Good Morning Americana

Good Morning Americana,

It’s 50 degrees outside, the sun is just barely shining through the dense clouds and we woke up late.

Extremely late.

Consequently I had to take my daughter to school this morning. Half asleep, mongering around my house, trying not trip over a toy, or bowl of milk my husband left on the floor while watching some awful horribleness.

Get in the shower, I yell to my 8 year old….It’s too early for this crap and I am already annoyed by the mounting laundry piles, and tortillas my husband left out yet again.

Those things go stale, I scream….but no one listens, it’s just crazy mom again.

Yes, I’m a mom, non-conformist, homemaker, a desperate woman seeking to find meaning in this world.

A world that has so many meanings to so many folks, it’s obvious we live in a time of great disillusionment. My dilemmas aren’t just those of what to cook for dinner, laundry, that weird crust on my area rug, the latest home décor trend, or what bulbs to plant in the yard.

I am consumed with a system that treats my children as a mini consumers, teaches my children mediocrity and that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. Underneath is an approaching pile of frozen radioactive Fukushima, oil spill shit- nightmare, and we all know it’s looming.

Impending disaster, mutation and agony, yes all imminent and I’m slightly freaked and frequently inebriate to deal with what the world has become around me.

The wise hide in bunkers, collect their food, save the weed seeds, and create stock piles of necessities. Some live in the city aware of the impending doom, but figure why the fuck bother, escape is futile.

I find those people disingenuous and stupid – but hell, what do I know?

After all, I’m but a woman, right?

Only responsible for carrying babies that turn into people that shape our nation.

Only responsible for sucking the cocks of men so they might relieve themselves, enrapturing leaders with my whorish deception and cooking a dinner or two to make sure you survive.

Where is this all going, what is this all leading to?

It’s just a simple Good Morning, my morning, and my every day and every waking moment, that’s what the fuck it is. You don’t see depth, you see some brown, half shaved head, reading the ingredient list at Ingles, and you wonder if she can speak English.

You feel confused and I feel vomitus.

Your mediocrity disgusts me, your inability to relate scares me, most of all I just want to get the hell away from you.

Vomitus with certainty is what I feel when around humanity.

Strange… truly strange.



“Delightful Miseries”



Dirt covered faces…screaming… piles of dirty dishes and random chaos covering the floor; every surface covered in something and I’m losing my mind!


While the man of the house sleeps casually in the warm bed.

In dream land.

Without a care in the world.

I kind of hate my life right now and wouldn’t terribly mind if I was blown to shreds instantly and woke up in some happy wonderful paradise on Nibiru.

But instead, I’m here swollen and pregnant, the current state of my once elegant sloping “fuck me now” waist.

I’m here staring outside my window where my desk has been so practically placed, looking at the autumn and all its delights….The leaves are falling exposing my small retreat to the flesh eating, crazy redneck neighbors….so though delighted by the beauty, the approaching bare, uncovered state I am being taken to horrifies my senses.

I feel a sense of urgency to get the yard perfect, everything in its rightful place.

And curtains….

I desperately want to make beautiful curtains to hide the mess, to hide my nakedness at  11pm when the kids are asleep and I’m finally allowed to be me, plain me.

A moment of letting my breasts out, recklessly braless, barefoot, snuggled in a blanket watching some horrifying rendition of American Horror Story and wondering what weirdo is going to decide to recreate the show in his basement.

I’m watching my husband nurse a bottle of whiskey, blunt and deliberate over which article to edit next.

Wow, I think…..I guess I’m living the dream…In my cabin, inebriated on some excellent herb, naked, husband tinkering the contents of his brain, kids asleep.

By gosh darn it, we made it.

So what we’re broke artists trying to make a living in a world that has rejected us, judged us unworthy, ignorant bastards.

Why, because despite the nonsense of it all, because it certainly makes no sense, every month the bills are paid, the kids eat, the truck still hasn’t been repossessed and though my bank accounts are in the negative I’m happy right now.

I’m trying, we’re trying, and still some unseen force hears my tears, my anxiety ridden fears that race around in my head like crazed chickens with their heads cut off. Dripping blood, causing chaos and creating fear in the little children standing by and watching…I am one of those children watching the contents of my brain race.

We make it every month; we live in a fortified fortress, discretely in the mountainous woods of the Appalachian foot hills. So, though I’m crazed, enraged, a disgruntled member of humanity, confused just as you are, I remain thankful, immensely thankful to this unseen GOD that provides for my needs, hears my bantering, and blesses me, my family and our efforts.

Yes, I am hopeless and hopeful, ugly and beautiful, silent and yelling, and fucked just like all of you.

But what remains and has always remained is the inept ability to believe and hope through hopelessness, while worrying all the while.




 “Ode to Indigestion”


Indigestion is an acidic, vomitus, cruel rebellion of the esophagus and stomach and it has corrupted my mouth; its foul  decree to no longer accept the coffee I am currently nursing while sitting at my desk.

Burping, these gases emit their awful disgracefulness into the air around me, and I type annoyed and helpless by my current state.

Almighty Google to cure my ailment I think and so many opinions surface as I type in the search for a remedy of my current body’s betrayal.

Coffee, the elixir of Good Morning, wake up, get started, start your day, do something productive and drink this brown, murky, creamy, agave concoction, delightful with caffeine and putrid with indigestion.

Another delightfully miserable morning, in my world of happy.

Cheers, sir, cheers indeed.



Well good day little whisker, I see you have come to visit.

I’m out the door, this mother and whore and quite suddenly you appeared to glisten.

The sun revealed your purging length, as I looked in the mirror to take a quick peak.

My aging face, youth slowly erased, there I noticed your prickly black length.

Perfectly in place.

On the right side of my upper lip, you stand there, pronounced, strong and thick.  Dear God, please help me, my tweezers, where are you?

Despite my beckoning, you stood there in plain view.

So as I began to panic in frenzy, I also began to pull and remove you’re confrontational length from me.

For you shame my face!

I am vehemently disgraced by your protrusion!

Your intrusion onto my lovely face!


You cannot stay, you are not welcome here,

you obtrusive, protruding, growing black whisker hair.