nccotus

sex sells.

masturbators can’t write.

a sexually deficient person is the definition of a monster?

just like I sat down on the saddle on the count of three when riding over fences on horseback (because of the clitoral injury) I wriggled uncomfortably under Alex in bed and so frustrated his efforts to establish a rhythm and he would get so mad and I got exasperated too. He is the one who would be able to validate these claims that I have always made.

so, as for writing, poetry was easier and I have written a fair amount and my short stories are more like prose poems.

I have tried and tried to write a long work and failed but I am slated to make another try for a novel to me that is the definition of a writer. But there you have people physically and verbally and socially interacting and the sex has to be there and that is where I fall down. My trouble with spatial relations equates to a problem with structure, I just don’t get that about a book. Blogging is more like sitting for an exam which is where I always did my best.

With the lesion by my nose pressing on nerves in my face and the irritated clitoris, I was “in my head.” I was also constipated. I solved all of this by doing floor exercises in the morning in the living room of the suite every other day to blow off bad energy and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, being promiscuous, drinking heavily. It was not a good situation. I guess everyone knew something was wrong, it is hard for me to understand how they handled it, I was enraged by this, I felt my 3 1/2 years had been stolen away from me by roommate Sally’s vanity. I was left empty handed as the Harvard Advocate crashed around my head and I prepared to leave school. Forces moved in to help her and harm me. I went home on a voluntary basis and then received a letter stating that I was required to withdraw.

Things got so ugly. I was not mature enough to handle it.

I kept writing. If I had found proper counsel, who knows? Maybe I could have returned to Harvard to tweak my CLGS (cum Iaude in general studies) to do an option 3 honors thesis in creative writing and get my name out of the toilet and never have cut these poor wrists. Scars that will never go away, It is a problem I don’t know how to solve and it blocks my faith.

my novel will start with the cats! I get along with the cats because of their being altered, I know what they feel like. For instance, my sons cat Dapples had no tail and my mother got him declawed as well as altered. That poor cat! He sat with me through one of the worst episodes of my life time out on the back c porch c that looks out over c the swamp at my mother’s place. I was able to explain to him about his condition and he became a very handsome and dignified being. As the end approached he returned to the bizarre and deranged cat that my mother loved and kept and I had to let him go to her. He died while I was away from home and I never got to say goodbye.

my new years’ resolution this year 2025, is to accentuate the positive. There has been so much negativity for so long over those two bad providers in Summit in ’83.

so many cats. I married into to Clan Chattan–clan of the cat.

the cats in Summit were miserable, always puking up their food.

too many animals. Thats one thing that therapist JZ pointed out.

there has to be a normally sexual foil like the psychiatrist in Equus and and in Clockwork Orange and the narrator in that c strange book Birdie, the last I don’t remember well. But it is possible to write about abnormal sexuality.

hmmm…