Mistaken Identity?


On this blog there is a Facebook widget that leads to my affiliate Facebook page, aptly named Butterfly Obsession.

Recently I’ve received messages from several people asking me about the bracelet they bought and why it hasn’t arrived, or as one guy said he mistakenly bought two (I feel sorry for him) and wanted to cancel one.

I being a wonderful and compassionate human being, replied to all these messages with a; ‘I do not sell bracelets, if you pay attention you will realize that this is a blog page. Also I sell t shirts and leggings via my Teespring store so buy a t-shirt and then I can assist.’ They never seem to respond after this, well one lady said sorry and thanks!

One person was bold enough to send me a link to the site where they made the purchase. Let me tell you if people are so careless with their money online, I understand how scams do so well.

Hello, Yoohooo!!! buy a freaking t shirt then, I’d appreciate the help. Seems like $40 is no big deal to you guys, that’s like a big deal to me, especially with the exchange rate. Anywho…

The site to say the least seemed dodgy from the get go. No links except the one prompting you to ‘Buy” worked. No social media widget worked, no link to privacy policy or terms of use worked, but these people just clicked on buy and put in their credit card information. When they realized that there is no way to message them via the site, they simply searched the site name “Butterfly Obsession” and found my Facebook page and just proceeded to ask me where’s their bracelet.

I am an island girl. I will cuss you at the drop of a hat. I’m learning to be less spicy. Kind of. So with all my experience in customer service I directed them to purchase from my site: teespring.com/stores/harajuku-jfashion-kei?pr=GET10OFF, after pointing out that this is just a blog Facebook page. No bracelets here.

I guess after losing $40 they weren’t in the mood to buy my leggings. Oh well.



He lies to my face

Though he said lets be honest

His fear shows and he boasts of bravado

And I hold his sweaty palms

And kiss it.

He’ll snatch my soul

I swear from the first time

I knew I’d have him for mine

And patiently I waited

The virtue I thought lost.

He kisses my lips moanfully

I cringe on the inside with unbridled desire

I don’t know where to put my hands

His face

His neck

His head

His lips so soft

Lets not get this wrong now

Its only casual

There’s no love lost here

I can of course keep my hands to myself.

I lie to his face

Though I said lets be sincere

My fear shows and I don’t hide it

I like you I say

And kiss him again.

Me the Loner

How do introverts find love?

Okay how do loners find love? Worse yet how do loners on an island full of extroverts find love?

I always find love, and lose it. Quite dramatically, traumatically.

I currently have someone who insists that they love me. Possession is not love.

I like being alone. Sitting in my room playing MMORPG’s all day. Writing while nude listening to music with the occasional flow of tears because, emotions. Or just sitting meditating on nothing while getting baked.

I am picky about music, mostly I’ll love anything once. I’m very picky about where I hang out, I do not like overhearing bullshit.

I abhor racism or any ‘ism’ that causes anyone oppression. I have this thing of standing up for others even if they refuse to stand up for themselves. Its not voluntary, its like a reflexive muscle.

I’m a tsundere. An anime/manga otaku will understand but it means that I show my love in a mean way. I’m not dominant at all. I will devour prey though.

I do not want children. I love kids because I understand them, and I do not coddle them. Children are like terrorists, do not negotiate, punish them with love every single time, and discipline is key. I have a 13 year old mini-me, I’m counting down my sentence till teen angst is over. Also bribing them with money to give you peace will teach them entrepreneurship and how to get authority to give you what you want. Welcome to bad parenting advice 101.

I love love love museums. I could live in a museum. It takes me years to go through an entire one in detail. I’ve never been given that opportunity. Time always runs out. Life happens, obligations.

You know the one reason I’d want a rich husband? I’d never have to worry about utility bills and groceries ever again in my life. Next best thing is to live in a van. Or a shack by the sea, if I didn’t abhor mosquitoes and heat. Or a shack in the mountains, near a river and waterfall, but temperate mountains, with no cockroaches, or weird bugs likes indoors.

Honestly I’m quite lonely, but I don’t want to go outside and socialize with the people on my island. They really make me mad I’m sorry. Is that bad? I should love them right? Right? I don’t have a problem.

I don’t even socialize in games. PVP games give me anxiety. Worse yet if Iget a friend invite. I feel violated if I get an invite to anything in a game, like why would you do that?

Also I’d like to abolish dating and can we just go to living together and finding a routine, and sleeping in separate rooms, but we’re really madly passionately in love just you know, space. Unless we live in a van…That would be awesome.

August Musings

I did not go to college. I do not have a degree in anything, least of all writing. I cannot say that I have made any successful collaborations as yet. I have no accolades behind my name. I may be in debt in several countries. I have no successful relationships. I own nothing of value, seriously.

I usually feel like a hack when I write. I do not take days to write a poem. Its usually a burst of emotion that I can contain no more. Does that count as a poem worth reading. Am I doing someone who spent four years or more and is probably deep in debt a serious offense by calling myself a writer?

All I know is from the moment I heard my first story I knew I wanted to be a story teller. I knew from the moment I wrote my first word, I would always want to write.

I also hate schools, institutionalized anything, and consistency and structure. I am an artist by nature, a hobo by habit and a part of the poor working class.

Yet I dream, of travelling to write, of people reading my stories, of never having to go to another job just to pay the bills and eat and afford the basics in life. I dream of bringing all the craziness in my head to life. Of days painting, and showing of my canvases of color. I can restore old furniture, I can cook and pickle, I can live and not worry.

But am I wrong? Should I call myself a writer if I have nothing to show for it? Also how do you know what to publish. How do you know if its good enough?

Should I ask someone?


There are times when I am quite sure that I have forgotten and I am numb

Such short lived moments of bliss

And anxiously, fingers of sorrow creep up my spine

Killing exoneration with mighty bullets of guilt

Self blame lingers around the corner

Affiliates all of them, conspirators to my detriment.

They steal love from my table, from my plate, from my cup

They drink away all my happiness.

Do you know of flashbacks?

Stabbing recollections of smells and feelings

Scenes rapidly, in slow motion pass before your minds eye

Reality waivers before you

Nostalgic pangs from not so long ago taunt you

Smiles, and dances and forbidden cuddles

Curse you!

Twenty four hours of days

Infinitely before me

Even in my death and eternity of doctrine

I fear I will remember

Let me forget this insanity

This longing for something I do not want. .

I do not want it,

my logic has come to a reasonable conclusion

That I should suffer no more

So release me,


Let me forget.

Muse me.

I want to say so many things.

I also want to keep my mouth shut.


I want to love, I want to hate so much.

I want to hold and I want to be left alone.

And everyday I search for one soul, simple, just to stay.

Mon Coeur

I shant plead with you

Mon coeur.

I’ll no longer say I love you

If you will have it that way.

I will no longer relish

in your sadistic teasing.

I shall no longer wet my panties

in anticipation of your cruelty.

I’ll no longer shiver when

you unknowingly do my bidding

Mon coeur, I miss you.

How strong I am.

I’m facing this almost alone.

I’m scared sweet one,

are you?

Where are you now that we need each other the most?

Stubborn, so set and yet…

I let you go because I know,

Every phantom bruise and hurt

lost scars of pleasure,

forgotten mistakes

come to haunt us.

I let you go, to whomever you choose

Because they can never be me with you

your masochistic muse.