It is unsettling how much you can so badly want someone to move out of your head, you can wish them happiness, give them apologies, and understand their treatment of you (all in your head) but sometimes they just won’t leave.

My brain is a battlefield.


Somewhere on my phone there is a video of me spinning around in my hotel room in San Francisco to this song. Erwin sent it to me last year after BlackHat (where I first met him) but it has been this year that the song has been one of my go-to “make me feel okay for a minute” songs.

He’s coming and she knows it
Even though she knows why
Footsteps in the hallway
Girl you haven’t got time

You gotta get out
Go far away
You gotta get out
Go far away


My uncle is partly responsible for some of the art work I have collected over the years. While I don’t do Christmas or presents usually, I always try to bring my uncle something as he and my aunt are hosting dinner.

This year I brought my uncle a special candle I found because I knew it would look good with his collection. I had also taken a video of my reading room to show him and when he saw it, he went into HIS reading room and pulled a picture off of the wall.

Some back story, a while back, maybe last year (timelines are shit for me lately), he went from working with clay and sculpting to digital art. He had created this one image I loved so much that I asked if I could get it tattooed on me somewhere.

Anyway, no tattoo of it thus far but the picture he took down was one of his original copies of this picture. And now some of this art of his is hanging in a gallery in New Mexico.

Pretty sure my aunt thinks he’s nuts because he gave it to me but it isn’t much different from when he gave me that amazing Jason Soles piece a couple of years ago.

I love it so much.

Oh Nick

On July 4th, 2017, my friend lost his wife of just over a year. Rachel and I had driven to Vegas for their wedding the year before.
Nick had messaged me the first night in the emergency room with her (on their one year anniversary) and asked me to talk to him for a while because she was asleep and hospitals creep us all out.

Anyway, between April and July of this year, it was bad then it seemed good again then it got worse and witnessing this sucked. I was happy to be there for my friend.

I cried when she died and I think sometimes people don’t understand that. I only met her once, at the wedding, and it was brief. I was shattered for my friend though. They were perfect together. Two people never belonged together as much as they did.

I went to the funeral by myself right after I got back from Black Hat. I felt like I was absorbing everyone’s grief. While I knew a few people from my last job, I said nothing. I hugged Nick and sat in the back. And when Nick gave his eulogy, I cried. I focused on the babies playing on the floor next to me (innocent to the grief and gravity of death).

Anyway, since then, I had made more effort to hang out with Nick. We went to the All-Clown Showing of IT. We went to Scarizona on Friday the 13th. We plan for stupid shit like happy hour in onesies.

Mostly I have just tried to assure him that his grief is HIS. He should handle it as he needs to and not by anyone else’s standards.

Nick is an amazing writer. I have pasted the piece he wrote for his wife and had published yesterday. I read it at work, at my desk, and cried.

Since then and another death of a close friend this year, I make a point to kiss my husband more, hug him, love him more, be more patient, be more honest. Everything can change in such a short amount of time. Hug your people.

Something More in The Credits: A Tribute to My Wife, Deanna


I feel like I’m already dead. I wish I could describe the pain that I feel so that I could manage it but there isn’t a way to do that.

I have reviewed all of my earlier posts about my suicidal thoughts and the steps I took in that direction. It isn’t that those thoughts, those urges and ideation are still present, every day, every hour almost. I am not ignoring them but I am trying to live with them until they clear up.



I became fascinated with this theory from Freud years back. Probably because of the attempts of some* men to shame me for my sexual behavior, etc. and the way I was raised (the way we were all raised) and it has stuck with me.

The Madonna
The transformation, the distance.


T H E   W H O R  E

In psychoanalytic literature, a Madonna–whore complex is the inability to maintain sexual arousal within a committed, loving relationship.[1] First identified by Sigmund Freud, under the rubric of psychic impotence,[2] this psychological complex is said to develop in men who see women as either saintly Madonnas or debased prostitutes. Men with this complex desire a sexual partner who has been degraded (the whore) while they cannot desire the respected partner (the Madonna).[3] Freud wrote: "Where such men love they have no desire and where they desire they cannot love."[4]

The more academic outline:  Madonna-whore complex | Applied Social Psychology (ASP)

I took more as the Madonna than I did as the Whore but the whore ones were the ones I kept more of either because I was wearing more makeup or because they were darker.

It was trying to force myself to recognize that people see me two ways, maybe at the same time causing confusion or maybe changing their minds when it is convenient to them or when they wish to be cruel without conscience.

I have other collections of pictures like these but with different themes. It was something I did throughout the end of summer into the fall when I felt chaotic and it helped me focus on the present and not the rawness of my emotions and their spiraling.

These were taken after I came home a day early from San Francisco where I had drank too much, wandered the streets alone, drunk as fuck, and stopping to make friends with a homeless woman and her dog at nearly 1 AM.


My first pictures inspired by La Llorona, the weeping woman. (Also filed in “Shit my dad used to tell me to scare the shit out of me”.) She inspired the sorrow, the fury, and the regret of a woman in love and scorned as well as parts of my childhood that remind me that half of me came from Mexico.

Also Countess Bathory, who has fascinated me since I was 6 or 7 years old. She inspired the vanity in these pictures.

The veil is not a wedding veil. It is a Catholic mass veil. This is another element of my childhood. Being raised in a strict Protestant religion through some of my earlier childhood and into my early teens, I was forced to believe that the Catholic religion was the religion that would bring the Anti-Christ out, that everything done in the name of the religion was both evil and against the Bible.

Because of this, I have grown to have a strange fascination with the religion and the practices. Though I have long left my childhood religion and believe all structured religion to be a cancer on humanity, there are certain things that I was told that have stuck with me, that I sometimes rebel against. And that is why the veil is in these pictures.