not yet punditik

I watched the clip of the man being whipped in a restaurant and I wept. I wept - not for the whipping, not for the pain, not for the indignity of that moment. I wept for something larger than that moment, or those moments. Yes the whipping was a violation. The whipper abused. The whippee was diminished and violated. For the whipper – I asked myself – why did he do it? –why did I do it? What must be my mental thought process to think that this will teach a whole grown person, make them pay for the mistake they have done, make reparation, or make them not do it again? What kind of pavlovian experience have I been through, experiment am I conducting – because this is not first time I am doing this. For the whippee – I asked myself – why did he allow it? – why did I allow it? What state am I as person in – spiritually, soulicaly, physically to allow such a violation? What has come before in my life, conditioned me before in my life, to be able to accept my current debase...

image from putacupinit I have just gone through one period without using a disposable menstrual product, and I am excited and I have to tell it all. I had two oopsies, but that was because attention to detail was not paid – I ignored the bubble once, and was too lazy to check if the cup was open the second instance –yes, I’ve let it slip, I am now using a menstrual cup. Both instances had me hotfooting myself to the bathroom to clear up mabloods on maclothes. I’ve not used any backup, I was at home and safe enough Anywhooo, here is the story from the lips or rather the mouth of my vagina herself...... “ She has done things to me, that I really have not liked. She put in me a tampon in my youth. I was in my teens. I heard the conversation. Yes I have ears as well as lips. You won’t see them – they are invisible. But I hear things. There was a swimming gala, and the houses were very competitive. All good swimmers had to swim, said head of house. P’s or no P’s. There was...

image from phallu.me I know there is my dress my choice, and it is for both males and females. Anyone can wear whatever they want, wherever they want, whenever they want. And who am I to tell you otherwise. But when butt cracks in low riding pants plus underwear bend over in front of my face, I think I need to speak – and your choice ends. In fact I have spoken up before and often . The latest time being yesterday. In a banking hall. I’m sitting down next to your pal. He is doing things on his phone, that you need to see. So first you wedge yourself in between your pal and my bag, since there is no empty seat next to your pal. I get hit with the rough hot edge of eau de sweat layered with strong undertones of suffocating hip, representing the pinnacle of un-hygiene-ness. I’m patient – no comment. You are uncomfortable, of course you are – you are perched on practically nothing. And you stand. In front of me. Leaning your torso sideways to your friend, the bac...

But God.  Yes – but for God, it would all be different. And but for Him, I thought I’d come to the end of this series. Apparently I hadn’t! Something told me – the back end, the backend of me.   Not my neither regions, thank you – but my internal operations. The inner workings, internal operations, the core, the backend – things happened there too. Think about it.   You changed.   Changed over the Hurting, had to change really to get through the Hurting like you did.   Think about it. Raging I remember it. High level anger. Item destroying, clothes rending rage. Yes I did – ripped up my Victoria Secrets [what we girls call the evening wear boubou or dirax], and was left starkers, in the middle of my living room. Thankfully I was alone – or not – I was preggers. What a sight. What a fury. I was madzers [read that word recently, had to use it] with more than fury – I do not know if there is a word to describe that level of ferocious I would get to. B...

Dear Hurter https://www.pinterest.com/pin/14073817556190332/ I go on.   I serve.   I go serve. I will go on despite my past, despite all the hurting that has happened.   My past does not define me.   It is just a reference point, a starting point.   A point I will not forget.   A point from which I will take measure of my journey. The hurting was an extreme time.   But the hurting has given me a new life.   With a new understanding of myself – where I am coming from, where I am now, and where I am going.   Where I am coming from is clear.   Where I am now, I will only fully understand from the perspective of the future once I gets here.   Where I am going, only the Lord knows.   I am excited, about where I am going to.   And though I have some level of anxious still in me, but I have said yes Lord, I have answered His call, and do so every day.   My spirit knows His direction, my soul yearns for its ...