“Nighty night, little bunny rabbit.” -more looking back

“Nighty night, little bunny rabbit.”

And we all go to sleep, dream, drip. My heart is racing. I am going to forget about men altogether right now and just create create create. I am miserable and a fiend, a total hyperactive freak. And the Goddess is not coming out. The Goddess is shrinking under me. Bashful. Boring. Silly. Giddy.

Not a bad sandwich. I can’t come here anymore. I always rip paper off of beer bottles. Psychic energy drizzles in the cracks. Poisoned by gutters and blow-dryers, my hair crackles off. Don’t have anything to say—on the verge of saying something. This is why my heart is going to explode, not because I have a crush, but because I haven’t reached what I want to say clearly.

Was going to go to F’s wedding, but I can’t.

Feel that if I just cried, could write about what it is about the situation I would be better. Cannot send my graces to their love. Love. He ripped, stripped, salted my young heart. I was a baby. A baby! Baby, don’t do me that way. Feel young but that my youth is slipping and if I give my heart, my blessing, I will seal my youth in her wedding bouquet. Entering the new strong-single-woman phase. I feel pissed but it’s the only way I can be, I cannot be a weak woman. Still, I feel like hiding a lot. Been going out too much. Been going out too much. I already said that.

Next time I meet Anavie I’d like to have a set focus on what I’m going to write about.  Like a book of erotic stories, the story of my life, a description of every one I’ve ever had sex with before the age of 20. That’s what dating is like right now. Bad sex, bad karma, weird environments

© September 20, 2000

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I'm a rock-n-roller poet who left the Big Apple for the Big Sky Desert where I've been letting it be and grooving with universal love, singing to the gods, dancing with the muses and bicycling with dreamtime messengers. I like altering my reality through imagination, movement, breath, and makin' stuff.

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