I’ve always found there to be something triumphant about looking like you live effortlessly above your means without actually fucking up your budget. I’m sure the feeling stems from that little voice of rebellion screaming fuck you! from the core of my soul.
Thus began my quest for fierce frugality and this segment in which I share my bargain & upcycling victories because I don’t know a single millennial who isn’t at least a little stressed about money.
Blogger, Poet, Singer/Songwriter & Socially Subversive Activist PRYSTESS is rising from the ashes of an empire of burnt bridges to bring you The Phoenix Project.
A mixed media, cross platform documentary/blog series about life, mental illness, love, abuse, MS, family’s of blood and choice, and learning (better late than never) to be a functioning human being, or at the very least, a less damaged one.
Subscribe and follow PRYSTESS as she tries to figure out how to be flawed, f*cked up, and fine with that…
The musings of the personification of an alphabet soup of diagnoses…
Featuring the segments:
The tangled clusterfuck of the inside of my head spilled out onto the screen in a vaguely chronological, snippet collage of my life.
Letters to a Future Love
“I don’t know if I know you yet, but I’m trusting that one day you’ll tell me…”
Aaand also a whole bunch or other things.
Dear Mr Maybe, It’s been a weird day. I spent too little time sleeping, too much time in my head, and now I’m feeling antsy, irritated and unsettled. Would you be the one to tease me me out of my directionless anger? To playfully provoke me until I’m so distracted by your infectious smile and […]
“You might be wondering, given the fluidity of my sexuality, why I’m addressing this to Mr Maybe. You may not be a Mr at all and if that’s the case then I hope you’ll keep reading anyway. I suppose it just seems unlikely, given the bulk of my experience/trust issues with women, that we’ll share a gender. Either way, I hope you’ll let me share your hoodies….”
“It’s the middle of summer but the night has a chill that has me breaking out in goosebumps while I wish on stars.
There’s a powerful lunar event rising amount the clouds and if the right person comes along once in a blue moon then you should be here tonight, a solid warmth at my back while we wait for the eclipse.”
Or will you let me hide my face in the hollows by your collarbones sometimes? Will you let me take tiny, shuddering breaths against your throat until the scent of your skin overpowers the bitter taste of my sadness and I can breathe a little deeper, a little easier.
Someone asked me why I have a blog when I hate journaling, posting schedules, sticking to a theme, and maintaining anything resembling consistency. They had a valid point, I don’t sound the type, do I? Perhaps it’s because my writing is so conversational, I like feeling like I’m talking to someone other than myself, […]