Transcendent Threads

  I look to the sky, and cry tears of joy for the ever changing seasons, and abundance of life. I weep at the bees and bears and bushes, and brush the hair from my eyes as I heave at the climax of earthly blessings. I wake every morning to find myself so inspired, so captured as a prisoner of knowledge and perception, so seduced by the embrace of unconditional spiritual connection, so gifted with so many gifts, with so much beauty, that it would be a crime to keep what I see a secret, to hide such wonders from the world.

  I'm not just another pretty face, poetry is what's in my soul. The soul is any person's most valuable possession, but I'm giving you mine for free, because it's what I'm intended to do. I wrote this on a day that I was feeling down, because even the best of us need a nudge in the right direction now and then. I don't read poetry, but I hope it helps you find what you're looking for. It's a literal piece of myself entitled, "Shine", and it goes a little something like this.. 

Kicking in my curlers

I've been itching like a squirrel

Fur is ripping through my stockings

I'm as curvy as a fox

My locks are rolled up snug for smiling

'Cause I know that love's what style means

If I grow another armpit

I will stroke and comb and farm it

Into yarn for all the vagrants

Because karma calls my name with

Every follicle god gives me

I'm a polished, privileged grizzly

I'm not bothered by what bugs me

Pop my collar when I'm fuzzy

I got props from all the weave-heads

At the Stop and Shop I frequent

I leave trends in every isle

Spreading friendship is my style

Represent if you're a pleasure

Every second is a treasure

I won't spend it dressing better

I invented my own sweater

I can shed it at my leisure

I'm a sexy sweaty creature

Blessed with every yeti detail

I regret it's not in retail

It's a craze that's going viral

If you're gansta', show a smile!

http://princessgarbageface.blogspot.com/2015/01/a-thing.html

Beaches and Balloon Knots

  I was head-butted at a Halloween party last year. For no reason, out of nowhere, by a crazy person. Totally random. It was the most trouble I've ever caused at a party. For an asshole, I'm impressively easy to get along with. I'm proud of that, because I'm a girl, and most girls are bitches. Asshole, bitch, what's the difference, you ask? Composure, mostly. Bitches flip out. They engage themselves in conflict, strike strait for the eyes, and any blow towards them lands square in their honor-holes. They're a passionate, yet mysterious species, which can be provoked at any time, by anyone, without warning. Assholes, on the other hand, can chose not to be assholes at their own free will. An asshole isn't born, it is made. Winking beings of self satisfaction, and inner pleasures. If you were to try to piss off an asshole, your results would likely be a waste. They just don't give a crap, they'd rather not strain themselves. 

  I'm mellow as hell. Stress is for lame-tards. Viciousness is for the passionate, and I find strong feelings discomforting. I can argue without fighting, and fight without blowing steam. It's great for my blood pressure. 

  Anyway.. I was brutally assaulted by a serial head-butter. Not just me. I was the last of many victims. Kind, innocent, intoxicated folks, all lost to the nightmare of All Hallows' Eve. I was unaware of the horrors inside, for I was outside at the moment, unaware. Perhaps the moon broke through the clouds, and streaks of moon dust pierced the house, for what once was human turned to ill, a beast of stupid  drooling swill, bipolered into fits of butts, no soul that witnessed lived unstruck, it ripped the kitchen limb from limb, then pivoted into the wind, that led it out the door, to me, to my forehead.. that s.o.b. That's the kind of trouble that I get myself into. Wrong place, wrong time, caught in the line of fire. Like an elbow to the face when some guy tries to punch another guy in a crowd, or a chance slice from a chainsaw in a pitch black room at a haunted house. If I was a bitch, these things might be my fault, but I'm not, they were accidents. 

  I don't believe in haters. Not everyone who likes me is my lover. Everyone has an opinion, and they all stink. Assholes and bitches are equally good people. I believe they'll both go to heaven just the same, whether they worship satan or not. I chose to be an asshole because it's funny and feels good, and doubles as a social crutch. If you've never been hanged, you've never been hated. Life's a beach, bitch. Don't be so hard on yourself. 

  Anger is gross. It's worse than an o-face. It's one way or the other for some people, always high or low. An exhilarating lifestyle filled with infinite emergencies and celebrations. Extravagance! 

  Bitches need to know. As an asshole, I've learned that everything comes out in time, as nature has intended. A gentle push is more beneficial than forcing aneurisms. If a bomb is destined to drop, why race it to the battlefield? It might splash back in your face. 

  Assholes and bitches do although share the same stubbornness of honor. Assholes are so full of themselves that they require no one's respect but their own. Bitches are so full of themselves that they feel entitled to the respect of everyone. Assholes transcend judgement, while bitches are living a lie. 

  What do I do when I'm head-butted? Nothing really. The maniac anally raped itself, and was wheeled away by a nurse, back to the home. The villagers rejoiced, and the festivities recommenced. Had I gotten upset about it, my night would have been ruined. I still felt like an asshole during that brief moment of aroused concern for my safety. The world held it's breath as I said, "ow". In that very same moment I wasn't a bitch. I'm better off for such challenges of my character. The maniac is gay now. Nobody could be happier.  

  Let's ring in the holiday season with butts, and sing like nobody's bitching! May every balloon have a beautiful knot, and every crotch be fishy! May every dream you dream be dry, and every cream be clumpy. For fall has fallen, winter's nigh, and demons are for dummies! 

  Happy Halloween, everybody! Hold your diaries tight! 

Schmreedom Isn't Schmree

  I don't like Independence Day. Never have. I'm not patriotic. America is the greatest country in the world, and I'm lucky to have been born here, but I'm not patriotic. The government can't send me to hell for not flamboyantly celebrating (in my opinion, of course).

  It's not about America anyway, it's tradition. Traditionally, every Independence Day that I've taken any part in, in any way, has sucked. I've had some fun 4th of Julys, the years that I stayed home, oblivious to the festivities. I prefer all of the other holidays. It goes back as far as I can remember. In the beginning, I wasn't independent enough to be left unsupervised, and so a rebel was born. It's not the nation's fault, it's the series of other than fun events that have occurred on this particular day, and most of those events aren't even festively relevant, aside from firecracker wars. Sure, I don't like the sun, and get bored easily, and I confuse impatience with anxiety, and staring at shiny colors in the sky for an hour strait is wicked amazing, but that's not the half of it. It's the average everyday aggravations that for no clear reason insist themselves upon this day of all days, if I choose to celebrate. I'm usually able to avoid all obstacles, so I'm sure you understand why this is upsetting for me. 

  I'm bad at frisby. I don't feel left out, that's not my thing. Even more so, I don't want anyone feeling that I feel left out. If I want to do something, I will. If anything, I feel rude for choosing to do my own thing over socializing. I don't like barbecues, but I kindly will eat your leftovers. 

  I like s'mores. There were s'mores for Halloween, it's a fine time of year. I was a bird. 

  I started this life with a fresh slate, embracing possibilities with open arms, and grasping at each day with a child's hands, but the thorns of my county's birth dug deep. This insufferable day has tainted me with scars and it's poison, and alone is the root of my every mental and emotional infliction. 

  I need to surrender myself to it completely, and accept America into my heart, but if that were true, it would also mean that country music should hone some sort of value. The theory contradicts itself. I'll think on it a spell. 

  What can I do for my country? Stay out of it's special day, and let it play as  it will. Maybe paint a picture of my pinkish hand shaking a red white and blue hand. I'm not going to buy it anything. 

  The pledge of allegiance gives me the heebie jeebies, but I was forced to chant it anyway, because I'm not religious. I did it standing up though, this is America, damn it. I'm not bothered by the "under god" part. I respect and appreciate historical preservation. If I ever write anything of significance, I can only hope that future people won't remove my beliefs from it. What creeps me out is pledging allegiance to a flag. Really? A flag? Why, that's so crazy, it just might work. 

  I have nothing to say about the confederate flag, because I didn't read the facts, and my vote doesn't count. 

  My father is an immigrant. So, I'm one hundred percent sure that I can be no more than fifty percent responsible for slavery. It's a good feeling. It'd be better if I held zero guilt, but what are you gonna do? 

  Thus far, it's been a lovely summer. I'm not going to let anything ruin it, especially freedom. Freedom's just another word for having laws in place that prevent you from being murdered. I'll sit tight until everything dies down. It's not my war, I just live here, in my home sweet home. 

  I can't make it to the party, but I hope you have a rip-roaring day! Best wishes, USA. Let your freak flag fly. Or not. I don't care. Go get 'em, cowboy. This blog's for you. 

The Clam Scam

  If I concentrate hard enough, dig extra deep, hypnotize myself, and retrieve lost memories that may or may not have happened, I'm sure I could find lots of reasons for why I'm such a jerk. Anyone could, but some people take a higher road, and chose to use their experiences in life to water their harvests of kindness. I'm a good person, I am, but I'm no river of kisses.

  The media urges that I be myself, but the media hates jerks more than anyone. That phrase has caused me more confusion than guidance. Like most developing minds, I used to over think problems. "Be yourself", "be yourself", was everywhere, all the time. If everyone in the world needed to be constantly advised of this, then logically, being someone else was a threat worth precaution. Having seen many other humans, and not noticing that they were not themselves, gave me the idea that one's self is a thing not of looks or personality. It must be more internal, like the soul. So, my true self is probably my soul, which is my awareness of myself, and my feelings. Being in the process of defining myself, leaves the awareness of myself part undefined, which left me nothing to define myself by but my hormones. So then I thought and thought about my feelings, and strained my youthful little brain, but there was no identity to be found. Either I was too stupid to find myself, or there was nobody solid to find, or being someone else was not a plague, but has merely been glamorized because it happened to a celebrity that one time. I never figured it out, but eventually found comfort in the decision to only be myself for attention. 

  I'm not trying to defend my benevolent honor, I'm just trying to fill out this blog. There's nothing to defend, I haven't done anything that I care about. To quote a song that I wrote, but never produced, "I'm not a runner. I'm not a driver. When I get high, I walk away." There's other lyrics that are easy to guess, but the moral is whatever. I have no agenda, I've got nowhere to be. I like positivity, it's good, I like good things. I'm no more negative than I am everything else, but in this new world where negativity is dropping our children like flies, it stands out. It labels me. Oh no!! 

  Sarcasm numbs the pain. The last time I kept it real, someone laughed at me. I'm sensitive. So sensitive, that I've had to restrict myself from indulging in the stronger stuff. My system can't handle it. I'm cut off. I used to cut myself, until I was teased for it. Never again. 

  I try not to personalize too much. It's empowering to suspect that everything has me in mind, but I've been down the paranoia slide before, and it gets scary fast. My sensitivity isn't what makes me a jerk, it's yours. This is about you now. You'll read anything. I'm sorry. 

  The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I don't know you, but you're alright by me. If I ignored you it was only because I was busy with every other stranger on the internet. Internetting is hard. 

  I hope you enjoyed visiting my blog, and thank you for hanging in there so far. I enjoyed writing it. If you were misled to believe that your kindness would be returned in the form of views to your own pieces of work, my apologies, fellow blogger. Favors that expect favors in reward are no favors at all. My honesty will save you from wasting further effort, but alas, again, I'm a jerk. I'm writing, not reading. I know that means a lot less likes, but they'll be earned, not bartered. I post with dreams of views, not devious schemes of pleasantry. 

  A famous actor once said, "Shit on my dick, or piss on my balls." It's the worst thing that I've ever heard in my entire life. Why it stuck with me wasn't the words, but how he just came out and said them. Save yourself from embarrassment, and risk that you die unsatisfied. Never be afraid to be yourself. Those who don't love you don't matter. 

  I'm the kind of girl who posts a blog, and then accuses you of being selfish for clicking onto it. Confusing right? Have some sympathy. I've been spiritually lost since the moment I discovered it as an option. I'm pouring out my heart and soul because I don't understand their value. I think it's funny. The consequences will be startling. 

  If I could be anyone on Earth, it'd be whoever's happiest. I wonder who they're being. Probably a clam. There's surgeries to make you beautiful on the inside, and I assume they're clam related, for females at least. It's a trending controversy. If you're not going to share this blog, consider spreading your clam awareness. It's the right thing to do for clams. Just take a few minutes out of every day, it could really make a difference. I can't because I'm a jerk. The clams are in your hands... 

  

http://princessgarbageface.blogspot.com/2016/03/emily-everychild-precautionary-tale.html

Not Too Shabby. I Hate It When It's Too Shabby.

  My birthday snuck up on me, that sneaky sneak. Last year, I turned thirty, and it was a milestone. A milestone that was a diversion, a diversion that made me feel like somebody. I had the same feeling when I turned eight. Well aged beyond my imagination. I'm like the oldest person ever. How could I possibly have come this far? I'm not surprised that I survived, but relived that I could harness such patience. The patience to wait through infinite moments that must pass to travel through time. Not that I don't enjoy time, and I'm certainly in no hurry to have it all pass away, but it demands constant attention. I know what time it is now, and about what time I'll do the next thing I need to do, how much time is in between the two, and how much time until another thing, and the best times to do things tomorrow. It's been a struggle since the beginning. A disease like gambling. It's important to keep a positive attitude. The future is now. I'm proud of myself. 

  Above all else, it's my special day. I want to wake up early to make the day longer, but I also want to stay in bed because I know that there's no rush. I usually don't do either. My special day makes me special. People ask what I have planned, and afterward, they ask about what I did. I plan on being special. I have it all worked out. 

  I stopped being stupid around the age of twenty-eight or nine. I could literally feel personality flaws leaving my body, being replaced by fresh new things to be used until new standards are raised. In enough time I'll be stupid again. Serves me right. I judge others for what they say and do, and that's wrong. It's also wrong to judge others for what they've said and done. Good people don't form opinions, and that's how they should be judged, long as they like and share. I haven't evolved enough to understand why it's a big deal, but until I have an army, I wouldn't worry much about me. 

  Me!! Mature and such. I got my first period exactly one week before my tenth birthday. It was a magical time because it meant that I was finally allowed to shave the braids from my armpits. I've been mature for quite a while. Menstruating and shaving do me justice, but real women go through the change. I consider myself a matured girl, or young woman, but never a grown ass woman. People say miss, not ma'am. But, I'll always be so many years old, not young. I don't age in reverse, don't patronize me, sonny. 

  If I live enough years, I'll be cute as a baby again. I'll say the darnedest things, and everyone will laugh because I'm dying soon. Every day will my special day. I just need to be patient. 

  Birthdays sure are something though. Measure your life, hurray! I should've accomplished more, but my parents never hit me. There was a sixth grade Social Studies teacher who wanted me to believe otherwise, but it's hard to take someone seriously when they're flirting with your friends. It's nice to reminisce, and reflect, and be thankful for right choices. I could have worse regrets. I've seen crappier people. I'm not single, and I eat my vegetables.. Not too shabby for thirty-one. 

  Thursday I'll be somebody, and Friday it won't matter. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, but live it as if it's your last. Take comfort in those close to you, unless you keep your enemies closer, I'll refer you to my food taster. Stay thirty, my friends, it's all downhill from here. 

  Oh, and if you have a birthday too, high five! 

The Prince of Popcorn

  Once upon a time, in a land called Popcorn, lived an adventurous prince. He was an honest and generous prince, who masturbated merrily until his parents died.

  Then, the prince was alone. With the king and queen gone, the castle was empty, all but himself and his toys. He played with his toys, and he played with himself, until he blistered and calloused, and called out for help.

  A beautiful maiden, not far away, heard his distress, and thought he was gay. Quickly, she rushed to come to his aid. When she reached the castle, the prince was so taken, he asked her to be his bride. Though it was a courageous gesture, the maiden was appalled to discover that he was attracted to women. She trembled, and heaved, and screamed when he touched her. Soon, he again was alone.

  Weeks and months passed as the emptiness remained. No maiden in Popcorn would marry him. The prince grew restless and reckless, and wandered off with delirium one night. When he awoke the next morning, it was in an unknown land. So he continued to wander, exploring without care.

  Every new path excited, and every new maiden was fair, and soon he found another land where things were newer there. He journeyed on, from land to land, meeting new people, and learning that he wasn't liked. The maidens teased and mocked, and buttered their breasts despite him. They were sad, imperfect, and unworthy. So on and on farther he went.

  Hundreds of miles and days from his home, his body ached and thirsted. He stopped at a pond where he soaked his feet, and reclined in the grass to stroke it. He thought about his parents, and castle, and all that had led him so far. Tears dripped with no shame as he pulled at himself and felt lost. Then, to his shock, a wave from the pond slashed upon his lap. The prince shrieked in surprise, and shriveled with a shiver. That's when he saw her. A maiden like no other.

  She spun and bobbed in the center of the pond, like a broke and swollen buoy. She moaned, and stretched at flaps of her flesh, and slapped and caressed the water. She watched him watch  her toss and froth, softly swimming closer. Air bubbled from her crevice, propelling her smoothly into his arms. They made love immediately, beastly and wet. It lasted long enough.

  The prince felt released of his burden, exhilarated, and desired. The maiden, who was exhausted, dried on shore, and began to smell. He kissed her cheek without waking her, and tiptoed back the way he came. The emptiness  seemed like a childish memory, and he longed for the comforts of home. So, surefooted and renewed, he quested to return to Popcorn, his people, and throne.

  He arrived rejoicing, eager for a sandwich. There he ate, sat, and pleasured himself merrily ever after, for the rest of his days, never wanting for relationships again. 

 

                                  ~The End~

Spam Emails- Searching For A Better Tomorrow

  If I search for anything that has to do with foreign language, I'm a balding obese masturbator desperate for companionship, who can't get an erection due to my small wiener and enlarged prostate, but maybe there's a pill that does more than claim to work. I would do or believe anything for a few bucks, and probably need a psychic to consult about the dozens of dying people asking to entrust me with their millions overseas, but luckily, there's all sorts of free stuff waiting for me because I've been specially selected, but truth is, I need a loan to get me by while I talk to a lawyer about my denied social security/workers comp claim after those injuries I suffered from my transvaginal mesh implant, so I need a system that really works to generate money even when I'm not online, where my uneducated ass should be selecting a collage,.. if I search anything having to do with employment. Thanks, spam emails, you got my back.