Since I can always deny it if you read this, I'll tell you a secret. The reason why we 69 only when you're blindfolded is so that you don't see the skin tag on my asshole. It's also the reason why we do doggy only in the dark.
I wonder what I'd be like had you not smelled my daddy issues like, like a shark scents blood in the water. What kind of life I'd have if you never whispered obscenities down the phone line into my fourteen year old ears. What I'd think about love, and sex had I not given up my virginity in a one night stand so you wouldn't be disappointed. Or even if I hadn't learned from you that love, sex, and the person you're fucking are of no consequence so long as I get mine. It's no wonder that I am terrified by love and find sex to be hollow, and have an overwhelming fear of abandonment.
Hey ya’ll —
I wanted to drop in again and let you know some cool shit that’s happened.
First: The run for Fuck It is completely sold out!!! I can’t believe it… what a fucking surreal feeling. Thank you to those who bough it, reviewed it and supported me on this wild ass journey. You’ve honestly made my childhood dreams come true. Just… wow. While you cannot purchase Fuck It through the publisher anymore – it was a limited run of 100 – I do have ten copies. Five of those copies are being sold in a bundle with my latest chapbook To Swallow the Summer and five are being sold individually. If you’re interested in purchasing one, please email me through my contact page and we can get that going!
Next cool thing: I was awarded the 2021 Excellence in Poetry Award over at Cinnabar Moth Publishing – you can check out their blurb on me here. Also I did an hour long podcast wth them which you can listen to below.
I also got this nifty little image to put here… marvel at it’s beauty, ya’ll!
So yeah… thank you all for making this happen for me. You’re making the little girl inside me scream in delight.
Hey ya’ll –
I wanted to drop in and let you know I’m not dead – at least, not yet!
I finished the semester about a month ago, and have been spending this time getting the sleep that my body has so badly needed since last September. Looking back on these last few months, I realized that I pushed myself too hard: I was flying down to NYC every Monday and coming back home each Wednesday evening so that I could attend classes. I was taking six courses, plus working a full time (manual labor) job on Thursday-Sunday. On top of all of that, I was working on my PhD application(s) – and WORK is the correct word for it. I don’t wish that hell on anyone. There was no day of rest for me and my body and brain paid for it.
I can’t tell you how many times during these last few months I’ve said that this was my worst semester ever. I was exhausted, overworked and under rested the entire time and eventually I got pretty sick for about a month and a half. It wasn’t until around Christmas that I began to feel better again. Sometime around the middle of the semester, the stress got to me, and I had an emotional breakdown in my school’s bathroom, which was a real low point for me. It did, however, make me realize that I was doing too much and something had to give.
I ended up quitting my job – which is terrifying because I’m operating off slim savings. With inflation in the US being so high, I realize that this will barely carry me through this last semester of my Master’s. It’s scary, and I’m still trying to find a job that will work with my schedule. Despite the news talking about a “Great Resignation” it’s been hard as hell to find a job in my hometown – even bullshit customer service.
As of right now my Seminary has decided to hold the first two weeks of classes online due to the rapid rise of Omicron in NYC. I’m grateful that I’m not forced to travel and am PRAYING that they will extend online learning to the rest of the semester. I can’t say that I feel comfortable – booster or not – jumping on a plane 2 times a week, plus having to ride public transport (buses, trains, etc). I stay with a lovely friend down in the city and I hate the idea of potentially bringing COVID into her home. Plus, it would be a huge relief from the financial burden. Keep your fingers crossed for me, we should know more here soon.
Like I mentioned above, I completed my PhD applications – and it was intense. The 20 page writing sample was some of the hardest work I’ve ever done. It also signaled to me that I needed to get help with my ADHD. I finally went to the doctor a few weeks ago, and began explaining my symptoms. I have a psychological evaluation (which is typical) in April (fucking US healthcare, amiright?) to officially undergo screening for ADHD but my doctor felt that I was presenting enough of the symptoms to prescribe me a non-stimulant medication in the meantime.
I’m officially two weeks on the meds – would have been longer, but I was waffling at the 150 dollar price tag (fucking US healthcare, amiright?!). Finally, I bit the bullet and footed the bill. The change has been wildly noticeable. Mood, focus, concentration, distraction management, recall … all have vastly improved. I just feel… relieved and grateful, and stable and, like, my brain is working with me. I’d like to stay on this medication – (Strattera, non-stimulant) but the price is so damn high. On the other hand, I’m kinda freaked out about shit like Adderall because it’s a goddamn amphetamine! I’m not particularly interested in getting legal speed – even if it would work better.
Anywho – that’s my update. I really haven’t been writing much, so nothing to share with ya’ll. I am pretty active on Twitter so if you wanna chat or crack some dick jokes with me come find me at @suckasspoetry Other than that, I hope ya’ll are having a great New Year wherever you are in the world.
This is my body. 36. 33. 36. Cellulite on the backs of my thighs, a highway of broken capillaries, mapping the pot holes of cottage cheese. This is my body. Tits beginning to sag with age as the years stretch out longer with nipples scarred by youthful piercings when we all believed we were indestructible. This is my body. With a belly that is no longer flat, but mushes like soft bread; an effect of diminishing estrogen. This is my body. Criss-crossed with scars, tattoos and crows feet which whisper the secrets that I've forgotten long ago. This is my body. As I stand naked before a mirror and will myself to love it though it juxtaposes what mass media dictates. This is my body. Mine to love, hate, exploit, destroy, sanctify. This flesh and bone. This is home. This is where I live.
It’s with a huge sigh of relief that I can finally say that this semester is done. Finally. This has been the worst semester I’ve ever had – between travelling back and forth to NYC each week, and trying to work a full time job on the days I’m not in the city… well, it’s been brutal. I got sick with a cold somewhere in the middle of the semester, had an emotional break down, and am only now starting to recover from the cold. I don’t wish this kind of stress and strain on anyone.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, To Swallow the Summer was released – and I just haven’t had the time to promote it as much as I’d like. Working with Johnnie has been awesome – he’s a lovely person, and was so patient with my bullshit (work, school, etc). He had an enormous hand in the getting this book together – the title, the cover… ALL his imput and I couldn’t be happier with it!
I do have some extra copies right here in my little hand, so if you’re interested in purchasing one from me (complete with a little dick doodle) please either drop a comment below or email using the contact page and we get get ya set up. If you want to buy directly from the publisher and support their awesome asses you can do so at http://www.budgetpress.net
Similar goes for Fuck It! Oh – please email me or comment below if you ordered Fuck It and didn’t receive it. A few people have had some issues with the mail/customs on the US end and didn’t get their copies yet.
What else is going on?
I have a few poems, maybe a couple of stories to post. I’m for sure doing two book reviews that I didn’t get around to this summer, so keep your eyes peeled.
That’s really about it… I’m gonna go have a nice, long coma now!
I saw someone’s guts today.
By that I mean the gaping hole in his belly was so large that, when he pulled the brownish-yellow iodine and blood soaked gauze away from it, I could see the pink, lumpy tubing of his lower digestive tract, slick with hot, red blood.
He and my kid brother share a name – a name once made famous by Alan Ladd in the 1950’s. Both of them are tall and whip thin; only one of them has a Southern accent – the other has all of his teeth.
He had run away from the hospital after two months of doctors cutting away his flesh. Finally he decided that going back to the streets was the better option.
“They said I got cancer. Maybe I should go back south. My grand baby was born yesterday, and I’d sure like to see him before I die.”
In his father’s tongue his name means “the heart,” a name so apt that I wondered if his parents had some notion of the kind of man he’d become. He looked like a child to me; wide dark almond eyes, and wild curly hair that sprung from his scalp like a lion’s mane, as soft as sheep’s wool. Even his hands looked like a child; tiny and chubby, decorated with delicate fingernails.
I learned he was gay, HIV+ and suffered from a rapidly deteriorating mental illness that closely resembled schizophrenia. When I first came to the shelter I would find him outside, lounging in the sun. He gave huge smiles, tight hugs, told excellent jokes, and held my hand. But as the summer began to die, I watched my friend start to fade.
The days became shorter and his catatonic episodes increased. He’d isolated himself entirely – that is until crashing and screaming was heard from his room. He emerged, drenched in in blood and disappeared into the underbelly of the local hospital.
“Why would I talk to someone who doesn’t give a fuck about me?”
His right index finger was jabbed against the corner of his mouth giving him a deeply pensive look as he described the conditions at another shelter in a soft, deep voice. The very same side held a deep indentation at the temple, as if someone had gently pinched his head like a ball of dough. In the middle of his forehead was a deep, jagged scar.
The bullet was still in there, he told me while pointing to his temple, and another in his chest. He’d been cornered by a man with a gun, trying to roll him for what little money he had. It was fight or flight situation – he fought.
“The last thing I remember thinking was that I had to make it home to my kids.”
He was the first friend I made at the shelter. A sort, stocky white guy with sleeve tattoos, a graying beard, icy blue eyes and no teeth. We played cards while he told me about he’d been arrested for selling crack in the early 2000’s, and the abandoned garage and lumber yard he slept in at night.
He told me about his current struggles with crack; how he’d crawl out of that filthy abandoned garage, smoke crack and cry about how he’d lost his way so terribly. He’d ask me to hold his money so he couldn’t score, but he’d come back and retrieve it from me the next day.
Then one day he disappeared. Eventually I found him in jail for violation of probation. Now, months later, he’s been released and I cannot find him. Earlier this week a man matching his description was killed by a freight train….the identity still hasn’t been released.
“I hate this. I fucking hate myself! I don’t want to do this shit… but i just can’t stop.”
***Italicized quotes are actual words from the guests’ mouths.***
I want you to find my hair in your bed; a rainbow of reds, pinks, browns, blues, greens, blonde and maybe even a little bit of gray. I want you to find it wrapped around the base of your cock when you take a shower, and between your ass cheeks, in your mouth when you eat lunch, scattered across your favorite clothes and clinging to your cat's tail, plastered on your shower curtain, and in thin, curling esses around the drain of your bathtub.
I just wanted to jump on here and let ya’ll know that there are only NINETEEN copies of “Fuck It” left. If you’ve been waiting to buy it, now is the time (it’s also on sale!) because there will NOT be another run.
Snag it here: https://newington.blue/product/fuck-it/
Come listen to me growl into the mic as I read a few poems from my newest chap, To Swallow the Summer