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A rock fan. A thinker. A psychic empath and a channel, a Tarot reader. A polyandrist; The lover of men, kings, and gods. An eternal romance analyzer.  A romantic pervert. Generation X Rebel. A psycho-spiritual life coach.

I need to stop teaching, preaching, and writing opinion pieces

And start writing about my emotional experiences... Other than anger and frustration, possibly.

Somehow, I need to start expressing my feelings.

I explain my feelings a lot, I may describe them, but somehow, I still feel I do not. Something is not reaching its destination.

I feel as soon as I even consider digging deep into the actual feelings and talking about them, my mother’s spirit flashes in like a hungry buzzard, ready to pick the emotional flesh off my bones. To find out why I don’t love her because everything is about her to her. I couldn’t possibly have feelings unrelated to her. So I close up because she’s not supposed to devour my feelings for someone else or about something else. None of this is for her.

I need to learn to stand on a pin of a needle.

Fuck mediocrity, fuck being the best of the year. Fuck everything if it’s not the best of all in everything.

How can someone so willing to give up a fight be so competitive?


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Your intrusive needness of your mother might be because you’re not a mother yourself.





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