TROPICAL WINDOW // SATURATED

+ dream noiSe

 

TAROT NADA

People have all kinds of idiotic ideas about tarot. Tarot is EVIL. Tarot is SATANIC. If you consult a deck of tarot cards JESUS will CRY. I call bullshit. But. On the flip side there are people who believe tarot is some kind of magical tool that will save your fucking life. I think people give entirely too much power to something that is, in the 21st century, mass produced and available at the website that owns the planet (as well as ETSY where baby witches go to die). The Ouija board never scared me, either. I'd go to slumber parties when I was a kid in Wichita Falls, Texas where there was always at least one little bitch who would burst into tears whenever the Ouija board was brought out.

My favorite quote of all time is attributed to Gertrude Stein and is available on pillows and coffee mugs at Redbubble.

There ain't no answer.
There ain't gonna be any answer.
There never has been an answer.
That's the answer.

All that being said, I've made a decent amount of money with tarot cards since 2019. I have two monetized YouTube channels and a roster of clients. A few days ago a subscriber asked about a deck I created a few years ago. I'd deleted the design and all others from my storefront. Well, the subscriber inspired me to create a new deck. Here it is. Tarot Nada. Gertrude Stein (Aquarian) is the Queen of Swords.

 

THROW A PILLOW

Throw this pillow at someone you deeply adore.

Hang this poster above your computer.

The word on the street is that Jesus saves so you don't have to.

Yesterday I did something I had not done in a very long time. I created a tarot deck. It will be available for sale once The Powers That Be approve my deck, which I created using Canva Pro. I'm a professional. I wake up, eat JIF extra crunchy from the jar with a ripe banana, drink black coffee and get to work. The wheel of fortune does not play favorites but Saturn does. I've got gold stars across my little chart.

 

PERSONALIZED PET PHOTO PILLOW

This personalized pet photo bullshit is pissing me off beyond all reason. ENOUGH.
This has inspired me to write my next piece for Retarded Beyond Redemption, my latest collaboration with the Aries who dicks me down on a regular basis.

For some reason known only by God the above photo brings this song to mind. I guess it's actually a pretty obvious association. Unless you're retarded beyond redemption. But if you want to be a millionaire by Halloween you should be listening to this. BYE.

 

RETARD DOGGO

Nothing disgusts me more than retard hyper consumerism. Hey, if you want to spend thousands of dollars on some kind of special retard pet and name him Buck or Tiger or Taylor or Aladdin, knock yourself out. But DO YOU REALLY NEED a ceramic replica of your goddamn special angel? Rhetorical question. To each her own lollipop. I'm over here judging and mocking your choices.

 

aRe YOU ReaDY foR RETARD PENIS?

"Ready or NOT, here I CUM!"

Yes, boo. RETARD PENIS is ready for YOU.
Are you weary of the usual shit being churned out by Random Penguin and POETS R US? Then you are in for quite the treat.

BLuRB from maNKaTo, resident iguana:

I shit all over these pages. Trees were killed for THIS???

 

TODAY'S ATTEMPTS

 

it's not a coffee mug

you'll come running bacK

GET YOUR CANDY

GET YOUR CANDY

 

BOTCHED

BOTCHED

 

TEMU uNiTed STaTeS

everything must go

 

lulu.com remains ReTaRDeD

Global distribution for my art book (((Chupacabra Disco))) was rejected because of the cover text. "Art by Misti Rainwater" was deemed unacceptable by The Retarded Powers That Be at lulu.com. Here is the new revised cover. And here is a new coLLaGe.

xxx MISTI xxx
 

MANKATO is PLeaSeD

Mankato is pleased with the final revised editions of SLOBBER and STUNT COCK. He suggests you purchase copies of both poetry collections immediately. You will thoroughly enjoy.

xxx MISTI xxx

 

COFFEE PIZZA SHARK

Yes. You can have it all, especially in Siem Reap where coffee pizza sandwiches burger hotdog chicken wing shark can be purchased with pocket change across the street from Fujiyama BOM-BA-YE. Do not forget your poncho. Bring your favorite iPhone so that you can post pictures on Instagram. People want to see your food, especially the noodles.

Stay in America. Stay in the United States. Stay in San Francisco. Stay in Dallas. Stay in San Antonio. Stay in Sedona. Stay in Tucson. Stay in Seattle. Stay in Queens. Stay in New Orleans. Stay in Miami. Stay in macaroni and cheese. Stay in white cream gravy. Stay in Coke Zero. Stay in Great Value ginger ale. Stay in Jesus. Stay in Black Friday sale. Stay in Mariah Carey Xmas Land. Stay in a dozen or more variations of Warm Vanilla Sugar in Bath & Body Works. Stay in Planet Fitness. Stay in trailer park. Stay in barrio. Stay in ghetto. Stay in Happy Meal. Stay in The Sun WILL Come Out TOMORROW. Stay in bottom dollar. Stay in Vote Democrat. Stay in karmic preschool.

So much noiSe to choose from! Gee, Wally. A bitch can get confused! Sloan Bella says Dolly Parton will reincarnate as Taylor Swift's first baby. Might be a girl, not sure. Her name will be Diamond Extravaganza or something eerily similar. Sloan Bella says Jay-Z and Beyonce are busy worker bees in The Beast System. Also. Mark David Chapman was a vessel. Also. Paul McCartney died in the Sixties. He was replaced by a clone. Not an exact replica but close enough. Still puts on a good enough show. 

I make my own noiSe. I drink black coffee. I watch the frigate birds soar above the coconut trees. I play at artist. I play at tarot. I play at writer. I watch "Little House on The Prairie" and "Cheaters" with David. That is all you need to know.
 

GAY AS FUCK

"Gay as fuck," David muttered a few minutes ago. He didn't get much sleep last night and he wasn't feeling the whole leg day thing. But finally he said, "Fuck it." He decided to forge ahead with his leg day regimen.

Tuesday, Martes, is ruled (or sponsored, as I like to say) by Mars. There isn't anything gay about Mars. David is an Aries (MARS) with Capricorn (Saturn) rising and a Gemini (Mercury) moon. Mercury is definitely gay. Jupiter? Gay as fucking HELL. Mars is not gay and neither is Saturn. Venus? Yeah, gay. Neptune? GAY. Uranus? Of course it's gay! Pluto is in the closet. If Pluto is gay it's none of your goddamn business.

Back to the salt mines. And by salt mines I mean shuffling tarot cards for clients, making noiSe for my vaRiouS YouTube channels, creating designs for my swooncaKe storefront and writing at least a hundred words for Retarded Beyond Redemption.

Be gay. Don't be gay. Jesus thinks you're okay either way.

xxx MISTI xxx
 

RETARDED

I woke up this morning eager to share my dream with David. I dreamed I was flying private from L.A. to Las Vegas. I was awestruck by the experience. Leather seats! Rich people! No problems! As soon as the private jet landed in Las Vegas, Nevada I hauled ass to the library. I was taking pictures with my iPhone and sending the pictures of the interior of the Las Vegas library to various people. "Look where I am, bitches! I'm inside the LAS VEGAS LIBRARY! Rocks being ME! Sucks being YOU!" I had no memory of how I actually got to the library and this bothered me. Was it UBER? Was it a basic bitch taxi? I could not recall. 

David's response was not the response I was hoping for. I hoped he would say something like, "I love how your mind works, baby. You're unlike any woman I have ever known. What do you do when you arrive in Vegas in your dreams? Do you go to the casinos? Do you go to the pool? Do you go to Carrot Top's show at the Luxor? No, baby. You go to the library! God, I love you!"

What did the poet formerly known as David C. McLean actually say? He said, "America's dead."

America is not dead. As I write this people in the United States of America are swimming in pools, eating ice cream and pizza and Fritos and hot dogs and sushi and bacon cheeseburgers and kale salad, going to concerts, buying comic books and batteries and vibrators and curtains and rugs and candles and spatulas and Dolly Parton t-shirts, riding the subway, plunging toilets, taking phone calls from irate Verizon customers, killing cockroaches, walking poodles and shooting cops. People are still paying slot machines in Las Vegas, Laughlin, Reno and even Atlantic City to give them terrible news. "Nope. You're still broke, bitch."

The United States of America definitely still has a pulse and so do I. I'm eager to collaborate with David on our next two books, Retarded Beyond Redemption and Participation Prize. It was David's idea, I cannot take the credit for this one, to create a retard trilogy. The retard trilogy began with RETARD PENIS. How old are we? David is sixteen. I am twelve. We are genius retards. This is the noise I will listen to while writing the next two books with my big cock Aries man. Bye.

 

SLOBBER on the RETARD PENIS

David and I were thrilled to receive our copies of SLOBBER and RETARD PENIS in today's post. The revised copies are in transit and will be promoted once received. Here are reviews from Stella and Mankato (the best gift David has ever given me, an iguana plushie...I named him Mankato after the town visited often in "Little House on The Prairie"):

"Slobber makes Stella HAPPY because Slobber is full of LOVE. Retard Penis makes Stella LAUGH because it is so stupid! Ha! Ha! Ha ha HA!"

"I could not be bothered to read either book but I dig the covers. My name is Mankato. I see. I watch. I observe. Fuck off."

Here is a poem from SLOBBER:

power outage

we lie here sweat ecstatic because mourning is inadvertent ghosts &
she swings her legs above her like memory & writes rants in the air 
like an ambitious dictator

it is hotter & i swallow pasta & cheese because muscle does not grow
nowhere & this is home now, every future ghost

DAVID RAINWATER

And some kind of retarded prose from RETARD PENIS:

THROWING SPAGHETTI

Hi, Steven. I’m glad your mother had the presence of mind to name you STEVEN rather than STEPHEN. So yeah, I just wanted to state for the record that I’ve been throwing spaghetti against the wall since approximately 1979 when I carried a portable tape recorder around the house and made up skits and songs and interviewed babysitters. There was purity to my intent. I was five. I was six. I wanted to communicate with the world. I thought I had something to share, something valuable. It’s 2026 now and I’m still communicating. I’m still spitting into any available microphone. I’m spitting for the girl who was five the girl who was six. I’m spitting for my son. I’m spitting for Mia Zapata. I’m spitting for the America I never had the America I deeply loved and lost the America I repeat the America the goddamn beautiful majestic America I never had. I’m spitting for the Grand Canyon which I have only seen in photographs, movies, vaguely remembered dreams. I never had America. I never had the Grand Canyon. I never had the redwoods of the Pacific Northwest. I never had Big Sur. I never had San Francisco. I never had Hollywood. I never had Malibu. I never had Brooklyn. I never had Chicago. I never had Boston. I never had Key West. I’ve spit into various microphones to sporadic applause. I’ve been seen I’ve been heard I’ve been witnessed. But see, Steven, the thing is, Leo is my twelfth house and I’ve got an anaretic Aquarius sun that doesn’t make any significant aspects. I wasn’t born to shine. They taught me that song when I was a kid and I sang it and carried it all the way to my fifth decade. This little light of mine. I’m gonna let it shine. But my shine is small and that’s how God wants it to be and so it is. David just sent me a meme he sends memes often. What is Searched MORE? Hentai. The Quran or the BIBLE. Another song they taught me. The B-I-B-L-E. Yes that’s the book for ME. I stand upon The Word of GOD the B-I-B-L-E. The Bible didn’t have much value when I was carrying a fetus in my womb in 1996 crying until I had no tears left knowing I was alone alone alone and that was very much my problem to solve. I suck at algebra, Steven. I suck at solving problems. In a world where the most popular Google searches are HENTAI, Quran and BIBLE my worth is zero. Yet I continue to splatter my spaghetti against the walls of the indifferent world. Hi. My name is Kilgore Trout. There’s purity to obscurity. Big Business Monkey. Everything’s money. RIP, Daniel Johnston. He wasn’t obscure at all thanks to MTV and Kurt Cobain yet he remained pure. “Walking The Cow” remains deeply embedded in my broken choir girl heart. I sang in a few different choirs, not terribly well. They never asked me to sing solo in Kelview Heights Baptist Church. Tim Hale, Libra, sang solo. I had a mild crush on Tim. I had a much bigger crush on Matt Hale (Leo), his little brother who was a year older than me. Their father, Russ Hale (Scorpio) (the youth pastor), visited me in the hospital when I was in labor with my firstborn, the daughter I could not keep. Whenever Russ Hale sang “How Great Thou Art” I got chills all over. He was better than Elvis. How great is my art? Who decides? Who judges? Who makes the call? Who assigns the gold stars across my chart? I have this insane compulsion to continue to share. Great, not great, terrible, god awful, shit, gold. Whatever, man. Mercury is my chart ruler (Virgo rising) and it’s smack dab in the middle of my seventh house and it makes several aspects. So I continue to spit. I’m Cougar Ketchup. I’m Sally Mayonnaise. I’m Roxi Xmas. I’m Ginger Todger. I’m Chupacabra Disco. I’m Zero Bueno. I’m Lescarius. I’m Marshmallow Witch. I’m Cult Yoga. I’m Swooncake Press. I’m Swooncake Records. I’m Noise Spit. Someday I’ll be dead. Doesn’t matter. The spitting will continue.

MISTI RAINWATER

 

SLUT MOON

Is it Libra season yet? Not quite, cupcake.

Gracias to David for putting "SLUT MOON" together for me and releasing it on Bandcamp. 

Yes, AI definitely needs a rebranding. I concur. Let's go with RI. Rhode Island might get mad about it but Rhode Island can get over it, already.

RI. Regurgitated Intelligence. Retarded Intelligence. Ratchet Intelligence. Get on it. Chop. Chop.

xxx Misti xxx

 

NEW WOMAN

/

Who's the NEW WOMAN? You's the new woman. You's the NEW WOMAN, baby! You is saturated satiated complicated celebrated dedicated decorated congratulated NEVER constipated never frustrated never denigrated. Pass the pink glitter and splash it on Twitter. Don't be bitter. A new day dawns with you on top where you belong like a Shania Twain/Dolly Parton/Dottie West SONG.

 

cherry coke + magic 8 ball + trash lit

Hi. My name is Misti Velvet Rainwater and I am a product of my environment. My mother had a copy of this novel when I was in my formative years. Damn right I devoured it. I also devoured her copies of a sleazy women's magazine (cannot recall the title) that included women's true stories of sex in various places. I was most excited by the story about having sex underneath a raincoat on a bus. I could not wait to grow up so I could have such an experience. I never had sex underneath a raincoat on a bus. But...read Fuckerbutt Happy Time. I wrote about all the horrible sex I had in San Antonio, Texas. It isn't as profound or as deep as anything Henry Miller or Erica Jong wrote but a bitch tries. I come here to provide links. I am always working.

I make noiSe.

I SAID I MAKE NOISE.

I am deeply in love with David. We are getting married in Capricorn season 2027.

I'm going to pee now.

p.S. I recall the name of the magazine. It was NEW WOMAN. You can find back issues at eBay.

PERFECTED VERSIONS

Tonight David and I created perfected versions of our first three books (STUNT COCK, SLURP and SLOBBER) instead of watching "Cheaters." New covers pictured above. The changes made to the SLURP cover were minimal. I shouldn't have to say it but these books make excellent stocking stuffers, better than anything you'll find at Five Below or Family Dollar. I'm going to eat a bowl of grapes and watch "Cheaters" now.

p.s. you can hang this on a wall

p.p.s. it's a chaotic skull collage tote bag
 

HAMBURGER HELPER

I CAN'T DRIVE 55!!! Lately I've had it in my head that I am 55 years old, although I know deep down I am 53. I turn 54 on February 17, 2027 at 6:29 p.m. For the astrologically curious this means that I have sun and Venus in Aquarius, Virgo rising and Virgo moon, Mars in Capricorn and Mercury in Pisces. I might possibly be retarded but I'm sparkly about it like Dolly Parton but not as famous and flamboyant. Also, by all reports Dolly Parton was a sweet as hell down to earth gal. That is not my flavor. Do not fuck with my Hamburger Helper. I'm pretty intense about my food. Maybe that's my Pluto in Libra in the second house square my Mars in Capricorn in the fifth. I am not sure. Yesterday David was in the bathroom and I was in the bedroom and we both spied a couple of frigate birds fighting over a piece of food while in flight. It was stunning to behold and I could certainly relate. I felt that shit.

I have never consumed Hamburger Helper of my own volition. They probably fed it to me at least a couple of times when I was a kid but I have no memory of this. I do recall loathing sloppy joes. I didn't mind fried spam sandwiches, especially if they came with Fritos. I remember the amazing cinnamon rolls they fed us on occasion in the cafeteria at Jefferson Elementary in Wichita Falls, Texas. They were huge and messy as hell. I fucking loved those things. The other night I was craving Cheetos but I did not ask David to walk to the store and buy me a bag. I fought my demons and won. 

For the past month or so David has been informing me how dire things are in the States. I've got my headphones on, I'm making noise and Redbubble designs, and he's telling me this prepper said this and that prepper said that. Shit is DIRE. The empire is on FIRE. Keep in mind I spent the first 53 years of my life in the United States of America, mostly in Texas. Which states did I reside in or spend a few weeks here and there in? Texas. New Mexico. Louisiana. South Carolina. New York. Oklahoma. California. I only had Texas and New Mexico driver's licenses as I spent years of my life in those two states, but I was proud as hell of my San Francisco library card. I lived on Clayton Street off Haight for one month in 2013. I had the food stamp experience, the WIC experience, the disability experience, the financial aid experience, the hurricane evacuation experience, the tornado experience, the psych ward experience, the root canal experience, the writing hot checks in a few different states while on a road trip experience, the shoplifting experience, the driving while under the influence experience, the emergency room experience, the urgent care experience, the giving birth experience, the topless dancing experience, the finding a place to live on Craig's List experience, the sorority experience, the being bullied experience, the being invisible experience, the gated subdivision experience, the trailer house experience, the being kicked out of a house experience, the being kicked out of a hotel experience, the no hot water for one month experience, the Coinstar experience, the garage sale experience, the flea market experience, the donating plasma experience, the living on ramen experience, the writing for a small town newspaper experience, the starting a small business with a deck of cards experience, the singing with the band in a downtown San Antonio bar experience, the selling art in San Antonio experience, the marriage experience, the divorce experience, the sobbing in a hair salon experience, the cutting my own hair off experience, the Paxil experience, the Prozac experience, the asthma experience, the menorrhagia experience, the precancerous cells on the cervix experience, the gossiping shit talking cousins experience, the karaoke experience, the casual gross regrettable horrible sex experience, the rape experience, the open mic experience, the alcohol poisoning experience, the shopping drunk in Walmart experience, the buying helium balloons in Family Dollar experience, the buying candy and makeup in Five Below experience, the getting fingered while sitting on a bench overlooking the Guadalupe River in Kerrville, Texas experience. You get the goddamn gist. Oh. Yeah. I was dunked in water in a few different churches in Texas and Louisiana. Yay Jesus. Goddamn right I had the Sunday school/vacation bible school/church camp experience. Did. I. Stutter.

So the preppers are sitting in their parked vehicles or on their sunlit porches talking about stocking up on duct tape, various tools, flour, canned beans, batteries, water, etcetera. SHTF. They are preparing for when the SHIT HITS THE FAN. Data centers breaking the grid? Armageddon? Zombie apocalypse? We watched "Civil War" the other night. I cannot imagine anything remotely similar happening in my lifetime. I could certainly be wrong.

Since leaving San Antonio in April I have experienced intense pangs of homesickness, even though I was miserable most of the time. I've asked David some variation of If Things Get Better Can We Go There Can We Live There We Could Go To Colorado We Could Go To Nevada Can We Live Together in The Country of My Birth. David isn't feeling it. He's lived in the UK, Sweden, Finland, Indiana...and now Belize. He has zero love for the United States of America. He asks me if I want to go back and eat trash food and die slow, my body falling apart, having numerous surgeries until I finally die. Doesn't sound too appealing, no. But goddamn. I still love Cheetos and Dr. Pepper and Snickers. McDonald's coffee is the best. The McDonald's black coffee with an apple pie and a bacon egg cheese biscuit is the best fucking breakfast on the planet. Fight me, bitch. I hated the food in the UK. I was ecstatic to finally find a Subway. Yeah, the Domino's pizza was good but they put corn on it. What in the actual fuck of all fuck??? 

We've been on this island since May. David makes better tacos than any Mexican. He makes damn decent fried rice. Also. He has a huge cock. "It's not just that I have a huge cock. I go hard or go home. You've said it yourself. 'I had to cross the pond to get fucked properly.'" Quite.

I checked walmart.com on a whim to see how dire things are. I scribbled notes in the floral journal I purchased in San Pedro a few months ago. Here is the raw data:

Rollbacks & More

must-haves for less

12 pack Cherry Dr. Pepper $6.97

Hamburger Helper Cheesy Ranch Burger +20 options $1.48

Monster Energy Ultra Variety Pack LIBERTY 12 pack $21.58

Frito-Lay Flavor Mix Snack Chips Variety 18 Pack $8.97

Little Debbie Fall Pumpkin Delights 8 Count $3.16

Tree Hut Tropic Glow Whipped Shea Body Butter $9.97

Reese's Assorted Milk Chocolate Snack Size Peanut Butter Shapes PUMPKINS GHOSTS BATS 9 oz bag $5.57

Great Value LARGE white eggs 12 count $1.67

Great Value 1% Low-fat chocolate milk half gallon 64 fl oz $1.82

Great Value Soft & Strong Premium Toilet Paper 36 MEGA ROLLS (380 sheets per roll) $19.67

Verizon iPhone 18 Pro 256GB Burgundy $31.92/month 36 months 

85% Lean/15% Fat Angus Ground Beef Steak Burgers 12 count 4 lb. tray $24.97

Aria Women's Lightweight Cotton Woven 50" Ballet Nightgown sizes xs-5X Bright White Vine Blue Floral $11.72

Well. Godspeed, my fellow Americans. See ya on the other side.

xxx Misti Velvet xxx

 

The 100 GREATEST BooKS eVeR wRiTTeN

This post was inspired by a conversation I had with David this morning after recording my latest pick a card reading. I referenced The Color Purple in the reading and David asked me if I was serious. Yes. I'm serious. Quite. I love the novel and I love the film. Kiss my white (with a dash of Creole) ass.

So I made this noiSe track and listed my 100 favorite books in the description box. David vehemently disagrees with MOST of my choices. He's especially disgusted by Bukowski and Lester Bangs. Fair enough. If you haven't purchased the first 22 books on the list you kind of suck. Just joking. But I am dismayed by your lack of interest and I am a bit hurt. I'll live.

 

M A N I F E S T A T I O N

There seems to be a beautiful method to my madness. I am forever astounded by the weird magic of it all. Synchronicity. Dreams. The math of Western astrology. The numerological system detailed in Linda Goodman's Star Signs.

This video popped up in my YouTube feed yesterday and I cried out HOLY FUCK or something similar. I fell in love with David in March. This video was created two years ago. No comprende.

David is right about a lot of things but he is wrong about Brian Wilson, whose Virgo moon was conjunct mine. He was a genius on the basis of  this song alone. But wait. There's more.

Selah.

 

ZERO BUENO

I snapped the above shot with my iPhone a couple of days ago. It's the San Pedro sunrise as seen through our bedroom window. I had been lying in bed for hours staring at walls, words loud inside my head. I knew it was time to finish my latest novel, Zero Bueno.

Technically it's a novella. The word count is about 33K. The page count is 111. I do not recall when the title came to me but it's my favorite title of any book I've written. Pictured below (I know writers are obsessed with such things) is one of the scribbled pages of the rough draft and my favorite pen (the only pen I use, I order it in bulk each year), the Pilot Precise V5 Extra Fine Rolling Ball. 

The words have been loud inside my head for quite some time. I put off writing the book for years because...life. Running a business and a household were my top priorities. Then somewhere along the way, I do not recall the exact year, I became obsessed with audio. I'm still obsessed with audio. Audio is easier (and more fun) to access. I create noise to drown out the words so crowded and incessant in my head. Also. Art. Space is limited in this upstairs flat I share with David so I just arrange pieces of paper on the coffee table and snap shots, which I edit using CanvaPro. I'll soon have 3K designs uploaded at Redbubble.

Before Zero Bueno there was Fuckerbutt Happy Time, a novel I described as "field research disguised as fiction." I remember scribbling the rough draft in various notebooks in my studio apartment in San Antonio and in the guest cabin on my mother's ranch wearing footed Tinkerbell pajamas. I love the ending. It was a relief.

And before Fuckerbutt Happy Time there was Bullshit Rodeo, which was born in a butterfly journal in the Albuquerque Sunport in July of 2010. You can read the words but you will never see all the bones. You will never see all the blood. Spoiler alert: The dead butterfly did not make it to Heaven.

With Zero Bueno I am finally done with the blood and the bones. The restless ghosts of Texas and California can find some other bitch to haunt. Some other bitch can scribble it all down then type it up, tear her hair out strand by strand over the formatting and the uploading process, revise it a few times and promote the hell out of it on YouTube/Twitter/Blogger/Facebook/Instagram. Good luck and godspeed.

Muchas gracias and an infinity of love to David for believing in me, encouraging me, bullying me, reminding me, loving me, feeding me, finding me, fucking me...and for being my first reader, editor, publisher, reviewer, promoter. Yesterday he showed me the review he wrote for the poetry anthology (Sirens: Five Femme Fatale Poets) in 2008 when he was just a guy I was talking to on MySpace.

None of this seems real but I assure you it is. Someday a movie will be made if this planet lasts long enough. Vaya con dios, muchachos.

xxx Misti xxx

WIN SOMETHING EXCITING

 what i eat in a day

get ready with me

fuckerbutt happy time

clown gravy

super cherry extra

sponsored by venus

sniff my pages

MANIFESTO

It's a manifesto without words. There's a brief introduction but the rest of the book is comprised of my bleeding insanely saturated full color trash artwork. I published a similar book with the same title years ago (before Covid & the accelerating decline of the USA) but it was no bueno. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. So here's this new improved version, a record of my manic DIY aesthetic. 

Perfection is a lie but I've got Virgo rising, Mars in Capricorn and a tenth house Saturn and David has Capricorn rising and Saturn in Capricorn. We endeavor. I presented David with the files then got the hell out of his way. He worked his magic and I am so grateful. 

Buy it, bitches. Gracias.

 

MAJESTIC as FUCK

my favorite bird

must be the lunar eclipse in piSceS

MISTI LOVES DAVID

 

SIMPLE PLEASURES

"I'm not a complicated man. I like cinema. In particular, I like to see people fucking on film. I like simple pleasures, like butter in my ass and lollipops in my mouth."

("Boogie Nights"/Floyd Gondolli)

My heart has been heavier than usual lately, what with the death of Dolly Parton, power outages on the island and trouble receiving books from lulu.com. A bitch cannot catch a break. I'd been putting off watching "Little House on The Prairie" with David for quite some time as I knew it would make me emotional. But finally I said, "Fuck it. If I watch another episode of 'Cheaters' I'm going to stab my eyes out with a fork. Little House it is."

We watched a two part episode involving Adam and Mary, a happily married blind couple until Adam had the balls to regain his sight and fuck shit up. I was repulsed by Adam in the first part (season seven, cannot recall the number of the episodes). He was acting like an egomaniac simply because he could see again. I've been seeing for 53 years, big deal. So he gets the big idea he's going to become a lawyer. He stops paying attention to Mary, she gets hurt. Sad stuff but I could deal. Then in the second part Adam makes the trek to Minneapolis to take the bar exam. Returning to his hotel room one night after eating dinner with a rich friend he gets mugged and beaten unconscious. I said, "I can see where this is going. He's going to lose his sight again. God is punishing him for being a dick to Mary." Not exactly. Sure, Adam ends up in the hospital and has a hell of a headache but he can still see. However, he does miss the bar exam. When Mary comes to Minneapolis to visit Adam at his bedside and Adam starts expressing his vulnerability ("bitch is feeling sorry for himself," David muttered in disgust), I lost it. Tears streamed from my eyes. David asked if I was joking. I was not.

"He can't catch a break. I can relate," I said.

I was inspired enough to consult Wikipedia. No, Mary never actually got married. Adam was pure fiction. Still, I know there are people all over the world in similar situations and it breaks my goddamn heart.

So this morning during sex I decided to liven things up by pretending to be Mary. "Pa? Pa, is that you? I can't see. What are you doing to me, Pa? I wasnt expecting...this."

To my surprise, David lost his erection and the sex came to a screeching halt. I guess our days of roleplay are over. The bloom is OFF the rose, as they say.

 

FIND A BETTER COUNTRY

Back in the glorious MySpace days of 2008 I remember a cousin's husband at the time (she's on marriage #3...common in Texas) had this pithy quote on his page: 

"This is AMERICA. If you don't like it you can LEAVE."

I took umbrage. He lived in a brand-new brick house (thanks to his wealthy grandfather) and I was living on WIC and food stamps in a tiny trashy rent house I called The Crack Whore Shack in Nederland, Texas with my infant son and his father, my second husband. I remember thinking, "I would LEAVE if I COULD. Asshole."

I don't like The United States of America, the country of my birth. I don't like Texas, the state of my birth. I finally left at the age of 53. I live on this island in the Caribbean. I've been here with my fiance (David) since May. We still haven't been to Secret Beach but we aren't really beach people. We don't drink. We don't get stoned. We're boring as hell with our weights and resistance bands and yoga mat. We write books and fuck each other and take pictures of palm trees and iguanas and the moon.

There's no Walmart or McDonald's or Taco Bell or Ross Dress For Less on this island. How do I cope? Oh, the usual...eating JIF Extra Crunchy from the jar, watching "Cheaters" in bed with my man, reading the PDF of his novel until I sob.

I am not Taylor Swift. Jesus wept. Selah.

p.S. in a recent dream I purchased a FIFTH AVENUE candy bar, something I haven't done in many moons

 

BEST BOOK EVER PUBLISHED

It's subjective, of course, and I'm biased, but the best book ever published is not THE KING JAMES BIBLE or The Grapes of Wrath or The Great Gatsby or Sweet Valley High #1: DOUBLE LOVE. No ma'am. No sir. The best book ever published is RETARD PENIS. Here is an excerpt:

I was sitting in a booth at the McDonald’s on Fredericksburg Road slurping melted ice cream when Debbie began bombarding me with text messages. I didn’t have time for her bullshit so I turned off my piece of shit Samsung Galaxy and soaked in the bliss of the moment, slurping melted vanilla ice cream looking out the window at the Tower of The Americas hazy in the distance. Sometimes I love living in this city. I donated plasma three days ago so I can afford this treat.

Debbie writes poems about me, says she’s in love, but I just enjoy fucking her on occasion with my basic American five inch cock. I don’t delude myself. The best I can hope for is a mediocre sex life with a bat shit crazy poet covered in ugly tattoos and the occasional McDonald’s or Dairy Queen or Sonic treat. I work as a cashier at the Five Below on the upper level of Wonderland. I’ve never taken an IQ test but I’m probably a few points above retarded. Not severely retarded. Functioning retarded, like most Texan Americans.

(title of the piece is DUMPING DEBBIE)