has used YouTube to such a degree that CNN, the most exploitative newsgroup out there, featured her, but who cares, she has thousands of followers, and does amazing music, and lets us listen to it for free, and I'ma buy all her shit as soon as I can because HOLY AMAZEBALLS SHE HAS THE MOST POWERFUL VOICE EVER! I mean seriously, when I listen to her sing it feels like she is putting every ounce of herself into it and there it is like a train going too fast, almost rocking right off the tracks but it never does, it JUST NEVER FUCKING DOES! She just keeps barrel assing forward and plows your ears into next week with her awesome songs.

See these people revolutionized how we listen to music.  This is what you are doing:
"Gee other really rich artists.  People are listening to our music and we're not getting paid enough for it! I say we get together and if we put all of us in the SUPER AWESOME RICH MUSICIAN CLUB together, we'll be able to convince people it's worth paying MORE THAN THEY DO FOR THEIR (Insert a single persons utility) for 'high quality' streaming music of us in the SUPER AWESOME RICH MUSICIAN CLUB. AND other people who aren't quite in the SARMC will join us just to be associated with us because they want to be in the SARMC."

That is what EVERY OTHER FUCKING RICH PERSON HAS DONE WHEN THEIR WAY OF DOING IT HAS BEEN THREATENED YOU FUCKING TOOL.  I mean for fuck's sakes Juh, I expect better of people in the SARMC.  I expect you to have at least picked up a half dozen or so books and maybe come across the word revolution and know what it means.  Not as a marketing term Juh, as an actual word with an actual meaning, not just the bullshit you're spouting.

Wanna revolutionize music? Go look at the three artists I mentioned, and fucking learn from them you ass hat.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

There are things that scare me.

So come on in.  The fire is high tonight because the shadows really are a bit touchy.  Don't get close to them.  They have teeth.  But I have cookies, so we'll cuddle in close and enjoy the light.

I'm going to do something that is very much against what I believe but I also know I need to get something out of my head.  I need to make it perfectly clear that what is about to come out is really not pleasant or fun.  Feel free to back off and wander someplace else.

I feel very alone.  Part of that is I'm not a big fan of people in general.  I don't get along with a lot of folks.  Ok, I can totally appear to get along with a lot of people but really, there's maybe a dozen in the world I really like, and maybe twice that I can tolerate.  The rest drive me fucking insane.  So I stay away, because I know I'm intense, I know I will say what makes people uncomfortable, I will not tolerate stupidity and hate.  So I stay home, with my cat, and I hide from it.

Part of the reason I've lost so much is that I have not been getting out there.  About five years ago I maybe had more tolerance, I maybe cared more, I maybe didn't get so angry.  And that's the big problem.  I'm pretty fucking angry.

Angry enough to drive off the person I loved.  Angry enough to make my children uncomfortable.  Angry enough that I walked away from the one thing I'm really fucking good at.  Because I was afraid.  I'm terrified I'm going to break the last few bonds I have with people and will be as alone as I feel.

Because I know I'm not alone.  I have some of the most terrific and wonderful people in my life.  People who haven't even met me and yet still did what was possible to give me the opportunity to heal.  And I can completely rationalize that I'm not alone.  But feeling and intelligence don't always agree.

So here is how I've changed some of those behaviors.  I've been socializing more.  I've been trying to not just react negatively to people who do things that trigger my anger response.  I have done a fairly good job of not just going off on people.  And I have asked for help when I need it.

But I need to find a job.  Yet the idea of leaving my house every day is terrifying.  Having to interact with the same people every single day makes my skin crawl and my eyes twitch, and my fists clench, and my teeth grit.

And part of it is that I'm not a big fan of working at something I don't want to do.  I have had my dream job, I want to get back to it, but I need to pay the bills right now.

And my mind is not being happy about this right now and I can't find a solution.

So I'm kind of panicking.

A lot.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

I'm tired.

Yep, it's almost three in the morning, and I can't sleep.  I have lots of munchies, you might partake of the snap peas, or perhaps you want some of the noodles.  Either way, enjoy.

Folks, this whole mental health thing is tiring.  I'm exhausted.  I try very hard every day to spend an hour or more going through my cornucopia of demons and fighting them has sapped me.  I'm grumpy, short tempered, and it is very tempting to fall back into bad habits, and isolate myself because really, I'm just one big mental and emotional bruise and everything feels just horrible.

This is not to say I'm not getting better.  I am.  I've eliminated a lot of my automatic negative behaviors, I've stopped a lot of my anxiety about the potential outcome of things, and I'm taking the time to grieve for the many losses I've suffered recently.  So I am getting better.  It's just really fucking hard.

So I'm tired, but my brain won't stop buzzing, so much so it's caused more migraines in the last few weeks than I had all of last year.

So here's what I'm going to ask.  If you can take the time to stay positive with me, I'd love to hear from you about any good thing that has happened to you.  I want to surround myself with some nice stories about fabulous things that made you smile, laugh, or just comfortable.  I want to see your smiles, your pets, your comforts, and I would love to just drown in those things for a while.  Because those are the connections I need to see for my own blessings.  You can respond here, or twitter, or text, or call.  I like phone calls.  I love to talk and listen.

And if I start to sound like an asshole, feel free to just say so.  I need to hear that too.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

What I want

Come on in.  The larder is a bit bare, so we have ... uhm.  Yeah, I don't have any food to share, so bring a snack with you into the den, sorry about that.

To quote many sources, mostly my good friend ceno, writers write.  And I need to get back into the practice of writing.  So back to the blog folks.  But here's the problem:  my brain is stuck in a groove and I need to get it unstuck.

One of the best signs I can point to that I'm a lot healthier over all since, say, a month ago, is that my libido is back.  And not like 'Hmm, I could go for sex when it happens,' but instead 'Holy shit, I need this NOW! RAWR!!!'  And as a sign of this, my dreams have been just OVER RUN with the sexiness.  We all dream hundreds of dreams, and I remember a huge percentage of them, and of those, about half are with the sexy times.  So I'm going to write this out.

Point one:  If you don't want to read about my sexy thoughts, stop now.  Seriously, just step away from the blog and go play with a puppy, or read a book, or have your own sexy thoughts.

Point two:  IF you're still here this post is not about any specific female.  This isn't a love lorn post pining away for affection.  This is me trying to get some of this out of my head, some place else so I stop waking up in the middle of the night going 'Damnit!'  If you feel the need to read this as directed at you, feel free as well.  Far be it from me to stop any one else's fantasy.

What I Want.

I want you naked.  I want you sitting with the lights on, but your eyes are covered.  I want to explore.  I want to find all the places you hide, all the places even you don't know about.

I want to run my very sensitive fingers over every small part of you, touch every single place I can.  Soft, hard, light feathery touches, pressure in knots of muscle.  I want to listen to every noise you make as I run a hand over your curves, watching for the movement of muscles under your skin as your nerves react and are heightened by the lack of sight.  

I want to smell you.  I want to uncover every single scent you hold, as you sweat, as you shudder, I want to know you without seeing you.

I want to taste you.  I want to find every single pore with my tongue so that your taste is imprinted in my mind with such clarity that by closing my eyes I can recall the sensation of you moving around me as I find all your physical secrets.

I want to be inside you.  I want to inhabit you so you know every single feeling that I feel, so that every single moment we are near you find the memory stirring.  

What I Want

I hate meetings like this.  Sitting there as new policy is unrolled and some dork just drones on as he reads from a paper, the same paper we've been given, as the exact same words roll across a power point display in a half lit room.  I'm always amazed that with all the media available all it has done is given people multiple ways to be completely fucking boring in as many ways as possible.

You take a seat next to me.  We've known each other for years, always flirted, it's just one of those things.  But today, you smell ... different.  When I smile and nod, you give me a half lift of an eyebrow and purr 'Is this seat taken?' and I growl back 'I'll take it if you'll share it.'  The joke is so bad I blush, you laugh, we settle back and wait for the boring to begin.

I start it.  I write on my pad, 'So fuckin' boring!' I draw a little stick man hanging himself.  You draw a boner on it, much more detailed than anything else and write 'I think about David Carradine too.'  I roll my eyes and doodle a nut for a bolt.  You write a question mark, then 'Last time for you?' 

At this point the man clears his throat and raises his voice, we both look up like kids caught passing notes in school, and he drones, louder, 'This next part is quite important so pay attention.'

Your hand grabs my thigh and squeezes as you give me a horrified expression and mouth 'We're so busted!'  At first I think you mouth 'You're so wasted.' I'm confused, then smirk, shaking my head.  Your hand does not leave my thigh.  I write 'Are you afraid I'll run away and leave you holding the bag?'  You write 'I could hold a bag for you.'

I'm not sure how to take this.  Never before has our flirting ever gone this far, but I'm not disappointed.  I write, 'It doesn't need to be held, well, not with a hand.'

My thigh is squeezed, I sit up and cough, your nails brushing further up and finding out how much I'm liking the attention.

For the next ten minutes we stare up at the power point presentation but I don't remember a thing as you draw tiny words on the inside of my thigh with your nails.  

Finally break time.

I stand up, smile at you, and leave.  As I step out of the room I head down the hall and lean against the wall, as you come out, I take out my pack and say 'Smoke?'  You don't but say 'Sure.'  

We get into the stairwell and go down two flights before cutting into another floor, trying doors as we walk along until we find an open door.  We don't bother speaking as we slip into the room.

No lights are turned on, we just tear at each other.  This is not love, this is not passion, this is nothing but the unleashing of pure savage animal lust.  We don't even bother getting our clothes off, we just get the parts open or pushed aside as we slam into each other finding all the different ways two bodies can get as close as possible with several layers of cloth between them.

You bite at me, my tongue, my neck, my lips.

I grasp you, squeezing your breasts, your ass.  I run a hand down your thigh to grab your knee, lifting it so I can feel the muscle of your calf.  

So little noise is made except the explosions of breath and the shaking of furniture.  I don't even know what we're banging into.  

You growl and bite my shoulder so hard I can hear the seam rip, and I clutch your shoulders as my head shoots backward, following my eyes.  We don't uncouple, just stand there, locked in the expression of sex like an erotic sculpture.  We don't even breathe.  For a moment that will never be forgotten we just stop.  Petite mort the French call it.  I get it.

We finally let go.  Straighten up.

I text my boss that the power point gave me a migraine.  You call yours and claim female problems.

We find a new place to explore.

Monday, October 7, 2013

The Idiot's Guide to Slut Shaming

Come on in folks, grab a seat, grab a granola bar, and feel free to chime in at the end.

So first off let's define slut shaming.  Slut shaming is when a woman is labelled as a slut for publicly expressing her sexuality.  And this label of slut is a pejorative and we heap negative attributes on the female showing their sexuality.  And that's really all it is.  So why is this bad?

It is bad because it is a removal of agency from the female on many levels.  Any woman who shows her sexuality openly or uses her sexuality as a means of employment or advantage is doing so to serve the patriarchy and is being abused! *bzzzzt* Wrong.  While that can be true in many circumstances, prostitution comes to mind but even that can be a grey area, when it comes to entertainers (eg Miley Cyrus, Lady Gaga, Madonna, etc.) their use of sexuality might be exploitative.  But to assume that right from the start is to immediately state that any woman who expresses her sexuality is only doing it for a male audience and at their behest.  Really? So women cannot display their sexuality as a man might and enjoy it?

As a comparison, has anyone thought that Fabio, who's entire career is celebrating the inherent sexuality of his looks and body, was being exploited by the matriarchy? The only reason he did it was because women would only accept him as such?  What about Barry White?  What about Kinsey?  Are these individuals, with careers that are defined by exploring their sexuality, doing so without agency?  When you assume that there is no possibility of agency you are dehumanizing and marginalizing an individual without thought.  That's a bad thing in case you were wondering.

The second part of agency it takes away is the ability to be seen as an individual rather than as a sexual object.  When a man expresses his sexuality or acts as a sexual object, he can go back to being a man afterwards.  A woman who expresses her sexuality is now only a sexual object and she should expect to be treated as such at every turn.  This is the same bullshit that lends itself to rape culture.  A woman who dances with a man provocatively at a club must want sex, and if she doesn't give it up willingly then a man has the right to take sex by force.  The parallel is so blindingly similar I always get a little surprised when I hear a woman say it.

Slut shaming is also very much a means to control women's sexuality.  There are no limits to how a heterosexual male can express their sexuality.  He can be crude, romantic, pervy, suggestive, or lacking any sexuality.  A woman can only be a thinly defined line of sexuality, where she is to perform sexually in only specific situations for specific reasons.  Part of the problem we're encountering right now with female sexuality is a great many woman just aren't accepting this thin line of definition anymore.  And because that definition has been around so long and accepted as a part of a feminist view point of sexual explotation of women via porn, prostitution, and stripping, this new turn is causing a re-examination of the identity of female sexuality.  And let's be honest, even smart people are fucking lazy and refuse to think about things before just relying on the same old argument they've always used.  Sometimes intelligent people are the WORST at this because they know they're intelligent and assume they've given the situation proper thought.  Guess what, we usually haven't.

So that's the deal folks.  That's the idiot's guide to slut shaming and why it's a bad thing.  So knock it the fuck off ok?