Hot Off The Presses

The virtual presses, I suppose. For those of you who don't know, I am part of Pankhearst, an independent writers collective who have been working tirelessly to deliver quality writing that will leave readers saying "Yes, this is exactly what I have been missing in my life." Some of you might remember a little book called Cars & Girls, or not. If you do and you liked my story Roadrunner, then you might be interested to learn I have now had a single published called Mini. It is available for purchase at a very reasonable price and you can find it here.

Like my previous Cars & Girls short, these two stories both have swear words and some sexy stuff in them, and they actually have mention of suicide as well. If you are squeamish or cringe easily at the mention of misery, there is an option to simply purchase the single and not actually read them. That being said, you might actually enjoy them, even if they make you a tad uncomfortable. These two shorts are a bit on the dark side. They feature women, cars, love, lust and a bit of melancholy for balance.

The tracks on my single are as follows. Side A is called Thunderbird and revenge on a cold night is a pivotal plot point. A small town rocked by fear is waiting for the ghost of Amelia Banes to take her next victim. Side B is a tale of the most beautiful suicide and the complexity that often accompanies life.

If you do pick this gem up, please let me know. All feedback is genuinely appreciated. If you like them, or even if you don't, feel free to share them with friends, or even enemies. Because I am a generous lady, here is a random snippet from Thunderbird:

Social Rules? Fuck them.

Yesterday, I stumbled across a post in my feed from a girl I absolutely adore. The gist of her update was that due to 'social rules' she was withholding her feelings and instead posting a video of moose noises. The social rule in this instance was not burdening others with negativity or unhappiness. Apparently, if you put too many downtrodden posts out into the cyber world people get annoyed.

Of course, in my true fashion, I replied with, "Social rules? Fuck them."

And it wasn't just a passing comment, nor something witty or humorous said to garner chuckles. It wasn't a flippant remark. It wasn't said without feeling or thought. 

I genuinely think most social rules should be ignored. Not because I'm a rebel. Not because I like to stir the pot. But because I don't like the idea of people censoring themselves. I don't think it is healthy to slap a hand over your mouth and swallow your emotions, especially if it is only not to piss off the wrong people. I say wrong people because the right ones will never be annoyed by you. The right ones will always care. They will always love and protect and give you a safe place to fall apart and pull yourself together.

It is counterproductive to one's health and well being to stifle thoughts, cares, concerns and feelings. This world is tough. People are hard. The badness can weigh you down, make it seem as if it is impossible to stand and walk and exist. Life is difficult. It isn't easy. And sometimes we get lost. We can't find our way. We stumble through the darkness, waiting for the light, just a flicker to pull us through. Realistically, most of us can't do it alone. We need other people in order to make it out okay. To survive the blackness.

I am grateful for those who have shone their light on me. And I only hope there are others who are grateful that I have held up a flame for them. 

Why have they done this for me? Why will I do it for you?

Because we are all connected. We are one. Me and you. We exist here. Together.

And if we can't turn to our friends and family, if we can't speak our minds, in person or on the intersnacks to the ones we care about, the ones who are supposed to give a damn, then what good is socializing anyhow? Not being honest with our feelings, not being truthful to the ones we let into our hearts is utter bologna. This isn't a tea party. We aren't ladies. And we don't lift our pinkies when we drink tea. Well, some of us don't. Some of us have to because it's ingrained in us and an impossible habit to break. But what I am saying is we aren't debutantes. We aren't playing bridge and talking about the weather, eating cucumber sandwiches and wearing floral hats. The days of hiding our secrets and inconvenient emotions in a box under our beds are over because it never made anything better. (This is the comedic relief)

Here is where there is no humour.

Depression is a real thing. More people are affected by it every day. Mental health issues. Suicide. These are things that exist in our lives, that we brush shoulders with, that some of us know far too well. Chances are, someone we love is suffering. Hurting. In pain. Struggling. It boggles my mind and befuddles my heart to consider the fact someone I adore could need help but is not speaking up, not asking for help, not venting because of some stupid social rule.

Fuck the weak of heart and uncaring. Fuck the ones who get annoyed by expression of emotion. Fuck anyone who doesn't want to hear it. Fuck those who are scared of the truth.

Because the alternative to speaking up and writing posts and talking about the pain and negativity and doubt and hurt and despair and uncertainty is bottling it up. Shoving it down. Ignoring it. Hiding. Running away. Recoiling. Shutting everyone out. Turning away. Leaving them to 'deal' with it on their own. For them to try to find their way through the darkness without a hand to hold or someone to talk to.

That's why I say fuck social rules. Let it out. Because keeping it in isn't helping anyone. And if anyone is truly bothered by how you are feeling or what you are thinking, then they can fuck right off too. They aren't worth the time or energy and clearly need to cultivate their empathy and understanding. Maybe a lesson in love will set them straight.

Perhaps it's because I've experienced the darkness that I understand if you don't let it out, you will never let it go.

A Waste

There's this beautiful little girl on the bus with me. She's staring out the window. Her name is Hazel, to match her eyes. In her dainty earlobes, she wears elephant earrings. A pink gem glitters in the belly. Sometimes she looks so sad. And others simply contemplative.

She's sniffling. I guess she has a cold.

Her hair is long and brown. There is a Boston Terrier on her shirt. It has a blue moustache. In this very short ride she has offered water to someone and her seat to others. She's with a group. It's Spring Break - something us adults can't comprehend. A week off without responsability.

And I'm remember why I'm on the bus. On the mainland. On route to my sister. A death. A suicide. A person from our past has punched his own time card. More her past than mine. This little girl and the grim reason for my sudden trip collide and all I am thinking is how does it go so wrong.

All these children, vibrant and full of life, when does life mess them up? I'm sure some of them are already experiencing the cruel nature of life, how bitter she can be, how utterly depressing it can seem. Since this is an honest space, I can say we have all been messed up by life. Tested, optimists the world over say. We have all been tested. Sometimes I think we spend the first thirty years of our lives being messed up and the next thirty trying to clean it up, fix it and find ourselves.

Sometimes we can't find out way back. Sometimes we can't see what there is out beyond the forest of our doubts and fears. Sometimes we miss the truth of life. That it truly is what you make it and happiness comes to those who can see. But there are those who can't see past the cobwebs of their own thoughts. The ghosts in their own minds.

Even in my darkest days I've always wanted to be. To exist. To breathe that crips mountain air and sink my feet into the mud of life. I have always wanted to conqour my own demons and not let them win. Leaving is not an option, not by my own hand, because there is too much love to give. I know this sets me apart. And I know I will never understand. That it will always seem like such a waste.

And I am terrible in these moments. There are tears and laughter, painful honesty and regrets. I suppose I am grateful that I don't feel nothing.  That I care. And always will.

Life is a gift but not everyone gets the memo.