Memento Mori

My photo
Seattle, Washington, United States
Professional Darling

Monday, September 5, 2016

It's Just a Half life

Half Life

I can no longer silence her as she screams from the inside, but no one can hear her.
It's all inside her head. 
The poison that cannot be undone.
Chemical this, and chemical that. To Balance that, to balance that.
Screaming, medicate the pain
Another pill buys her another half life.
Overlapping. Never undoing. Chemical, medicinal band-aid.
She never had the courage to just let her feet drop, swan dive, swallow incessantly.
Always making phone calls or being the subject of abstract jokes and pointed stares.
Altered states.
Mental prisons. 7-10 days and then she's better at least for the moment.
She screams again, this time, out loud. No one can hear it, they just judge it.
So judge her, make your off-colour remarks and just be done with it. 
She doesn't care because she knows you haven't been there.
She knows that she can, and will continue to scream from the inside out.
Med compliant, never defiant.
It's just another pill, for another half-life.
Half Life.

Half-life (abbreviated t1⁄2) is the time required for a quantity to reduce to half its initial value. The term is commonly used in nuclear physics to describe how quickly unstable atoms undergo, or how long stable atoms survive, radioactive decay. The term is also used more generally to characterize any type of exponential or non-exponential decay. For example, the medical sciences refer to thebiological half-life of drugs and other chemicals in the body. The converse of half-life is doubling time.
The original term, half-life period, dating to Ernest Rutherford's discovery of the principle in 1907, was shortened to half-life in the early 1950s.[1] Rutherford applied the principle of a radioactive element's half-life to studies of age determination of rocks by measuring the decay period of radium to lead-206.
Half-life is constant over the lifetime of an exponentially decaying quantity.

Seclusion Room at Harborview Psych Unit

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Burn Brightly, Sweet One

it waits within me
celebratory enlightenment
pulls strings I never knew existed
but now understand
what understanding is all about

is it possible to live a waking dream?
float through the days where nothing 
is as it seems?
surreality takes the stage
and I can't help but watch as
she dances around my eyes

i can feel the pull of everlasting
of everything
that never was
and was always waiting for
that false proved lacking in positivity
and the light was actually just a shadow
that played upon my heart

everything is heated
like i knew it should be
how fluorescent and bright
the coloured hues burn
and how everything i
have ever known about what
i've known about
was everything that pales
in comparison to how 
sweet brightly burns.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Creativity in three acts


It's been a while. Since I touched these pages or had my heart touched by anything. I've felt the darkness tangled in with the tiny shards of light that I was given to hold on to. Too delicate to stay within my grasp, they just fell to the earth and shattered. Everything shattered, never to be put back together. It's within this place that I am living. Limbo. Do I stay vigilant to the night that is all around me, or do I attempt to bend down to pick up these tiny fragments of gold? Can I make it one more night, or do I sleep now and end the fight?


There is no despair within me anymore, there is only hope and this hope blossoms into these tiny flowers that dance all around me. These are the shards that fell through my hands but in their demise have bred into something that I couldn't imagine. There is beauty in death because death breeds life and this life is beautiful if you can just open your eyes. Stop and look around you at all the things that are good. Push away all of the things that are negative, that cast you into despair and melancholy. Really seeing what's around instead of pretending we know exactly what lay before us.


Here I stand. Halfway to nowhere but halfway to somewhere. There is hope within me and while I do not believe in fate, I do believe in love. I love myself more and more these days as I find myself in a huge healing process. Healing from hurt. The darkness isn't as dark anymore when you have someone to hold your hand.

Monday, June 17, 2013

Stop and stay a while

I remember this blog, back when I did creative writing on a regular basis. Come in, sit down and scroll through some history. Take the words and play with them in your mouth a little and see what you can come up with. Taste my words like you would a fine wine or feel my words like you would a warm sweater. Come in and watch this aspect of my life, come back to life. That part of her was gone for quite a while, savor her return.

--much more to come.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013


This isn't Broken

I'm so sick of fighting this off.

this disease that consumes me.

I let it all go, feel it flood around

my feet and crawl up into my head.

you can tell me that I'm hopeless.

that I'm addicted.

and I'll tell you to just let me go

and let me go with it.

let it feed upon my insides

and let it flow out through

every pore.

in consumption, I find redemption.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012


i just want to be the me that is on the inside.
i'm so tired of being someone's plaything
or after thought.
I have so much love for those people
that make me second best.
put me second choice.

i refuse to be the thing that you do
just because you want to do it.
i refuse to put my heart so out in the open
so you can just walk by and demolish it,
without a second look.
maybe that's where i become first
when its time to throw things away.
when my particulars don't match your decor.
i'm like that mis-matched sock in the back
of your drawer.
and without my beloved second thought,
thrown away.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Friday, May 18, 2012

† Lithium Princess †

† Lithium Princess

I'm staring at a bottle of prescription pills.

I know what you are,

and what you will do to me.

You won't give me a high,

and you won't make me pleasantly numb.

You'll interfere with my life,

and stigmatize me more than I already have been.

The sickness will grow with your

increasing toxicity.

450 to six

six-100 to twelve.

Pills before bed to decrease the shaking

in limbs that used to be beautiful but

now only harbour your tremble.

Convulsing pulse;

and you'll make me thirst for something I can

never touch.

You'll make me a slave to my seemingly emotionless, emotions.

And I'll be screaming on the inside to be released

from your elemental prison.

You will try and contain all that I possess,

and in the end,

grey crystal vacancy is all that will be left.

I refuse to be your broken babydoll;

your little lithium princess.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Shiny Things

I await the kiss of your cold steel around my neck, rather impatiently. Rest assured that our mutual ownership will be sooner than anyone thought and my focus will be unwavering. Until then...

Thursday, May 3, 2012


I absolutely hate it when what you were looking for is staring you right in the face but you were just too blind to see it. Or my personal favorite, its in your fucking hand. I had it this entire time and it was staring me straight in the face and to add insult to injury it was in my fucking hand.

I'd elaborate but I'm too freaking tired. 

Oh, and thanks for over 10,000 hits!


Sunday, April 29, 2012

Different Parts of the Same Bird

I'm sure that it isn't a surprise that when I'm not feeling well. When I'm sad or stressed or depressed or feeling a plethora of bipolar symptoms that I go and look at pictures of birds online.

The Blue Jay is a beautiful bird that we don't have here in the Western part of the U.S. We have Stellar's Jays here in the Pacific Northwest. Unfortunately they aren't as magnificent to look at like the Blue Jays, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

What is it that makes me enjoy the Blue Jay more? Well I love the intricacies of his feathers. He has bars on his wings, a fantastic little crest and he's prettier. He's made up of so many different feathers. It's all of his little details that make him a whole bird that is different than his western counterpart Stellar.

We are all different parts of the same person and every part needs to be nurtured in order for the whole to grow.

Often times I can only see the whole part, the bigger picture in the birds. Other times, they form complicated thought patterns in my brain and I can't help but see the metaphor in my life spelled out on these beautiful feathered friends.

Monday, April 23, 2012

They call it darkness for a reason.
Deathly consuming.
It all swirls around and clouds my vision.
Black sandstorm to ease my troubled mind,
and razors edge to complete the time.
Cry for me,
and cry for those that tried.
Indifference to ease your piece of mind.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Elements of Vanilla and BDSM Sex in Opposite Lifestyles

If you've been living underneath a rock for the past 10 years or so, let me fill you in on a couple of things about me. I actively participate in the BDSM lifestyle and I am currently engaging in a semi-poly-full-time Master and slave relationship. I identify as a slave and masochist.

Last night I went and saw Titanic in IMAX 3-D. I have quite the thing for love stories and love on an epic and fantastical scale. I adore what love stands for in all of its many forms, so naturally having an opportunity to watch one of my comfort movies on the big screen, I jumped at the chance.  Anyways, I was enjoying the scene where Jack and Rose make love for the first time in the car down the cargo hold and it kinda hit me. Since "vanilla" people use elements of BDSM in their love lives to spice up the sex department do people that are into full time BDSM use elements of a completely "vanilla" sex as a variant to their somewhat extreme sex lives?

I've had some pretty intense scenes in my day and even now, but honestly, its not like just because I do like the extreme that I don't enjoy being held, caressed softly or believe it or not, taking the whole act of love slow. but I also wonder if I've pigeon-holed myself as a slave and as a masochist and therefore that is all that others see when they look at me? I wonder if anyone, even my Master can look at me and see someone that enjoys the more "plain-jane" and "vanilla" aspects of sexual relations? 

I wonder if there is a threshold of just how much BDSM or how much "vanilla" we can take in our lives before we feel like we are stuck. So it just goes back to my initial question of, do full time BDSM relationships utilize completely vanilla techniques in an effort to change things up?

Would the sex scene in the car between Jack and Rose meant more if all Rose got on a daily basis were the face slappings and humiliation of Cal Hockley?  [for the purposes of this argument we are going to assume that Cal and Rose did have some sort of tenderness in their relationship.]

I suppose that if one is completely satisfied within the realm of their relationship then there wouldn't really be a need to explore the other end of the spectrum. I know that I am not satisfied with a purely vanilla sexual relationship but I also know that I cannot be fully satisfied with 100% BDSM aspects all the time. I mean, a slave needs sensual kissing and slow love-making every once in a while right?

I can't help but think that sometimes we categorize ourselves too much and end up missing out on other elements of intimacy because we become too comfortable in our stereotypes or we are afraid to speak up within our current roles. 

Regardless, like the rest of life, I believe that there is a balance that needs to be achieved and that the middle ground for that balance is different for all types of roles and relationships, but I still think that there is balance to be found somewhere.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012


Flow - transistor

i'm always swimming against the flow of the tide,

kissing the life into something that's already died.

i've been driving forever,
i'll let go.

i dive into the river,
and flow.

you said that you could hear bells in the traffic below,
i could hear sirens and car engines fighting the snow.

i've been driving forever,
i'll let go.

i dive into the river,
and flow.


i've been drowning forever,
i'll let go.

i'll dive into the river,
and flow.

i've been drowning forever,
i'll let go.

i'll dive into the river,
and flow.


Sunday, April 8, 2012

Little Sister

Hey little sister I heard you went to Mr. So and So,
 knock knock knockin on his door again last night, 
said you needed it bad- you know that ain't right
 'Cause so many times you've come to me cry-crying trying to stop. 
you said it hurts so bad But please don't let you go back for more 
My little sister is a Zombie in a body with no soul in a role she has learned to play
 in a world today where nothing else matters but it matters, 
we gotta start feeding our souls
 Not our addiction or afflictions of pain 
to avoid the same questions we must ask ourselves to get any answers
 We gotta start feeding our souls have been lost to the millions 
with lots who feed on addiction selling pills and what's hot 
I wish I could save her from all their delusions 
all the confusion of of a nation that starves for salvation
 but clothing is the closest to approximation to God 
and He only knows that drugs are all we know of love
 Every day we starve while we eat white bread and beer instead of a handshake or hug 
We spill the pills and sweep them under the rug 
My little sister is a Zombie in a body 
with no soul in a role she has learned to play
 in a world today where nothing else matters but it matters,
 we gotta start feeding our souls 
Hey little sister I heard you went to Mr. So and So's 
Knock, knock, knockin' on his door again last night 
Said you needed more

Onward, Forever Onward.

An open letter to all those that care,

I'm going to be okay. Sometimes the nights seem so long and so lonely but I always wake up the next morning. Sometimes I'm no worse for wear, and other times well its hard to get out of bed. The beacon of hope and light that comes through the darkness are all of you that are reading this right now. The ones that care enough to check in on me and to wonder if I'm okay.

You're the woman next door that keeps her phone by the bed in case I need to call. --JLL

You're the man that I barely see that takes the time to talk to me through all the birthday madness. --AM

You're the girl that pours out her love through her eyes and rubs my back ever so lightly because it hurts so much. --SR-M

You're the man that barely knows me that texts me and tells me that he cares. --JH

You're the woman that holds me up when all I can see are the tears in my eyes. --AJJ

You're the man that will do anything, just to get me back into the world. --MNF

I sit here and I think of all of you that care so much and I think of all the harm I can cause, have caused. The hurt and the pain, the emotional disparity. I can also think of the love, hope and kind words that I am capable of and the drive to keep going. I can be the suicide letter you find at the bottom of the drawer that I forgot I put there because all I am now is happy.

I am the bruises you notice. I am the red underneath my eyes. I'm the girl that will make it out alive, even though all she wants to do is lay down and die.

I'm the trust I put in you, and the brain that tries to defeat it.

I'm self-destruction and I am self-preservation. I am the liar and the truth. The piece of sanity in this madness.

I've been sober for a day or so. The sickness washes over me and I'm kneeling over the kitchen sink staring at the breakfast I just ate and thinking about how much of a waste of money that was. :P My body tries desperately to purge the sickness out of me; foreign chemicals and resistance.  I am a huge decision in the making and a huge failure just waiting to happen. There are things that I do not wish to think about and I am the things that I am forcing myself to think about.

Norwescon was a bust. I failed miserably at something I was looking forward to, and I did some damage that I'm not sure I can repair. Even if it is fixable, I'm not sure that my willingness will be expected or trusted. I know what was said and all I can do is keep moving and to concentrate on me. Loving me, faults and all. Bipolar or not, this is me.

An overused quote: “I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”   ---Marilyn Monroe.

I'm sticking to that. When I'm on, I'm ON and when I'm off I'm OFF the FUCKING charts. You think its bad to deal with, try living it.

To all those that have offered their love and support without conditions or are why I am still alive. You are the numbered reasons why I am sitting here listening to birds and I can feeling the spring sunshine on my scars. Healing may not be swift, but onward...forever onward.

- G.

Hopeless or Hopeful?

This photo was taken earlier this evening on my way out to see a friend for her birthday. I put on the wig because I didn't want to do my hair and it was a mess anyways. I like my pink wig. It wasn't until I got home and uploaded this picture that I saw what everyone else saw. I'm broken and vacant. The worst part is that in this picture I am wearing concealer underneath my eyes to try and hide the bags, but they are still plainly visible.

This is what an alcoholic looks like. This is what an addict looks like. This is what untreated bipolar looks like.

You can only hide and cover it all up for so long before it all becomes clear to everyone but you. I can try and fix this huge mess or I can lay down and die. Which one is worth fighting for?

Saturday, April 7, 2012

the toxicity of life.
the toxicity of me.

love like bitter wine.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Trying to run but her mind just stays...

I started running to get away from my mind. I used to run up and down Elliot Avenue when the sun had already dipped below the horizon and I could see the beginning of the night. I used to marvel at the colours as they washed into eachother like a watercolour painting. I compared myself to the cup of water the paint brush used to wash off the vibrant blues and purples. The reds and orange. All the life of the world. I was the muddy brown colour. A little bit of everything but not one of anything. My moods would swirl around like the water, a whirlpool of anger, melancholy, frustration and sadness. Everything was always mixed, most of the time it still is.
I would be out of breath in a matter of blocks, but it wasn't about how fast I could run it, just that I could. That I was capable and for that thirty odd minutes I could hear nothing else but my sneakers hitting the pavement and my breath being forced in and out of my smokers lungs. That my mind let go of how he hurt me, or the loneliness that was my constant companion. My mind would clear itself of the hurt and confusion; the constant bipolar madness and sadness. I would lose myself in the painting of the world and the sounds of twilight and night birds.
When my hip went out, I had to stop running and that was it, I was stuck inside my head once more. It feels like it has been stuck ever since. Maybe I'm right, maybe I'm wrong. These days I find solace and comfort in different things but nothing will ever compare to the muddy brown water that helped wash everything away. The running away but at the same time running towards something that could one day be caught and held on to. I'm still running, just not in the way that I'm used to.
- G.
This Moist song has always been a favorite of mine and I daresay I am claiming it as my own. Take a moment and listen.


she goes down like rain
she goes down the hard way
spilling herself on your body

i wonder where you are tonight

just outside the dark
she waits by the highway
hopin to go
but her mind just stays

i wonder where you are tonight

ease into you ease into me
fell from the places
left to believe
all from the time
and time is what for
edress the weight
and bury the world
time will save
you come what may

she goes down like rain
she goes down the hard way
trying ot run
but her mind just stays
i wonder where you are tonight

Monday, April 2, 2012

Another Untitled

Just an oversight
like a failed attempt
at a first kiss
or the way every time
something is right
another thing goes wrong.

It's the stress in my bones
and the ache in my heart
that feeds my mind
and speeds my mind
and god speed this death
of wasted and forgotten time.

Make the madness disappear
and take your cliches
and stuff them into the back of your head.
I'm sick of your words
as they stick to me.
I watch them fall as the summer
sweat drenches through my weakness
and I wave goodbye as I jump off this ledge.

Taken to the edge of my madness
to that forgotten time when
these emotions were futile
and refused to mean a thing.