Mirror, Mirror

Yesterday, it was a strange day, I was in a quiet mood. I’m not usually affected by the moon or her phases, I don’t go in for all of that hooey since I am not a were-insert specific animal, nor am I a nature-lover/outdoorsy/cowgirl and seriously….you get the picture….it’s just not me. I’ll tithe to nature conservation or agencies working to remedy the climate change shit going on. Oh stop, if you say one word about it being fake or whatnot, I seriously will add you to my D.U.M.E. altar…not kidding.

Anyway, what the fuck was I saying, oh that’s right, so I’ll donate because let’s face it, you have to be a fucking muck-souled cock-twat if you don’t give a fuck about The Mother….

But I’m just not one of those gals. I mean, my idea of nature is reclining beside a chlorinated pool, soaking up the rays, goddamn, goddamn….that sounds good.

But maybe, just maybe, even though I am not often ruled by La Luna, it is not to say that I have not been moved by her on occasion, so we will blame her…the ultimate drama queen, the mirror to the Sun. Fuck yeah, it is her fault that I was in that mood, but it was weird, it was wicked and dark and thick like tar but buzzing beneath my skin and I wasn’t angry per se, but I was fed up maybe? I’m not sure…but it was so..strangely..satisfying.

We are mirrors aren’t we? Think of all of the adages, dichos, sayings about who we are and who we spend time with, who we love and who we hate….we are mirrors of each other, to each other, reflecting constantly, because in the end, beneath it all, no matter what hero says he might not be…we are the same, you and I, reflected in the ways we’ve loved and lived, hated and held up, all of the decor is different, individual, but underneath that, underneath that individuality…is our humanity. It is a constant reminder not of our differences, but our sameness, our similarities, that which we reflect, as instruction, reminder, judgment and discipline, vengeance and comfort for each other.

What are you reflecting? What do you see in your own reflection?

Non, je ne regrette rien

I love this song. Like not just because Edith Piaf had an amazing set of pipes, but also because it’s such an anthem, wow, but I was listening to it earlier and thought, “do I really regret nothing?”

No. I do feel regret for a few things, moments when I was cruel. I loathe cruelty but it’s unbearable when I am the perpetrator.

I feel regret over times when I’ve left things unsaid and I feel regret for times when I haven’t but should have.

I don’t regret much. I have done what I could to be as good a human as possible.

What regrets are you happy for and what regrets do you wish you could go back and do over?


I saw a ghost once.

He looked like a hippie.

It scared the fuck out of me, and I’m a fucking fortune teller.

Then again, I might love nostalgia, but I fucking hate ghosts. I don’t mind sitting on the floor surrounded by my photographs, sobbing, beautifully of course, about good old times. But then those photographs get put away because I don’t want to live in the past. I love my children more than I have words for, but both of them are adults that I fucking respect, why would I trade that for being able to breastfeed them again? Sometimes I wonder if our ghosts are created by the grief for time gone by.

Our ghosts haunt us and we lose ourselves in memories and nostalgic bonds and our guides try to encourage us to keep going, it’s okay to look, to remember, but you keep going, we have no time to waste on the dead and they don’t want us to. We have no time to waste on old times, those ghosts will not strengthen our spirits and propel us forward. They are of our own making and we are responsible to the future, to put the past to bed.

Flattery and Hope

and when Voltaire said that these two things were traps into which humans would regularly fall and holy fuck is that not true.

Okay now in my defense, my love language is words of affirmation, my own daughter once said that I had a weakness for pick-up lines, those corny come-ons that might be cliche but I do not care, yes, tell me that my eyes are glistening pools of wood sap and that I am a magnificent spiritual advisor to the world and I am putty…putty I tell you.

and hope, I am pretty sure that it was my box into which Pandora locked hope away, because no matter how fucking jaded, how aware I am of the evil of the minds of man, I still hope. It remains with me and surfs on my fucking breath.

I don’t have an issue with either of these. I am aware of the fact that each of these both strengthen and weaken me, like most things, flattery and hope can strengthen resolve, be sanctuary for the persecuted, and both can destroy, they can be Trojan Horses past our defenses.

So what’s a gal to do? Know yourself. Understand that flattery isn’t always sincere, but also, fuck, use it? What are you being flattered about? Maybe you need to genuinely take a look at that, see yourself through their eyes. Too many people don’t recognize their worth, don’t see their beauty, don’t know their limits, don’t think that they are smart enough.

Say thank you. Smile. Accept it.

As for hope.

Goonies never say die.