Always keep your heart locked tight – WWBD

Love. Everyone just wants to be loved. But not everyone expresses love in the same way, just as not everyone wants to be loved the same way.

As much as I slice and dice myself to endless jigsaw pieces, this bright and burning ball of chaos does maintain some threads of unchanging, concrete crystalline metaphors that link all aspects of my self and my life together.

Identifying the recurring metaphors and themes throughout the stories of your life will aid the seeker in inexplicable ways. Know yourself to help yourself, love yourself to heal yourself.

Here is my heart. A recurring symbol I have come to recognise as one of mine. Kimberly Hart, pink ranger, collector of hearts freely given. Mother’s hyper tension and father’s congenital cardial weakness were mutually received and produced in me the heart of a machine. A strong fount of passion, the philosophers stone. I am the realisation of two very distinct and opposite parts, hybridised and made whole.

Last year I “started” a thingy called WWBD? where, on Wednesdays, I would share my words of wisdom from my life lessons. I think that lasted a whole 2 weeks before I lost interest and chased some other shiny new idea down another dead end alley.

I dunno, I’m feeling like… renewing it. Keep the essence, but change the delivery.

I love music and like any dopey, angst ridden teenager, I just wanna share songs… To tell you what they make me feel inside, because I know I’m not the only one who feels the way that I do.

Ok, let’s make a pledge, and seal it with a shot. I will renew WWBD, and try to be disciplined enough in myself to carry it further than next week.

What does WWBD even mean? Or what way will I warp the acronym to fit my new vision? You know I am the metatrope, for my mind is all meta memory. It should not surprise you that there is an Easter egg in all my crafty word ad-hoc-kneed whatebets.


Take a swig of me, kvassir. Stumbling outside, my mental pool is a messy mirage of garbage. The trashmen take me out and throw me into the surf. Float away with me under the unsleep.

Hold on tight, if you want to tag along. There is wisdom to be found in the words of all our songs. I am the celestial sword smyth, inert until activated by the sounds of music.


You know there’s no rhyme or reason for the way you turned out to be // I didn’t go and try to change my mind, not intentionally.

It felt right, oh // but I fumbled and when I came down to the wire // It felt great

Well I try to keep myself together, after all the opportunities // I try to stay true to you and try to do what you wanted for me.

Haim – The Wire, selected lyrics.


I’m pretty happy to hang around, I can talk shit as much as I can take it. I used to be very careful with my words because I thought myself a person of integrity. I was someone who followed through in what I said. Once upon a time, I stood by my word through thick and thin. For better or worse, usually worse by me.

Look, a side street to side step into 2002, follow me into a memory when I was 15.

I was the final fantasy, so Archie and Allen had named me. In this circle, all the boys wanted me. Looking back, however, I wonder if this glamoured veil of the “idealised girl” friend is a cloak upon my physical self, or gauze I wrap my memories..? ANY WAY!

A rebellious teen, I experimented with substances. There. I admit it. So please recognise this as an example of my folly-filled youth. I am not now who I was then. But I am shaped by every one of the choices I have made.

I agreed to sleep with these 2 guys if they ________ (I leave it blank, I am not willing to explicitly say). I didn’t think they’d do it, because I knew what they were like. Oh how people can surprise you, and reinforce the time-held cliche: when there is a will there is a way. And shit, they really had more will than I ever knew. LOL.


Their unforeseen success forced me into a bind: I had to decide if I was to renege on my word, or actually follow through on something I had no intention of doing…

I did it. Both of them. At the same time. I was stony and undead, a silent and moveable mannequin. I gave the bare minimum, to the letter of my word, no more or less. I was just like them, for they were no more forthcoming with their end either.

I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, I just do whatever. I tend to run blindly into whatever thingy, I’m a “crash and burn” dazzling spectacle, running in my headlong forwards trajectory. I’m professor Quirrell to every one who sees me, but little do they know it is I, Voldemort, who is speaking.

I’m not really Voldemort, even though my eyes face the wrong direction. I don’t know where I am going, but I sure as fuck know how I got here. I can see the paths I have tread, the places I went, past tense bridges I traversed, and all the shit I burned down.


I know I put myself in questionable situations, though the shady perception and association is not something I am aware of in the moment.

The choices we make everyday, even as seemingly insignificant as the word choices and specific details we choose to include when sharing stories and memories, like I just did.

I could easily paint myself a victim with other facts of the matter such as age difference, or colour myself some “naive princess”. Or I could spin mythological webs of mental manipulation, telling tales of my archetypal past lives awakened and realised.

I am like Eos, Qetesh, Astarte… Freya did what she did, she is an empowered woman who made all her own choices. She wanted a necklace, so she bought it. FEMALE SEXUAL EMPOWERMENT! I am the blind seer. I have never raped, I have not been taken advantage of. I’ve never been assaulted, nor harassed, nor a victim of any bullshit.

I have been lonely. I have been sad. I have hated myself for some unbeknownst reason for as long as I can remember. I’ve never had to suffer trauma, which is a very fortunate blessing. My heart goes out to those who have been the victim of malevolent, awful, fucking horrendous deeds at the hands of someone – anyone – especially if it was by someone they should have been able to trust.

I have been once subpoenaed as a witness of a stabbing at a friend’s house.

FUN FACT! 2005.

I am responsible for all I have done. I only have power over myself. Only I can pay the price for the consequences of my deeds, whether I was aware of them or notmy doing and undoing has been because of me.


I’m no one righteous. Neither am I on the leftist political swing. If I had to classify myself, group myself with others politically, I guess you could call me a hard core CENTRALIST. Patron chump of MIDDLE GROUND, I don’t take sides, I take moderation to the extreme. My super powerful, over-inflated ego has always made sure I look out for me. I walk the line? I am the line.


  • Look out for you, you do you. Shit will turn out however it does. TRY, DO, DESTROY, REPEAT. Think about or ignore it, whatever you want.
  • I put myself first all the time growing up. I just tried to make sure my crap didn’t interfere with other people’s crap. DON’T CROSS STREAMS.
  • Own your own behaviour, take responsibility for your life. You’re the only one who is living it. Only puppets and slaves have the right to blame another because their life is really theirs to give… is it?
    • How can one give what is not theirs? Can you give me what I already have? Then you have no given at all, except an excuse.
    • Can you give me what someone else has? Then you are not giving, just transacting.
    • Give your life to no one, but you may live your life for some one. Or no one. Either way, you live your life the way that you do. Take all the glory and the shame that comes with the weight of that claim.
    • It’s fucking heavy, isn’t it? The gravity of that statement. And there is Atlas, here to carry the weight of your head off your shoulders.
    • Who will forgive you for all that you’ve done? If you cannot forgive yourself first, then (I am afraid) the answer is no one.
    • I’m a slave to my emotions; I’m more vulnerable than ever trying to liberate my self from ancestral karmic lines…
    • I hate that I’m not really the master of myself… I hate that I’m not good enough for me.

If your world comes crashing down around you, and your everything is a god damned mess… after you’ve finished screaming and crying and shrieking and dying… What is the lesson to be learned?

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