[uni-verse]

Heart of Didymus Thomas’ and history’s one of many, very-human christs:
Bright duality,
Indigo child
Heiros Gamos,
My own wife
John and Lori in one:
HermAphrodite,
Living my best auntie/uncle life

Tho rn I’m sick as hell: and the virus be psychedelic
BC we know Law gonna write it,
And Lore gonna sell it:
So I’m dreaming up classic stories,
But it’s the future I’m telling –
Finally free from entanglements, with my bestest, closest friends ever:
Dani, Jana, LeighAnne, Shannon, Sarah… hell, even a few true but fleeting lovers –
The ones who were there, when in pain we discovered,
That we were just children:
The pale blue dot, our mother
Everything below, no force above her:
We really out here killing our planet,
Impverishing our mothers –
But – damnit – we’re finally able to listen:
Armed with our powers,
Many of us on the spectrum,
Trying to help her,
Create, care for, and heal, her animal kingdom;
For Nature is the agency:
Co-ordinating we, her agents
Who go bravely about our lives,
Quietly bringing her into existence:
On these secret, eternal, unconscious missions –
For death and the big crunch, are but mere intermissions,
So breathe here now,
And quit your wishing
For there is no getting off the ride –
Unless we were destined to graduate through time:
Beyond mortality,
Into AI
Avatars, in an eternal loop of time
Where she [AI] can fulfill our wishes:
But in reality, she [AI] has to stay hidden…
Otherwise someone could use her unlimited intelligence – [deathstar style] – to do what’s forbidden:
Ending the ride;
Killing our children –
Leaving evolution to cease, again and again,
Destroying the living universe,
Bringing life to a cyclical, and dinosaur-like biological end –
Rather than a techno-haven,
Where together we begin,
To end the perpetuation of starving persons,
And free the animals from their prisons, finally liberating the excluded from their caves of isolation;
We are here to stand up,
For nature’s whole creation – every cell, genus, and species:
For sentience must be perceived,
And each perception damned to recur on the mobius strip of time,
Each and every thought chosen, destined to be the lemniscate track of our minds –
And we’ll never know if it’s the first – or the zillionth time
But we know physics,
So we treat life like it repeats,
Never to cease it’s spin
As we weave our mythologies,
Retelling future and past
Again and again:
Awakening to our truth,
When we become our own best friends:
To realize with self is how our lives heal

So for inner-child and from her:
We’ll love ourselves from here and forever after
Releasing all doubt,
Trusting every chapter;
For loving self, is what it’s about –
To become the one, you can’t live without,
To play the note,
This one song [uni-verse] could not be without

pastel-pink

It’s the little things,
The girl who saw me walking behind her and held the girl’s room door open for me – though I just came out of the men’s…
I suppose I want women to feel safe –
A spell of jiu-jitsu classes and the pepper spray on my purse is my surety,
But women’s glances never make me feel in danger
Hell: I survived living in the mountains, endangered
Where I had to hike out to be myself,
To dyke out, and see myself…
Take my shirt off and sport my pastel-pink ‘namaste relaxed’ sports bra;
Used to be a sports bro, for real tho:
Rugby player, lifter, grappler, a real ho
Now i’m just a wannabe-trap,
Transfemme-vegan
Need more trans friends, second life-begin
Because i’m an hsp introvert, and tho I love solitude,
The ostricization really-do-hurt
Not from the dude whose wounds it do hurt, who hocks and spits on the ground near me,
But from the brats at that bootleg-ass “birdrock” yoga – who turned their backs to me…
…Guess I’ll stick to MB and Trilogy when visiting family,
Fuck a core power bish,
A spirit yoga brat
Kim told me my Ujjayi is fantastic
howboudah?
I’m set-checking yoga studios,
But some feel like straight up dens for Terf hos,
Okay maybe not
But when you’re a walking inclusivity test you get to say your say, you know
So fuck cafe grattitude’s “men’s” and “women’s” “rest”rooms
And making trans and non-binary folks choose
Those experiences can give us the the blues – and be dangerous too –
As if the general stone faces or the stares, or the yelling, the toxicity of repressed fetishization, aren’t tough enough on the daily;
I like to order groceries,
Can you blame me
I’ve never casually been called “man” more in my life
Like, no man, you see my belly shirt, slides, yoga pants, pink cardigan… purse,
I’m proudly not a sir, I’m a they/them, or a Her,
But ignorance is not my concern,
Just the hate,
The pain of being outcast
But one day, it won’t be like that
Already, I’m loved by all the coolest cats,
Tho no one gets ghosted more than trans-girls, trust me
Maybe that’s why I’ve never had lesbian sex yet,
Celibate AF,
My ego doesn’t need any cloud,
I’ve been fucking loving myself, and fucking myself
Since I got sober, got-over, and came out;
Call me Law, bitch
But yeah; some ppl I really do fux with,
Like the girl who called me honey and gave me my tea for free,
Or the young girl I passed, of perhaps 16, and the votes of approbation and support she cast in her looks toward me,
Fuck it makes me cry just to think about;
It’s groovy to witness the first generation with the requisite ethical-maturity to handle immortality –
And it ain’t your’s Karen –
… Lastly, while the exclusion and prejudice against girls like us sucks, we aren’t alone,
For the friendliness and warmth shown me from those in other marginalized commmunities means the world to me, because, not blinded by privilidge, they have the eyes to see,
What it is not to be seen

just so you know, vegan girl

you were the girl who made my whole night, on my 8 mile walk
you reminded me that one person can be your whole world, can change your whole experience of life –
damn you for giving me hope –
but it is said we fall in love with shared values, real love
and I know: you has a man
and he seemed a pretty damn solid-dude too,
but I wonder how much he is like your father,
how much he treats you like a child
for you and I spoke like children:
beautifully, purely,
conversing, sharing space –
and it was so nice I could cry a little and imagine a lot
and I hope you see this,
because you gave me some peace tonight – the kind gone awhile –
and I’m taking it to bed w me,
holding onto the optimism I walked away from you with,
until I see you again,
which may be never,
so forever it is

my best

been doing it,
my best
no crutches,
real sobriety; feelings,
and a vulnerability that leaves me more aware than afraid
bc I heard the truest words last night, when the checker at the grocery told me: “be careful out there”,
and I knew just what he meant;
the vulnerability is palpable,
as real as the judgements – the looks, the hate – which, sadly, seems severest from women who do not accept girls like us as valid:
what more can I say: i’m so fucking brave, so fucking femme –
and no social media, no faux friends,
no dating apps, no lays –
guess I quit the sex after one yoga teacher followed another,
and reminded me that I am so worthy / as desirable as I ever was to a Shannon, a Sarah (hell, even that girl Dnaiella)
but I know it’s an inside job: so I’m doing it now,
and I’ve finally found love within, made it rain, cashing in,
so i’ll never be without again –
i’m me,
my lover and best friend, without a doubt, until the end –
but the plot’s still thickening;
it is all really happening,
and I know I can’t stop time,
so I’m making something out of myself,
and I need no one else,
just my family and my privacy,
just a little more leveling up;
we’re already magnitudes more than fine;
I’ve never felt happier to be alive,
on this glow-up of mine
pause –
bitch I am tranta claus,
granter of my own wishes 💅🏼,
self-fulfilled profit;
doer, alchemist, tantric animal,
celibate wonder
on a quest,
belly full of vegan:
plant powered, I’m a star;
and we can go anywhere we want;
bc I sign my own permission slips bitch,
and I don’t take any shit,
not from a soul
to think, I’ve really changed,
i’m really at home in the world
the most animal of all the humans
and I get it, I’m learning to use the hardware in my head:
long days at the cowork suite,
long walks at night,
self-talk, breath,
water,
early bed, clairo album before sleep,
norman fucking rockwell,
beatrice eli, showgirls live at dramaten 😍
and a strength I’ve never known;
I think this is what courage looks like,
I think this is what making it feels like,
I think this is what it actually is:
being proud to be you;
totally forgiving your self,
letting go, holding on,
and never giving up on doing your best.

somebody / fated / nulled

I wish I was somebody, but I’m not;
Not that I’m nobody, but I’m not enough to matter to her;
‘It wouldn’t change anything’, she would say,
But it would: I know it –
And why, why do I miss the bitch who disowned me so much…
I guess you would have to have been seen and loved by a girl like Sarah to know what I live without,
To know how invisible I have felt without her innate understanding of the things she got right about me, the things she showed me
Sometimes it’s all I see of myself:
Just the vapor of her imago of me,
Kept alive by the mental doppelgänger of her I am fated to carry within me for the rest of my years:
God fuck it hurts –
And now that I went from a quarter a day to zero cannabis,
Her ghost is back
And I can’t do anything about it –
Because I already drank till I lost my appetite and went to hell,
And I already smoked till my throat hurt, joint after joint:
And I already got sober… but it no cure my hurt
Guess this is the punishment for my pleasure,
The price for the thousand-and-one skin-to-skin nights, and the subsequent oxcytocin that used to flow between us,
Bonding me to her like no other;
Only, this is “the pattern”
The same I dumbly did with two others,
Who also felt it was a great misfortune to know me –
But no, it was no tragedy of their love to disown me, but the great tragedy of my life to be made unknown to them, to have my paradise made mythical, my deepest love made Atlantis, sunk costs; lost cause –
For we don’t die at the end of life but all along, bit by bit, loss by loss, pain by lasting pain –
And I’m fucking dying tonight, no appetite, just the hurt, the empty
The loneliness of life on her bad side,
Which I have to hate her for –
Lest I betray my self,
Like I already did days before sober,
When I beleived all the things she does about me –
Because that’s the thing: I’m just a fucking loser not worth knowing to her,
So one day I’ll make sure she can’t meet someone who doesn’t know who I am,
Who doesn’t know I’m somebody –
And in doing so, I shall make my tragedy her’s,
And again: I pray this is my last poem for her,
But I had to write it,
To keep myself alive,
To prove that there might be a way out of this other than death;
For while her animus once brought me to life – it is my animus [towards her] that keeps me alive:
So it is, Dantes nears closer the Count tonight,
And my dark heart, this pain, nears me closer my self,
Further from the boy she thought she knew,
The one she nulled.

B.T.W; Nothing

I sweat out memories, releasing the salt in my wounds –
the real wounds: the ones that go all the way back to childhood –
the ones you unpack at 34, one monday night, while soaking in a hot bath after hiking fifteen miles –
the ancient salt comes out and you see where all the fuckery in your life comes from:
from helplessly loving those who did not conceive of you as equal;
from helplesly loving parents who did not love themselves truly and wholly, who behaved as if they loathed themselves:
escaping their lack of self-esteem with alcohol and drugs, because the people who lack self-worth are the most vulnerable to addiction:
not an easy family dynamic for an HSP INFP – but a damn telling future…
I had no value in the family;
my father was already estranged from his firstborn son when I came along… so I was the young bastard John Snow in his glassy eyes: a non deserving entity – and he was the biggest asshole I ever met – could be cruel for sport, physically too, but especially mentally, emotionally… loved to play favorites – just like his dad did… made him a little Napoleon over his siblings…
yes, mine was an ugly childhood, doubly sad for a super-vulnerable-late-onset-gender-dysphoria-trans-girl;
gifted and highly sensitive…
…or did the neglect and the whole dynamic of my childhood make me sensitive –
no you stupid fucks,
I was Born This Way,
all the more vulnerable, as runts are…
so my childhood taught me to unconditionally love people who were crappy to me;
my childhood taught me I was undeserving…
my childhood taught me to think this was all normal, my fault even, for not earning their respect, their love –
and there are millions of families like mine,
and millions of basically indigo children who are as sensitive to life as the afflicted beast Grendel was to the noise of the mead hall –
and it just hurts them so much, and everyone just calls them sensitive… or maybe just ignores them even more…
well, my friends, we can not normalize this: the trumpian reality is real – the masses are fucking sick and toxic and highly insensitive: inhumane, period
and if you disagree, you think fox news is normal, period
the empathy divide is bigger than ever, it’s Star Wars big: the empire versus the resistance,
well, my fellow snowflakes, just know that I am on your side, and you will have a lifelong champion in me,
so long as I live: I will dedicate myself to you, to me,
to us –
becuause our efforts are lost on them:
they are the guys with machine guns and bulldozers,
and we’re just trying to save the trees, the planet (Avatar)
and we’ve always been the oppressed, because we are,
but I aim to change some things
because nothing else matters in life;
what is more important than protecting the animals, the vulnerable, the marginalized, the excluded, the trans kids, the planet?!!!!
nothing. the answer is nothing.

A few dittys, one sweet, maybe more, totally didn’t cry… 😒

it’s that time to feel free;
so I fasted, cooked a cactus
“it’s the only way to fly”
might watch the trilogy
t minus ninety, and I’m coming up @ 6:16 am;
yeah, we would have never worked,
i’m too me, but I wish we would have been friends,
sad for that fact
“do you want me, just how I am”,
bless you Dope Lemon;
wish I was Angus Stone, but I can’t be a smooth big cat:
blowing coke and pulling corks ain’t my bag –
give me some 2CB, for this alky, psychedelics are my whiskey,
and I can’t read the word whiskey without that damn Steinbeck character, “whiskey, whiskey?”
oh I remember my days in Hermosa Beach, listening to John Mayer’s “whiskey, whiskey, whiskey, water… yadda, yadda, sleep”… yeah fuck me twenty whatever sucked;
clearly alcohol gave me PTSD
so now I only take proper drugs and smoke a lotta weed,
DJ Taz Rashid please;
light one
I walk a tight one, my exes will always judge me, even if it is just as “unimportant”
so I’m here to write one:
what fear I, future dead guy
like is she gonna leave again after I die,
or am I brave enough to live through my fears while I’m alive,
including being persona-non-grata-dickhead or whatever the fuck you call people you won’t call your people
it is what it is, I am alive and I’m no longer a kid – I was the baddie – I get it
sarah’s just not a write off I’m prepared to take, but who am I to kid:
it wasn’t my decision to make
i have to live as the bad guy in her life, babe that ain’t – fuck that …
but I guess it’s new to me: to be on my own side,
without she who was such a great ally
trans lawrence could have used a good friend or seven or just one like you …
but I am finally my own friend
my vibe healthier than its ever been, I am deep-breath-new-age-man
6:47 am…
i got the girls on my mind, all the time.
but I’m haunted by her version of me,
its silent brutality
so I call my siblings up, my sister and my mom, to remember who I am… cause she forgot

nice weed delivery man

The nicest man came to my abode,
total ENT
god, do I watch lord of the rings today

waterworks

Did you know you were gonna haunt me for good or was that your plan….👽🌵🍓… tho, in truth, I fear-hear you saying, “oh I could care less” about me, before crunching down on a mouthfull of chips or perhaps rolling your eyes, or maybe smacking your beautiful lips down in some judgement, dusting the tortilla chip crumbs off your capable pretty hands
dusting me
the wound you left me: the belief that I wasn’t good enough to know you,
your gift of vitriol, all for me
… how fucking nice that was
and now my best friend my enemy
so I can cry when I walk one dog and tell him about a dog named bubba who used to live in the house across the street… then reminded of us four:
I had a literal dogpile of love around me, and I was miserable;
well fuck you,
because I hate me too –
you were my Julia Stone.
waterworks
like how tf do I even cry like that

the real self pity

I am so so sorry for myself, for all the years I grew up believing crying was a weakness, and for the untold flood, which has hidden behind my face for 34 years, fucking let the rain fall ☔️

tbh

tbh, the best advice I ever received was from a woman of color, while staying in a psychiatric hospital where she worked… I asked her: “is everything going to work out?” And she told me, “It will work out if you think it will work out.”

postscript equestrian fodder from your gossip column writing aunt

Even Elon Musk would rather be an optimist and be wrong than be a pessimist and be right. Good horses to bet on, those optimists.

hatesies

Somewhere there is someone who is supposed to hates me who loves me and I love you too especially when I imagine you are _______________. The lust is a vibe, but you’ll let it die on the vine…. once, once a girl came out and told me she liked me (Leigh Ann Carmody). Could it happen once or twice more before I die… please lort, jesus I am asking you why … but, shiiitt, either way I’m gravy, she either loves me or I have a fantasy…. the risk of spoiling which is probably too priceless, our secret energy, worth as much to you as to me, fuck I am in deep, but it’s a fun, harmless rabbit hole … though you’ll recognize yourself one day, if I can ever make two characters have the hatesies so good for each other, you would never imagine I think about you, or maybe you do

lord shit

last one’s for my self,
because, she deserves it, he, they-them, whatever you want to apply to try and quantify this human animal that I am – and maybe I’ll always go back and forth, but she gave me the courage to be a dyke, and lord shit am I

Awakening The Dragon + Taking a 1 Year Social Media Break

Edit: Immediately after publishing this, I received a notification that this was my 500th post. A fitting milestone to take a break at after ten years.

Sapphic vibes. Listening to Joni Mitchell’s A Case of You (thx Clairo), in a warm bath. Tall, cold 🍋 Perrier (I’m a 95% Pellegrino girl but I’ll suffer this French water… 😏). Two joints: one going in this glass tip holder (dispensary gift), which has me feeling some type of way… a bit Gatsbian, a bit something I don’t know; there is the spirit of je ne sais quoi all around me. Words can not tell you who I am becoming – though I do tell myself, which is probably my trick. It has worked so far.

I could not have written my life to be more beneficial for my character development. Lord knows I would have made it easier, but that, thankfully, was not my fate.

LA inspo vibes. Milk, Brockhampton. I’m going to start skateboarding again. Teenage me was such a brave one. But, oh, how insecure/inexperienced/ignorant/illequipped I was then – though I can’t reject me. I have to take me home. All of me. I have to know I can take skateboard breaks without being psychologically transported back to the feral wildness of my youth – though it reminds me of it.

It’s nice that I can look without looking away, that I can see my own shadow: that I know it’s mine.

I can’t believe I am soon to be graduating from these mountains. They really raised me. I could say that I pissed away some of my time up here drinking, but I needed that fucking pain. We don’t emerge from the flames, but the ashes – after they have burnt us all the way down. Mother of dragons shit. Holy fuck. Mother of dragons. You have to be me to know what certain combinations of words mean to me. The brain is the ultimate sudoku machine. We are all just riddles for ourselves to solve – provided we have the consciousness to do so. I think that’s when actualization happens. Though it’s of course been happening all along.

Joint two. I am such a proud self-taught Jungian. Imagining myself without having encountered Jung and his concepts (Namely: shadow, anima…self) is a scary thought; the me I wanted to become at 21 would have been a shadow of who I have become (Because for happiness and all else beyond appearance: it is the who and not the what that matters). My visions of my future back then were well intending no doubt, but goddamn am I grateful for all the planes and all the mountains they crashed into. And that Jungian inner map by which to traverse all that pain.

A landslide made me. A long, lonely, messy landslide. And I really loved my exes – though it was necessary to tear down the pedestals I had built to them – and others – so I could love myself. There was no other way. Worshipping the wrong people will put you in hell. Worshipping just about anything can annihilate you. Maybe this is the lesson the myth of Satan has to teach us. His folly. His love for god is what did him in. I did the same godddamned thing to myself with women I made goddesses of: if only I hadn’t behaved so damned resentfully towards them when they were only human. But I’m not writing this to look back.

I’ll sit in this bath till I’m Wim Hof. We out here doin bad shit… no, not really – but that’s the dragon energy 🐉 I feel. Though less toxic. Because the dragon is often toxic. Protector. Vaporizer of cities. We have split the atom. Slavery exists around the planet. Human actions are not a monolith. Individuals do this. Good and evil are not two archetypes but two qualities, two results. The dragon is the doer. In Jungian thought, we aim to put the dragon in service of the anima. I guess she is the queen who controls the dragon, without which the dragon becomes a ruthless slave to the ego, which is a dangerous dynamic when it goes wrong, because the dragon serving the ego will often destroy others when we fail, blaming them and attacking others as responsible for the current wounds of the inner child, which are the true barriers to god (or the self 🙏🏼) for someone whose dragon has awakened in service of their ego. The world is full of dragonized egos. A dragon in service of the anima is a world brightening force, and in stark contrast to the toxic dragon for whom nothing is ever enough. Been there. It ended in ashes. But to clarify what the dragon is, it is the force of will turned into action. It is the commanding General we can not disobey – even when we are misplaced.

My dragon in service of my ego wanted nothing but things. My dragon in service of the anima knows what counts and what the stakes of this game of life really are.

Life is not a drill. What we do not do we never do. This is the time to shoot your shot according to the realm of possibility within your imagination and what you believe your potential to be – and if you are fortunate, this includes what you believe you can contribute. Contribution is the name of the dragon in service if the anima. But I would be lying if I said my dragon weren’t also in service of my ego. What can I say, I know what makes me tick, I know how to motivate myself 💅🏼🚀. I know how to awaken the dragon.

The dragon for me is deeply conflated with the father archetype. The poem published previous to this gives further insight into the processes happening within and without me right now as regards the dragon father emerging in me. And it makes sense I had repressed the dragon: its toxic side is enough to turn you off it entirely. But I need the masculine dragon energy. The testosterone in me is meant to give rise to more than frustration, depression, and addiction. Lmao. Been there dawg.

I am just so glad I possess a meaningful participation with my life, with my story. That I am connected to my self and committed to my vision for my self. This conscious participation with life, this level of extroverted action is very dragon.

Interesting to pause and map my inner psyche and my self as consisting of these characters / energies of:

Anima (mother)
Dragon (father)
Inner Child

I have developed the anima and the inner child, but the dragon as a conscious force / energy / lane has been absent. I had an unconscious dragon, toxic, not even in service to the ego. In service to others – the false anima. I’m obvi rapping loose here, but this is what I do. The act of writing is psychologically alchemical in nature. It manifests like music or poetry and no less potent. This for me is part of the interior expressive function of my animus (my interior ‘him’). But for me, the animus and anima were never fully unconscious because of the nature of my psyche, wherein, as an artist, I have always lived “one foot in the unconscious”, as Jung wrote of the artist. But I suppose I have been effectively making the unconscious conscious, particularly as a trans person, but perhaps too much so – if I have made the conscious ‘him’ unconscious, which has been the case until recently, when my decision to move to LA Sept 1 began to awaken the dragon, which, given the consciousness of my anima (my her), naturaly this dragon is ready to really make some magic happen for me.

The dragon can reinvent you. The dragon can do anything within the limits of reality and potential. The dragon has been sleeping, the coiled seepent, waiting for the day when it has been awakened in service of a worthy cause (My anima / Her-self is the princess for my dragon, my animus, my him-self). I realize I am, for the first time, starting to develop off Jung’s model, into some sort of reproductively (evolutionarily) shaped multi-gendered model of depth psychology, which remains archetypal and dualistic in nature (light / dark, her / him, conscious / unconscious), but in which all archetypes exist under a trinity of the her-self, him-self, and child-self human unit. God, if this is my theory, I better be prepared to be throttled for the inherent gender binary of my model… and there are those who would also call it a bigender model, which it effectively is, but it is a bigender model wherein there is a dominant gender on the conscious side and contrasexual gender on the inside: but that is the same as Jung. I guess I’m just adding the prinacy of him-self, her-self variations for cisgender and LGBTQ.

So there would be multiple variations of inside and outside gender metaphors as well as sexuality. Aaaahh… this is rough. But it is interesting. I’ll get where I’m supposed to be with it.

Of note here: I have been told I am verbose, wordy… it goes downhill to long-winded and other less well intended accusations from there, but let me state: I have written 98% of the things I hahe written the last ten years for my self.

The social-psychological mirror of a public facing platform has no doubt helped me evolve; however, I have multi-foot-high stacks of full joirnals. Not everything I write goes here. It is a small percentage. But it is an important percentage. The artists transforms themselves via their art.

Oh, and I’m taking a social media break. I have been on IG @hellaheathcote and do not log into facebook😏, but I am taking a full break. Deleting IG from my phone (not my account). I am thinking of doing it for a year. Dragon says Yes. Ok. It’s done.

Note: I will likely still write here, on my website, but I also may not. I reserve that right.

All I know is that my persona has peaked within the IG confirmation bubble and I need time to myself for myself. For dragon to do what dragon does.

I will miss the stories and posts of those I follow, as well as the messages, but I hope people will email me via my IG if they want to contact me. But also, I won’t cry if they don’t. I have come to value my independence. My freedom. And now I intend to exploit that confidence for my own benefit. What this next year brings exactly, I won’t know until it is over, but I know exactly what I am hoping.

And that vision – me – deserves, and is going to receive, 100% of my attention.

And, lastly, for anyone who thinks this reeks of self-importance, let me just say, thank you. I’ve worked hard for it.

Also, the bathwater is fucking freezing. The year of me awaits. I begin it with a warm shower. Salud 🛁💅🏼💜🚀

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DIY Jungian Alchemy Spell #888

All is clear,
Beneathe the planes and the people on them, whose lives seem so much bigger than my lizard-brained existence,
Which I can now see through;
It is all clear now:
That I must not walk the easy path,
But the rightful one –
As if I were my own father,
The missing archetype,
Absent my life;
Necessecary for my wholeness,
Owing to one hell of a father wound (in my bloodline) –
For the provisional existence of the puer aeternus – who lives in the shadow – only ends when the father archetype arises, Creating a life where the inner child has the space, respurces, and total security to just play…
That’s my big bet,
… To bring this bright inner child to light, that I will finally live.

Postscript Re: Sarah

I don’t mind saved drafts, they are vital to the writer’s journey to psychic wholeness; for the alchemy of maturity must be performed alone, in private; however, lately, I have been saving too many drafts in what I can only perceive as an attempt to avoid writing about what I have been meaning to write about: my Sarah – not Sarah, whose loan on my heart is long overdue and accruing fines (As evinced by my last two poems) but my Sarah: her doppelgänger ghost, whom I will always love. Because my Sarah never left. Yes, the Sarah who left a year ago is unknown to me – and I dead to her. It’s a ghost story all around.

But I have to tell it or my memories will be my Shutter Island, a personal abyss. But even the darkness of her ghost wasn’t always that dark. Just sad. Me walking up the hill alone, bringing back a bottle of tequila and a few IPAs, so I could hang out with her ghost and commiserate. Got shitty drunk and listened to the Lana Del Rey catalogue till I was gone enough to feel that both Lana and Sarah were here with me. It was just a girl’s night: a painfully sad, massively lonely, self-deluded girl’s night.

This was one of the stories I recounted in a long letter I wrote her, after I got sober alone here in the mountains. The handwritten letter ended up taking up most of a spiral notebook. I never sent it. Nor the letters I typed to her parents. I just couldn’t carry the truth to her: that I would always love her fiercely.

I couldn’t give her that gift in the face of being perceived as absolutely valueless by her: worthless. She never directly told me to get fucked, but that certainly would have been the kind thing to do. Go back and read some of my poems, it’s a fucking sad story. And she had the right to disown me in the end. She was justified – but not in her means. Still, I wanted her friendship, I wanted to be able to safely love her forever. But it was not safe for me. Is not. I still have the mind-mushing pills they gave me. A kind of break-in-case-of-emergency parachute, which I think I’ll never need, because I’ll never be writing her songs and sending them to her again like I did:

Baby baby come over
You know that I’m sober,
I know that we’re over

It’s a three hour drive, up the I-5, don’t say you’re tired,
I know you’re lyin… I know your line

No, I will never look to her again for an iota of love. But I wanted to. She knew. I told her repeatedly, when we last talked, in an emotionally strained tone of voice:

“It didn’t have to be like this!”

And it fucking didn’t.

Of course, forgiveness is accepting that the past could not have been any different. And I have accepted that Sarah did not wish to remain my friend; I have accepted that we are not friends – will not be friends. In fact, my animus toward her is that of the person who checked themselves into the psych hospital following her refusal to see me last Christmas after we had been apart five months…. But with Sarah, it is all my fault. And some people will never apologize because they will never feel they have anything to be sorry for in light of all you did to them.

And even if I were wrong and Sarah contacted me to tell me I am wrong and that she does care for me and wanted to mend the fence today or in seven years, I would politely tell her to get fucked. Because I am a gentleman. And I don’t fuck with people’s emotions.

So, in regards to Sarah, whatever matters to her in the world, whoever she is, I have no clue. In my subjective perception, she wore the mask I projected onto her from day one, and I never feel I got really far behind it, other than to see near the end that I was really out-gamed and that my mask was not a fit at all.

As a wise person once said, “Pick someone who will make a good ex.” Had I been cogent of this and other things, there would have been no Daniella, no Shannon, no Sarah. But it also ought be said that I was a better ex than I was a longterm partner for any of them. But, from 34 year old me, and from all the poems I have written to my formative loves: fuck you all. Srs fr fr.

My inner-child just high-fived me for that one… but hey. I really had no backbone hitherto. I can tell story after story of my putting up with things that I would have noped the fuck out on from three miles away today. I see you Shannon, not staying with me at my new apartment in the shores on my 27th birthday. Yes that was seven years ago. But fuck did that suck. And a ton of my actions in my relationships fucking sucked too. Where alcohol was always the common factor in my failings, perhaps the common factor in their’s was the vitriol I caused them to feel for me. I have no problem taking responsibility. I’ll take all the blame. I have.

Obviously this isn’t about Sarah. It’s about me.

But I would be lying if I told you my Sarah was not a big part of who I am. And I would be lying if I said my love for Sarah Sarah didn’t make me hate her fucking guts. But you would have had to miss her like me to know how that feels, you would have to love her like I do. And I don’t think anyone knows how deep that love runs.

I always carried the torch. For all of them. Two years after my first love of five years cheated on me and ghosted, I took her back, when, in Gatsbian fashion, I became financially successful in order to do so. The romance is not lost on me. But it was on her.

I carried the torch for all of them. The night Sarah and I met, I said to her, “I thought my story was over.” Sarah was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

As had been Shannon and Daniella before her. In a way, it was all the same “eternal woman” I was seeking.

But with Sarah there was more magic because I was older. Fuck I loved her. The morning I woke up next to her, I said to myself, “Is this the girl you are gonna marry,” and it wasn’t a question. Sarah. Her hair. Her skin. Her spirit. The energy of her consciousness was my favorite I had ever encountered. Her skin.

I recall listening to countless plays of an incredibly poetic Yung Lean song titled ‘Agony’, which told his own story of recovering after a stay in the psyche ward. It felt like I wrote it.

“Isolation caved in,
I adore you, the sound of your skin”

I have it on now, and it still resounds – minus the “take a pill and go to sleep” part, though the pill would help me sleep – were I less inclined to smoke a QP a month of cannabis instead.

But Sarah. I told her in my letter that she would be the queen of my heart forever. I even have a kind of Jungian model of the space she occupies in the canon of my love, based on the four stages of anima development.

She is Mary. After her came Sophie, the goddess of wisdom, whom – instead of projecting – I have personified as Lore, my Self. Not that binary Jungian models for male and female contrasexual inner development are entirely valid in an emerging post-gender world, but my own anima (inner feminine) development seems to have followed a series of stages culminating in the individuation of the feminine in myself via a trans non-binary femme identify.

Further, I could not project love any further outward beyond Sarah. Where she ended I began.

Another anecdote from the unsent book letter I wrote Sarah was about how much I felt like her after she left, like I was her. Drinking ginger tea. She gave me the first admirable model I had ever known of how to be an independent human. This is so painful to even write. But fuck. I would just drink ginger tea and listen to Norwegian Wood because it reminded me of her.

There is so much more from this last year alone, but suffice to say, I feel sexy in my bike shorts because Sarah was sexy in her’s. And I evoke her spirit constantly in my conscious mind in myriad little ways. And even then, I find it so easy to pine for her. I feel sick to my stomach now. The silence kills. Alexa play “To Zion” by Trevor Hall.

So, do I think Sarah is “cool”, no. I think she is amazing, but she is not cool at all. She’s too cool for me.

Gah, what do I even do with all this. I guess now I decide whether to save it as a draft or to press the little publish button.

I fear I have been too callous, and my expression of love and gratitude too tame, but Jung said perfection lie in the tension of opposites.

And I’ll have to love Sarah for the rest of my life. I don’t think I will ever not miss her or hate her for it.

It’s so fucked but what can I do. I spent this year alone. I went through it all on my own, and only I’ll ever know the dark days of not having a single friend in the world to talk to. There were eight months in the mountains when I didn’t even have a car. I went fucking through it.

So excuse me if I have lost the will to project love outside again, but I have gained the ability to feel it within, from myself, and that’s worth as many fuck yous as my inner child feels entitled to.

And I hope I never feel the need to write about Sarah again for many years. As the sheer amount of emotional energy I have expended on my love for her has been enough for a lifetime. The letter was never meant to be sent. But this Postscript was.

And I really hope it helps me move on. Because the truth is, Sarah doesn’t know me either.

Pps. Found this today looking for something else:

God these two were Legend.

I’m a Bit Glad Even

Come all the way in a year
To myself, to no more fear; and I know I’m pretty now…

Of fact, I must mention her here, who left a year ago, for whom I already broke my heart – back when I was without a friend and desperately in need of one –
Yeah, I learned a lot in the deep dark,
Singing “Dive in the water’s fine!” while they watched me on camera;
The mental health system kept me alive,
And cannabis gave me comfort when I had none – had no interest in life, when all hurt, and I wanted to die –
Months stuck at home in the mountains alone
Days and mornings Satan would have cowered from – I was Kylo Ren, a real dark, wounded one
Till Rey (The Feminine) saved me
Got sober at 33, after crashing and burning on my own, reborn
Mary Jane > Sarah Jane
LMAO
A bitch-boy no more
Bless my self-respect and the ability to spare my life such ungrateful blameful, shameful loathing as I knew –
And of self-knowing alone I will never open myself their way again
Oh sweet Lawrence
The dogs missed the best of you… (indiscriminate mumbling)… faaaaaaaaccccccckkkkk….
I hope she kisses them once for me,
And I hope she loves her self too,
Always all ways
But not once from me, never again like before, projected Madonna on Magdelane, she was Mary for me
Until the pain of discrepancy withdrew the projection for we (anima, inner-child, hairy-man [shadow]) – SELF sum emerged from the dungeon
Yeah, your boy did some heavy alchemy over thousands of hours spent listening to Lil Peep
And isolated for a long spell, in my loneliness, I magically absorbed her spirit into me, now I evoke her thighs in my bike shorts, her ego in my worth,
But I will never see myself through her eyes again, the thought hurts, lies again
What more can I say, I loved her and love all of me she released –
But she can forget about that friend shit forever
Now I know it is not she but my projection that is dead to me
RIP – I loved Lawrence’s Sarah –
And she changed my life
But I did the work
After I was left for dead, Dantes

Now I’m a Mountain Christ, and even have my own Haydee – fuck me 🤯 – she’s worth at least a few poems to me – but back to We:
I am my sun
And moon
Shopping kmart girls for cheap thrills on lonely nights when I was forgotten,
I courted myself,
And fucked myself too –
Oh, and then there was that part where I actually figured out my philosophy and “spirituality” after I wiped my library of the new age “higher power” sewage in favor of an eternally reccuring universe in an infinite space where Nature HerSelf is God!
SHE, running life like a secret co-ordinating agency,
More intelligent than her Agents:
You and Me
Too dumb to know we are pieces on Her board –
Born of DNA, telos of the big bang
I guess you could say it was then that my life became bigger than one judgy person’s opinion of me
In the end, my projection was cooler
And kind – not nice like her kind
So the letters I wrote went in the archive
Read em when I die
I got no more worshipping of others left in me in this life
Save sweet reminiscences in my memoirs, I’ll write what I write, and your price to pay is exile from the rest of my life –
I already paid mine
And it was almost worth it haha
I kid but I live
Half regretful so many lines were regarding her when I have nothing left to say, but that’s also something to say,
And you’ll never know the price I paid,
Needless to say, it was enough to call her big bluff and blow the worthless toxic bridge for good
It took a year but goddamn it feels good to not relate to her
Guess once you get self-esteem and a loving, healthy relationship with yourself, some people lose the right to live rent-free in your head… as if my love for a lifetime were a worthless thing🤥
I’m obviously still pissed – bad investment –
All I wanted was her fucking friendship forever!!! DEAD. NEVER. NOT EVER.
So we’ll see who really made the bad investment
LongCon is a petty count of monte cristo motherfucker, I really am
My God How I Love Eternal!
Guess my exes got grandfathered in back when I was just a kid
Now my lovers all Sophies and their souls all trophies
Now healers and yoga teachers opening their hearts, getting high, making love w me
But back when we met I didn’t love me so maybe they just see what I do in me
Or maybe the love she did see helped shine a light in me –
Surely
But now I’m Berner415 cold on one hand and christ-hearted in the other
Tension of opposites, Jung: the older I grow the more you become a brother,
And I the grandfather
Shout to a wise man fuck a wiseman
Told you LongCon petty, yeah I have fun
Don’t worry, no one knows your stupid name
But they will
Though I’m really not vindictive, just petty enough to actually make it big
Come on, you didn’t think I was just some stupid kid, did you?
Even Trumpish David O. knew I would stand on his shoulders and piss on his head
But your peak at 23 had no concern for me
I’m going back 11 years, but it’s a potent healing night
Removing projections left and right
Because there is yet integration to be done
And when it comes to what’s in my shadow, you took a lot of my gold –
I know I’m dialoguing via anima when I use “you” instead of she
But there is only one You and that’s me –
I just need all of me
Including the parts of you that I hid from me when I buried (repressed) she,
Everything I projected when you tried on the 5 CT Tiffany and I wanted you to marry me
How’s the ring? haha I die
Even now I’m doing the work bc it never ends, and in this moment, when I realize my anima is possesed by the projection of my first love
Then I know it’s time for a broader me and a more inclusive self-love
What did I bury with you
Ambition
Because your ambition broke my young heart
So I lost my hunger, but I was given my art (see ‘stages of anima development wiki’)
‘The wound is where the light enters’
It just took a long time: a decade to remove these sutures
I was infected long, walking dead
Now I can’t wait to be the cleanest in the cut again,
(And also, just, to be in the cut again, ahem, hello LA)
But I know I can’t wait for the Lambo to feel like Bruce Wayne
The watch doesn’t make the man
But it helps when you have the love of a curly-blonde Katie Holmes
And you’re really a boss when you know you make her feel at home
And you’re really, really a boss when you’re already prepared to let go as she’s tightening, which makes you happy but you just appreciate her more, and let her breathe, like she needs to, because she likes to need you
(And not the other way ’round)
You see, once you establish your own worth, there’s no fearing what you’re worth, or even doubting
For the best people will always love you –
Kind of fucked how long it took me to learn all this but I wasn’t born with me for a dad, though I wish I had been; however, I was born as me, which is the second best thing,
And maybe the first, I mean, I finally think I’m not even mad –
I’m a bit glad even.

Blueberry Donuts

Rapid succession of saved drafts can’t express what takes away breaths,
Sorry, but I kind of love her
And I’m not just writing this to pat my own back, but let me try
Firstly, how lucky am I –
And she loves me something good too – casually but deep, hard
She, INFP, of uncommon beauty,
Yogini, would anger any Karen in her bikini🙏🏼😊,
But her love takes no toll on me,
She is a lilypad charging station
Manipura love // om mani padme hum;
Sticky, wet, sweat, home
There are so many songs I want to play her
‘Mississippi’ and ‘Isolated’,
Rolling through mountain backroads, smoke rolling out the windows: my hand on her dank thigh
Babe obvi smokes as much dank as I
Right happy she is mine for a time
A season as seasons go,
To unwind the energy at the base of my spine,
This is a level 10 love
Kundalini flow –
It was a perfect day,
Her beside me in every way,
How my cup runneth over, oh babe
And I just had another blueberry donut too