boisterously enthroned
integrate (aka being who i really am)

i love this blog.. love it.. i admit to being enough of an ego maniac that i enjoy going and just admiring what my archive looks like… i posted these pics, that i either found just pic mining on google or reblogging you fine people, because they had qualities i took pleasure in.. the light, the realism, the subject, the angle, the location.. the light, the light, the light… :) bring it thru a window to the left a la vermeer and i’m done for..

but i’m also funny bone girl.. i love a dark joke and a good laugh.. harsh truths and bold statements.. and so much of the stuff i was clicking that little heart for was either funny as fuck, angry as fuck, or porn with a significant cock worshipping slant.. a new blog was needed.. and so i made and let that side of me flow..

but in a brief email conversation with a cool guy,  a bone got stuck in my proverbial throat.. why the need for two blogs? did these sides of myself need to be kept apart? no, i don’t think so.. it’s the perfectionist in me that likes this blog.. even though she’s obviously sloppy as fuck.. lol.. no, keeping both going is starting to annoy me.. and make it clear that the energy i spend doing both is a waste of time and a denial of the whole picture…

and truly, just now, the post below this on my blog, from, an excellent blog, pushed me over the edge.. i was signed in here so i went to reblog it.. but then i thought, no, it should go in mindtwinkies… to which my mind immediately offers how ridiculously stupid that is and why not just cut to the chase.. is getting to me… seriously…

i’ve got a job i love and while i’m barely keeping my head above water financially, i can’t walk away from it.. if i could, or if i was homeless, or unemployed and had no options, i’d be walking to nyc right now if that was my only choice…

but i’m here, in tampa, to keep grinding it out.. but my mood has shifted… i’ll still post pretty pictures but i’m not going to do this particular blog anymore… i’ll be over at mindtwinkies, being more of all of me.. pretty, angry, horny, funny, curious, open, and smirking most likely, when i’m not shaking my fist at the sky…

come see me there, if you like :)

As we circle Union Square, about twenty NYPD officers haul out orange plastic nets (the kind used to fence off construction sites) and close off the road, diverting the crowd. But the detour, too, was closed, leaving us only one other option: straight down Broadway. The lighthearted carnival air begins to get very heavy as it becomes clear that we are being corralled. The main group, about 150 protesters, keeps on down the street, but the police are running behind with the orange nets, siphoning off groups of fifteen to twenty people at a time, classic crowd control.

A new group of police officers arrives in white shirts, as opposed to dark blue. These guys are completely undiscerning in their aggression. If someone gets in their way, they shove them headfirst into the nearest parked car, at which point the officers are immediately surrounded by camera phones and shouts of “Shame! Shame!”

Up until this point, Frank and I have managed to stay ahead of the nets, but as we hit what I think is 12th Street, they’ve caught up. The blue-shirts aren’t being too forceful, so we manage to run free, but stay behind to see what happens. Then things go nuts.

The white-shirted cops are shouting at us to get off the street as they corral us onto the sidewalk. One African American man gets on the curb but refuses to be pushed up against the wall of the building; they throw him into the street, and five cops tackle him. As he’s being cuffed, a white kid with a video camera asks him “What’s your name?! What’s your name?!” One of the blue-shirted cops thinks he’s too close and gives him a little shove. A white-shirt sees this, grabs the kid and without hesitation billy-clubs him in the stomach.

At this point, the crowd of twenty or so caught in the orange fence is shouting “Shame! Shame! Who are you protecting?! YOU are the 99 percent! You’re fighting your own people!” A white-shirt, now known to be NYPD Deputy Inspector Anthony Bologna, comes from the left, walks straight up to the three young girls at the front of the crowd, and pepper-sprays them in the face for a few seconds, continuing as they scream “No! Why are you doing that?!” The rest of us in the crowd turn away to avoid the spray, but it’s unavoidable. My left eye burns and goes blind and tears start streaming down my face. Frank grabs my arm and shoves us through the small gap between the orange fence and the brick wall while everyone stares in shock and horror at the two girls on the ground and two more doubled over screaming as their eyes ooze. In the street I shout for water to rinse my eyes or give to the girls on the ground. But no one responds. One of the blue-shirts, tall and bald, stares in disbelief and says, “I can’t believe he just fuckin’ maced her.” And it becomes clear that the white-shirts are a different species. We need to get out of there.


Saskatchewan, Canada


Saskatchewan, Canada