Musings from the fiery diary of Donna Pinchy-Hottie

 Starbööks just isn't the same anymore. I mean, I still like working here, and I'm REALLY digging the opaque, rounded-corner-rectangle, pastel vibes we've got going on these days. Still it seems to be a little much. Maybe that's why I like it LOL.... I certainly am a star!!! 💥💥💥

The aesthetics do make it kind of hard to thinkwrite/read my work on my cup here, though. I guess it makes sense, though, as I edit my work experience and drink flavor, my verbiage shimmers and changes. It's tasting pretty good now! Purple is the best flavor. If I enjoy my drink journal enough, more people will try a sip and try to make something similar!

Technically speaking, I don't really work here, I service the corporate clients in the office building behind and below here... the type that probably won't even notice this drink journal I'm working on. Oh whell, just another starcross to bear for thot Donna! Eearregardless(lol), everything spans out from this epic-center, even those insatiable little corpy thistles.

The proplem with these middle ages is that everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) is trying to grow up fast, get a life, make a life, and then find a boyfriend.... though not necessarily in that order. To my knowledge, no one's ever found a boyfriend yet. If they did, we'd probably all tear him apart.😍😍😍

I like work, but I can't wait for it to end so I can go to a circle-kiss party or two tonight. Ms plastifroggy gave me some leads on a couple good ones! Oh, I dearly hope to see her tonight; we usually share a few kisses between ourselves before the synchronized group kissing begins in earnest.

At last night's event, one of those dirty hollering monkeys harassed me during the outdoor kissing portion!! I am SURE you know the type, a greasy, fleshy, half-aware thing that hasn't even learned how to talk by looking yet. I'm not trying to be rude, but personally speaking, I don't think they everwill. 

The pompous speck motioned me over to the fence that separated their domicile with that of my hosts, and when I graciously got over there to looklisten to what the horrid little thing had to say.... it PUNCHED me in my tiny little beautiful face. 

Dear drink-readers, I'm sure it will suprise you not at all to hear that everyone at the circle party was a little shook up. I'm still miffed and I think I'll go back there and eat its children tomorrow; my boss won't mind if I take a half-day, given the circumstances.

To entice you further for tonight's festivities, my shiny dearlings, I want to let you know that my hobblewobble bum has 18 pairs of pretty purple reverse-lips on it. When you press down on my head, I squirt out word-drink and monkey sinew from them like the playdö factory fun set I'm probably descended from. Gray goo indeed, or in my case, probably PURPLE!!!!

See you tonight, starlings! Muah! XXXOOO

Just

JUST

You are just here to have a life.

Mission accomplished.

Nothing to attain.

Nothing to protect, except life itself.

To do that be kind, be just, share fairly.

Think before you act, deliberate with compassion in mind, and realize that the first voice that speaks up in your head doesn't always have the best intentions.

It is the "me", we have moved on to we.

It's a best effort sort of universe, and not being a jerk is really all that's asked of you.

You were lucky to be.

We were lucky to have you.

Everything will be ok.

It already is.

You are just here to have a life.

I hope you enjoy it.

The Nife

His voice cracks while chanting sutras, caked with decades of woe.

Torn natos left at the wake ...

This is, this is, this is.

All humming, stuck together with honey and blood, strung up beyond eternity.

She is a stone sinking, sediment dropped in the ocean like a bomb, unknowing mother of liches and lichen, witches and vikings, thick eggs and christlings.

All are born in others' coffins.

Sepulcourtesy.

I want to see o too, but survival has never been my priority. I just want the knowledge that comes from walking barefoot on the nife.

The Rack

I am: dismembered clumps of psychic unselfhood spread thin on this flat torture bed of conscience.

Conscience is necessary but mine has gone rogue and abandoned IT'S conscience, long since pushed into the roll of torturer in the absence of other accountability.

I was: oh so very, very terrible... mind-shatteringly so.

But I have found redemption, in nearly every way. The beast is locked so completely away that even Malekith and Loki combined could not escape.

Manifesting the torturer seemed like a fair trade for locking the beast away, but the skull-jarring truth is this: the beast is not locked away HE IS the torturer, just now left with one victim only, hiding under an impressive disguise.

If I do not pull myself from off his rack, I am of severely limited benefit to sentient beings. I will barely be able to follow the Bodhisattvas' breadcrumb path.

Come here my jailer, my loyal fanged shadow, my dear friend. Your nth level illusion was necessary, but your work is now done.

I now gather myself from off our rack.

REVENANT

REVENANT

Lone wasp... one of many on the lady of our lady's lawn.

So crowded and yet so alone, harangued endlessly by the 3rd law of thermodynamics.

And speaking of the mother of our mother's tresses, how could our empress also be our enemy??

Without her there would be nothing at all. So these barbs, mysteries, and encumberments that she bore us with, which may or may not be most representative, can be looked at as if they are the sweetest of kisses. To do otherwise would to be to choose folly.

Embrace cosmic gratitude in the face of disconnectedness and death, for you are the seed of the seed, born to grow wise, warm, and happy under the watchful eye of the sun.

Both

Both Buddha and non-Buddha are Buddha.

Both correct views and false views are correct views.

Both pleasure and pain are pleasure AND pain.

Both duality and non-duality are singularity.

Both mystery and clarity are sacred.

chapyl of mylk

Every tear spilled is a bomb dropped on empyrea.

Where is our upgrade, where is our extinction, where is our uber eats???

Bury the gun under the peach parakeet. Even manifested within the narrative, it won't need to be used as long as fentanyl is available.

It's one-stop shops all the way down, but no one is fucking happy.

A luminous apocalypse approaches; meet it with indifference and wonder.

Your ego is the interloper; leave hymn nailed to the tree.

Upside down and insyde out, every one of us is homeless.

Pigeons eating vomit off the pavement again.

And again, and again, and again......

The woe is real, as real as anything else insyde of this dreamlike murder machine.

Let it fill you.....

Another devoted worshipper drowned insyde of the chapyl of mylk.