So, yesterday, Thursday, May 25th, I had cataract surgery on my left eye. By this morning it is feeling a lot less scratchy and clear, and my aim is getting better with the eye drops (2 kinds). I had to take the left lens out of my glasses because it was causing some double vision. The real surprise yesterday afternoon was not clarity, it was color. I was looking at one of the flowering Rhododendron bushes in the yard (or, Mountain Laurel? I’m not sure of the difference.) and I was struck by the brilliant blue, almost violet color that I had not noticed before. When I covered the left eye, the color was still washed out (still have cataracts in the right one).

I too a photo and could see the same difference between the eyes in the picture. I tried playing around with the effects in a Photoshop-like program and I think I got pretty close to the difference. Here’s the approximate view with cataracts:


And this is the view without them:


Other colors are more intense too, and whites whiter, but the big difference in the Blue-Purple-Violet end of the spectrum. Even the sky is bluer.

“You Sound Happy”

Devon is challenged and shares it.

Devon J Hall

That’s what Kevin Bacon said today. Okay obviously his name isn’t really Kevin Bacon, but like…I feel like giving him a pseudonym, so I’m giving him Kevin Bacon – KB for short.

KB is my new counselor, and he’s pretty bad ass. He actually gets me – and weirdly are you ready? He didn’t ask me to start talking about my childhood trauma – I mean we talked about it, but we started with where I am “today” instead of where I was thirty years ago. Which is awesome because I am fucking sick and tired of thinking about and being triggered by shit that happened ten, twenty, thirty years ago.

I want to focus on the now.

One of the things we talked about was how to push my fiction writing. For starters, I know that the last year and a half – two years, I’ve settled on a…

View original post 1,976 more words

Between Flashes

Nicole and a poem – In sync and out

The Lithium Chronicles

This piece was originally published on Feminine Collective

I still remember the way
adrenaline burned
when my pulse raced
to sync with the others,
between flashes of light,
and the gulp of yours.
I still remember the way
deviance danced in my veins
when my pulse raced
to sync with the others,
between stops,
and licking you
up off the floor.
I still remember the way
shame seared
when my pulse raced
to sync with the others,
between flashes of truth,
and hot mouths slurping
our cold lies.
I still remember the way
my pulse slowed
to sync with the others,
between flashes of disbelief
and the scalding emptiness
after the taste of my dreams
hit the back of our throats.

View original post

One a Day

Devon tells her story with a well deserved trigger warning – subject: child sexual abuse,recovery, and the time between.

Devon J Hall

“Your brother didn’t have a charmed life” my mother said this to me just a few moments ago. She’s wrong about that. 

I admit thatfor years I blamed  blame my mother for what happened to me – what was done to me. I admit that I do, and I admit that it isn’t her fault. She didn’t know what was done to me, and neither did my brother.

He did however live a charmed life. He was insulated from sexual abuse whereas I was not, he was allowed to keep his innocence, for a short time anyways. I won’t get into too much detail about my brother because it’s not my story to tell, I will say however I distinctly remember my brother being treated with far larger kid gloves then I was.

Brother got to play sports, he was the “good” kid that all the popular kids…

View original post 2,018 more words

Fay Dury

A story by Hetti – spooky

The Triumphant Weed


The black cars stood stationary outside Fay Dury’s residence. People trundled by in the grey sleet, water jumping at their ankles, clothes greasy with rain. Some of them looked across at the house and bowed their heads, others stopped for a moment and performed the obligatory sign of the cross. Large doors stood open beneath an old weathered portico and rain dusted the slate floor. Above it, Ivy had slithered and wound itself into a thick, bushy coil and on the crumbling stonework, lichen dappled the bricks.

If you stepped inside, you would find yourself in a long, cold, narrow hall with a scored floor and old mullioned windows. The gelid air would feel like liquid glass penetrating a vein, a persuasive chill that fused with your bones. Further down the hall, taking a sharp right, you would arrive at a closed door from behind which, to certain perceptive ears…

View original post 1,312 more words

To College Students, Everywhere

If you know a new graduate, give them a copy of Devon’s letter.

Devon J Hall

So you’re graduating. The doors of your four year or more safety net are now closed to you. You are going off into the world to fly and soar and you have no idea what comes next.

I’m not talking about bills, and policies, I’m talking about the world. You are future Presidents and Senators. Artists and writers. Prime Ministers and Premiers. You have achieved so much in your college careers and I am excited to see what you become.

It is my hope that this power you have been given through years of hard study will inspire you to create the world we were promised.

A world filled with cultural understanding and respect. A world not governed by bombs and threats of destruction. You have the power to take all you have learned and utilize it for the best possible future for us, and for your children.

Yesterday a…

View original post 732 more words

The Mouthy Mermaid talks About Owning Your Choices?????

The Mermaid writes about choices.

Tales From A Mouthy Mermaid

Good Morning Dear Readers,

As usual today I was looking for writing inspiration and not really finding much in me so I went to my Louise Hay book, Everyday Positive Thinking, by Louise Hay and Friends and found something that sounded like a good little thought today:  Here we go……

You’ve made some bad choices, you’ve made some good choices, and you’ve made some so-so choices.  Most important, they’re yours—–All of them.

-Anne Wilson Schaef

Well, I think we have all done that, I know I have.  The most important thing I have learned is OWNING YOUR CHOICE, NO EXCUSES!!!!!!  I know the bad choices that I have made have been all on me……


  • Being uneducated in the choice
  • Not listening to my gut feeling, but in the old days I didn’t even understand that one.
  • Not processing the choice.
  • Not weighing all the good, bad and ugly.
  • Just…

View original post 372 more words


Devon writes of equality (means everybody) and sex, consensual and otherwise.

Devon J Hall

EQUALITYScreenshot_7I can’t believe I have to say this shit again, however clearly we need to have this conversation again, because some of you just do not fucking get it. Equality for All means that every body – every human, male female and those of you who haven’t decided yet, have the exact same rights as everyone else.


This was posted on my twitter stream today and I have to tell you that it pisses me off to no end. The fact that men feel as if they can’t come out and say “Yeah that’s happened to me. Yes I was sexually abused” pisses me off. Mostly because as a former victim and current survivor I know exactly how that feels.

I have come across more than one woman who deny that men can be sexually abused. Yes, honey they can. Just because a man saying no to sex is…

View original post 1,586 more words

When Once A Teenager And Very Depressed.

Hetti – when depression came sneaking in.

The Triumphant Weed

I can’t remember getting depressed. It didn’t appear out of the blue. I simply, over one long hot summer, stopped being who I thought I was. Depression is like that I find. It creeps along, quiet, unassuming, and often unnoticed. For something so ambitious and uncompromising, so relentless and persistent, the efforts it adopts to appear unknown and unseen before it systematically lays siege to your mindare really quite remarkable. Maybe it deserves a prize?


No one knew I had begun to struggle primarily due to my age. My parents referred to my teenage years asthat ‘that funny age’ – I initially thought they meant funny for me, they certainly felt funny to me (and intense, confusing, full of angst andseething blackheads) but I believe they meant for themselves. Funny didn’t mean amusement, or humour. I wasn’t keeping them entertained with jokes and hilarious anecdotes of my great adolescent ‘life…

View original post 841 more words