OMG, I am going blind and cannot type...shit fuck my hole then your hole and slap my ass hard so I can bite it harder.
Now, when I was a baby, I had colitis; I cried all the time, because my stomach hurt. Being the typical American she was, my mother hated me. How dare I ruin her life. Being the typical European snob, my father hated her. I asked him many times when I was a teenager why he married this black Irish, flat-chested, ignorant woman.
My father would always answer that men have to feel comfortable with a woman in order to be with her, to live with her, to ride on vacations to Tahoe (for the lower classes) with the Giants' game blasting on the radio so he wouldn't have to talk to her. He and I at least had something--no, actually more things as I think of them--in common: we both hated her,
But, then, step in my brother: skinny, and that's all I remember, because I couldn't stand him either. When he stuck his hand in my cunt when we were at my aunt's for dinner, I really just wanted to have sex. I couldn't stand him, but I wanted to have sex. He, of course, was in constant denial of his preference for she-males, i.e., girls who talked like boys and had no boobs.
Meanwhile, I saw Amma today and tonight, and she has no idea what kind of person I am. I'm a very good actor. My art teachers used to tell me that I should continue in art (painting, blah, blah, etc), but my best painting teacher from the San Francisco Art Institute, yes, the place where you can buy your way into being a "fine artist," asked me if I were an 'entertainer.' Now, I wasn't going to ask him what he meant by that; he was an old guy, and it could mean that I looked like I wanted to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.
So, five million light years, a 20-foot high hill of crushed beer and Bailey's containers, and a shoe box of chiva later, I have a show. Actually, I was on television as a child, and I got one of my haikus published in some suburban newspaper. In 2000, I was invited by Bro Jud Presmont, my surrogate father and mentor, to play whacked-out guitar and sing on his public access show, Bro Jud on Love Energy. This girl Lori was there with her two daughters who were so sweet. Of course they thought it was cool that another female was going to play guitar and sing. I should have had them sing with me, now that I've had some time to think about it!?!
In any case, I came on Jud's show regularly around 2003 until 2009 when he died. Don't think I am a heartless, wicked faerie who has no heart. Oh NO. I miss Jud every day and night. He always had my back, and all the people I know who have made fun of him for being older are stupid pieces of worthless shit. Not everyone can be intelligent, and how well I know given the parents I chose and family and friends and my karma. In the United States of Amuriika it doesn't pay to be intelligent, to be an abstract thinker, unless you are able to decipher derivatives and speak audibly and with potential communicative value in a language from another planet.
Nevertheless, I was going to talk about Amma, and plug the faerie antithesis to Fecesbook. It is called International Kirtan.com. It is a marvelous creation. It was created by a young American woman named Eve. She lives around here. Look it up. Join if you think you have something conscious to share besides what your last dose of hair growth potion for the bald has done for you.
I shall return to Amma. She deserves all the praise she gets. When she walked out of the ashram tonight, some little kid whose parents were born in India, said, "Good night, Mommie." There you have it. You, too, like me, motherless, can have a mother. Now what that means to you will be discussed sooner than later.
