The Big News

  I'm thinking about changing the name of my blog to,"Princess Garbageface Sometimes". The whole "today" thing might seem to imply that I'm capable of writing something blog worthy every day. I'm not. Sure, I could write a couple lines of sweet nothings, but it would be for no reason with no real thought. I also understand that my blog isn't nearly as convenient to read as everything else you've ever read, and whatever mistake occurred to lead you here  isn't likely to repeat if all you find is a brief description of my menstruation or what I did with my hair today. That sells great on facebook, but everyone wants a hug. More importantly, it's rumored that short blogs are frowned upon, and I would be nothing without the smiles of people who as far as I know don't exist. Filling the daily gap with bull would fall far too short of the fine quality expected from my fan. 

  I'm not saying that it would be impossible to write so much so often. If it was my job, I would. This blog is just a new drop in the bucket of all the many things to do that would be just as well not done. On top of all of those things, are things that do matter, that I'm obligated to choose to do.  Above all is maintaining a balance of my choices that pleases me the most at the time. Too much of any one thing is no good. Everything needs rest to stay strong. For example, as my brain begins to exhaust from writing, I begin to spell phonetically. By the time I need a break from one thing, I'm usually ready to pick up on something else that was put on break earlier, so I kind of do what I want when I want, in an always occupied sort of way. 

  For an unemployed housewife with no children, I'm mysteriously busy. I can account for all the things I do, but I could stop everything aside from house cleaning, and appear just as productive. I do waste an unnecessary portion of my effort thinking about my tasks. I squeeze in chunks of laziness everywhere, but acting lazy doesn't always allow me to relax. I'm not at my best balance with that right now. Maybe it's the weather. Everyone wants to make the most of their summer. Maybe it's because I have no job. Maybe it's the voice in my head that knows how unimaginably busier everyone else is that won't shut up long enough to calm down. Maybe it's your fault. Busy, busy, busy.

  Writing is good for me, and I need the practice, and I love the fame. This blog is still experimental, but I'm committed until stated otherwise. If you don't expect too much from me, I won't give you too little. 

V.D.

 Every young woman has daydreamed the fantasy of being more desirable than they are. Sought after uniquely, desperately, superfluously, direly.. Everyone wants to be the most special of what they are, and women are women. An estrogen factory of dreams. We dream of being desired even if we already are. There's always room for supernatural fantasies. 

 Adventure, suspense, terror, struggles, and record breaking flattery. All of the elements of a perfect novel about yourself, that you can transform at any time to suit your needs. Of course, it's best that the story makes sense. The more believable your story about you is, the more you're going to like it, unless you wish you were someone else, which is less common. So, if the reason you're pursued in this story is impossible, you'll probably think of an impossible story of how it became possible, in a world where it can take place. 

 Long ago, in the midsts of outlining new novels of myself, I created my character. I made myself a vampire. At that time in my life, I believed that my fears of the sun in the material word had passed with age. But, this fear was a unique part of my memory, and never completely unharnessed. The transformation from human to creature of the night was simple. All I had to do was toy with the fact that I have EPP( the least aggressive of the vampire diseases ). So I did. 

 Over time, I built a variety of scenarios and details of why and how my symptoms mutate to transform me to choose from. Some very different from others. I could be weak, or strong, or enchanting, or immortal, or dying, or killing. There is no end to the possibilities of fantasy. It's quite good fun.  

 Over more time, in the real world, my symptoms began to return in unexpected ways. There was nothing romantic about that. My struggles were of the most least acknowledgeable variety. This book was a dull read. There was nothing for a third party to take note of, other than disgustingly covered windows and my new outdoor apparel. Sunshine dimmed from my skin, and breezes left from my hair. The exhilarations of life that waited for me outside all day seemed to fall asleep at sunset. 

 The worse I felt about myself, the more easily my inner dialog convinced me that I deserved it. In reality there's nowhere to escape to, and nothing tangible to escape. I wanted to run and scream and kick and panic, and be something much more than a shut in.. 

 On a mountain, in a post apocalyptical land, I'm out of breath and starving, and unstoppable. As an evil scientist hunts me like an animal, I think to myself that it's not his fault. It's my fault. I made myself a vampire. 

Real Eyes

  When my real eyes realized real lies, I pooped my pants."The hell, you say?", I whispered, deep into the screen of my phone. The blood drained from my face as sweat beaded in my eyebrows, and the room began to swirl around me with a blur. A single tear dropped upon my knee before it buckled, and then everything went black... 

  I awoke nestled in the bosom of my Fairy Godmother. "The time has come", she said shakily, lifting me upright on her lap."Now that you know the truth, you know what you must do."

  A thunder rolled through the ground from every direction. My Fairy Godmother trembled, almost losing her teeth, and then vanished, leaving me to plop butt first onto a family of daisies."Save yourself", whistled the smallest, as it ripped in a whip of wind. A requiem hummed from the elder flowers beneath me. I lifted my weight gingerly from the dear crushed creatures. I had every intention to collect them to put in some water later, but they assured me that their home was here, in this enchanted clearing, now, on the day of the prophecy. Their stems weaved together against the earth to spell the words,"They're coming", as the thunder drew too near for their delicate voices. 

  I looked to the sky for the approaching danger, but the coast was clear and starry. Yet, the wind pressed stronger from such a perfect circumference, as did the roar in my ears, I was surely in the center of some doom. 

  There was a flash of pink in a swatch of moonlight between trees that stood far in the distance. And then blue. And then there were patches of every color pouring in from every distance. Whatever they were.. they were coming. 

  Towards me, they rushed. Colors from the darkness, into the clearing to reveal their forms before they attacked. I began to see that the colors were carried by legs, with shoes. There were wrist watches and glasses, and pocket protectors, and pocket protector protectors. There were buttons all buttoned on bright buttoned shirts charging like a furious rainbow.. They were geniuses. 

  A stampede of geniuses. Their feet stumbled and kicked up grass as they squealed their opinions in a panic."To my knowledge..", chanted from my left."Theoretically..", echoed from my right. Ahead of me, they pushed and trampled and fought one another over who should decide what to say. Behind me, I think they spoke chinese. I had nowhere to go, and nothing to do but fear the collision closing in on me. 

  When the moment came to crash, they suddenly stopped. On the daisies, and only inches away all around me. My personal space instantly became a tomb of panting breath with the stench of gummy bears and graham crackers. 

  The rosiest one bent forward to meet me at eye level, and spat,"Tell us what you know", between gasps."It's theoretical", hissed over my shoulder, from another."Tell us!", repeated the first genius with no patience, causing an uproar among the thousands in the compacting crowd."Kill her!", some shrieked above the others as I stood dumbfounded, mute and defenseless. 

  The rosy cheeked leader shook me, demanding answers."They want you dead, do you understand me?", he gestured at his comrades,"They can't let you leave here knowing what you know." The feel of his touch brought a sickness, and I was captured in his sniveling stare. A desperate rage sank into my stomach, putting everything into perspective. 

  My Fairy Godmother was right. I knew what I must do. Before, it would have been wrong. It would have been out of the question before, but now I knew the truth. The truth, I remembered, getting as dizzy as when I first heard. 

  I pulled myself together just in time, while I still had my life. I tightened my jaw, and closed my fists, and met the genius's stare with a smile."Tell me", he smiled back, relaxing himself to listen. I didn't like what was going to happen next, but if I didn't act now, I would die.

  I punched him in the face. 

  Cries of terror and disbelief  thundered in a wave of retreat. This stampede now wise to a fear beyond any nightmare their enchanted world had imagined. 

  The wind blew away and went calm. Bunnies and fawns and bluebirds in song, came free from secret safe places. Fairy Godmother materialized with a shimmer, kneeling over the dead daisies. She nudged them all with her wand, and with a "poof", they looked as good as new (later she would tell me they were never quite the same again). What she said before sending me home was,"Your work here is done, but what you saw today is only a fraction of what challenges now lay ahead. You must never share what you've learned, or this world and yours will crumble. You are the chosen one. You're like the smartest person ever. I sent you a friend request." We said our goodbyes, and everything went black again. 

  This time, I came to in the shallow end of a public pool, wearing six pairs of wings and a ball gown. I hurried to my apartment to find my phone on the floor, with the same caption still glowing, waiting to haunt me anew. I exited the screen, and deleted my history. The future of everything was in my hands. My importance was almost too painful to comprehend, but I had a strength now, a power, and a new sense of well deserved confidence. I was the chosen one. 

  This world may never have real enough eyes to realize the lies that I had to face that day, but when it does.. I'll be ready. 

Will Work For Lemons

  At first, everything was stupid. Everything was supposed to be totally cool, but it wasn't. Nothing was like I imagined, like it was on TV. Nearly my every curiosity proved more disappointment. Nothing exhilarated my spirits in the way that I was shown it should. Experiences didn't live up to the examples. Products never lived up to the commercials. 

  After I learned the basics, like reading, writing, and arithmetic, I realized that everything was crap. Spontaneously gathering around the piano as a family after a Christmas miracle, turns out to be the most unusual phenomenon. There's always more lemon than all of the other flavors in the package. Why? The consumer doesn't want mostly lemon, and the manufacturer knows it. If you want cherry and grape, you have to also pay for the lemon.  The ice cream shop has chocolate ice cream, but your chocolate milkshake is made with vanilla and just enough chocolate syrup to make it slightly brown, but not enough to make it taste like chocolate. Is the chocolate ice cream so much more expensive than the vanilla that they can't afford to actually sell it to you? Is there a chocolate syrup shortage? No! Then why? Because everything must be crap. 

  Crap eventually got lame. I was at the age when everyone thought they were the shit. Everything was intense, and extreme, and lines were crossed, but it was all the same. The products and experiences were new, but the results were identical. They were lame and discontenting. 

  It was lame for so long, it became retarded. I kept asking myself why. I could understand the greed of the industries misleading my expectations of their goods. What I couldn't comprehend was why I should be influenced to desire drama. Why don't I instinctively scream when I lay eyes on a creature that might bite me? Why have I never screamed from running into my girlfriends at the mall? I scream when I'm startled, but when stuff doesn't sneak up behind me, I deal with it at a comfortable volume. Why don't I regularly cry tears of joy? Why don't each of my problems require a half hour of the world's attention? Why are all exciting activities only thirty seconds long, but you have to wait all day to participate? To drive me to vicariously feel through entertainment interrupted by words from sponsors who leave me no choice but to buy lemons? 

  Yes. Of course. It all circles back to industrial greed. I've been thoughtfully designed as part of an elaborate plan to make the rich richer. My place in society is to empty my pockets. Life is drug that I can't afford. I can't stop thinking about how I'll get my next fix, and every fix only gets me high enough to make me need more. I need and need and continue to need, so some jerks in giant houses can continue to go without want. I have a disgusting habit and it's called being normal. 

  I guess I'll smoke a few sitcoms to take off the edge until I find something pretty to shoot into my veins when I cash in this $1 winning lottery ticket that I scratched while I reported a stray dog to the Stray Dog Killing League(SDKL), because I'm a contributing member. 

..And that, my friend, is gay. 

At Sea (scene 6 of 6)

Dream and dream, there's much more potion

For your drinking, from this ocean

Where were those places that you wanted to be

Where you thought you caught sleep

And where are they now? 

How it stings, this salty liquor

From swollen fingers, to sickened liver

How will you know when your desire's fulfilled? 

You'll be laying still 

With birds on your brow

Look around, you'll see them circling

The flocks are crowding, sweetly chirping

Do you believe in magic forever spread?

You're no more than bread

Dry and beguiled 

Let's see that smile

Your lips are dripping

There's sea for miles 

This ship's for sipping

Just take a load off as the thirst lifts away

Where the birds are bating 

This serene sedation

It's your dream vacation..

At Sea (scene 5 of 6)

Resting on leaf beds

I request to shred like relish 

Do the bellies of the beasts no longer growl?

Flame spitting hounds

Have you left me for your hell pit?

Leave me jealous in the snow now falling down

Frost bitten nose

My proposals unaccepted

And my clothes have all been left, and that is fine

That shine in the distance

Is a lake from long passed visions

Now it's solid, it is better for a bed

"This way", says silence

"Here's the tyrant which you quest for

Have a try out on the slickness of this floor

Slip in an instant

But of course, you're poor supported

Enter eden, it stops your heart with cold

Swim under shelter

And give in to the pleasure

Of ice ever lightly as you float"

I dream as I'm leaning

Into sheets of love above me

And fill my lungs to ask what I'll become

At Sea (scene 4 of 6)

Hello, my friend

Did you fail to end in sunshine?

Has the trail of your divinity run cold?

It's not the end

Though the sea and sand have left you

And the sky has brashly branded you to bone

There is a throne

Where you can soothe your sorrow

Where you can loose tomorrow on and on

Balm for your lips

And licks away for blisters

Are the sinisterest prisoners of the moon

Loom in the forest

From dewdrops and your torus

A seat to sit before them. Appetize

Prize the possession

Utilize what you're presenting

Blush your cheeks with what leaks freely from your wounds

Howling wolves

Singing lyrics of adornment

Brings your image to a form beyond desire

Fires in the tooth-gleam

Are admiring how you dream

How your taste upon their tastebuds will they love

At Sea (scene 3 of 6)

 Sun stricken gold

As clothes fall away uneasy

As the call away now leads me to the sky

 One ticket home

Sent to sink in sea behind me

As the entity inside me waves

 "Goodbye" again

As I die and die unending

As I bide left time extending on the earth

 Birth, come reversal

Reciting like rehearsal

Inviting all the elements to feed

 Slow bleeding eyes

As they hold their focus high

As a golden token, I wait to be spent

 Luck be a lady

Lent from space to serenade me

Stretching lace to warm the surface still undone

 Come lullaby me

Stick a fork in 'fore you try me

I am yours and yours entirely to be won

At Sea (scene 2 of 6)

The cool rip tide ripped twine the skin. Though thick as hide it split from being dried in the sun while drinking salts..

A beating drum called through the rush of ear lashings, and near crashings with stone that would silence it all. The tone dropped pitch and quickened with the violence, which proved very welcome as the confused cerebellum swished it liquids to the rhythm of minimizing waves. The limited days that preceded indeed did repeat, though changed coinciding with the drumroll intertwining with the memories. It was there all along. And the stronger the song banged, the longer it all sank into sea that poisoned within. 

The choice was no different, and drink did the victim while dreaming of reaching dry land..

And drank to the bottom with all things forgotten, to lay evenly onto the sand. 

At Sea (scene 1 of 6)

Chase it down with sleeping potion

So far out now, drinking oceans

Should be stopped, but can't resist the taste

Be it real or fake

The sun rises still

Chase it down with deep devotion

The passing clouds are keeping motion

Not a drop that can be left to waste

With body braced

The tongue tries to heal

Facing down with lips of leather

This elixir lasts forever

Will you remember that reflecting face

That is wrecked with waves

When your stomach is filled? 

Chase it down with thirst unbounded 

The worst is over now, you're surrounded

Not a frown or cheap emotion

You're sleepy, deeply in the potion

Where will you go from where you're drifting away?

Where there's glistening lakes?..

Chase and chase, you're drinking easy

Rest in place, you're safe at sea

You'll soon be dreaming....

Birthday Bash

 Only a few days left to get back down to my birthweight. My birthday's sneaking up on me like an old brownie. I'm not sure if I still want it, but it would be a shame to let it go to waste. Thirty. Thirty brownies, each less fresh than the one before. Maybe I don't want a brownie. Can't I just stay in bed all day, slicing some relaxing cheese? Nobody has to bake anything, just buy me a block and steer clear. 

 It won't be long now, I will have completely outlasted all possibility of dying young. I'm a survivor. A tragically short ending didn't happen, and it won't, it can't. That time has passed, and past time is gone, and time is always passing, thirty years worth now. Thirty years less than how much there is. You do the rest of the math. 

 Don't get me wrong, I look fantastic. I wait to be congratulated for my age. Alas, a reward for nothing, that's something, and that something is mine just by chance. Free! Free social rewards! Thank you, I know. Now I'm older than ever. Prepare to be amazed. 

 I want the kind of party where I do the same thing I always do, and invite everybody who's already here. I want to get a few things for the house, and maybe some ointment. I want to be a ballerina from scratch. Magical powers and marble sized kittens. Argyle towers of sparkling dishes. Wishes, and wishes that grant me more wishes... 

 I want the world, but that's way too much work. I want to be lazy forever. Lazy, but yet still somehow active and full of life. I dream of jumping-jacks. I labor pettily. I never made anything of myself, and nothing was made of me. Life is about living, not being, says every story about life. So far, so good. 

 I might have murdered someone when I was baby. I was much smarter then, but I didn't know the difference between right and wrong. Of course nobody would suspect me, and I didn't yet have the skills to discuss it. When I started speaking fluently, I was more into the business of not being guilty. Next thing you know, I'm thirty. Life progressively loses it's mysteries, but there's more than a lifelong supply of those. 

 I don't believe in fairies. If only I were young again, but that world is old and gone. I used to think being eight was impressive, but look at me now. I'm old enough to be my mother. I feel nine. I never believed in fairies. I like them. 

 I don't like mortality. There's a limited amount of me, and one day I'll run out. It keeps the world turning, but I don't like it. 

 What am I talking about? There's going to be cake. Letting people eat cake used to be a bad thing. Now it's conveniently boxed, waiting for water and somebody's birthday. One day cake will only be available in pill form. Then I'll be sorry. I need to enjoy it for what it is now, while I still have my teeth. Let's see that smile! 

 Let's love everything we have no choice but to accept. The name of the game is Peek-a-Poop, and you're not going to want to like it. Embrace the growing flaws of realty with perfect grace. Get out of bed. Wear a cone hat. Your invitation's in the mail. 

 I'm too excited to wait! 

 

Frequent Urination

 "To pee, or not to pee?", once asked a great man who went by the name of Homey The Clown. I ask myself that same question frequently everyday. The answer is almost always yes. For it is better to pee both now and later than quarrel between the two. For it is better to pee than think about peeing, though not better to pee than think. I drink. I drink and I live to pee another day. Tears of the sun to remind me of my humanity. Nobody calls me yellow. 

How Does That Make You Feeline?

 My cat's psychiatrist is an idiot. After three sessions, he took me aside and explained to me how fat Olive actually is. We both agreed that if she could get her weight down, I would love her more, maybe even as much as I love my other pets, which according to the doctor might also help with her promiscuity. He suggested a diet plan and positive reinforcement. We had a short conversation about introducing her to cigarettes, and I left his office unimpressed with his impression of Jim Carrey as The Mask. 

 Olive and I then headed home with a handful of advice, and a nicotine patch that would only stick to the inside of her ear."We're not stopping for ice cream", I said sternly, without being asked. Olive replied nothing. 

 I carried her from my bike, unlocked the door, and let her out of her shoebox once we were inside. My other cat, The Pope, darted away from the food bowls that she desperately tries to nourish herself from when Olive isn't looking. Olive's obesity was hurting everyone around her. It was time to make some life saving changes. 

 I filled her bowl, and neglected all other responsibilities to monitor her every action. Every time she resisted her friskies, I rewarded her with a tasty treat. I was feeling closer to her already, and then she threw up."Let it all out", I patted her on the back,"It's going to get worse before it gets better." I gave her another cigarette and a treat for not coughing. 

 It was only a few days later, at the cat park, that I started seeing some real signs of improvement. I was taking pictures of her on the exercise equipment when I bumped into her psychiatrist and his family. I was thrilled with Olive's progress on the monkey bars, but in his opinion, one isn't enough. We discussed my financial options for putting her down, and came to the conclusion that it would be cheaper just to continue her therapy. It wasn't until Olive pointed it out that I realized his wife had pinkeye, but I held any further questions until our next scheduled office appointment. 

 Olive must have had a real breakthrough at that next appointment, because she came out crying, and I almost forgot to inquire about the doctor's wife. It turns out that the condition runs in his wife's family and she recently passed it on to their son."It comes and goes", he sighed, before changing the subject back to business."Olive's test results show that her cuteness has been rapidly declining. If something adorable doesn't happen soon, the next step will have to be surgery." Olive was still crying, and silently farted, with that "I hate myself" look in her eyes. 

 She was still fat, and lazy, with an irritating lack of control over her sexuality, and no, she wasn't cute anymore, and she exhales just as regularly from one end of her body as the other.. but it was that moment, there, while that doctor wrote a refill for her mood leveling prescriptions, that I suddenly, finally, loved her. Those hopeless eyes reminded me of a starving child I saw in a commercial, as I robotically checked my pockets for change."Let's go smoke some crack, Olive!", I sang."Get back in the shoebox, we're not stopping for ice cream."

 "Smokin'!", said the psychiatrist as he tossed the half written form in the trash bin."I guess you won't be needing this anymore!" We all laughed together, even Olive, through her tears inside of the box. 

 ...Long story short, she never saw another doctor again, ever, for any reason, and we lived happily ever after for all the remaining years of her life.