I Eat Pickles

I Eat Pickles
By Amy Moloney

Sometimes I eat the wrong pickles
But you know, I really like them sweet
The looks of disdain from my friends
Shows how poorly I have chosen
But the pickles I eat are mine and mine alone
Go eat your own pickles if you feel so strongly

Furthermore, I like a lot of things sweet
There is no crime in sugar coating this world
I am not a bum for eating dessert first
Sweetness makes this thing called reality easier to swallow
And why wouldn’t anyone want to sweeten life
It’s filled with the bitterness of anger, denial, greed
The foul taste of jealousy permeates the air
So much so that people judge you for eating pickles
The news reads like a horror movie gone wrong
With images of murder, abduction, and rape
Served up by plastic smiles on barbie dolls
The sound of music becoming trite
As memorable as bubblegum on the bottom of my shoe
With themes so trivial that the size of my ass
Is the only real issue for the world to contemplate
By the way, the size of my ass is perfect
But you didn’t notice because you were watching me eat the wrong pickle

Did you notice that the government has removed your right to speak
While you were giving me shit for eating pickles
Somewhere there is a billionaire dictating the rest of your life
There is a prison cell being padded for your breakdown
An army of our brothers are coming to capture your freedom
Taking citizenship away from you
But you didn’t see the uprising of corporations
Distracted by a my jar of pickles

I may eat the wrong pickles
But I do not judge others for the pickles they eat
You may not find zesty and sweet to your preference
But do you know who won the Nobel Prize for peace
Not that any award is more than a popularity contest
Congratulations, you’re the prom queen of peace
And thanks for not blowing shit up this year
Is there a place safe from pedophiles and cyber-stalkers
And if there were such a safe place would anyone be there
But the pedophiles and cyber-stalkers looking for new prey
Will the media report about the cure for cancer
would such a cure be allowed to survive
Because there is no profit in a cure, only in suppressing the disease
Or do the designer shoes of a cracked out actor make the front page
Where does priority start and where does vanity stop?
But don’t mind me, I’m eating pickles

Are you fucking serious?
They are only pickles for fuck’s sake
So here we are, a world at war for things
As non-tangible as the name of God
And who’s getting to heaven first
Here I am eating the wrong fucking pickle

Oshun's Return: The River Must Flow

This is going to be a long exploration into some deep issues, at least for me personally. And some of them relate to the being known as Oshun, but not directly the aspects attributed to her by her followers/devotees. But we’ll get to that eventually. As always, this is about me.
 
A physical act can sometimes transcend the physical form, yet remain a solely physical act. What has meaning to me may not translate into meaning for my partner in the physical act. So here is the story of my re-iniation into what I now believe to be my cronehood. I accept that I have now entered this stage and am a fledgling crone. Having set aside my maiden/mother aspects as having passed.
 
What makes a woman is a very complex series of experiences. All of them vital to the attributes of what molds a woman’s individuality and essence.  She can be childlike with innocence and simultaneously embodying the raw power of every goddess in existence. The complexity of a woman is a mystery even to a woman. And every experience is a building block to revealing those mysteries to myself.
 
The journey of womanhood has been on a path paved with every decision I’ve made. Those decisions were right, for my short term evolution. But the fear of real evolution can stunt enlightenment and ultimately be the sole cause of the devolution of my womanhood. Or at least my recognition of womanhood.

This is that for instance moment in the story... For instance, my decision of celibacy was the right decision 9 years ago. Right for the person I was 9 years ago. But to allow it to continue for 9 years was toxic to my core being. I allowed fear to rule my journey towards enlightenment, essentially halting my growth. But at the same time by indulging my fears and allowing my sexuality to stagnate was a vital lesson in itself. It made my recent emergence from celibacy a more significant act than just the physical act of sex.
 
But deeper than just sex was the opening of a self-constructed dam keeping my sexual energy contained in a dormant pool. Selfishly hoarding my energy for a scenario created in my head that may or may not ever come to be. By doing so I’ve kept myself from experiencing or living in the now of life. A concept I typically pride myself in doing. I claim to live in the moment. There is only now. But in actuality I was living in the what if, living in the waiting. Waiting for a fairy tale that is not real and never will be real if I stayed in that motionless pool of repression.

But it was just sex. Random sex. With a random stranger. I removed the fairy tale, the emotion attached to sex. Removed the blockages of my own making and just enjoyed the moment. I’m not opposed to emotional sex, just as much as I’m not opposed to emotionless sex. I am quite pragmatic about it being just sex. Now that I’ve opened myself up to sex again, I can open up to the possibility of sex from an emotional place. I jumped the first hurtle, allowed someone to make physical contact.

There is a quite spiritual backdrop to my sexlessness. I have been open about my past as a practitioner of magick. When I was a young and scorned woman I performed a spell that had dire consequences-- to me. As anyone who has knowledge and experience in spellwork knows, the manipulation of another person is A VERY BAD DECISION. The backlash of energies is karmically connected to the spell caster. And as a spell caster one must take responsibility for trying to manipulate someone elses free will. So this is how it went down. My husband had just left me. I was emotionally devastated. Also, I was hormonally charged due to being on fertility drugs. As such, I made the unfortunate decision to cast a soul-binding spell between myself and my ex-husband. Without his knowledge or consent. Have I mentioned this being a bad decision? I invoked powers beyond my abilities or comprehension at the time. My soul was indeed bound to my ex-husband. However, his was not necessarily bound to mine. The backlash included my energies being bound to the deity that I naively called upon and invoked within myself. This deity took the payment I arrogantly neglected to offer. And I’ve continued to make penance for such an extreme error in judgement. Lesson learned. I did what needed to be done in order to release her hold over me. Or so I thought. But energetically I’ve been working out this karma via my sex/love life ever since. (details vague on purpose)

The return of Oshun came at the appropriate time in the odyssey of my life. She is the flow of energy releasing my vagina’s imprisonment. She did not put me the 9 year confinement of celibacy, I did. Or my perceived obligation to heal our relationship spurred me into my decision to hit the sexual reset button on my body. There were a convergence of reasons leading to this decision and the celibacy was only meant to last about a year at the longest. The actual length of time that elapsed was unintentional. And unfortunate. It really sucked. I experienced sexual awakenings without sex. Very unsatisfying.

One cannot simply abandon the energy crucial to existence as a human. We are designed with sexual impulses deeply ingrained into our cellular make-up. To deny the primal urges of our being represses our humanity at it’s center. The energy ends up funneling itself out in other ways. For me, these were unhealthy ways. Staying within the celibate mindset was holding me hostage. The ransom paid was my true being- the goddess was denied, betrayed, and left alone along the banks of the Great Miami River. She was enslaved by my continual contradictions of what I truly wanted from life, from myself. I stupidly thought I was waiting for something cosmic to happen. Instead I had chained myself to concepts that did not fit who I am. Celibacy was a square peg and I only have round holes. It never fit my lifestyle, I forced it.

Since the actual sex I have had many comments from people about the change in my physical appearance. “Have you lost weight?”, “Did you do something with your hair?”, “What’s different about you?” I was feeling a bit like Smilin’ Bob from those stupid drug commercials. But it drives home the truth in the matter, it is necessary to incorporate all aspects of ones being into life. Sex is as essential to human life as breathing. Not just for procreation, but for the maintenance of being a healthy adult both physically and psychologically.

Fear still exists. But I am letting my fear walls slowly dissolve into the river of love it is truly meant to be. The honey of my soul, my femininity is to be enjoyed by others again. It isn’t fair to me or to anyone else to hoard my essence away for a rainy day. I am the power behind the goddess and I release her to come out and meet life once again.

Welcome home.

*On a more me-like note: The sex wasn't that great. The only way I got through the last 10 minutes of it was because David Bowie started playing on the radio. He saved my sanity when the dumbass I chose to have sex with wouldn't shut up. So I not only owe my sexuality to goddesses of old, but also to the power of Bowie, an ever constant guiding light in my personal evolution. I took it as a sign that David Bowie is truly omnipresent and worthy of worship. And that I am meant to write that Bowie inspired screenplay. Thank you David Bowie.

Banishing The Wookie

I say many things about how I accept myself for who I am. I accept my appearance for what it is. I do feel beautiful and amazingly sexy. I am beautiful and amazingly sexy. But I have one major self confidence issue. It is one I joke about most of the time. Usually I take it lightly and don't judge myself too terribly harshly because it is something I cannot help. But other times I cry.

I have posted about it in quite a few of my previous entries like Tom Fucking Selleck and Resexification. These were done in jest. But the root issue is far from a joke to me. 

I am a beautiful woman who is as hairy as a Wookie. This is the honest truth. I am not by any means alone in this. But the true issue is how I feel about it. Most popular culture since the 1980's has been telling us that hair on a woman's body is wrong and that all women should strive to be as hairless as an 8 year old. To me this is unnatural. It borders on a societal acceptance of pedophelia. That being said. I am many times victim of this societal pressure. Images of the accepted woman assault me from the television, magazines, books, and the internet. Then I feel like a failure of a woman for not spending more time de-hairing my body. On the occasions I do shave my legs I refer to it as 'banishing the Wookie'. Honestly for me to become as hairless as is commercially accepted I would have to spend THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS on laser hair removal. Which to me seems like a waste of money because being less mammalian doesn't make me a better person. It just makes me without thousands of dollars that could have been spent buying things like food and electricity. 

The reason for my feelings of failure are not in the fact that I am a very hairy bitch. It is in the fact that I have a very real disorder called PCOS that causes much more than turning me into a Wookie. The failure part is long and involved series of emotions related to all of the symptoms related to my PCOS. I have been denied many of the things most women take for granted.

The biggest one of these things is my being denied motherhood. (I posted about this once before) I wanted more than anything to have children. But I have had to come to terms with the reality that this is not possible for me, at least not in the traditional ways. The second is my weight. One of the symptoms of PCOS is weight gain and difficulty losing weight. I embrace the fact that I am a veluptous woman. But sometimes insecurities creep in from that front as well. Again, mostly media based. (And yes, I posted about that previously as well.) The third issue I deal with personally is the excess body hair. PCOS is not for the faint of heart. You really have to be a strong warrior woman to deal with the trauma to the body and mind PCOS causes. It messes with hormones that regulate not only menstrual functions but also regulate mood and disposition. 

The depression is real. I am not a constantly depressed person. And when I am under the spell of depression I hide it fairly well from the world. It comes and it goes like the ebb and flow of the tides. I am capable of looking at it clinically and recognizing when it is setting in. I don't feel like I'm sinking into the quicksand of depression like many people with this disease do. I am connected and removed from it simultaneously. That may be hard to grasp. It's like this, I feel myself looking into my life from the outside able to analyze and deconstruct what I see. While also being connected from the inside unable to stop the process that I feel starting from within my mind. I have a technique that may only work for me.  I allow myself to experience it all the way through, then I come out the other side wiser about who I am and what makes me feel. I do not deny myself the emotions of sadness, discontent, depression, or defeat. To do so would render me unhuman, mechanical. (I'd like to clarify that I know this is not an appropriate solution for all those who suffer depression, some have it to the degree that medication is the only solution to keep them safe. The emotions I connect to it are not indicitive of what I assume others feel. This is my personal way of dealing with my own depression. Which is intermittent at best, and sometimes merely situational.) 

Tonight's depression stemmed from shaving my legs or banishing the Wookie as we've established. I felt as if the only way to emerge from my current state sadness which has coccooned me was to shed my outer layer. That outer layer just happened to be covered in 2-3 months worth of follicular overgrowth. Then I felt guilty for feeling like I was sexier after being freshly shorn. After that I felt guilty for allowing myself to feel guilty. Human emotions are not logical and should not be treated as being logical. Obviously banishing the Wookie is not a cure for feelings of inadequacy or low self esteem. Those stem from even deeper issues which are not related to PCOS. All of which I have dealt with on many occasions and do not rule my life. Well, except for during the holidays. The holidays suck for having feelings. Stupid holidays.

So now I have smooth legs and a rather trimmed landscape. Does this change who I am? No. It just makes me more aerodynamic. But since I'm not flying or swimming that shouldn't matter. None of these external things should matter. The sad thing is, they do matter. They matter to us becuase we always want to be accepted by the world around us. What really matters, beyond being accepted by others, is that you need to accept yourself as you are. Before or after the Wookie has been banished. For most of us, we are conatantly struggling to balance between our own accpetance and what we percieve as the world acceptance of us. The only difference between Wookie me and aerodynamic me is a clogged shower drain. Take that for what it's worth. I love me. All of me. Hairy me. Smooth me. Stubbly me. And even bearded me. It isn't fair that people will always judge us for such trivial things, but they will continute to do just that. If we try not to let those nay-sayers in and process our feelings as they come and not push them aside to be ignored because they may be painful maybe we could change the way the world sees beauty. Yes, sometimes life hurts. But by not letting the pain take the drivers seat in our lives we are stronger. Beauty is subjective when it is presented to the world at large. Each person has their own definition of beauty. My hope is that those definitions become more inclusive of a persons true self, thier hearts and souls. 

I will leave you with this video that definitely spoke volumes to me for more reasons than it's just a catchy tune. Amanda Palmer is someone who not only gets that beauty is more than skin deep, she is outspoken about it. For a woman who has felt like the family Sasquatch since she was 10, finding others that have this attitude has made me stronger. Maybe we really can change the world one attitude at a time.

Map Of Tasmania FUCKING DANCE WHILE YOU WATCH THIS PEOPLE! 

Beast Of Glory

Beast of Glory

Poem by Amy Moloney

The gluttonous masses to devour our tragedy
As they soon forget the glory
A ravenous beast with blood lust
Raking at open wounds to draw fresh pain
Public domain to free the monsters
Preying on more rancid decay
Wrapping the package in diamonds
To sell the stench of death
As the finest jewels of man
Only to have stones crumble at the touch
A thinly veiled facade
That shines of polished gold

And who becomes fat on the meat
Of that decayed flesh
Who finds life where only maggots dwell
What beast rises to the sacrifice offered so willingly
To a falsehood worshipped as truth
Fame is a fancy, coveted, dripping with seduction
A sweet fruit rotten to the core before being plucked from the vine
Filling only for moments, toxic for the millennia to come
The more one believes, wrapping the cloth of denial around themselves
Like the grasp of a python, breath fading with each whistled exhale
Cravings emerge for the elixir that extinguishes life
Life that ends as brilliantly as the flame of a bottle rocket in July

To be set free from the chains of forced pleasure
To take a swim in the sea of total transcendence
Let go of all that carries the weight of need, envy, desire
Takes only a moment of vision, clear from the city’s fog
Glory, glory, oh the glory
Is glory to oneself
Reflective glow of the world, glitter in the sand
One grain, one speck, a new microcosm opens, divine
A grain of sand to slay the beast
One grain of sand unable to exist alone

Living To Fill My Bucket O' Awesome List

I've been reading a bunch of bucket lists. Now, I'm not here to say other people's life goals are not worthy. Everyone's goals are suited to each individual. Some though are very unimaginative. But in my world I want to make a list of creative and awesome things to accomplish before my death in my late 80's. Since I don't plan on dying a boring death then I will die when my walker slips while climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro dressed as a Hobbit of the Shire. I may continue to add to this list as I think of more awesomeness.

The list of Amy's awesome...

1) Dance my way out of tense fight situation. 

2) Take over a geek convention with my army of minions that all look like Joan Jett circa 1986 (I call them my Joan Jett Army) as my alter-ego Dr. Amazinglyfuckingawesome. Yes, we are super evil. When I say take over, I mean an army of Joan Jett's will invade an army of geeks. It will be epic.

3) Write my life story as a series of Mel Brooks style musical numbers and ahve it performed onstage in an major city. I'll call it, My Ovaries: The Musical.

4) Rollerskate in space. If that isn't possible in my lifetime I will comprimise by rollerskating on a Hollywood soundstage while wearing an authentic costume from Barbarella. Yes, I will scream, "Pygar save me." Often.

5) Organize a mythical roller derby bout. An exhibition bout between ancient mythological beings and ancient civilizations. First bout between ancient Egypt and Valhalla. Now jamming Hepskatesut vs. Valkyrie Thunder ...

 6) Have my mutant superpower come to fruition. I am hoping for some sort of shape shifting ability. (This is a direct result of growing up near a nuclear power plant)

7) Appear on The Graham Norton Show just for being some weird but surprisingly awesome American woman. I would be ecstatic if we could do a push button fart gag with a James Bond villain theme. I would be The Girl With The Golden Tits. If Graham won't have me then I will tour around the world with a Graham Norton on a stick taking pictures of him in compromising postions. 

What are you going to put on your bucket o' awesome list?

A Love Letter To My Pizza

For those of you who have questions about the love letter (ode) I wrote to my pizza last night while being mocked by my coworkers, here it is. I call it Pizza Oh Pizza, My Love...

 

Pizza Oh Pizza, My Love

Three cheese deep dish, you're my delight

With added bacon to make you taste right

I love to dip you in red sauce divine

Made with tomatos fresh off the vine

Oh how I love my spicy pizza pie

I love you so much I want ti hold you and cry

I'll gladly endure the heartburn sure to come

But for your warm caress in my belly I'll invest in Tums

Pizza, my cheesy sweet mistress

You are within me and oh so delicious

Pizza, I love you