Facial Topography

For reasons known only to the Universe, I was looking at myself in the mirror a little while ago and I just remembered a lot of the reasons the face looks the way it does. I thought it was vaguely interesting so now you get to hear about it, or not, I am pretty okay with either direction truthfully.

If you look at the corners of both of my eyes, under the crow’s feet and the laugh lines, there are, what now, are these tiny scars, one on each side. When we were little, my sister smacked me in the face with a bronze Pooh bear thing, a lamp I think, and busted me open. Two separate times I may add. Now, I don’t remember this happening at all, but the family lore is that she was fucking around with it and I got in the way. Whether it was that or my sociopath mother, I will never know, but the scars are real if nothing else.

Thousands of damnable acne scars line up on one another, making parts of my face look like the moon during the Late Bombardment Era. I am not particularly self-conscious about them anymore, mostly because there is precisely nothing I can do about them. I have had my plastic surgery for this lifetime thank you, they can stay there, adds character don’t you think?

Oddly enough my nose has been broken a bunch of times but it doesn’t do anything that would say that to an onlooker. Maybe I just had the good fortune to get hit equally on either side? It isn’t particularly big or small either, just there, doing it’s thing and was once a mighty vacuum of all things cocaine.

On the rare occasion, I part my lips when I smile you will notice the horrors of my teeth are very obvious. Running into doors, fists, car crashes, people crashes, floor dates, bar stools, and a few other things have made them all very unique in their way. Yes, they are all real, but that’s pretty much because I can’t afford to go and get the things I need to get done.

I have jumbo elephant/royal English family ears. Always stuck out like school us stop signs, but thankfully my gigantic melon has at least become vaguely proportional to them as the years have gone by.

My eyes, a lot less bright and blue than they were in the California desert. A bluish-gray is what I get now, although I am told they do some uber blue things from time to time. I have never been a fan of my eyes. Ever. My mother’s eyes. My sister and my brother too. There is nothing good about a color that reminds you of horrible people, places, and times. While I shall not go and pluck them out anytime soon, I am not going to wax poetic about them.

Then there is all the damn hair.

From the very top where I am fighting a losing battle with genetics to the forest of fur that populates the lower half of my mug. I started growing a mustache by the time I was 13 and I haven’t seen my top lip in decades at this point. There are a very, VERY, few people who will read this who have seen me clean-shaven except for said mustache. I am lazy and I have many a scar under the fur from shaving, so I thought I might as well grow it out. besides, Naomi liked the beard and that was the deal sealer. There are a few more colors there than there used to me. Some blonde and brown, red and gray, white from time to time. I will probably never shave it again, but life is a mysterious thing and I have done stupider this for easier reasons.

So while it is a broken, beaten, weary, weathered and hairy thing, it is mine.

State of The Bear – At Least For 9:09 In The Morning

Waking up early on a Sunday always seems like a sacrilegious thing to do. it is the day of rest, the day where no matter how hard you slam partied the night before, you can stay in bed until brunch then go hard on the Bloody Mary’s until the football games start then ease into normal mode as Monday rears its nightmarish head in the distance. It makes perfect sense and it fits the natural order and no one sets hard rules about it. Even Catholic ass isn’t until 11 most of the time, so if you can make it there you know that you are in the clear.

No, today my brain decided that on the truly one day of the whole week I can actually sleep as long as I want, I would have a nightmare about how a goddamned YouTuber was a better husband than I was. Yeah, I dream about stupid shit like that. I woke up and had my vaguely conscious and dream fueled existential crisis and then I sat up and decided it was time for some goddamn coffee.

That was about 2 this morning.

So now, with a bus scheduling change happening tomorrow, I will be tired no matter what. So there is that.

I am going to sit here and tweak around with my computer for a bit, the network card on the young one died the other day so I am restricted to WiFi-only now, which I despise, and I will be trying to make it go as fast as I can using that particular technology.

I wish I had something creative to say, it’s simply not there. I know that disappoints a few people, but you can’t just make it appear if the words aren’t there. I can’t make a story when my mind is full of things that are darker than storytime because they are real and very, very necessary to think about. I won’t apologize for not being there creatively, I will simply tell you I am and you can suck a fuck if that isn’t enough for you to understand.

Rarwz I guess



That is how I am going to start this day. FUCK FUCK FUCK.

Why, oh why you ask my lovelies? It is because I am fucking sick and it puts a fucking damper on my fucking plans for the fucking weekend is fucking why.

So that is how I am going to end this.


A Found Path

Hello There,

I have been a chaotic mess the last…while…now. I am not better by any stretch of the imagination, at least in terms of where I want to be compared to where I am, but I think it is time to share a few things that I have been trying to deal with and maybe saying them and putting them into the Universe will give me some kind of clarity into the subject, or at least I think it should help me take a deep breath before I go back to working on all of the things.

When my Naomi died, a part of me that I thought I had under control for a very long time kind of crept back into the forefront of my mind. Not a problem really, just a nagging thing that I would notice and shrug off because there was such a chaotic mix of emotions and thoughts in the weeks, months, and even years after I lost her.

Then it got a little more persistent, and so on and all the rest until we get to where I am using active strategies they taught me in voluntary and involuntary therapy to keep the worst of my demons at bay. I write journals and direct my thinking, I tried guided meditation and positive visualization and actualization. I have gone to my own path and said my whispers to Her that I say things too and that has helped me so much, so there is where I will begin.

Now, I was a Catholic, a very capital C one at that. Was going to join the team, put on the cassock and save me some souls, but life as it often does had plans for me that involved neither a deity that I would have recognized at the time and people that I never thought would begin to speak to me.

I began looking into Paganism* right after I was removed from the church by the scruff of my neck and I immediately found corollaries, because what else did I have to balance it with, with Catholicism. I will bore you if you like, but let us say that I realized how much borrowing occurred from the beginning of the church to the modern-day and leave it at that without including screaming fits of rage and heroin addiction timeouts.

So, to get back to the thing I was actually going to say before going off as I do, I have been struggling with a purpose lately. Not my own purpose per se, I am not so conceited as to think I am a figure that makes a fuck of a difference in the great mill we are all grist for. I have been turning to Her and She has given me a great deal of guidance as of late, so I thought over the next little while** I will tell you some things that I learned or am learning to help myself with the guidance of a Goddess who knows my name as well as I know the myriad of Hers.





1. By this I mostly mean Germanic Neopaganism but that is a tale for it’s own day.

2. However long that is, well, I mean, however long it is?

Ironic, Or Not, I Am Kind Of Free Flowing This One

I am sitting here swaying back and forth to music while I contemplate the infinite and, as always, prepare to format my computer because that is a thing I do to relax in this modern techno-age that we seem to find ourselves in today.

Originally I was going to write about the impending nuclear holocaust we are all going to broil in, but I thought that came across a little heavy, so I threw on Mr. Brightside on repeat and I am giving you the delightful Stream Of Consciousness that is me thinking of things at far too fast a pace and trying to shove everything in these little cubby holes in my head that not only do they not fit in, they were never even designed to be sorted, so, come on, should be a killer time.

First is that for the first time in a few years, I really, REALLY want a cigarette. I mean, it comes up now and again with stress and whatnot, but fuck it is harsh today. I am not going to go and get any, but I am going to bitch about it, so you get to watch that fantastic event. I think it is because I use to always go out on the porch and smoke a lot when there was a fuckton on my mind like there is today. It helped me process and I need that today. It is all good though, I will try to find a perhaps not so carcinogenic crutch for my psyche to lean on for a little while. I will stay sober too, mostly because that takes the thoughts to the wrong places and it is more counterproductive than anything else, you know?

Maybe it is a mania thing. I don’t know much about it, because people shutting down the option that I have such a thing, but it feels like all the literature I have read on it. However, therein layeth the problems my loves. I know the things so maybe I am manifesting the symptoms purely to explain other things. It is a real asshole thing to do to yourself too. I mean, if I gave myself Ebola at least I would have petechial hemorrhages in my eye holes and liquefied organs to show for my efforts.

So, instead, I am going to shut off my computer, put in the little stick of power, turn it back on and zone so deep into a world of ones and zeroes that there will be nothing left for me to worry about.

You stay motherfucking classy San Diego.