The Maenad's Bone Garden

  Hey you, Two Car Home   I urge you, at least one in your lifetime, especially if you are affluent or middle class comfortable to deliberately put yourself alone in a sink or swim situation   - you will find that you have capabilities and skillsets that you did not know you possessed or would ever have known you have an affinity for. How does it feel when you wield that baton, holding your thick leather stick so firmly.   Is it really a substitute?     All of you nut flexers who have some need to be perceived as dangerous you would fold like fuck in five minutes of my life.   I laugh at your bullshit with casual disregard. Don’t bring what you can’t bring to my door. I refuse to life a life hemmed in by your insecurities and hang-ups. You are the one with the problem so let me suggest you-  (select any of the following trite phrases I’ve heard before)   Man up Walk that shit off Rub some dirt in it   If you need ...

 Since about 1994 or so almost everything I write has gotten what I'll call a secret soundtrack album;  a combination of what's in my head when I'm writing the thing but also what was playing in the brackgrround anyway as I find that often is influential, or at least enough to interesting. Most of the time they do not survive very long.  Since starting on my first few Dreaming Gynoid studio books (this is my other writing gig, link takes you there) though I've thought it interesting to include them as freebies for my releases.  To the point that I now deliberately try to make good on point playlists for each release. I am a 22nd century multimedia ho with 21st century skills with analog equipment okay?   It doesn't really work for verse and poetry, for obvious reasons. However, sometime earlier this year I broke through whatever block I've had (for .. over ten years let's just leave it at that) with regard to writing prose fiction.   And since th...

  -VERY- I am,   a virus I need to escape to other bodies to usurp and   infect Thoughts becomes words coded The code Penetrates the eye and Rides the optic nerve deep inside Shooting cerebral rapids directly into your mind. Resist, writhe, but inside, I fill you with my thoughts.  Gwendolyn Bonespitter, Maenad Virus   sometime in 2020

My my games work ( DreamingGynoid studio ) has its own patreon and of course I ’m selling something like 13 ebooks on our itch.io page and drive thru rpg. BUT   nothing like this exists for my (considerable) other writing and art projects. So here we are.    Any funds generated  thusly will go specifically back into my arts and writing. AT the moment know I am specifically raising funds for the first issue of the rebooted Maenadum.   Other irons in the fire this would be contributing to would include the Maenad Survival Guide  Several chapbooks   and a noivella, plus all number of individual poems, essays, short stories, and the like.    If any of these projects or honestly just my general design ethos and goals appeal to you pl;ease consider supporting my work Buy the Maenad a Coffee

    At ten fifty seven pm I think I was buzzed by the spirts of all of my dead cats And so I knew the world had turned, the wheel had moved on Things had changed, the rules were different, That I had crossed into some strange new realm of the possible I miss them   but wish them well It is pleasing that they run together In precisely the way that cats don’t. My cats do.

  If you are going to follow my work, this is something you need to understand.  We concede nothing to bigots. Not space. Not time  Certainly not anything as precious, magical, and valuable as  WORDS.   Taking words back, stealing them with their fell power intact and using them to suit my own ends my twisted queer gay agenda that says we can all get along okay not you.  Night creeping grubs on 4chan should not be allowed to define anything outside of their own emissions

I present another batch of transcripts here in one place, under the aegis of the littlest altar.  Having sufficiently bit off far more than I can easily chew The Maenad is quite busy.   (Presently I have a short tale trying _hard_ to go novella on me. NO!  I don't have time for that.   The Muse is amused by my token act of resistance.)  Patterns of Behavior.    TW  Childhoood Abuse, Trama Survival, Recovery  Regarding the  recurring cycles inherent in abuse and trauma survival.    A pointed and savage MSG excerpt.  Losing your Illusions    Losing your Illusions about Civilization   Sound cloud link  - A very short snippet.  Sorry for the audio quality.     The continuation is here.  (Honestly this part sounds far less like ever scratchy shit. I do not recall why) While obviously I am both planning on releasing this and substantially revising it I am providing the raw r...

 This erupted out of me yesterday.  I am not sure if it is done yet. MIND the Warnings.  CW: Existential Horror, First person, Has not got a proper ending, partial internal monologue, Sexual Content, Sex Trafficking, Super-mega-maxi violence   TW: graphic sex, graphic violence, implied rape, joyful violence, probable sociopathy, sex work   NEX-666 Goes Astray A tale of the Brothel Moon   The inside of me is sterile as a church or a blast of urine I am getting out of here. The passing lift howls at me like another living thing, not just a mass of steel and wires.   I have a hard time telling us apart sometimes.    Not all metal is smart. Who thought that was a good idea.   That’s dumb. But then So is the elevator that just lasted past me at 66 kph. No animosity, friend, you’re just an idiot.   I, however, AM GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. I am not a coward. I   would be leaving with all of the limb...