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)

 

EAT some caKe

David drives me crazy.
I love the maniac.
He's a brilliant motherfucker with a big cocK.

This is not a haiKu.

 

swooncaKe aesthetic

Not everyone is special. Not everyone is worthy of attention, publicity, wealth, health, divine revelations, favor. I did not make the rules, I only abide by them. If something isn't special I do not share it. That was not always the case. Lately I've been dedicated to the culling process. I've been deleting old photographs, blog posts, videos and playlists. God (according to David GOD does not exist but I remain a believer) has instructed me and I have obeyed. We don't all get a seat at the table. We can't all be Kim Kardashian. We can't all be Taylor Swift. We can't all be Sharon Osbourne. We can't all be Anais Nin. We can't all be Erica Jong. I could puke from now until the day I die looking around at those who are favored, celebrated, lauded, rewarded. Last night I watched a favorite film of mine, "Coal Miner's Daughter." David was amused and disgusted. He doesn't get it. Not everyone thinks Loretta Lynn was a great or even good singer. Not everyone is mesmerized by Sissy Spacek's portrayal of Loretta Lynn. Not everyone worships at the altar of Elvis. Not everyone thinks RETARD PENIS should be purchased, read, reviewed. 

It's lonely (quite) at my table. I am seated at the kiddie table. I'm too ridiculous and rude to be welcome at The Grown-Up Table where the gossip ranges from Billy Bob's latest Home Depot haul to Kelly Sue's latest pregnancy. I don't feel like I'm missing out on much at all. Loneliness is often delicious. No one I think is in my tree and that is perfectly acceptable. I was deluded for several years, jumping through hoops of fire for various motherfuckers. No mas, hoss.

I celebrate trash. I celebrate the absurd. I celebrate the ridiculous. End transmission.

 

RETARD PENIS is NOW aVaiLaBLe

 

David did the cover. I am responsible for the cover art. We worked long and hard on this one and decided to publish it today, Thursday, 20 August 2026. Leo season. Jesus will cry if you opt not to purchase this goddamn gorgeous collection of flash fiction and prose poetry.

kurt cobain's suicide letter as edited by kathleen hanna

That's the title of my latest piece for RETARD PENIS, coming soon for the pathologically curious and terminally bored. Flash fiction, prose poetry, essays that would never make the cut and be published in Guernica or Sassy (RIP). It's a bloody DISASTER. Haters encouraged to purchase a copy at (where else) lulu dot fucking com. The world is hopping straight to hell like a delirious bunny and language is dead as dead as your daddy's dick. People will have no choice but to get over their petty prejudices and panties in a wad grievances. I pasted these words in a collage I made a billion years ago when I was a sexually frustrated virgin living small in rural Texas:

What's Your Problem Gripe or Guilt Trip?

There was probably a comma in there. I fucking loathe commas. 

There's such purity to obscurity. I embrace it like Dana Plato embraced Gary Coleman but only on set. Daddy was Mr. Drummond.
 

WORKING THE SAW

working the saw
working the daw
working the maw
working the claw
working the jaw
working the caw
working the blah

 

OBSESSED WITH OBSCURITY

The YouTube crowd seems obsessed with obscurity lately. Obscure audio is trending. These tracks are as obscure as 30 minutes ago. Obscurity is just another day at the office for me.
 

$134.92

I just created this collage. It's available on various products at Redbubble. Buy the canvas print and hang it above your sofa. Your friends will be impressed.
 

STRINGS

David is cracking that colonizer whip insisting that I take a break from making noiSe and shuffling tarot cards. WRITE, BITCH. WRITE!!! I am acquiescing. I am submitting. I have written two stories for our latest collaboration in progress, RETARD PENIS. Stay posted. Bye.

 

DATA CENTER SMOKE BREAK

The bugs are biting the sun is setting the dogs are barking the music is playing in Belize. Earlier there were tacos and I was ranting because I thought I had lost a track I was madly in love with. I just heard a gunshot. I'm safe here in bed with my Aries rapist. Inside joke. I no longer eat cereal but if I did my cereal of choice sure as fucking hell would not be FANS CORNFLAKES. Capital letters are still somehow important. Have you driven a FORD lately? Confident. Confident. Dry and secure. Raise your hand. Raise your hand if you're SURE. I have this memory of lying awake in my canopy bed in Goree, Texas in 1975 or 1976. The television in the den had been turned off for hours but I kept hearing the A&W Root Beer commercial over and over again. I thought I was losing my mind. I probably was. All these years later I remain obsessed with audio. Here is my latest track available for $1.50. Bye.

 

PASS THE POTATO SALAD

pledge allegiance

put chiles in processor 

pick a number 

 

YOU HAVE BEEN REPORTED

 

 

"She's a hateful vengeful tarot card shuffling incense burning Satan loving witch," Cousin One said on her way to the nail salon. Paris beckons! So many photo ops for Instagram! Family reunion at Cracker Barrel tonight! Y'all be there! LOL!

 

Another gender reveal cupcake party. Get excited. Another baby shower. Get excited. Another wedding. Get excited. Black Friday at Target. Frozen margaritas with the girls in Las Vegas. Taylor Swift concert. Paul McCartney is still singing "Love Me Do"! Here's proof!

 

Splurge on a Versace handbag, bitch. Four thousand dollars never felt so GOOD. Jesus wants us to have the very best! Designer cowboy boots. Designer sofa. McMansion on the safe side of Dallas. See how good we look at Facebook? Jesus doesn't want you to be jealous. Jesus wants you to praise your neighbor for having a better house a better car a better family a better life. We pray the wildfires and tornadoes and floods away! We are FAVORED!

 

Google the outcast. Google the bitch who colors outside the lines. Google the bitch who chooses SELF over prescribed deity. Google the bitch who never found the prize easter egg in moo cow pasture.

 

53 years in the proudest reddest state. 53 years of judgment, gossip, JESUS SAVES JESUS SAVES, junk food, fast food, BULLSHIT RODEO, garage sales, asthma attacks, men drinking cheap beer swinging leather belts because Daddy Knows Best, women scribbling mindless sermons in Hallmark cards because Jesus Forgives Us All, another Baptist preacher droning on about abortion/guns/obeying the parents, respecting the elected leader who has raped women and children, filling houses with ceramic angels and various guns because that is what will save us from terrorists, rapists, pedophiles, immigrants, AI, witches, Satanists, poets, terrible weather.

 

As For Me & My House We Will Serve The Lord

 

LIVE LAUGH LOVE LIE

 

Bless Her Heart

 

We Speak ENGLISH HERE

 

written by Misti Velvet Rainwater on Friday 31 July 2026 

 

BUILD A BRAND

 

 

coconuts 

 

bananas 

 cherries

LIMES 

MASTERED THE UNIVERSE

 

 

I put my sophomore effort together yesterday and when I woke up this morning David told me he put it up on Bandcamp. Happy fucking Full Moon in Aquarius! What the fuck are laurels and why would I rest on them? I don't get out much and I don't feel like sitting around working jigsaw puzzles, spying on random fuckerbutts, watching the latest trash on whatever. I don't have any pets. I don't have a monster truck or a golf cart. I spent 53 years of my life in the United States and have burned every bridge but one. So this is how I spend my time, creating noise and art and books like my ass is on fire. It kind of is. 

 

SUPER CHERRY EXTRA xxx $9 xxx

 

 

Today I awoke from a weird dream that included Tommy Lee and Courtney Love to thrilling news from my best friend/lover/future & forever husband, David (Aries sun Gemini moon Capricorn rising Mars in Aquarius Mercury & Venus in Pisces). "Super Cherry Extra," my debut album, is available for $9 at Bandcamp. I made cassettes last year and tried to sell them at a poetry event in Toledo with less than optimal results. But that was Scorpio season. Never try to sell cassettes during Scorpio season. No, the way to go is selling your debut album in Leo season (the moon is in Sagittarius and Mercury is direct in Cancer) as a digital download. I already have enough material for three or four more albums but I'm thinking about going into an actual studio for the next album because damn it, I'm a rock star now. We will celebrate, David and I, by walking to our favorite grocery store on the south end of the island and buying cans of peas. 

 

Happy Sabado, goddamn it. Saturday is sponsored by Saturn, my favorite planet. It is well with my soul.  

 

xxx !!! BANDCAMP !!! xxx

(sunset shot from our balcony)

 

Muchas gracias to David for creating and managing my bandcamp account, Chupacabra Disco. My debut album SUPER CHERRY EXTRA will soon be available as a digital download.

 

SHAMPOO COMMERCIAL

 

 

TANGLE FREE 

 

maNSioN in heaVeN

 

 

minor celebrity 

 

GOOGLE PENTACLES

            QUEEN OF DAMN PENTACLES
 

DATA CENTER ICE CREAM

 

     let's go let's go let's rocK n roLL 

some say it's a scam

 

(((((((( 808 )))))))) 

ORANGE FACE FOREVER

 

 

 

FLORIDA SUPERNATURAL 

 

IF YOU CAN'T AFFORD VASELINE

SPIT ON IT

 

JAGUAR CHOMPS CROCODILE

SLOBBER is a collaborative effort between a big dick Aries & me, an Aquarian born in Texas against her wishes in 1973.

Snatch it up, bitches/cocksuckers/motherfuckers. 
 

GOOD RIDDANCE, PSYCHO PIG SCUM

Yeah, fuck Lindsey Graham. 
Beautiful synchronicity.
Just a couple of days ago I texted my son, "Death to Trump and his ilk."

One down.
Many more to go.
Burn every American flag to ashes.
Burn your goddamn Taylor Swift and Beyonce albums and every edition of the bible.

I have stomped the dirt of the USA from my cowboy boots.
Puke. Puke. Puke.
I'm sweating in Belize and have never felt stronger better more alive. Kiss every inch of my ass.

Why am I such an angry woman?
Well, shit. Not sure where to start.
I only learned about William Sascha Riley a few days ago, which prompted the text I sent my son.

I'm no longer interested in casting pearls before swine.
I'm putting my pearls in my books.
Here's the latest.
It's a collaborative poetry collection, the last in a trilogy.
The language is quite strong.

Zero fucking apologies.