Water Closet


She remains nameless
As she tosses and turns her hair
We talked once
I forgot her name
And still can’t remember
I resist talking to her
For in my mind she is the most amazing person
Intelligent, caring, all that one could ever want
Maybe she is: perhaps not.

by: Paul Kirby

Biographical Poetry: Era Ending Introductions…

I came into this existence with enough privilege to choke a cow.

And enough trials and tribulations to keep me humble. 

I fluctuate between total fearlessness and crippling insecurity.

I have had the deep pleasure of having 4 parents and 4 siblings.

And knowing the intense pain that comes from losing one of them to early death.  

I have felt the soul crushing rejection of missed opportunity and failed love.

I have seen the horrors of human trauma etched on to souls and skin.

I have been lost and aimless and in the process learned how to swim.

I wet the bed till I was almost 10 years old because sleep always swallowed me.

And didn’t really learn how to inhabit my body until I was 30.

I can be strict, calculating, and cruel, but also soft—so surrendering and soft.

If I could digest the world and free it from all its suffering, I don’t know if I would.

And you can feel as furious as you would like about that.

For there is something here in the madness and the decadent pain. 

Something real—smelly, broken, and rude… like sand paper on fresh skin.

Yes, there is something in the roughness that I have come to realize—heals.” 


by: rae of f*cking sunshine

Wolf Wisdom

October 3, 2020

Part 1:

My trees: Your bush

Parents= Pair-Ents 

You know the tree of life sort of stuff

Mushroom head— Octopussy bottom 

“Stoned Ape Theory”

Capricorn Laws:

Chimerical Mer-Goat 

Sea Witch legends and lore 

Tails of Saturna— Alpha CUNT

Head Bitch— Lordess of Karma 

Very playful and humorous— really! 

Just Devour me— 

Allow the exquisite agony 

of—fully incarnated, bliss

Having everything we want…


So “Die with Laughter”

Drown in the “Eternal Risk” 


Part Two:

My Bush: Your Trees

I felt shaved

Violated— betrayed 


She has a bad hair cut now

But she’s still standing

And the ones across the street

By the cemetery 

There still there too

So now— I get to plant 

A public farm of nettles

Thick amongst the blackberries 

So if you penetrate without consent 

They will burn you— like you burned me

Set on fire by a plant

That holds every mineral 

Your (fleshy animal) body needs

And that’s hysterical to me 

A deep paradoxical “Cackle”

Howling at dusk

And midnight—

At mid afternoon— and dawn!

Remembering “play” 

Means getting friendly with “teeth”. 


by: rae of f*cking sunshine @rae.creational.wyrding

poetry of a Neptune-bender

July 15, 2021


“I would like to lean, on or into—

some loneliness for awhile 

I think I’ll die in this war

If memory serves— I always have

The tactics and the landscape change

But the blast of obliteration 

Never really leaves you 

I dream about sinking 

And scars in sacred places 

Good and loving human companions 

Are true blessings—

even if I want to run away

And live only with animal ones

I believe that without ecstatic death

No ecstatic birth or bloom can reign

And I’d like to lean up against 

some loneliness for awhile 

For as long as it takes—

to both soften and stiffen 

Melt and mold into

a shape that fits and shifts”

by: rae of f*cking sunshine @rae.creational.wyrding

Out of Bounds (OOB)

11.11.2019 (samhain wishes part 1)

What whispers of wanting

there are words left out 

ones I ought to have said 

“your girl is lovely Hubble”

adoring permission…

that’s not mine to give

but this crossed my path:

“if a poem has to be explicated 

it’s a failure of communication.”

and I remembered

my voice is safe with you

I trust my truth is always conveyed 

in complexity and rich texture

ruffled with a certain purity 

“whatever a poet says about his work,

is an apology he shouldn’t make”


like the silvery moon

are watery

as is my heart

and both rhythmically wax and wane

so some wishes I keep on wishing…

yet I am often reluctant to say

and I mostly wish 

I didn’t have to wish anymore

but if this is wishing season

I can always conjure more…

I wish for a great cock

to wake me

early every ‘morn 

to remind me 

what waking out to be for 

like the elegant rooster

“arousing” me 

but more sweetly 

seducing dark 

to form dawn 

stealing me 

from the swampy clutches 

of slumber 

for fleshy ecstasy 

and incarnated ritual 

by: rae of f*cking sunshine @rae.creational.wyrding

that time i prematurely ejaculated during a foursome…

mature. latin: maturus – timely or ripe. premature – untimely, not yet ripe. perhaps, a little green and still hard as a rock. what exactly indicates mature behavior? because i see a world full of “adults” throwing tantrums on a geopolitical scale. which one of us is grading the test?

the definition of premature ejaculation is just as ridiculous a rubric: when semen leaving the body happens sooner than a person or their partner would like during sex.

no wonder we’re all out here pathologizing ourselves. if we earned a new diagnosis every time our bodies acted beyond our control, we’d be racking up conditions quicker than interest charges in late-stage capitalism. 

listen here jackoff, who said i had to want to ejaculate during sex? (…and a handful of other rhetorical inquiries that poke holes in the mature vs. premature distinction.) 

to localize dysfunction to the genitals is like blaming your ears for not liking the music. sometimes the band sucks. sometimes the ambiance is bad. sometimes your nervous system is so frayed that going out and listening to a concert nearly gives you a panic attack rather than an experience of pleasure.

i’ve cum many times before i ‘wanted’. sometimes, i couldn’t cum as hard as i tried. when i reflect on a few of the data points, there’s often an issue of safety at play. usually, i was moving quicker than the speed of trust. that is, for my own body. for my own timing. for what i’ve learned that i need to feel physically, emotionally, mentally safe in a sexual situation. 

that and i’ve watched a lot of porn over the years. have i desensitized myself in some way from decades of digital copulation? it seems likely, especially in the sense of understanding the cues of my body, my partner’s body, and my own personal rate of intimate development. not to mention the sexual mythology i’ve manufactured – one that usually culminates with a massive cock expelling semen onto a woman’s face.

coming to the title track of this piece.

first of all, i believe group sex can be a beautiful, grounded, expansive experience when executed in an intentional manner. if you’ve gathered from my above pretext… i’m not one for ‘fucking.’ paradoxically, i can generally only ‘fuck’ when i’ve been with a long-term partner for quite some time.

group sex is also complex when executed in an intentional manner. there are a lot of moving parts. literally. individuals need to be cared for. partnerships need to be cared for. bodies and boundaries need be honored and respected. when the rules of the game are clear is when there can be fun and freedom. 

the orgy manifesto is a different piece of writing. we’re here to talk about whether or not one of my orgasms was untimely.

here’s the short version: it was Boxing Day 2022. a completely irrelevant but somehow comical detail. a couple from a dating app came to our house to have sex. we talked, sipped some wine, showed off our less visible tattoos, and found a bunch of awkward ways to transition from strangers to sexual partners, including playing Truth or Dare off a phone app… which effectively landed my fingers in another woman’s (not my partner’s) pussy.

from there it was off to the races. all within a matter of minutes, someone (not me) took a Viagra, snapped a few videos for ‘content generation’ purposes, and in a torrent of bisexual fervor, i came with my cock in another man’s mouth. a first for both of us.

beyond the cum from my dick, something intangible was sucked out of the room in that moment. it’s whatever that thing was that i’m attempting to explore here. i had some shame for my timing. others had judgment. we all managed to limp back into the experience but that seemed to be an extension of the issue that manifested the overstimulation in the first place. i overrode myself. someone else overrode the boundaries of the situation by taking prescription drugs without telling anyone. there was misalignment between us when it came to desires and expectations.

in this light, the timing of ejaculation was just information from my body that i didn’t feel safe. that i was beating against the current of my own eroticism. clearly, i was turned on… but if i wasn’t ready to cum and i did, then it’s because i wasn’t honoring the way my body wanted to express in that moment. where was there physical dysfunction here? my body was functioning at its own rhythym and merely giving me feedback that i chose to ignore due to a flood of sensual information.

my body knew to slow down before i did. even though i was embarrassed in the moment, to have my needs and desires so exposed… in retrospect, it all seems like proper functioning to me.

it’s a weird sensation to not feel safe inside your own fantasy. when some part of you wants to push the pause button but another part is in your ear telling you that this is something that you’ve always wanted. not to mention the courage and discipline it takes to slow the sexual momentum of other people involved in a dynamic that may or may not be operating under the same erotic blueprint. 

there’s some quote out there that talks about war being a failure of communication. i think part of me feels like sometimes in highly stimulating situations, i’m at war with myself. that war is often a failure on my part to attune to myself, the needs of my nervous system, and an overriding borne from a desire to please others before myself.

perhaps, premature is an appropriate way to frame the situation after all. premature in the sense that i have not yet learned to adhere to my own boundaries, timing, and pleasure. granted, foursomes are an extreme situation. like learning to play a double-necked guitar in front of a live audience. but intense situations are a great way to measure the hardiness of a nervous system. and if anything, they make routine situations feel more routine. if i could make the commitment to listen to my body, to trust my pacing, and to believe that when my desires are honored it serves everyone involved, that would be an expression of maturity worth living into.

TL;DR the good news is it turns out i’m always cumming right on time.


Saturn Return Magic


May 28th, 2016:

“it happened yesterday when the full force of…gravity…weight…Saturn…a lifetime of choices and experiences… Harvey’s Death… and quitting my job without notice… SQUASHED me.

sat on me unyielding until i sobbed in total collapse…

i mean fetal position, stomach clutching, can’t breathe type of sobbing… a complete surrender to my emotional body.

i’m not sure i have ever cried like that in my adult life… not even with Bob…

i cried a lot with Bob, but i also thought a lot about crying… trapping it somewhere to fester.

i thought a lot about my emotions and what it meant for him to really be gone.

i did the Aquarian thing—thinking. believing that if i could just throw enough rational thought at my pain, it would help ease it.

but i know better… i tell others all the time—feel your feelings, its ok to feel, it’s good for you.

my Aquarius moon recognizes that as a rational truth, yet fumbles with the personal execution of it… that’s messy and hard, let’s stay in this safe head space…

i’m ok, i have to be ok. the world keeps moving and so must I.

If I just keep moving maybe it won’t catch up with me…

so, i “chose” haha choice…perhaps it was more like the universe commanded it of me. whatever the case, i let myself feel the loss of Harvey and to really feel every hurt i’d ever had.

the universe ripped me wide open and squeezed my soul like a long overdue zit.

thank you, Saturn and Pluto… fuck you, and thank you!

pealing myself off the kitchen floor, clutching my tear and snot-soaked paper towel i grabbed what was left of my smudge stick and went outside to do magic.

i rolled up my herbs in the grief soiled tissue and proceeded to burn it…

it was very wet and it took a great deal of effort and time… like all big wounds do.

as it slowly burned, i sent all my love and good will to everyone and everything in the universe, my thanks and gratitude and hope…

i talked to Bob for a long time while i did, and Harvey, and Tractor, and Spud, and Zippy… and i sobbed some more while i talked to them…

i told them how much i loved them, how much i missed them… but mostly i told them how much i needed them, in the past and right then and forever…

and as i smashed my thumb roughly against the lighter to keep the paper towel burning i let go of my anger and rage and hate…

like throwing maggots on a flesh wound, to devour the dead, the decaying, the rotten… trying to create space and let the peace of the sunshine replace it…

knowing that new skin, healthy skin, would grow back there…eventually.”

by: rae of f*cking sunshine @rae.creational.wyrding

visit: theWITCHwaycafe.com

a COMPOSITE of choices—1st House: Venus in Libra on ASC & Saturn/Pluto in Scorpio

“I do want truth— 




all of it…

truth is not cruel

or “ugly”.

yet the intent of words can be cruel and ugly at times…

but truth—

truth is always beautiful


no matter how much it may sting.

your truth makes me sad and reveals depths of hurt that make me question the reality of many things… 

“real” or “not real” 

forever pulling at my heart strings…

affirming painful half-truths

the unsaid 

buried too long in our cobwebbed corners. 

perhaps you are right and the cruelty is mine. 

but I am not sorry for my truth… 

or the steep conversations 

and actions 

that upheld my integrity. 

and I will never be sorry for loving…

to remove “sorry” and “I love you” leaves me with only a cut out heart-tongue.

and wishes…

and i wish you many many beautiful, kind, sweet things… 

i wish you the knowledge of your value and inherit worthiness…

and genuinely how much happier you will be without “romantic” me.

safe journeys (my friend?).” 

rae of f*cking sunshine @rae.creational.wyrding

For Josh:

You died four years ago..

Mostly I maintain happiness and fullness that you were here with us for as long as you were.

But then from the sacred place burrowed eternally inside this body that held your precious body until you joined us.  From some well spring of life the deep cries arise again..the bone drenched emptiness of your absence, there is nothing but your absence and I collapse grabbing the tiny urn with your ashes before I fall …clutching my homeopathic dose of you, the 6’ 3” powerful body of you, a life time of building houses, furniture, fixing stuff, snowboarding like a maniac in epic conditions making the world more beautiful, more vibrant with everything you touched.

I get up off the floor eventually and join the land of the living.

You were not murdered at a music festival nor held hostage by your government’s enemies ..I did not pull your body from the rubble. I return to this moment and watch Al Jazeera’s bureau chief in Gaza hold the shrouded body of his grandchild and touch his dead wife’s face with the sorrow of the ages with his dead son and daughter somewhere nearby..

I get up to return and to remember to practice the wholesome joy that keeps me going…happiness will return as I engage wholeheartedly in this life again, as you always did..

Get back up, keep going, as you would do….


by: Mary Plumb

kindly fuck right off

they say that misery loves company.

…they must not have had many planets in Scorpio.

sometimes, nothing makes me more miserable than the company of other people. i realize how misanthropic this may sound. i’m in a brooding mood.

i love you, i just don’t want you near me. not forever, just not this now. in some other now, i’ll want you as close as i can have you.

why is that so hard to say if it’s honest? we’ve been sold the idea that the honest thing is the easy thing. the truth is so organic… gluten-free… ketogenic.

it’s really the fear of exposure in the truth that eats at me. if i say it out loud, then you’ll know how much of a selfish, perverted dick i am. so i’d rather just suffer inside myself than drag you into my Sisysphean mindfuck.

but my mindfuck is slipping. you can see it in the permanently furrowed space between my eyes. resting dick face.

how often is the world being honest to us? by the world, i mean society. and by society, i mean the orgy of information that influences the way we think and act.

somewhere along the way, i heard someone muse: we all have free will, but i’ve never seen anyone use it.

ironically, there’s not much room for isolation anymore. especially in the more domesticated world. Elon Musk figured out how to mainline 150GB worth of Info Wars to the middle of nowhere. look how civilized we are.

how many hours of Flat Earth Theory videos can you watch with 150GB of data? or Christianity vs. Critical Race? or the Sunday church of gladiation where men gather to break each other’s bodies in the Colosseum?

isolation just ain’t what it used to be. not when you’re staring back at civilization through a straw hole and pontificating to your livestock that you’ve found the one truth.

i love you, i just don’t want you near me right now. we’ve been married for a million years, don’t you think it’s normal that we take a break? get some space? go fuck somebody else? take a vacation?

take a hike. lovingly, of course.

schools were built like prisons. offices were built like prisons. prisons were built like prisons. so why are we doing this to ourselves?

is being alone better or worse for the self-loathing i feel at my insatiable desire for spaciousness? i need a therapist to help me unpack all the facets of that question. thank you for listening.

on one hand, being alone implies a type of sovereignty. as in, i’m clear about some fundamental part of me that’s untethered to the gravity of social influence. doesn’t sovereignty suffocate self-loathing? we had to learn to hate ourselves from somewhere. bought and sold baby!

on the other, shame flowers in isolation. like a poisonous night-bloom. the devil’s trumpet.

36 seasons of Scorpio and i still haven’t figured out how to live with you or without you. with or without myself.

maybe the shame i feel is the inability to comprehend why someone else would want to be near me when i feel like crawling out of my own skin. scorpions molt. still, i can never quite get away from myself. though i’ve burned through many a GB of chess tutorials trying.

i’m a currently grandmaster of dissociation.

what to do when everyone just sounds like static in the system, though? please, just shut the fuck up so i can feel myself. lovingly, of course.

go away. come back. go away again. come back again. i can’t help that i need my love to be orbital. like Halley’s comet. if you get too close it could destroy us all.

more than alone, what i want to be is honest. sometimes, it seems i can only find the current truth of myself when i’m slightly removed from the way you’ve come to know me. a keyhole of freedom in the fortress of mutually created identity.

honest. gracious, but never apologetic. even when it hurts.

now, fuck off. lovingly, of course.

words: @astro.diarist