Letters to Gabriella, the daughter I never had

Dear Gabby,

I have to explain why I didn’t have you before, first. It was brutal,
lonely to take herbs when I knew I would lose you before you formed,
though I wasn’t admitting that yet. Not until you visited me during
near death. The hardest part, aside from losing your essence, which I
met later, one made by two tempestuous passionate old punks who didn’t
plan it but were playing Russian Roulette, as we used to, because we
were beautiful and stupid and bored and had so much we decided to
exchange a lot of green paper for white powder, which is what led to
me leaving, eventually. But that’s the main reason I didn’t have you
and it was the hardest thing ever. Before or after, I’m not sure, I,
on a whim, as I do, made your future father, who hasn’t stepped into
the matrix frequency of love I’m on now, doesn’t get it yet, watch the
Godfather. We talked about the scene where Michele Pfeiffer (goddess!)
leaves Michael (Al Pacino), who by all outward appearances seems to
have turned into a sociopathic individual.

Unfortunately, I related to her having an abortion as her only
personal sense of power and explained that was my take of the scene
later, and, I am sorry about this, I said also on a whim, as I do,
that I would kill his child. What I meant was, since he refused to use
rubbers, and I was risking and sweating every month wondering if we’d
be slapped with the news of pregnancy. I miscarried, baby. I didn’t
want to tell him, he was hurting me. He killed me later anyway.

This made me a mess, Gabs, but women get the shit end of the stick
still in this century so I denied my own reality until I really lost
it later, which you’ll hear about, bear with me.


This feels so shitty, the truth. Let’s change the subject. I had this
sense you wouldn’t want to come into a drug den where both parents
were so twisted by coca demons whispering angry feelings aimed at
tearing their love apart. I figured you wouldn’t want to live in a
home where your mom and dad call each other names, call the police,
cause and stir up so much drama because they have real attachment
issues masked deeply by narcissistic borderline traits masked or
exacerbated by substance abuse, depending on the day.

In simpler terms, the two of us were lazy, unhappy, waiting for life
to happen or for someone to hand over the magic wand to make life
happen, not realizing the whole time our love was super real and deep
and glittery gold. We were stupid.

So I left that man.

I tried to explain with silence. With words. With avoidance. With
meditation. Through family members. Seven or eight months later is
when I told him I love him more than any man or human, in fact, he’s
the only one I have loved ever, in this deep abiding way. And the only
one I came close to choosing.

I have so much to tell you, Gabby. It’s so hard to write this, because
it causes my body to feel so deeply. You are the reason I left him.
Slightly for me, slightly for him, but mostly for you.

I never thought I was maternal, Gabriella. Everyone told me I wasn’t,
baby. I believed them. But honey, I am so maternal and what had
happened was I was like a flower giving away all of my pollen, too
much pollen, to passing bees. I felt like a flower, like I was stuck
and had to give, like I would wither no matter what, especially if I
made choices I was told NO you can’t make.

Hi Gabby, my lovely, cute thing,

I have never loved any being as much as I love you, spirit child. Not
a day goes by I don’t think about what I did. People have various
philosophies about timing and abortion. But many women know what I am
talking about, I’m sure, and have suffered this choice alone. I am not
sure I made the right choice, Gab. I miss you. But here I am, away
from your father, a tear rolling down the corner of my right eye,
listening to Quadible Integrity on YouTube, a sound healing to heal my
chakras, especially my heart, which almost failed me, I have to admit,
for the second time this year. It’s hard to admit this, because my
heart is amazing, robust, but I know it. I love so deeply, when I was
divorcing a man I loved deeply but knew wasn’t mine, I thought I was
having a heart attack. In the ER they gave me morphine, so I already
knew it was an intense heart I have, but what happened I don’t know
how to describe but gods and goddesses of all universal wisdom willing
I will try. Next time I write, because I need a pause. And to reflect
on whether or not I should. By the way, there’s a guy who dedicated a
song to you called, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” I swear. Israel
says, “To Gabby.” You’re that cool.

Hey Gabby,

I’ve got “The Fear,” as Hunter S Thompson, who I aspire to be like in
many ways, but myself always first, calls it. Some of us out here
“see” things, and he saw things. Man, the part in the book “Fear and
Loathing in Las Vegas” where he is “curbing” makes me laugh so hard,
hell, I should read that book again. It’s one of the best books out
there aside from “Candid,” by Voltaire. So I can see and feel things,
and I know things, and have developed many extra peripheral senses
that are ignored by anyone but so-called energy healers, light
workers, psychics and witches, even gypsies.

I need to pause, as your father’s “other,” a dark horse, has entered
the room and wants my attention. I have to give him a carrot and pat
him on his soft silky fur and let him know I am not trying to hurt him
or his human by writing this. I have had him as a driver through
worlds so many never dream of witnessing, and I am so grateful, but I
used to be angry because I thought he was bad. I think he was just
trying to show me a good ride. I think he’s seen a lot and can get me
places a need to go, he’s a soul mate and muse and I have to mend the
bridge I bulldozed (well, the Bay Bridge, which I moved across from
Oakland to San Francisco is still there) to get away from him. I
thought he was doing right for both of us.

When I left, I went to Italy. He’s Sicilian-French lineage, but
totally American guy, macho and all that, though he thinks he’s sweet.
Ha. I was thinking of him the whole time, a longing in my heart and
soul and gut that made everything impossible. I wanted to share things
with him, like the Saint Maria Basilica in Florence. He’d called me a
cunt and torn down the giant photo of my panties he’s blown up and
framed, it was awful. We were a bit risque, considered ourselves open.
He told me to get out of his space. So I did. Because he wasn’t
chilling out. He was mad I was using Kratom. I was using it to get off
coca, but I didn’t tell him that, as he kept bringing it home and had
started to sell it to friends, starting with his therapist. Don’t even
ask. I don’t know either. I guess they were trying to be Hunter S.

I’m glad I left. Thank God. Today I had a vision of myself in the
bathtub with slit wrists and his dark horse in the room as it was when
I got back from Paris.

Let me explain.

March 7, 2020

I’d told him to get a therapist, so he did. Great guy, it seemed. I
even went in for a visit, shared about my problems with cocaine now
that it was around and how I used it to avoid the pain of the abuse in
the relationship. I have PTSD, which made me freeze and he would yell
at me more, so it made me more bold and vocal. I got hooked pretty
quickly. Well, the guy wanted cocaine and suddenly he was dealing
drugs and I was addicted again and dying and then had a near death on
the bed one morning when the emotions of abandonment, fear, and shame,
as he’d broken my sobriety of thirty days by going to the dealer’s
house without telling me one night, not coming home. As I was planning
for you, it was a death blow to say the least. Shame took me and I
rollercoastered down the hill until I died.

The second time I almost died was two weeks ago, baby girl. I had just
come back from Paris. I went to Europe with my mom and I was a wreck.
I couldn’t find the right herbal medicine to stabilize me, as pot is
generally illegal in Europe. I was hiding in my room in Malta, afraid
to go outside, didn’t even hop on the ferry to Sicily because I felt
so ashamed and guilty. I tried to “explain” the situation to my
friends and family on Instagram, but I dug a hole so deep I had to
start over. Now everyone was starting to think I was nuts.

Gabby, I am so happy today, you wouldn’t even know me from two weeks
ago. By the end of the Europe trip I really came into myself, started
a new path. I found my identity and soul as a gypsy and performing
artist, practicing lip syncing in front of the mirror to my favorite
songs. Ironic, because I had been a rock and roll singer, playing
shows with your father. He was the bass player. But he ruined my
career, I stopped singing. I don’t love it anymore. Now I am more of a
comedian, taking other’s songs and making them into parodies. I
started to feel so safe, especially, I think, because I had my mom’s
presence for the first time since I could remember, partially. She was
so sweet and kind and generous with no strings.

Dear Gabby,

I am here. It’s 5 a.m. I am clean, is all I can say. And I love every
cell in my body and your soul for choosing me and I would love to see
you again. I believe in soul family, Gaby. I think Frida is calling me
to Mexico but I’m asking what’s in it for me. There’s a part of me
that senses a home by the ocean and a sense of peace there, but I am
also hooked to your father, I love his sweet delicious soul so much,
and yet I was so hurt by him, his boogies. I can only be completely
honest, and I know he’s in hell too. He’s been stuck and I’ve been
trying but I can’t do any more than what my heart tells me and it says
GO get the fuck out now. But that’s OK. I will figure it out, baby
girl, for the future. You told me you’d rather be a song, please help
me then, as I am barely a singer, dear one. Not many liked or cared
for the songs I wrote and sang, and it tore my soul out to create
them. I also ended up being preyed on by so many asshole musicians as
a result of putting myself out there—like your father, I have to say.
I appreciate that if I give myself the space…

Dearest Gabriella,

I love you more than anyone. Every cell in your body. Every thought in
your head. I love your curly hair, your hazel eyes, how you look like
a Tarantino, so sexy and devious and charming and sweet. Such
charisma! That pout! I love you doll. Baby I am sad tonight. I have
been writing my list of appreciations and scripting my future to
attract money so I can pay rent and find your new father, while
healing, doing artistic projects, networking, starting a whole new
life in San Francisco yet again, trying desperately to connect the
last pieces of rope fraying on the bridge from my old life to here. I
burnt it, baby. It’s gone. The only thing I can do now is hire a
lawyer, a disability lawyer, and wash my hands, let the gods and
goddesses and angels and entities and Shiva and karma do their work. I
am ready to receive, darling Gaby. I am open to the abundance I am
experiencing and I am confident my investment in disentangling myself
from your previous dad has saved my life, and healed my cells, to
where I can carry you to term. I can.

Gaby, I am working on reducing my selfishness, but also I’m taking
care of myself and setting boundaries around my precious being and
know that I am free, clean and healed. But I have some gestures to go
through to get stable and clear of this matrix. Pray for me, love.
It’s been tough pretending all these lions aren’t fire breathing down
my neck, but as an anarchist I believe in direct action and my direct
action is that I am entitled to prosperity, to a dwelling place in the
city four generations grew up in and around, the city I rebirthed in
twice and am attempting a third. I deserve life and freedom and
justice. I cannot die yet.

Dear Gaby,

Hey doll. I love you. I am sitting at home, feeling raw. I did some
plant healing with medicine from the amazon, it came at the perfect
time for me. I handled the basics, got up at 7 a.m., fell asleep on
this cozy blue velvet armchair I bought for myself after I left. I had
to start over. It was messy. There was no clear road. I had to listen
to and believe in myself. I wrestled some loans, traveled with my mom,
did a writing workshop. You will love Italy. I plan to buy property
there and in Germany. It was a place I felt like I belonged and had a
lot of rich depth and artistic energy, unlike today’s San Francisco
Bay Area. I cannot wait to do a residency in Berlin. Babe, man, I
never believed in myself like I do now. My superpower is time alone. I
can’t go to Hawaii this month. I’m so glad I didn’t buy tickets last
night, thought, as my doctor is finally going to help me with
paperwork so I can pay rent. I do admit, I love spending money and
expect you will grow up quite wealthy with everything you could dream
of at your fingertips. It’s the least I can do if you decide to come
back to me. I want you. But I get it if you liked the combo of Sir
Grumpus and I. I called him Sir Grumpus because he acted like a
reincarnated king, spoiled and unhappy with his lot as if he’d had
more in a previous life. He took that out on me, it sucked. I’m done
with that man, by the way. I cleaned up my side of the street and I’m
trying not to have ego about the way he treated me, like some sort of
object or slave to his needs. He was always unhappy with me when I
sang and was goofy. I’m a total goof. Punk boys always think they’re
so cool. I’m over it. I am trying to send unconditional love.

You are so lucky you are not stuck being the glue that ties us both
together. I spent time on the edge of limbo not wanting to go on
because of the nightmare I was in. I can’t explain. I imagine you’ll
have way more freedom than I did. I hope so.

I didn’t sell my soul to Satan or rely on the den of snake vibrations
trying to plant ideas in my head. It’s so hard to explain this world.
We have an underworld and an other side and not everyone wants to open
their eyes to see it.

Honey, I have to get myself ready to walk to the post office to check
for some medicine. Wait, my gut is saying no. I wonder why not? I’ve
been learning the law of attraction and manifesting a better life for
myself, so I’m happy I can bring you into a world where you have two
things I didn’t = love + stability.

I’ve been replacing my old beliefs with new ones and man, I’ve lost a
lot but gained a lot.

Today, baby, I am so tired. It would be the perfect day to snuggle and
drink hot cocoa in bed. You’re going to like it here, and you’ll like
the next dude better. Grumpus wasn’t for us. Never was. Hard to accept,
but in the end most people are not unconditional in their love, they
expect my time and energy and the only reason I used to give it was
because I felt obligated. Now that I have the time and the money in
the world to do whatever I want all I want is to heal and be very
careful who I trust.

I want to heal completely, baby girl, so that I don’t bring you into
the world with the eight generations of crap before you. You are so

Dear Gaby,

I have to admit. Sex is weird. People have all these ideas about it
and will do almost anything for it, but I can take it or leave it.
It’s weird that sex gets a woman pregnant and that you almost came
from two people bumping uglies, I mean, seriously. A bunch of sperm
swim to an egg and the lady decides who to let in, if any, of the
hundreds. It turns me on to think of sperm hitting an egg and me
getting pregnant, which kind of makes the whole thing so whack to me.
You’re born from pleasure or passion, ideally. But the nine months
where you live in my belly FREAKS ME OUT and I have to admit, that is
a major factor in why I didn’t have children. It’s so weird that you
grow in my belly and come out my vag. What the hell? Who designed us?
I mean seriously, they must have hated women.

Gabby, I am fighting so hard lately just to HEAL. I’m used to
scrambling around like a chicken with no head. Either hunting or
fucking or drugging or working, but this time, I said NO to
everything. I had to enlist every resource in the Bay Area to simply
move myself across the bridge to San Francisco. And that was not an
easy feat. My strategy to get away from Sir Grumpus was to lay low for
six months. In that time, their was so much slander from both of us, I
mean, my poor ego. I just couldn’t deal with the fact this twice
divorced 50-something man caused such a stink in my psyche, heart and
soul. I hate and love at the same time. But I’m done with that guy.
The way he treated me—if I were my mother I would have strung that guy
up like Christmas lights. But I had split with my family and adopted
his big Italian family, so it was messy. I don’t miss them anymore. I
know they were organized around Grumpus, the youngest golden boy, so I
only gave them as much info as I felt safe giving, which was little to

Now, thank god, goddesses, angels, healers, Gaia, I am free from his
lies and abuses. Honey, there are people on this earth who are unkind
and I don’t want you to ever make excuses for them. You are #1 and
that’s not selfish. When you can save your own soul, you can the help
others, but not before. And this is what I had to do when I got back
from Europe. Honey, can you nudge the prosperity gods for us? I expect
to spend so much money, I need a buffer to stay away from the bullshit

There’s nothing more important to me than writing to you. My ego is
big, but I always wanted kids. I bought a piece of art in the Mission
this week. “Laser cat.” I had always loved cats as a kid. He watches
over the house, which means that I am protected by cat, even though I
can’t have a cat (wtf!). I want a pet but I need to first get a plant.
Like Sandra Bullock in that 30 days movie. Gotta take care of myself
and a plant. I asked Sir Grumpus for his fig tree and he was so bossy, like
if you want it you have to come home.

I really got so upset with him but it’s not worth it. From Nob Hill,
his bitching doesn’t seem so loud. It was worth screwing with my
credit and going into debt to break with him and his drug dealing and
yelling and complaining.

The last night I was there, we were close. We went down Piedmont
Avenue from our little split level craftsman from the early 1900’s.
We’d decorated it together, mostly him urging me to help him pick
curtains and furniture and hang paintings and us fighting until it
looked semi-decent and felt cozy. I’d been sleeping on the couch most
nights since we moved into that place alone together. It had been two
years, before we had a roommate between us and dirt cheap rent. We
bought food, broccoli and chicken, smoothie fixings for my kratom, but
he didn’t know that. I felt so guilty, having to sneak it, but I
shouldn’t have. It’s my body and it’s just a plant. We were watching
Black Panther, and I was being hella goofy, not from the kratom, but
because I felt cozy. Since I’d had the near death I was really in
every moment, and I thought he looked so adorable. But he was weirded
out by my attention. He didn’t like himself, I figured, because he got
real suspicious and when he asked if I had put that stuff in my drink
and I lied and said no, because I was damned either way and he was
downright dangerous when angry—he had threatened to kill me before,
hoisted paintings towards my face, driven the car violently and pushed
me out of it saying I asked for it, man. He was a demon at times. He
scared the living shit out of me. So I lied, and he raged. He went in
the room and I sat there like a dunce, the nice evening ruined, and me
just scared shitless not knowing how to turn off the projector, like a
child, watching the movie alone.

It got real bad from there, I went to the room to ask for help and he
said, “I’m not doing shit for you, you cunt,” to which I said I am
calling the police. He pretended to call the police on me after
leaving to the living room and all night wrote rage emails, called me
useless to him.

That’s when it really hit me I was an object, and he was a narcissist.
I had read about narcissists on our way back from Paris, when he’d
admitted to being one. It was horrifying, but it made so much sense of
his behavior. I was nothing but an object. All those years of changing
how I spoke, walked, worked, talked, dressed, putting on lip gloss and
sexualizing myself. He was a materialist and I was a punk rock chick.
He’d been a punk, he said, a peace punk, but it didn’t show. All he
ever talked about was status and money, watched movies about
psychopaths and obsessed on broken characters with evil intentions. It
all snapped together, but I was resigned.

He really didn’t have the capacity to be there for me in the way I
needed and today I am so glad  that I am not stuck with him. He had a
great family, he was intelligent and attractive with beautiful thick
brown locks that made me cream myself, seriously, I used to just run
my hands through it. He didn’t like me kissing his face or staring at
him. There wasn’t much I did he liked, frankly. He was a sadist and
subjected me to the same abuse many women in this world face alone,
liked to tie me up and leave me there, have me go hook up with other
men then ream me for it after. When I brought it all to light and went
vocal it didn’t end well. But I am grateful I was able to say my
peace, and realize he didn’t care at all about me.


So I am done with your last father. I am not going to talk much about
him. He had reign over my heart for five plus years. Gave me a song
called “Love of a Woman,” by Horace Andy confessing he steals love
from women. When we first got into our thing I asked how he even got
through life. “Women,” he said, his ray bans glinting in the sun
beating down into his blue Rav4, which he had crashed many times over.
Bob Marley said the worst thing a man can do is awaken a woman’s love
and not follow suit. I agree, man. There is a special place for men
who ignite passions and push you face first down an unexpected cliff,
leaving you worse off than when he found you.

The shit that man made me do. I hope it never comes up for me again.

Dear Gabby,

One thing I’m glad I did was really push myself to the outer limits of
my psyche to learn I had loved your first father and also you. That
was what I found in my soul when I used every plant I could find to
heal along with some pills from India called ArtVigil and Alertjoy.

The near death and coming out of that made me appreciate every single
breathe and know my soul was at peace like it is now. I did my best.
My absolute best. I am working on the anger and shame and mostly fear
of what that asshole can do, but you know, everyone knows he’s a
clown. I’m the one who put him on a pedestal to survive.

On that note, I’m going to put on Switchblade Symphony and walk to the
post office.

I love you so much.



December 10

Dearest Gabriella,

You know, I love you. I don’t know how to write about what I went
through to let your spirit go and release you back to the stream, but
I have a picture of a second chance for you. Maybe the universe is
more magical than I give credit and we always find our lovers in the
end, along with our soul children. Gabby, I have a hard time believing
in myself and I blamed the men in my life for so long but today I
release them of their karmic and psychic debts. I forgive them and I
know they did the best they could, whether intending to or not. I am
trying to rush my morning to meet my mom at the women’s club but I
really want to be alone.

I talked with two psychics yesterday who confirmed my suspicions that
a negative energy is around me and their are some lingering

I pray to release those and keep chugging away at finding grants for
artists. I want you to grow up with an empowered, wealthy, confident
mom you can go to for anything.

Please forgive me for being a child until 38. I partied and tried to
“get ahead,” but there’s no such thing in capitalism. We are all
interconnected, and unless you’re uplifting everyone it’s not worth

Peace my sweet,



I have to shut everything out for a second. This world is so loud and
I make it louder by keeping plugging away at publicly being authentic.
I fell down, now I’m at zero, climbing up, but it’s not too bad being
in San Francisco. I feel fond of your father again, I have been
lightly connecting with him, no hurt feelings, he’s really calmed down
a lot. Must be getting a lot of kinky sex.

I have been using a medicine called Rapé from the Amazon to try and
unblock the gunk in my lower chakras. I had become a sex and drug
fiend, my balance was on a high beam, tightrope walking,

I am ridding myself of old guilt and shame, it’s very arduous but
sometimes I am clear long enough to fantasize I am wealthy, I own our
cottage in Mill Valley, and I am happy with you by my side.

I see the Sir Grumpus I came to know less, and the old Grumpus I fantasized
replaced by an upgraded model man called Sven with blonde hair and
blue eyes often.

I am clearing the toxic waterfalls of shit and aiming rainbows at life.

Dear Gabby,

I’ve been muddy, in the mud, seeking peace. Talking to your father has
not been healing to me unless I flip the script and decide he is
teaching me, like my modeling coach says, what haters see, what
weaknesses I may have. This is a war against my psyche, uterus,
freedom, and I absolve him of my hatred now. I let go of the shame and
guilt. It’s his. I release myself of a future. I am here now, healing,
and I love you. I had hopes I could fix this but I ask the archangels,
ascended masters, and healers to take the reigns. On my own I falter
and am in the mud seeking jewels and I am trusting the universe to
fine tune me so I can be worthy of being your mom. Once you arrive,
you are free. I can only be a guardian teaching you warrior skills. I
have gained many.

Dear spirit daughter,

Hopefully you are born in a positive vibration so you can get through
this pass and learn what you need to learn here. I am integrating my
old self and creating my new real self at the same time. It’s the
integration of light body with matter, but the light body can’t shine
if you’re in a bad vibe.

Daughter, I am sitting in a tiny, but spacious to me studio on Nob
Hill in San Francisco. The wind is coming in the open window cold, I
don’t have enough THC to process all the boogies out and I left my
karupi rapé pipe in the car. I am healing anyway, loving all my cells,
turning the trauma into art that HEALS not captures the darkness. We
need to heal the darkness, it didn’t have a proper chance. It’s
actually quite humble to let me recycle it into healing poems.

I have to heal now. I have windows. I have absolved myself of Sir Grumpus,
what I learned tonight is a twin flame or soul mate, these guys are
like shamans. You hate them because they beat you to shit, but they
show you what you’re worth when you leave the contrast. When I left
your previous soul father he was angry, blaming. Everything I gave he
told me was already his. The home I found. My belongings. The door
lock. All the cocaine he was selling to his friends. He’s so burdened
by darkness he cared only about money, dealing, where his rocks were.
Not that his formerly sober girlfriend who he introduced slowly to
coke for fucking and using me as a sex toy with my permission, telling
me how to dress, talk, eat, think.

I need to search myself tonight. He preyed on my sentiments. Every
email a manipulation to open conversation back towards me living in
his sickness and disease and me getting sicker and dying while
everyone made fun of me. Hello junior high. I am not making you go
through that. Not if if you don’t want. You are born worthy and you
are my spirit daughter. I don’t own you and I won’t exploit you or use
you. I will let you make your own decisions. I will not ever abandon
you for a man.

I mean, I came out on top. I have the best life ever. I’m completely
on my own schedule. I am being what and who I want to be when I am not
dealing with drug addiction, agoraphobia, and CPTSD. I am healing
sincerely and from the inside this time. There’s nothing to do but
heal as I can’t and won’t go down that path again.

I love you soul daughter. Please find your new father. That guy was so
not my man.

Art is love, if you choose

Stephen Pressfield, a man,

says, “Art is war,”

but I, a woman

say art is love.

When I found out the truth I was devastated

but I kept walking through fire

at times I had no one I could trust

everyone wanted my energy for their projects.

So I took a hiatus

faced the darkness

first I hated it

fought to create music that alienated in the end.

My mom believed in me

so did my dad

even though I was angry at how I’d been raised

I took their love and gave them even more.

Some of my pain didn’t leave

so I’m here with it, whispering sweet nothings

I accept it, and

now transform it

into a poem

I hope

will heal us all.

Dear Gabriella,

Man do I need a joint. I am very ill but on the mend. I allowed your
ex-father to get in. I made one last attempt to connect with him or
his family, as I was being plagued by demons related to his
affiliation with a Bali demon and the blood trade of coca. I could
feel when he was using, fucking, using porn or using my image and I
tried to ask him politely, directly, to stop. Nope. No response.
Silence. From the whole family. I lost my shit and had that
abandonment feeling, because I hadn’t known they had cut me off
officially. Or never even cared about me. It really pushed me over the
edge. I was holding on. Even yesterday, I was asking him if we could
move to Hawaii. And saying I missed our couch. But those sentiments
were for someone who I made up. A person who is really me. Who was
reflected because I never really saw him. And now I will stand and
speak my truth or I’ll never get you back and the underworld will
continue to torture me while everyone tries to help. I’m so lucky that
everyone was so kind and trusted me, even the police. And I told the
truth, that my ex-fiance was into some dark shi and I had a mark on my
head so I had to disown him and give it back. It all seemed so real.
Worlds crossed. I was being told what to do by Mexican mafia, angels,
devils, David Gahan’s “other” and Ozzy’s “other.” It was awful. I
confessed all my truths in public. I don’t even care, I just feel like
I can be who I am now and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.
I’ve been getting signs that I may have you after all, but only if I
cut him off and his family, and don’t do coca again.

I don’t want to be a rock star, Gabriella.

I just want a happy family. I want a healthy family. It starts with
me. I have to start first and others can cheat all they want but I’m
not taking a bullet for anyone, not even you, baby girl. That’s why
you’re not here right now.

I hope you understand why I chose what I chose. I hope you can forgive
me. Because I’ll never forgive myself.

And I cannot be myself here, in America. The patriarchy is too big,
people are too capitalist, nobody believes in anything but money.

Anyways, back to Eminem and Limp Bizkit because I don’t have to
pretend I’m cool anymore.

Love you, baby.


January 8

Dear Gabriella,

Hey. I found a way to let go. I wasn’t much anyways. Not to them. But
i turned to myself and now I’m feeling bored. Mostly because I feel
it’s all old and dead. Passion flame dead. Oh, you have empty eyes,
Gab, my sense of humor, I hope you inherit it because that will make
two of us. I am so lonely.

March 7

Dear Gabriella,

I forgot you chasing ambition, cock and ketamine. I learned a lot, but
Elizabeth, her kindness, gave me a warm heart again during a time
where I was used as an accessory. I came to yesterday with some poetry
and a badass ? music. ***** is gone. He went cold. I thought he was
the one. Really dug him. But constantly I am projecting my inner
spirit integrity and loyalty on others. I finally have ? myself from
infiltration with by Sir E, yet he persists writing daily love notes
that are manipulative enough to slip through the cracks, still in soul
limbo, healing slowly, so slow. Finding myself investing in myself.
Missing you, *******, the essence of the **********. It was ********,
his mother’s 88th birthday. I didn’t text. Feel awful about that.

I can’t hurt myself anymore.

No more games.

I’m real deal.

I love you, baby.




Dear Gabby,

I swear, I never wanted to call you that, Gabriella, but I just did. I
met with you again last night. Released the block of your strength to
the universe with love, thanked you for showing me my strength. I left
because I wanted to have a kid, every time I did coke I actually felt
GREAT, man, I miss it so. But I abstain mostly because of fate and
god’s graces. I’m a pothead, makes me whole. Anyways, talked to your
former dad, was being assaulted psychically so I had to bathe all day
and put on my favorite playlists to make a sweet potato vegan
casserole. The world is being plagued by a manufactured virus, we are
all in quarantine, it’s weird. So many feels. Praying asha clears my
palette, makes me whole.

Hey Gab, my feelings get so overwhelming, I feel part of everything
that… what? Everything’s great. I have space. I am loved. But I want
you. I can see the paths crossing again, but is that wrong? He doesn’t
change, but I loved him, still do. Coca really got us, but he was
already a rude boy, always will be. Sperm donor maybe? I don’t know
that I could ever fuck him again. Godamn the Ever Presence of
Narcissism it’s a psychic infection, need more work.



Dear Gabriella,

Spiral staircase lately, I always circle back to you, how much I love
you and want you but feel scared and tentative and that small window
of the next four years is when you get your chance, a much better
chance. Now that I’m off the coca, it didn’t hit me how bad it was
until I wrote a poem called, “The worst feeling is that of your lover
leaving you to die,” I read it our loud to Radiohead’s “weird fishes,”
and sent a copy to Cami. It saved me, really to put my truth, however
dark, out there and sit with the uncomfortable awkwardness of having
od’d while my ex was a drug dealer. He says he’s sober now, or was for
three months and has been answering questions indirectly, there’s a
sweetness I enjoy and love though, makes me have fantasies. The
“hoover” phase, he’s so expert at this. I’m listening to an abundance
? by some famous abundance woman.

I have been working on my subconscious beliefs and my poetry has been
getting really good while I camp in my studio, max out my credit
cards, bathe and do yin yoga. I love life, I feel good a lot of the
time, listening to Abraham Hicks. I look great and I’m learning to ?
by lip syncing and ? vibration. Finally Ed and I were having intimacy
misses at the same time. I cried while cooking vegan bratwurst, I
cried almost while putting together my new jewelry stand.

I thought money would solve everything, but it’s love that does. And
my thoughts and opening my heart, eating great local food from the
corner grocery and pica pica, and mending fences, working the
political, emotional, spiritual muscles of my small audience on
Instagram, grassroots, and YouTube, very slow.

I don’t remember falling asleep on the armchair, but I’ve been pretty
stable and relaxed, it’s great. I even got the urge to go running
yesterday. My crush on ***** went away, he had a girlfriend and Grumpus is back anyhow, so I’m not longing for anyone else.

I can’t tell if he’s just inside me, like the devil, or if we are
actually close. I love learning the law of attraction. I feel stable
enough in my identity your ex father cannot knock it out of me again,
and I see my part, nauseous as that makes me.

April 29

Dear Gabby,

I am here. It’s been an adventure. I am grateful I have what I need
today and some cash. I have been in a slow place, healing and
launching my business, Peace Punk Productions. Life is good to me, but
the Covid-19 thing has affected the entire world and it’s imperative
to keep you in my heart and remain positive. I have so many things
screaming at me to get done while my 38-year-old awesome resilient
body tries to tell me what it needs. It is so easy to doubt myself, to
be sad and upset.

I’ve been close with the angels and the ascended masters, which is
lovely. I keep getting guided and learning more. My entire life has
been flipped, everything I invested in was BOGUS. I can’t even believe
it. No wonder I lost my shit. Who wouldn’t. It made me a social
pariah. But when I’m out there wealthy as fuck giving money to artists
they’ll be sorry. Can’t wait. People love to kick dogs when they’re
down. But that dog will find you. And you better hope it’s a nice dog.
No more Mr. Nice Guy here, as Alice Cooper says.

Dear Gabby,

Today I lost my family, the one I wanted you to be a part of.

May 9


I may never have you. I am so sad but I am being myself. All that
matters. I let him go, your dad. I did a yoni herbal bath today and
put up some new videos. So few get me, the black sheep. Fuck. These
energy vampires get me down.

May 11

Dear Gabriella,

I love you baby. I’m gonna type your book up today. I spoke my truth.
I feel nothing but light. I can’t explain but I let him go. Gypsy
soul, he stole my voice and then taunted me. He’s such a shit head. I
don’t like him, I was so dumb. God. Psychos. I am no longer a magnet
for them, only sweet men. No more posting healthy photos on social
media, that’s how he gets me.

For one year, Gabby, I kept my sickness hidden so I wouldn’t be
mocked, but I was mocked more for being pretty. I want to carve my
face off and wear a gorilla mask. I’ve been used and objectified my
whole life. It was a total waste, but I stood my ground and I won’t
back down.

I’ll die here, I’m planning.

There’s nothing for me with humans, I’m going with the angels now,
like Kurt Cobain, Layne Staley, John Lennon, Frida Kahlo, they’re all
with me, I have a special healing ability I never got to use, the
angels used me, but saved me too. I trust them now, we have a deal,
they help me, I help them. It’s all I care about now. I’m trying not
to hate. But I was ? my whole life, made a mockery, abandoned, people
didn’t know me. I can’t have children, I’m too sick.

My reality, I needed witness, humans all do. We need community, we
need family, I have none. My mom and sis need me, and I don’t have the
energy. Every day is a battle.

I did nothing wrong, just got manipulated and played, people blamed
me. People hated me, when I truly had so much to give, it was easy.
They love men. Women, not so much here. I have no faith, no hope, no
vision, only today, this moment, forever.

I hope to join you, peacefully, no matter what, the angels assure me
that I’m not alone.

But I need humans.

I needed my man to stand up for me. Instead, all the men I dated and
left persecuted me for being me and not loving them, and giving them
my energy for free as I always did, didn’t know. I’m a dead woman,
because what mattered was an audience, to be heard, and I never really

People needed me.

I didn’t like them, so they reviled me.

Even Jesus couldn’t save me from him. I chose wrong, but I was an easy
target, I was alone. I was divorced, I was alternative, I was super
shy. Everybody scared me, so I kept to myself or I’d be dead by now. I
hate how men mock my love.

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