"The mark of an immature man is that he would die knobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he would live humbly for one" - Catcher in the Rye -WARNING WRITER SPELLING CHALLENGED! But Sometimes you have to say "what the fuck!"

Thursday, August 19, 2004


Tricia’s son Zach is having surgery today at a Children’s Hospital. I encourage everyone to stop by her blog Woodnotwood and show some love and support for this amazing family.

One of the hardest parts of parenting is dealing with a sick child, especially watching and waiting in a hospital lobby as your “baby” goes under the knife.
This brings about a lot of teary-eyed memories and emotion for me, as my son D was born with Tracheal esophageal fistula, which required numerous major operations before his first birthday.

When D was born he wasn’t breathing. I was fucking numb and a mess from delivering him naturally. I wasn’t a hippie type then, shit, I just turned 20 a month before, but the hospital where he was born in Okinawa did not have childbirth drugs in their budget (or something like that). Anyway, so he wasn’t breathing….there was a hushed silence. Silence definitely speaks louder than words sometimes, and I will never forget the sickening sounds of silence then. The doctor and staff said nothing to me, they took him away, and ran to the corner leaving me alone. I remember crying out “why isn’t my baby crying?” no response. I started chanting the Lords Prayer, and then I heard his beautiful cry. I was crying myself by this point. Still, no one said anything to me, no one showed me my new baby boy, they said in their sterile way “we need to take him to run some tests”. Numb and in shock I was wheeled into a room.

My husband went with the baby and left me alone to sleep. He came in later looking hung over and exhausted. He said something was wrong with our baby. I think a doctor may have come with him, but I really don’t remember. I was in a state of shock to say the least. They said his esophagus was not attached to his stomach, it ended in a blind pouch. Okinawa did not have pediatric surgeons; D would have to be flown to the nearest hospital for an operation to fix him. The nearest hospital was Hawaii.

I was wheeled down to see my baby for the first time. He was lying in an incubator like bed with tubes coming out of him and wires. I reached in and gave him my finger, which he grasped.

-You know I really wanted to write about this, but it’s making me too upset. Maybe I will try to finish another time. The long and short of this is that I was not able to hold my baby for a week, until he was healed from his first major operation. I never put him down after that. When they sewed his esophagus and stomach together, the way his body wanted to heal was by closing off his esophagus in the scar area. So, there were several surgeries after that where he had to be dilated. He still is at risk for that today. They also discovered he had a secondary birth defect in his trachea. This was discovered at 6 months. He needed another major operation to correct this one. This discovery of course was after his lungs collapsed twice and he almost died before my eyes. I have spent more time in Childrens Hospitials than I can describe. To this day, I cant go to hospitals without getting emotional or freaked out.

Maybe later I can write about the hospital adventures and my conversations with God. When D was under the knife, God actually spoke to me, and assured me things would be okay and that D was chosen. But, those are stories for another time.

I never knew why D was born “special”. Some people blamed me, and the fact that I was a partier as a teenager. Well, as soon as I got pregnant I stopped doing anything, so that really wasn’t a factor. Other people say D was born like that because he is a “mixed breed”. I had a few ignorant fucks from the south ask me about that one. My response, “yeah and the doctors had to remove his tail too”. Fockers. My personal explanation is my mercury fillings in my mouth. I have sooooo much mercury I’m fucking glowing. I’ve read books and talked to doctors and dentists and mercury does cause birth defects and other problems. This is the best explanation I can think of. This is another reason I don’t want any more kids. I’m scared of them having a problem.

D made it out of all of this a champion. He tripled his birthrate like normal babies in three months, despite the fact that most of his diet came from IV’s. His pediatric surgeons RAVED about him, in fact they speak of him to this day, and how strong he is. D was supposed to be like a preemie baby, all short and scrawny. However, the warrior in him has made him fight to be tall, fight to be big, fight to be mighty. My son has amazing power and strength; I thank God for him, and I’m so proud to be his mommy.

On a side note..
I guess this is a reason my son and I love the X-men so much. I always told D he was a mighty mutant, just like the X-men. HomoSuperior – like Magneto says.

*thanks Tricia for these photos

Visit my Guestbook
Listed on Blogwise

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

My Favorite Things Vader Style

Okay get ready to sing along really bad and out of key.

Raindrops on ganja and whiskers on kittens
Bright colored fireworks and fucking til smitten
12 holed Doc Martins all laced up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

Cream in my latte and old ladies with poodles
Cowboys with cow bells and licking his noodle
Black crows that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things

Girls dressed in vinyl with silver skull sashes
Nasty wet kisses on my nose and eyelashes
Silver white winters that melt into springs
These are a few of my favorite things

When the dog bites
When my tattoo stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad

Random things that make Vader happy.

Dedicated to Celti and Michael

Good red wine and chocolate

Dressing up in bondage gear with friends and carousing the night life

Watching my son make a winning basket, score a homerun, or pitch a fabulous game.

Seeing my name in print after a publication

Listening to my wind chimes

the buzz of a tattoo needle, and getting a new piece

Paying the rent and having money left over

Coming home to a clean house

Taking a warm bath

Buying a new action figure and hanging it on my wall in the package

laughing for hours, stoned out of your mind, with old friends

John Hughes Films

The taste of salty skin

80's Duran Duran videos

Thinking of sleeping with of the entire cast of the Outsiders


Playing Bob Marley really, really loud

Fantasing about hanging out with Han Solo at Mos Eisley Space Port

Making love on a cold winter night by the fire

Watching the Star Wars trilogy, over, and over

Watching the sunset over the mountains

Dirty dancing with a stranger on the dance floor

Getting my nails done bright pink or black

A lap dance from a hot chick

Flying first class with a young boy toy

Laying out in the sun for hours


A really good neck massage

Watching Ron Jeremey act

All HBO’s Original Series

Watching the snowfall at night, and the world seems a glow

Iced Vanilla Lattes

Petting and cuddling my pussies; Figaro and Crookshanks

Reading Harry Potter

Looking back at high school notes with an old friend


Singing bad Karayoke

Shopping and buying a new outfit that looks fabulous on me

Pinacoladas and getting caught in the rain

Receiving poetry from my son

Your first kiss with a new lover, first touch, firsts everything

Wedding parties

Fox Mulder, Cigarette Smoking Man, the Lone Gunman and Skinner

David Lynch movies and TV shows

Homer Simpson.... Doh!

Finding a great score at the local thriftstore

Finding a great score at the local bar

Okay…. Enough warm fuzzy here…. I’m trying to be depressed already.


Visit my Guestbook
Listed on Blogwise

Monday, August 16, 2004

There’s someone in my head but it’s not me. –Pink Floyd, “Brain Damage”

Misery loves company.
Vader admits to being an attention whore, but I wish attention could cure my depression. Most days I don’t want to wake up, I would rather sleep the day away. I wish a hug, or an I love you would make me feel better. I do appreciate support and love, but I can only help myself out of this Bell Jar life. My sky is falling…..I’m grasping for support but it all slips away…. I’m left alone, cold, dark, with nothing but my own madness.

I have collected quotes from soul mate crazies, and through their words… I find a glimmer of light.


Lunatics, lovers, and poets are part of an imagination all combined.William Shakespeare, “Midsummer’s Night Dream”

…the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”Jack Kerouac, On the Road

What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That place among the rocks—is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.

–Theodore Roethke, “In a Dark Time”

Only when all our hold on life
is troubled,
Only in spiritual terror can
the truth
Come through the broken mind—

—WB Yeats, “The Hour-Glass”

Melancholy men, of all others, are the most witty. –Aristotle

When you are insane, you are busy being insane—all the time…when I was crazy, that was all I was. –Sylvia Plath

Dear Doctor: I am feeling very sick. I have a heart in my stomach which throbs and mocks. Suddenly the simple rituals of the day balk like a stubborn horse. It gets impossible to look people in the eye: corruption may break out again? Who knows. Small talk becomes desperate.
Hostility grows, too. That dangerous, deadly venom which comes from a sick heart. Sick mind, too. The image of identity we must daily fight to impress on the neutral, or hostile, world collapses inward: we feel crushed.
Sylvia Plath, in a journal entry

My world falls apart, crumbles, “The center cannot hold.” There is no integrating force, only the naked fear, the urge of self-preservation. I am afraid. I am not solid, but hollow. I feel behind my eyes a numb, paralyzed cavern, a pit of hell, a mimicking nothingness. I never thought. I never wrote, I never suffered. I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. I do not know who I am, where I am going—and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions. I long for a noble escape from freedom—I am weak, tired, in revolt from the strong constructive humanitarian faith which presupposes a healthy, active intellect and will. There is nowhere to go… –Sylvia Plath, writing about her depression in her journal

Now I sit here, crying almost, afraid, seeing the finger writing my hollow futility on the wall, damning me—God, where is the integrating force going to come from? My life up till now seems messy, inconclusive, disorganized: I arranged my courses wrong, played my strategy without unifying rules—got excited at my own potentialities, yet amputated some to serve others. I am drowning in negativism, self-hate, doubt, madness... I go plodding on, afraid that the blank hell in back of my eyes will break through, spewing forth like a dark pestilence, afraid that the disease which eats away the pith of m y body with merciless impersonality will break forth in obvious sores and warts, screaming “Traitor, sinner, imposter.” –Sylvia Plath, in her journal

I am a conglomerate garbage heap of loose ends—selfish, scared, contemplating... going...anywhere, anywhere, where the burden, the terrifying hellish weight of self-responsibility and ultimate self-judgment is lifted. I can see ahead only into dark, sordid alleys, where the dregs, the sludge, the filth of my life lies, unglorified, unchanged—transfigured by nothing: no nobility, not even the illusion of a dream. Reality is what I make it. That is what I have said I believed. Then I look at the hell I am wallowing in, nerves paralyzed, action nullified—fear, envy, hate: all the corrosive emotions of insecurity biting away at my sensitive guts. Time, experience: the colossal wave, sweeping tidal over me, drowning, drowning. How can I ever find that permanence, that continuity with past and future, that communication with other human beings that I crave? Can I ever honestly accept an artificial imposed solution? How can I justify, how can I rationalize the rest of my life away- Sylvia Plath, writing about her depression in her journal

Whom can I talk to? Get advice from? No one. A psychiatrist is the god of our age. But they cost money. And I won’t take advice, even if I want it. I’ll kill myself. I am beyond help. No one here has time to probe, to aid me in understanding myself...so many others are worse off than I. How can I selfishly demand help, solace, guidance? No, it is my own mess, and even if now I have lost my sense of perspective, thereby my creative sense of humor, I will not let myself get sick, go mad, or retreat like a child into blubbering on someone else’s shoulder. –ditto
Someday, god knows when, I will stop this absurd, self-pitying, idle, futile despair. I will begin to think again, and to act according to the way I think. ––
Sylvia Plath, writing about her depression in her journal

Tomorrow I will curse the dawn, but there will be other, earlier nights, and the dawns will be no longer hell laid out in alarms and raw bells and sirens. –Sylvia Plath, writing about her depression in her journal

I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb... Sylvia Plath, writing about her depression in her journal

Right now you are sick in your head...You fool—you are afraid of being alone with your own mind. You just better learn to know yourself, to make sure decisions before it is too late.Sylvia Plath, writing about her depression in her journal

...you looked around and saw everybody either married or busy and happy and thinking and being creative, and you felt scared, sick, lethargic, worst of all, not wanting to cope. You saw visions of yourself in a straightjacket, and a drain on the family, murdering your mother in actuality, killing the edifice of love and respect built up over the years in the hearts of other people. Sylvia Plath, writing about her depression in her journal

I wondered if I was just the sum of my brain scan, little dots clustered in my frontal lobe. Is that where the poems came from? The desire to destroy myself? This last depression had scared me. It had come on so quickly, not like the gradual woolgathering in my brain I had known before. –Betsy Lerner, Food and Loathing

Maybe people are more like the earth than we know. Maybe they have fault lines that sooner or later are going to split open under pressure.Rebecca Wells, Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat. “We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat. “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

–Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Each sporadic burst of work, each minor success and disappointment, each moment of calm and relaxation, seemed merely a temporary halt on my steady descent through layer after layer of depression, like an elevator stopping for a moment on the way down to the basement. –A. Alvarez, The Savage God

Maybe I’m needy, neurotic, paranoid. Under the circumstances, of course, if I weren’t needy, neurotic, and paranoid, I’d obviously be psychotic. –Dean Koontz, Seize the Night

I cling to nowhere ’til I fall - the crash of Nothing... Emily Dickinson, “More than the Grave is Closed to Me” [this always reminded me of a nervous breakdown]

Insane people are always sure that they are fine. It is only the sane people who are willing to admit that they are crazy.Nora Ephron

And all that weirdness isn’t just going on outside. It’s in you too, right now, growing in the dark like magic mushrooms. Call it the Thing in the Cellar. Call it the Blow Lunch Factor. Call it the Loony Tunes File. I think of it as my private dinosaur, huge, slimy, and mindless, stumbling around in the stinking swamp of my subconscious, never finding a tar pit big enough to hold it.Stephen King, “Rage”

He realized now that a lot of the problem had been his own mind, which was usually moving at a speed ten or twenty times that of his classmates. They had thought him strange, weird, or even suicidal, depending on the escapade in question, but maybe it had been a simple case of mental overdrive—if anything about being in constant mental overdrive was simple. Anyway, it was the sort of thing you got under control after a while—you got it under control or you found outlets for it…Stephen King, It

You need a touch of madness, just enough that you don’t become stupid!Robin Williams

Our society is run by insane people for insane objectives. …I think we’re being run by maniacs for maniacal ends…and I think I’m liable to be put away as insane for expressing that. That’s what’s insane about it.John Lennon

Paranoia is just a kind of awareness, and awareness is just another form of love. –Charles Manson

…now I was safe, now I was really crazy, and nobody could take me out of there. –Susanna Kaysen, Girl, Interrupted

I have gone insane. I won’t be talking with you for a while. –Jennifer Lynch, The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer

One trembles to think of that mysterious thing in the soul, which seems to acknowledge no human jurisdiction, but in spite of the individual’s own innocence self, will still dream horrid dreams, and mutter unmentionable thoughts. –Herman Melville

When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams—this may be madness. To seek treasure where there is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness. And maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be.Don Quioxite, The Man of La Mancha

Men have called me mad, but the question is not yet settled whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence—whether much that is glorious—whether all that is profound—does not spring from disease of thought, from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. –Edgar Allen Poe

Insight is often mistaken for madness.Sir George Hutchinson, in “Dr. Who”
Anybody remotely interesting is mad, in some way or another.the doctor, in “Dr. Who”

...in one way or another all men are mad. Many are mad for money...Love is a madness...it can grow to a frenzy of despair ... All the whole list of desires, predilections, aversions, ambitions, passions, cares, griefs, regrets, remorses, are incipience madness, and ready to grow, spread and consume, when the occasion comes. There are no healthy minds, and nothing saves any man but accident—the accident of not having his malady put to the supreme test.
One of the commonest forms of madness is the desire to be noticed, the pleasure derived from being noticed. Perhaps it is not merely common, but universal.
Mark Twain, The Memorable Assassination

I am crying because whatever my gifts, the pieces of good buried inside and under so much that I feel is bad, is wrong, is twisted, are less clear than the ability to hit a ball with a bat and break the scoreboard or do a triple pirouette in the air on ice. My gifts are for life itself, for an unfortunately astute understanding of all the cruelty and pain in the world. My gifts are unspecific. I am an artist manqu̩, someone full of crazy ideas and grandiloquent needs and even a little bit of happiness, but with no way to express it. РElizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation

I’m a happy-go-lucky manic-depressive. It does get very deep and dark for me, and it gets scary at times when I feel I can’t pull out of it. But I don’t consider myself negative-negative. I’m positive-negative.Tim Burton

What happens to the wide-eyed observer when the window between reality and unreality breaks and the glass begins to fly?Stephen King

Why is it that all those who have become eminent in philosophy, politics, poetry, or the arts are clearly of an atrabilious temperament and some of them to such an extent as to be affected by diseases caused by black bile?Aristotle, on insanity

How is it
People fear the dark?
Not me, I’m reconciled.
as every day I see
the blackness grow,
I’ve come to terms with it,
it knows I know.

Rod McKuen, Alone

When you look directly at an insane man all you see is a reflection of your own knowledge that he’s insane, which is not to see him at all. –Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Just because you’re paranoid
don’t mean they’re not after you.

–Nirvana, “Territorial Pissings”

Among writers, if you don’t have a therapist, it’s like saying you don’t keep a journal or use the thesaurus. It’s a natural accompaniment. –Amy Tan

Visit my Guestbook
Listed on Blogwise

Sunday, August 15, 2004

80’s Night Drunk Ass Shizzat!

Fade to Black
Its no secret that Im a 80’s goth depressed chick. Spent Friday night passed on my couch fading to black.
So what do you do when your depressed out of your mind and cant get off the couch? Dress up in some crazy ass 80’s outfit, go to a townie bar, and get drunk out of your mind. Whooo hoooo!

I wanna, I wanna, I wanna be Madonna.
After spending most of the day in a deep depression, I finally woke my ass up and realized I needed to get the hell out. My friend Rosie the Rigger invited me to join her posse at the local bar’s 80’s night celebration. Ahhh what to wear I thought? Never fear, once an 80’s goth chick, always an 80’s goth chick. So, I went thought my closet and found some old raggedy fishnets, my bright pink vintage 80’s converse, a lace top with camisole and voila. Add some old rhinestone crosses and 80’s Madonna rosary and I was an 80’s mod diva! While I was getting dressed I drank two glasses of wine, then drove to Rosie the Riggers house to fix up my hair and make-up.

Two 80’s Geeks and a Computer Nerd
At Rosies house I drank a wine cooler, did my eyes all Suzie and the Banshees style, and feathered and teased out my bangs. Rosie had a black velvet club get-up and did her hair all poofy and 80’s. Funny thing is, Rosie and I used to be friends in the 80’s so dressed up like that kinda brough about an old familiarity. My computer geek friend David (also Rosie’s neighbor) joined us for the celebration. David wore a Jeff Spicolli style Hawaiian shirt, but other than that, looked pretty normal.

Like the 80’s but Drunker!
We get to the bar and they have some DJ playing 80’s songs like O.M.D, Wham! and my favorite Duran Duran. Among the sailors and other townies was a generous sprinkling of other geeks dressed in costume. Here I get a tab, and began drinking double tall vodka red-bulls. Buzz starts kickin in pretty quick. I slam two drinks and begin mingling among the crowd. Without my glasses on, and wearing beer goggles instead, I have a hard time recognizing people. Everyone kinda blurs together. This is fine by me, because then I always have an excuse for not saying hi to someone. We mingle, run into old high school people, then hit the dance floor and dance to some crazy 80’s shizzat. I slam 3 more drinks by this point (mind you, I haven’t eaten all day due to my earlier depression) so I’m starting to feel really funky! I’m freakin with some guy to 80’s crap, I’m mingling with townies in the bar, and I’m slamming more, and more drinks.

Three Sheets to the Wind
Now things start to get a little blurry. Note to self…. Eat before you go out drinking. Another note to self… pace yourself while drinking and drink lots, and lots of water. All of these notes were overlooked by me, as I’m slamming drinks Tom Waits style. Toward the end of the night, my memory starts to get a little patchy. Its like watching a movie with bits and pieces, that cut sharply between scenes. No continual memory. I suppose I was pretty fucking wasted. I remember dirty dancing on the dance floor, I remember giving a kiss to my friend Anton, I remember flirting with a guy I have known since kindergarten. But I really don’t remember too much. What the hell, I was completely shitfaced, and probably acting a bit like a fool.

Party AfterHours
David walks home, Rosie and I get picked up by her sister and taken back to her house. We party there for a bit with some male townies we picked up and I’m drinking some more. I don’t really remember much at this point, it’s more blurry fragmented memories. I didn’t sleep with anyone, or do anything I regret. But I was sure as shit out of my mind drunk.

Hangover Blues
The next day I woke up at Rosie’s sister’s house very, very thirsty. Then I started spinning and spent the rest of the afternoon praying to the porcelain god. Since my car was at Rosie’s, I went back to her house to so I could go home. The spinning doesn’t stop… I’m so sick I can hardly walk or see. David sees me walking around the corner, and I crawl to his cave to hide. I’m too sick to drive, too sick to do anything. I pass out on David’s mattress and sleep for another few hours. In between this, I run to the bathroom and puke my guts out. David stayed by my side and cared for me like a true friend. Thank you baby! So that was my depressed and drunk ass weekend. Whooo-hoooo!

Visit my Guestbook
Listed on Blogwise


Blog Archive