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Satire Vs. Empire

OPINIONS vs Onions

Edit: Upon further introspection, I realized that one of my favorite quote applies here.

“Often, unsung heroes go unheard” -Anonymous.

It takes a lot to remember the heroes that came before. Helping, healing and the time it takes in between breathe and pause. If one thing helps you, I sincerely hope you find it.

On a day when I was angry, I wrote based on my opinions- which some times I act like they are from only banana-muffins but in actuality they have been in my gears/grain for a long time. I am only now just becoming brave enough to talk about it in a way that feels good. So, I am writing on behalf of myself and delicious banana muffins. For me, standing by an opinion means writing, speaking, reading and watching my favourite Kung-Fu movie with the one-person I love most in the world. One day, I can introduce you to him dear reader. For now though, he has my whole heart and I’d have to paint that accurately first-aha.

p.s All the trigger warnings. Emotionally processing my own relating to the world. I am very weird vs. wise. #humanbeing

Truth is... I don't know EVERYTHING.
 Trust is... We all learn to figure it out.



Go stare at a Rembrandt for a bit. Or a couple thousand Bernini’s. Those are masterful.

Note: These are my original pieces of artwork.
I made this because I am great at LOTS.
I also have weird brain stuff. 


My brain and I get  nervous because I know … you know… I am a mortal being… My heart is very adamant that I am here to stay though- which is sweet in a corny forever-love kind of way.

Legacy is how people tell you they accomplished their greatest feature of being themselves when it WAS “Ugly Cry Time”

It used to look like this.


FACTZ! Are “Truthy” at Best

At worst, they are me without coffee and no sleep.

I do act like I have my life all figured out though.

*someone please cue up dramatic music*

Why thank you, I feel much better now.

Yet,  I have probably rambled in every appointment, voicemail and phonecall; of perhaps my life. Yes, even the important ones.

Even when I am at my best, I am a bit of an outlier in terms of clear thinking. It seems to take me forever to process my own insecurities. Also, I am stubborn and get bored easily. Thank goodness for art.

Truth is none of us get to see behind the curtain of the people who work tirelessly to get to what they need for help. Actually, I think some people do weirdly enough.

Those are the “miracles”  that I forget to tell… or I am not ready to talk about yet. In many ways, I am learning to fight my own battles. In others, I am learning to ask for help. I am moving forward but I don’t always think that is the same process for people. I know I process… by being… myself? Let’s move on from the metaphysical imperatives of that situation though.



#myself  #radHonest
People are not puzzles.                            “oh hey, I’m not perfect!” “

Above and beyond, those are the things that really scare me. I tried once to write down all my fears and get rid of them by crying into a pillow like a princess. You know what, it was not the solution for me. I’ve tried the working out and being a warrior all day everyday- still a bit of a sensitive. Hence, I am going to keep working on myself and loving the people in my life as best I can.

Basically, I  forget that I am a flawed human being who loves people rather profoundly… and I am my own worst critic. These are the elements that keep me in a loop of sanity.


I know my team.
I know who I love.
I know who I am. Those are the stories I can’t help but remember.

I imagine them like vines, filligree, leaves and every person who has worked their hardest that came before me.

This method is a tad overcomplicated but very beautiful in the right lighting. These intricate details are usually the significant markers of someone who was doing what they really loved. I wonder about those people, I think they must have mastered their life if they really made some thing of that magnitude.

I don’t always get to see the people who have worked the hardest. Nor do I get to hear them.

I know that they exist. The speak loud, they love hard and they know to the core of their being that they are bright.

My life now is so removed from what it once was I tend to forget I am safe and happy now… I know that might sound weird but it is really true.

I forget how much work goes into being that for other people. It might make me selfish at times but you know what, if I can become the one person who lifts someone else up even if it’s for those precious 5-seconds. I am there.

Note: You can’t impose your suggestions on how people move, groove and get on with their life. People are also not Sims like they are not puzzles.

The fable in my head is the whole moral of: It’s not BECAUSE we are human that we are flawed.

It is about knowing how hard it was for someone to love you so dearly to get up and do what they loved most in times of struggle.

It is the fully appreciating how TRULY and deeply someone worked to lift their love up.

Also, about choosing their own HEART.

Basically, it’s every silly love song AND batch of cookies. When I hear people singing their favourites, I hear every ounce of gumption, grit and determination it took to bring someone your favourite dinner. When I hear effort, I hear every grandma and grandpa knowing that their kids are doing their best.

There is the self-discovery nugget people.

  • I am a cry baby at 25 years old.
  • I have also worked really hard to earn my skills.
  • I don’tknow how to label them yet… but I know I love my people.
  • I know if you asked I could find a way in time on how to say it.

I might not be the best. I am going to DO my best though- that counts for all of us.

You know that I will work, play and move forward in my own way. I will love my people.

If I took a shower, survived and I am now thriving. I want to be the one to help people.

I am my own number 1 person.

I don’t need to label or sticker.

I don’t need to understand anything past that.

I need to know that I am the one I love. Even though, loving someone like me takes a team of people at times.

Who is your team!? What do you do to lift yourself up?

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Hateful Excuses… TW

Personal responsibility and psychiatric calamities shall be the title of my first fucking memoir.

If anyone cares to know, I am righteously angry at the moment. So if you want to read some angst and rage… PROCEED. If not, go away. DSC_0223

Why can’t you tell a psychiatrist to go fuck themselves? Well, it’s socially not reccommended since they can institutionalize you. These elements of social etiquette infuriate me; just another subtle means of establishing control on people. All the subtles you shouldn’t do this add up and wear at me over time. Hell, even crying in public is so fucking frowned upon because it seems the majority of the populace is so disengaged with their emotions. Plus, all the “spiritual” folk are neurotically avoiding “negative” emotions because they don’t want to “take others energy on”.

Is there a place in society for rage and sadness? Is there a place in the world for these big feelings? IS there a place in the world for me?

Yet, those deemed with expertise and a side of arrogance can steamroll all over vulnerable persons with technicalities, ridiculously overpriced drugs and a general lack of empathy that makes me think Lizard People might actually exist.

Part of me cautions to be compassionate, after all doctors and other health practitioners are people too! They aren’t supported in their jobs… they have problems too… are what I say to mayself as I slowly back myself off the precipice of a mental breakdown. I resent myself in part for keeping myself from tipping over the edge… maybe I should just fall of the cliff… maybe it would feel liberating to not exist… maybe it would be more okay if I just numbed out to this existence.

All of this is coming up inside of me in reaction to a series of inconsiderate events regarding my forms for my Ontario Disability application (admitting that I am making one makes my throat constrict) starring at least 4 doctors, 2 social workers and a few handfuls of office staff.

There are so many problems with the system…  The most highlighte for me today is the systemic victimhood and disempowering policies that are entrenched in the Ontario medical system-especially in regards to mental health. I am rocked and whipped into a a storm of rage that pours out hot tears.

Everytime I try to rationalize, to calm myself down; my mind tries so many excuses…

“Hey! Blame the Wynne government for all the cuts to health providers!” or

“Hey! Blame doctors because they have no humanity!” or

“HEY! Blame the scary and shitty Big Pharma because that’s who all New Agers blame! or

“Hey! Blame your family for fucking everything up in the first place!” or

“Hey! Blame your brain because it’s all structurally and chemically fucked up!” or

“Hey! Blame your wounded slimy soul that’s tainted by all the shitty and immoral things you’ve done throughout time and space!” or

“HEY! Last resort- we can at least blame the fucking WIFI!”

All of these feel like fake lies you would tell to a child to calm them down.

Yet taking on the full responsibility for these events… crushes me.

I fucked up. I failed. So, maybe I am a failure.

I can write a stupid blog post in 10 minutes. Can I write 2 academic papers in a year? HA!

I can remain calm when someone is yelling at me. Yet, I practically choke on my own tongue trying not to rage at this stupid psychiatrist.

I can apply for 3 jobs a day. Yet, my unemployed life is filled with charity work and burrito blankets.

Today was the first in a long time where I felt I could understand why people kill themselves…

That’s a scary thought, sure, but I had it.

This will probably pass. But in case anyone was wondering, I don’t ALWAYS have my shit together. I’m not always happy. I don’t really buy the love and light bullshit. I am still lovable even at my worst. So there.

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Poetic Musings from the Spiritual WtFAQ

I have a ongoing document on my computer called my Spiritual WtFAQ. It is basically a journal where I wordbarf all my thoughts when I am feeling discombobulated. I started it when I was trying to make a manual on how to deal with /be me. A lot of it consists of questions I constantly ask myself when I am an imbalanced state- so I can read what I wrote when I was feeling good. That said, I rarely remember I’ve created this document when I am feeling *shitty.

Most of it is fun and there’s some poetry in there- maybe a book one day? Anyway, without further ado- here is an excerpt of my inner machinations. 


Written December 18th 2016

It can feel like I am the ghost writer of my own mind. The internal judgments cloud my eternal desire to communicate my own vision of a grand design.

If someone asked a simple question, without looking into my eyes; I wonder what would I be able to say in front of another person.

Sublimely peaceful in my own small circle of perceived madness. I don’t really want to play well with others.

A glorious disaster or a communicative natural wonder.

A crystal gem or a patch of dirt thinking it is calcified sand.

Universal languages of music, art and nature.

Fuel a divine inspired expression that is loftily met with imagined judgments that I permit to feel like rejection.

I allow myself to get lost in the cause of peace and self-righteous quests for glory.

A perfect storm of a vortex undisclosed questioning stillness and challenging resistance.

A die-hard, try-hard perpetually seeking running full tilt towards accomplishments pushed to a standstill by internal neurotic tabloids.

No real questions come because I speak to fragility and all the songs left unsung.

I am here.

I promise.

I will stay as long as I am needed.

I will always need my self because I know I am the first to love.

A love note to myself when imagined madness can tempt my Highest Good to become undone.

The constant questions I ask myself and others…

Do you understand?

Are you listening with a heartbeat of your own vulnerability?

Can you appreciate the wisdom of a childlike wonder?

Do you really believe the world needs more rewilding?

Are you taking this all personally?

Can I hurt you?

What is a boundary?

Can my creative expression and healing process be met with contempt if I wilfully disallow all attempts at disrespecting me?

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Brain Fire and Moving Onward

“Brain Fire” is what I call being syptomatic of my various mental health diagnosi.

I resent that I have any diagnosis.
I resent that I am compelled to label myself.
I resent that I am encouraged to conform the magnitude of my feelings into a socially acceptable and easily digestible expressions.

When I am syptomatic, my brain is on fire. The world feels louder, smells stronger and I feel deeper. I know and trust that I am not the first to go through these motions.

However, the simple tasks of maintaining a life… seem overwhelming at times.

I was triggered today when a relative said “if you were living in the real world- it wouldn’t be pretty. If I wasn’t shielding you, you wouldn’t make it”.

I wanted to scream fuck you and cry hot tears at the same time.

Am I not in the real world? How am I the villain for someone elses actions? How do they know my experience isn’t hellish?

Anyways, I shared that I didn’t like how that comment made me feel and the conversation resolved to an okay result. There had been a miscommunication, hurt feelings and chronic pain that exarcerbated the issue.

Still though, I felt persecuted. (which I realize is much to strong of a word in relation for the actions that happened- but it’s the most accurate descriptor for me).

I want more energy.
I want more lightness.
I want more money.

There are paintings that sell for millions… MILLIONS of dollars.
I want that level of affluence.

Yet, I am feeling frayed and dismayed… Tomorrow is another day to shift my state. To clean, to renew, to refresh and reset.