Everyone has that song they love that touches their soul. That is why I love music. Whether it be sad or upbeat, no matter the genre you can always find music that speaks to you.

I have stated in a previous blog that music is a universal language that brings people together. I still stand by that statement.

However, there is a dark side to that as well. Many years ago I fell in love and that love went horribly wrong. As many of you know most of the sordid details if you have kept up with my previous blogs. Or you can always buy the book out now on Barnes and Noble in ebook and in ebook and paperback. It is called Memoirs of a birth mother.

But I digress back to the story at hand. As I was saying I was a dumb teenager who fell in love with the most handsome of men.

His favorite band was, you guessed it RUSH. All he ever listened to was this stupid band, it even got to the point where even his friends would ask, “Don’t you listen to anything else?”

He would have me listen to it over and over and couldn’t quite fathom why I didn’t love it as much as he did. He even got angry if I asked him to please listen to something, anything else.

It was as if he was obsessed with the group and was trying to brainwash me by having me listen to it over and over again at nauseam. Maybe there was some kind of subliminal message in the lyrics or something.

I didn’t care for the group and after the hell, I went through in our relationship months later I hated them. Even now 22 years later I will leave a grocery store if Rush comes on the speaker.

It is like nails on a chalkboard and it is the one thing that brings me right back to the memories of that man.

I hate this group with a passion that runs deep and long. Maybe there was some kind of subliminal message in the words after all. It just didn’t work out the way they intended.

I may never get over my hatred of Rush. But at this point in my life, I could care less about a band that brings back so many painful memories.

So be careful of what music you choose to tie in with someone you love. You may wind up hating the music as much as them in the end…

<a href=””>Rush</a&gt;



I want to explore the recesses of my mind. To see first hand the inner workings of all the neurons firing off instructions to the rest of my body.

I want to explore the world and all its possibilities.

I want to dive down into the darkest depths of the seas and discover something no one ever has before.

I want to unearth that elusive Egyptian tomb and change history forever.

I want to pirouette off the highest cliffs in Fiji and feel the sun driving me into the cool crisp water below.

I want to take a tour of Italy. Eating cheeses and drinking wine, through the hills of Tuscany, the canals of Venice and the pure history that is Florence.

I want to get lost in endless red caverns and be one with the deafening silence.

I want to climb the highest mountains, where the air is thin but closest to God.

I want to run with the wild horses in the northern frontier, and the bulls in Spain.

I want to find out why all the snakes left Ireland, and where did all the druids go?

I want to soar through the sky like a bird, praying that my parachute opens before I hit the ground.

I want to join in the parade on the day of the dead, and collect as many beads as I can on Mardi Gras.

I want to swim with the Dolphins, or just bury my toes in the sand.

I want to dance naked under the full moon, around a fire becoming one with nature and my primal self.

I want to touch, taste, hear, see and smell, it all. I want to feel it in my bones, and be changed by the experience spiritually.

The world is my oyster, it is time to explore it.

<a href=””>Explore</a&gt;


Abuse has many realities. I have been writing a book on my past and it is heartbreaking to see all the abuse I have endured over the years laid out in black and white. Abuse is something that no one talks about, it is something that has gone on forever but when someone sees it in their life they think, “Oh my why is this happening in my neighborhood no less!” Yet, most of the time their will to do anything to prevent it is almost non-existent. The mere definition of abuse, I have learned, is subjected to what the abused themselves have been through.

I grew up in a household where abuse was a daily thing. As I got older and left home I met someone that had been abused way worse than I ever thought possible and for a time I thought “well what I went through isn’t abuse because it was not nearly as bad. However, it must be the old, with age brings wisdom kind of thing because I now know no matter what I called it, it was still abuse. I have been through so much that most of my life I have spent fighting. First fighting to survive, in a household that clearly didn’t want me. Then fighting to survive the horrible choices I made in my life, and now I find myself fighting the sheer demons from my past, that continue to haunt me, daily.

I have been told over the past several years to let the past go. I hate that. When someone says “Oh let the past go” either didn’t have a rough life or refuse to face the past and I speaking from experience know running from it never bodes well. I refuse to be the ostrich with my head in the sand ignoring the past and how it has defined me as if it never happened. Isn’t the first step in any program acceptance. I accept those horrible things have happened to me in my past. Hell, we all have a past, and for someone who has been through it. Well, it astonishes me. I mean I don’t dwell on the past or anything but I have finally come to terms with the fact that it did happen and I somehow survived it.

Like I said, in the beginning, there are multiple forms of abuse. I looked up the definition on google and this is what it came up with.


1. use something to bad effect or for a bad purpose; misuse.

2. treat (a person or animal) with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly.

3. speak in an insulting and offensive way to or about (someone.)

   These were the three definitions of abuse. Now just one of these is horrendous but two or God forbid all three, makes for a pretty awful existence. To go through this day after day after day. I almost laugh at the whole idea of other’s idea of being offended by everything nowadays These people have truly led lives of fantasy. If you are able to somehow turn something as stupid as a store selling cotton in a jar into a race thing or are just now after hundreds of years getting offended over a civil war statue well, it just boggles my mind over the stuff people take offense to these days. Try being the only daughter of a woman who never truly saw you. Or even cared to know you. She just thought you were the little stray dog she could kick around or watched and laughed as she did everything in her power to clip your wings so you could never fly. Try having someone that was supposed to be the only person in this entire world to protect you from the monsters and turns out she was the monster you should have been protected from. Or try having her tell you every single day of your life that you were never going to make anything of yourself and be a fat lazy bum all your life. 

I take offense to that. I take offense that at the tender age of five I learned who the real monsters were. My mother and stepfather. I take offense that what childhood I did have was fraught with abuse and neglect. I take offense that in my later years. I found out that other family members knew of the abuse and did nothing.

The worst thing you can do after witnessing abuse is nothing. Or becoming an abuser yourself. Abuse happens daily it is just not something that is talked about. There are not enough of us standing up for what is right in this world. No child should ever be abused. The stander by becomes just as guilty by not doing anything. With today’s technology, there are so many ways to report abuse. There are no excuses. Report abuse now! Don’t let someone else be a statistic and in turn become one yourself.



I am an addict! I shake uncontrollably. As I wait for my next fix. Nothing matters now but my next high. My job, family, and friends have all gone away. As I sit here alone waiting for what comes next. There is nothing I can’t snort, shoot, or swallow and as I take my sweet candy. I can taste that ambrosia on my tongue. I swallow it down savoring the slow trek it makes down my throat and into my system. A release of endorphins floods me as they join together in a joyous chorus of pure ecstasy. My last thoughts before the high take over completely are “is this the high that gets me to the sweet release of death?”

I am a killer! I revel in the sweet stench of death! I bide my time, wait for the perfect moment, then move in for the kill! As crimson waves pour out of her skin changing its color from a lush pink to a waxing grey a giggle escapes me. I watch with bated breath as the light fades from her eyes. I can almost feel the moment they become two lifeless orbs. Permanently fixed in death. My thirst for death abated for the time being. I dispose of her the best way I know how. I go on about my life as if nothing happened. No one ever knowing my dark secret only I share with the voices in my head. I mingle among, the rest of you, waiting for that hunger, that, need, that thirst to rise again.

I am a sexual deviant! I wait until the witching hour. Then I make my way down to the seediest part of town and that club. That club everyone knows but no one ever talks about. The place where whips and chains decorate the walls. Where a handy means more than one thing and I can just relax and be my own perverted self because I am finally home. With the scent of blood and other things mingled in the air. I breathe in the depravity with a sense of peace and calm. This is my happy place.

I am an animal! The night is mine! The world is my oyster! Iv’e  been moon-kissed and as he shines his light down upon me the wildness takes hold. I lift my head and scent the wind with my big snout. I catch the scent of my prey I have been stalking for well over an hour. I tick off the time in my head One… Two… Three then I pounce.  I capture the rodent in my heavy jowls. I can hear his bones breaking with the gnashing of my teeth. I can feel his heartbeat slow to nothingness. With his blood dripping off my chin I swallow him whole. With a satisfied growl, I chase the moonbeams silhouetted in the open field. I romp and play and howl at the moon. Until dawn breaks out over the horizon. Where I curl up to dream until night comes again.

I am a writer! I am all of these things and much much more! Yet, I am none of them all at the same time. My pen is my sword which I bring to life with a tiny flick of my wrist. My imagination is limitless. I walk a thin line between fiction and reality. Between the possible and the impossible. Everything I touch turns to words. Step into my mind won’t you? Let’s take a walk in someone else’s shoes.  All you have to do to enter my world is,  simply, turn the page.


According to the dictionary, TRADITION is – the handing down of statements, beliefs, legends, customs, information, etc.

It also says that TRADITIONAL is – existing in, or as part of a tradition, long-established.

Is it safe to say then that not all traditions are good? When you think of traditions being passed down from generation to generation. From family member to family member. For the most part, it is something good. It is something that builds a legacy. It is the way you were raised that you take with you and continue on. For example, the way we celebrate the holidays. How many of you out there celebrate the way you do because that is the way your parents taught you? How many of you out there say, “I do this because it is the way I was raised!” It becomes the “traditional” thing in your family and so you continue on, but like I said before not all traditions are good are they?

Like the way we see, the world, the way we speak to one another, the way we treat other people. It is all based on some sort of traditional value that you were raised with. It is up to you to break that cycle and change tradition. It is up to you to make new traditions, and it is a hard road, an uphill battle that you sometimes don’t think you can win, but it is worth it in the end.

We are always told from an early age that our parents want more for us than what they had. At least I was and yet, the bar was set pretty low. It was never about things for me. Hell, I could have lived in a shack with dirt floors for all I care. All I ever wanted was to be seen, as a person, not an obligation. A sense of self- loathing and never being loved. That is the traditional values I grew up with and carried with me into adulthood!

That is also the traditional values I have been trying to rectify ever since. You see I didn’ t grow up in a house full of warm and cozy traditions. However, I learned through all the pains of the traditions I did grow up with that it is not a tradition I wanted my kids to carry with them. What traditional values do you want to leave behind to be passed down from generation to generation?

<a href=””>Traditional</a&gt;



Life after death or the near death experience. There are many theories of what happens when we die, it is enough to make my head spin. Some people see a white light others see a loved one that has already passed waiting in the murky shadows of death to guide them to the other side. My question is what other side? What could they have possibly seen on “the other side” that made them want to stay and yet make them come back all at the same time? What makes them weep for that moment again once they are back and alive?

There are always more questions than answers when it comes to death. Much like our birth, our death is personal. Something I deem to be private and unique. Each of us must face this journey and face it alone. Is it just a coincidence that we can never share this experience with anyone? There is never a witness to this phenomena.

Why do some see this and some don’t? See, many, many more questions? I have had a couple of different “near death experiences” Technically I never died, but death was surely counting the seconds until it could claim me. I never once saw a bright light or a dead relative there to engulf me in their long lost embrace. There was only darkness, no awareness, no memory of well anything. Is it because I didn’t actually die? Or was there something more sinister afoot?

Then the question arises. Are there really ghosts? Or is it just my mind playing tricks on me? To that question for me the answer in a round about way I have found in the Bible! Revelations to be exact. You see according to one scripture I have read about in the end of days there is no heaven or hell! Yet! Yes, I do believe they exist but I wholeheartedly believe we won’t actually experience either the fiery pits of hell or those beautiful streets of gold until the actual end of days.

The Bible verse in Revelations speaks of the dead rising from the grave to be judged by God  for our sins.This in my interpretation is that the dead lay in a waiting period until God comes back to claim his children. Yes, I understand that that does not explain why people see a white light when they have an experience but what if that is just a gift God is showing us what waits for us upon his return? Maybe some people need this “vision”  to shake them, wake them, and change their lives. It would certainly explain Ghosts! If our spirits, our essence is still earth bound it would make sense that our energies would collide every now and again. Just think thousands, no millions of years and millions upon millions dead all sharing this space. It makes for a crowded world we live in. The key word here is live!

No matter the experiences we have had while alive or dead. We need to remember it is our journey, ours alone. And while it seems like it would be very lonely it also fills me with a sense of peace I cannot explain. While the act of death itself is something we will all go through my own experience will be all mine.

I almost didn’t make it when I came into this world and I know God was at my side then as much as he is now. I anticipate the day we actually meet and all my questions will be answered but, I think I can wait a few more years for my answers!



I haven’t been able to write in a while. Everything seems to come out as garbage lately when I do write. Hemmingway said, “even if you write crap, write.” I am paraphrasing here but as much as I love his writing I can’t seem to force myself to write crap. I can’t bring myself to go through the motions the simple act of writing means more to me than that. This is not one of those things that I can “fake it till I make it” situations.

I went down to my “church” my open mike night down at my favorite bookstore last night hoping to get a smidge of inspiration. While there were some good reads and I did feel a little trickle of the old me shining through (you know the me that can write) I came to a realization about myself. Albeit  there was some very good and deep poetry I felt as if I as deep as I have gone inside myself to pull out the darkest and ugliest to write about there was still something missing.

Have I not gone deep? Is there some untapped vein inside of me that is still hiding from me? I fear that is exactly why I am not writing because what I have uncovered so far is just deep enough at the same time I feel that there are depths to me to which even I don’t understand yet, and that is scary.

How can I not understand… ME? How can I not see that there is more to me than just what is on the surface? Aren’t I the one that gets upset when others don’t look beyond that to see who and what I really am? How could this be?

I have always considered myself a what you see is what get kind of girl and yet I have been lying to myself all along. Maybe now that this realization has finally presented itself. I will be able to open the flood gates once again and write more sustenance for my soul. I just have to keep calm in the meantime and just breathe. I know it will eventually come to me. I can’t wait to discover the new depths of me…

<a href=””>Calm</a&gt;

<a href=””>Discover</a&gt;