P-Raw's Perogative

I need to have the sex and the sexual release where I can cry and scream and pound on their chest and grab onto their triceps and put my fingernails in their back while they pull my hair and choke me and we convulse together in a heap of sweat.  Is that too much to ask for? 

I woke up from a dream where I was crying because I hadn’t had anyone that I really cared about or that really cared about me in so so long.  I can’t even remember the last time... I wonder if I will ever have that again or if that is over for me in life now.  I keep having hope but is that foolish? I’m willing to go wherever love leads me but I’ve lost everything too many times to do it again for fake love.  

I love so deep when I find my partner. I love so much and so whole.  I don’t know if they exist anymore. Maybe I already found them now they’re gone or I was too shy to interact because of past damage that was done to my heart and my mind. My heart still aches for the right person to find me tho and to unwind me and untangle me a little bit and once the seed has been planted and able to grow a little bit to the sunshine it will grow and flourish and flower. The trick is getting it from seed to fruition enough to see the light again.  

I am at the point where I’m truly searching for what’s invigorating to me again. Nothing is seeming to do it. Doesn’t matter how far I travel - I’ve traveled so far ... Doesn’t matter where I live - I have lived so many places in luxury & filth... doesn’t matter what I eat - I have gone vegan & eaten sushi with foie gras & truffles & gold... Doesn’t matter how much dick I get because none of it is attached to some one that loves me. Doesn’t matter how famous I get - I still don’t have money or a partner to share my life with.  

Fame is like beauty fleeting. My life seems to be such a nomadic temporal existence I wonder if there is any substance in it left at all.  As soon as something gets the least bit intimate I hide or go to the next city.  I have too many personas to keep track of who knows me where and as who and what.  I feel lost within my own identity and question my own integrity and worth on a daily basis. Am I even human anymore?  

I would like to connect with a magical source once again so maybe I need the assistance of psychedelics to get me there but I fear going further and further away into my mind.  I feel the need to write things now even tho I don’t commit to doing it.  Can I even begin the process of reflecting back upon my life which I don’t remember most of? Can I begin to unravel my memory which is like a ball of yarn intertwined with some earbuds very tangles & twisted.  

So I have been pissed off that the chick at the weed dispensary doesn’t know the difference between a gram and a half a gram and Indica and CBD And sold me entirely wrong product. I really want to return this and get my indica gram for the $27 instead of a half a gram of CBD. I don’t have extra money to spare right now so I really had this planned out. I’m also pissed off because she lives in Whittier the shop is downtown and she doesn’t even smoke weed but she’s 20 years old. She doesn’t appreciate her job and there’s tons of stoners that should have this job that live nearby. It’s like whatever I don’t even want that job I make more in tobacco lol but shit Bitch Educate yourself a little bit and don’t sell me the wrong product because when I tried to call and ask about it the rude ass chick on the phone was like oh well she’s new so you got to cut her a little bit of slack and I was like I’m a 20 year cannabis industry veteran- you could sell me the right fucking product. And there’s no one to complain too since the whole store seems to be run by young dumb chicks even though I’m sure it’s not owned by a young hot chick it’s run by a man who is never there to complain to. Literally they lost me as a customer and it sucks so bad because I like to buy flowers from there but I can’t tolerate bad customer service from weed dispensaries there are just too many places to Support right now

So tomorrow I turn 41.  Somehow.  My 40th year was a very profound and powerful one.  It shook me to the core and made me question why I continue to endure this meat sacked mortal coil at the same time surprising and delighting me and making me feel such gratitude to still be alive to experience that moment. 

Last year my 40th birthday was in New York City surrounded by a whole bunch of magical men that I love. I was the only chick at my own party.  I appreciated that night so much as for some reason I didn’t know that I would survive that night without them all surrounding me with their strength and love.  It was men that I have respected and loved in my Radical Faerie life for so long now... and men that were friends with my dear dead Huzband Joe Birdsong... 

It was so good and so valuable to have those times with my friends. 

That day the Staten Island Ferry to get a good view of the Statue of Liberty and reconnected with a dear brother - somehow walked 24.000 steps. Stopped at the House of Collection in Williamsburg and saw the epic space and watched my friend G make dolls that were going to be used in the Nutcracker and got to bond with my friend who’s space that is.  

At some point my friend who I see all over the world stopped by on her way back to Iraq so we had a family meet up that lasted one bottle of wine with her kid that I helped raise who is now adult ... bizarre bday meet up as her bday is 2 days after mine... 

Stopped at Trader Joe’s in Manhattan and spent money on food for the party.  I could feel the poverty of America sinking in even then a I recall because I used to think nothing of spending money on a birthday feast but this year something was different.  

My friend was coming from Vermont for my birthday and became incredibly lost on the train somehow completely even missing Penn Station so I remember him showing up around Midnight.  I was afraid to walk at that time. I got anxiety like if I don’t sit for the next hour and wait to turn 40 maybe I will fall over and die.  I was grateful to have a cute intimate space where people could actually talk and interact with each other more on a person to person level than at a club.   

The actual birthday day I was hungover as hell. I had to get a place of my own so I could sleep.  I somehow found an Airbnb that was fit for a queen aka me and I tried to sleep.  I then went out to Williamsburg to see if a friend was bartending and indeed she was. I got so wasted that night on Tequila and ended up having car sex with some Puerto Rican while smoking a blunt and ended up with $100 in my tits.  Anyways, I always have car sex in NYC - its like my perverse fetish.

The next day I went to the 9-11 memorial where it was a total trip. The light beams were shooting up to the sky and the space was so futuristic and sparce and white like an alien art installation.