Julia Allison Is Fucking Nuts

The writerly writer who writes just outdid the wooiest of her woo sisters. No wonder St. Martin’s asked for their money back and told this fucking weirdo to take a hike.

“Go There”

Go there, she said.

Go where?

To the place where the flowers sing and the birds bloom. To the magical upside down world of the fucoid fairies and the docile dragons, of delicate tea pots filled with hallucinogenic brews, of words flowing ever so freely in the air, of damsels who’ve never felt any distress, of white knights with faces painted black, of angels gossiping about poets, of artists and wizards and ballerinas made entirely of cotton candy, spiked collars around their necks.

Take off your veil of pale pink and leap into the desert waves, dance amongst the rocky sand, flirt with the monsoons that threaten to engulf you with their seductive storm.

Empty your soul like the pockets of so many beggars in the kingdom of Midas. Wrap your heart around your hands and touch everything you feel before you ever lay a finger on it.

You are but a fractured piece of light, a beating kaleidoscopic rainbow, a jagged mosaic of a microcosm of humanity. You are everything there ever as and nothing there ever wasn’t. You are morphing before your own mind’s eye, with every breath, into the chrysalis you go. With every breath, out of the chrysalis you emerge.

Inhale the sacred transformation. Exhale the profane transformation.

Meaning is dead. Long live Meaning, in the kingdom, in the queendom, of the glory of our goddess spirit.

– mused February 19, 2015

Some shrooms with your aya, Donkey?

Peter, Robin, and Little Brother must be SO PROUD.

104 COMMENTS

  1. Ok, so I go to this place of ‘opposites’ at the top of the magic faraway tree, I take off my pink veil, dance a little and breath in and out. Then what Julia? What point am I to take from this tumble of words? Is there an insight you’re trying to share? What’s the take-home? Where’s the wisdom?

    • What’s going on? Why did I read this? Am I crazy? Where are my pants?!

      – Mused, May 2016

    • Drugs are the insight. Drugs are the take-home. Drugs are the wisdom.

      Every woo who I’ve seen attempt poetry (and that’s quite a few of them) does a better job than this druggy pile of shite.

  2. maybe it’s because i’m high right now but this is making me cry laughing. it’s so pompous and weird and dumb. she has the depth level of a teenager who is high in the woods for the first time – “we’re all just, like, dust in the wind…”

    • also why was king midas taking beggars gold? can a servicey mythology catlady help out? didn’t he turn everything he touched to gold already? or is she saying their pockets are full? now my head is starting to hurt

      • It’s an allegory for her visits to the Lakeside Assisted-Living Facility, the kingdom of Petey.

      • “Empty your soul like the pockets of so many beggars in the kingdom of Midas.”

        I don’t fully speak bray but I understood it to mean that beggars were emptying their pockets with such a sense of urgency so that Midas could turn whatever cheap trinkets they had into gold (hence: get as much shit out of your pocket that you end up with as much gold). She seems to be urging her “audience” to empty their souls with as much sense of urgency as the beggars so that they, too, can end up with “the gold of spiritual cleansing”.

        Come to think of it, if my understanding is correct, she’s at it with her usual classism again because “greedy beggars want gold”.

  3. Written right as she was just starting to fuck ILYRAIN.

    Can’t help but think all of these donkey droppings are her tryhard attempt to get him to pay attention to her again, just like she did with Avocado for all those months after he dumped her. She’s now trying to prove to him she is creative after he’s seen she hasn’t ever had an original idea in her synthetic-pelted head.

    • The soul vs heart connection claptrap she posted would back up your theory. She is actively campaigning.

      • He has a couple of gigs coming up in northern CA, so if she is in fact living near Mendocino she might be desperately trolling him for a booty call.

      • “A soul connection is a resonance between two people who respond to the essential beauty of each other’s individual natures, behind their facades, and who connect on this deeper level. This kind of mutual recognition provides the catalyst for a potent alchemy. It is a sacred alliance whose purpose is to help both partners discover and realize their deepest potentials.
        While a heart connection lets us appreciate those we love just as they are, a soul connection opens up a further dimension… seeing and loving them for who they could be, and for who we could become under their influence. This means recognizing that we both have an important part to play in helping each other become more fully who we are. A soul connection not only inspires us to expand, but also forces us to confront whatever stands in the way of that expansion.”
        – John Welwood”

        • “While a heart connection lets us appreciate those we love just as they are, a soul connection opens up a further dimension… seeing and loving them for who they could be”. Oh donkey, you haven’t a clue how offensive your base model theory really is. Just breathe and relax and enjoy a person for who they are without trying to change them. Is it too much to ask?

          • I took that slightly different — D0nk wants dudes to overlook her psychotic flaws & see instead the untapped potential she allegedly has — convenient way to explain not having accomplished anything to-date.

          • Brayella, your insight presumes that Donkey is aware of her psychotic flaws. In all the years we have known her, when has she ever shown that level of self-awareness?

    • Exactly the cat she’s letting outta the bag, methinks. Didn’t Cute & Tiny think it didn’t happen ’til mid-March? The boiling scheme juices are surfacing & this is where Donk starts threatening a Phuckwit to be w/ her again OR ELSE he WILL pay dearly for evering her donkass.

      Still using sex as a weapon, eh Mulia? CWAevilditchpig.

  4. Some fan in the ‘stan just left a laughter emoticon for this looney tunes post, and Morgana Rae, who’s a bigger con artist than Ali Shanti, just gave Julie a love emoticon. Surely St. Martin’s will want to resurrect BOOK?

    • I truly wish they’d offer one of the talent writers from a basement, her now ghosted book deal, to write book about her. Wouldn’t that be sweet justice?

  5. To the place where the flowers sing and the birdies bloom…

    In the Tiki-tiki-tiki-tiki-tiki-tiki Room!

  6. I’m not sure if I am inhaling and exhaling the correct transformation. Okay, wait.. in with sacred, out with profane.. hold on..

  7. That bottom picture will never not be horrifying.
    Pretending to be deep burro barbie is hilarious.

  8. ‘Twas brillig, and the Burning Man
    Did hiss and crackle on the flats;
    All mimsy were the Mystic Clan,
    And they wore dumb hats.

    “Beware the Jabbadonk, my son!
    The maw that brays, the pelts that twirl!
    Beware the Jordan Reid, and shun
    The frumious TMI girl!”

  9. I think the “delicate tea pots filled with hallucinogenic brews” are the reason behind this wall of text.

    • “During Tracy Elise’s four-month trial she called upon a porn star, a naked life coach, and a self-proclaimed pimp as witnesses to prove that her profession as a Priestess of sexual healing was religious, not financial, in nature, but an Arizona jury didn’t buy it. Now she faces 70 years in prison.

      Tracy Elise, often garbed in gauzy dresses, jewel-hued scarves, and traditional bindi glued over her third eye, was known as the Mystic Mother to the priestesses of her coven. A 55-year-old mother of three, Elise would invite men and women to her temple to heal them through sensual massage and therapeutic tantric sex sessions. She considers herself a priestess and healer; a jury in Arizona just convicted her of being a pimp.

      Elise was found guilty on 22 prostitution-related charges and faces up to 70 years in prison. She has already put in a request for leniency.Throughout her four-month trial, prosecutors for the Maricopa County Attorney’s Office in Phoenix accused Elise of essentially running a brothel behind a thin veil of semantics at the temple: Customers were called “Seekers” instead of Johns; the women who made appointments and negotiated payments were called “gatekeepers” instead of madams; and those who performed sex acts were called “goddesses” and “practitioners.”

      • I have no doubt that a lot of this same stuff goes on in Ali Shanti’s woo circles.

  10. I don’t understand the blackface going on? White knights with faces painted black? I get white knight == hero of the story. But do not get it. They look like black knights aka the villains?

  11. Wait …I just realized she posted this picture of herself with the Derp Thoughts musings. I initially thought this was added by RBD as a joke in response to the former derp feminism musings but nope. Our deep thinker never disappoints.
    Hi Fellas!! Look at my nips. I am a deep thinker but look at my nips!

    • Around 90% of the pictures at the top of RBD posts referencing Facebook entries correspond with a picture posted in that entry. Sometimes I think RBD just writes itself.

    • We had friends over last night, lots of good food and good wine, and we got so punchy that we did a dramatic reading of MUSED. The third time was even funnier than the first, with my husband and I doing call outs:

      “Go There!”

      “Go there, Fucoid Fairy said.”

      “But where can I go when white knights are black and meaning is dead?”

      Oh, I wish I had recorded our night of collared ballerinas and seductive monsoons!

    • “To get back to the warning I received—you may take it with as many grains of salt as you wish—that the brown acid algae circulating among us is specifically not good. You might want to stay away from that.”

  12. Okay, I consider myself a somewhat intelligent person… I am not good at math or science, but I know my history, english, philosophy (the usual).

    fucoid fairies

    fucoid fairies — WTF? I asked myself. And I say this not brag, but I read an awful lot, and it is rare that I see a word where I don’t know what it means, and can’t figure it out from the sentence. (Unless it is woo-speak, I suppose.)

    So, I looked up “fucoid” — here is Webster’s —

    a brown seaweed or fossil plant of a group to which bladderwrack belongs.
    [Order Fucales, class Phaeophyceae, including genus Fucus.]
    adjective
    of, relating to, or resembling a brown seaweed, especially a fucoid.

    Uh, yeah, these woos are THE WORST GODDAMN WRITERS I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE…

    fucoid? fairies?

    Have a great weekend, everybody.

    • I see a few other people commented on the exact same thing — sorry!

      “leap into the desert waves”

      THERE’S NO WAVES IN THE DESERT — IT’S MADE OF SAND!

      Sorry, these people make me crazy. Can you imagine her poor editor/copy editor at St. Martin’s… they’d probably find them hanging in a broom closet in desperation…

      James Joyce, JA is not.

    • I just don’t understand how they (the woo collective) justify killing the language in a way so unintelligible and painful. They’re in on the joke, right? They’re just trying to see how many suckers will claim to understand these mangled manifestos of manic to identify their next mark, right? Someone please say that’s it.

    • From: “The Bone People” by Keri Hulme –

      There is a great bank of Neptune’s Necklaces fringing the next pool.
      “The sole midlittoral fuccoid,” she intones solemnly, and squashes a bead of it under the butt of her stick.

      (Her writing won the 1985 Booker McConnell Prize.)

      • I read The Bone People a million years ago and it made no sense to me. Then I re-read it and realised I hadn’t read the final chapter. Consequently, it made far more sense the second time.

  13. So sorry, so off-topic, but catladies: the basement changes lives.

    Several months ago, while I was deep in situations including an important medical procedure, my NPD father made a characteristically stupid, tone-deaf, and self-involved request. Over the course of some years he has basically written BOOK in the form of a screenplay which amounts to lots and lots of barely readable woo nonsense, and as a “‘magnanimous’ ‘gift'” he requested I christen the thing for its HoLOLywood debut.
    This request is no more stupid, tone-deaf, or self-involved than anything else he has ever said or done, but this time I stopped to consider some questions posed both here and by several cognitive behavioral therapists over the years, i.e.: what does one get out of a JIML and why, Enemas, do you still even bother with this fucking guy? So I finally did as I’ve done with a parade of other narcs and just cut him of my life.

    It was rough at first, because the dickhead is my dad, but some time has passed now and I’m honestly feeling great about this decision. For his part, he threw a raging temper tantrum projecting his “shadow” onto me, I told him to (paraphrasing) shove his shadow right up his ass then, and the next day he predictably mailed a passive-aggressive love-bomb package trying to guilt me back into his good graces. What he doesn’t know about women is a lot, as it only served to prove he was an an absolute raging dick beast to date or break up with; I ignored him and sent a solidarity package to my mother instead. She loved it. We called each other and spent some time deepening our sacred feminine intergenerational mother/child bond by hating on him together. I’ve also found much wisdom by revisiting old RBD comment sections, specifically from the Mental Dental period just prior ILYRain, and will continue to use this valuable resource as time goes on.

    Now every day is a step further away from that idiot c*rag’s toxic horse crap, and cat ladies deserve a lot of credit for indirectly making my dream come real. Y’all are truly on fire in terms of life advice and sanity-keeping stratagies. Aho and many deep bows to the Greg/source channeling through all of you.

      • Thank you, Albie! You are like fireworks in the long night of a soul, while everyone is completely off their face on some tabs the guy said were Woodstock-grade but you suspect were maybe stepped on with a little something speedier.

    • To JFA/clarify a really bad sentence: I never dated my dad, or any other Lalla-adjacent behaviors, but do feel an ineffable soul connection to/deep abiding sorrow for all the women who did.
      So sorry, so high. We’re all just fucoid faerie dust blowing in the waves of the desert.

    • CE, once upon a time, I had a raging NPD dad too. I cut him out of my life after several awful episodes, but the breaking point was getting the job of my dreams. On hearing the news, he told me that the only reason I only got the job was because my soon-to-be-boss must have a crush on me, and that pretty soon it would be obvious to everyone and my coworkers would hate me. Sometimes fathers are evil and they have to go. Good for you for setting yours free!

      • Holyshit N!R!, what a fuckhead thing he said to you! Sadly, though, it rings familiar. “Your friends/significant others only bother with you because they are trapped in a mindset of need and therefore want something from you”, “your mother does love you, but keep in mind she’s attracted to very deeply negative energy”, and (paraphrasing) “you’ve only made it as far as you have because all of the good qualities you inherited exclusively from memememememe.”
        Do these fools keep a How I Narcissist list, like Julia’s “How I Friend”?

        You are a sparkling wit and I’m glad you got out. Thank you for looking out for others down the line.

    • the N antics of a donkey are much quieter now, but when they were in full raging effect, the discussions here helped me and i believe many others see the Ns in their lives and clear them the fuck out

      • grammarian, the above comment and I are never breaking up.

        It would be interesting to compile a BOOK of catladies’ stories of how they (may I say ‘we’? I am but a stray cat) dealt with incidences of NPD in our own lives as a result of reading here. For all the woos’ braying about one-ness, community, sisterhood, etc. and how the basement is full of haters, it’s hilarious to see who actually has whose back when shit goes down. Also, I have yet to hear about any catlady MacGuyvering another catlady’s S.O. right out from under her nose, then insisting the “community” carry on as if nothing has happened (and bringing them to heel accordingly!) so … Your move, woos.

    • This story makes me happy. Good luck to you and here’s to a calmer future with fewer undermining dickheads.

  14. The title of this post is so spot on. Is it possible that a person can “jump the shark” on their life? Because as much as I’ve enjoyed her shit show, it’s really become “Blah, blah, crazy, crazy blah. Rinse. Lather. Repeat”. At this point, I just check in here to read the comments.

    JA is as original, and on the same mental playing field, as my 13 year old niece. Sorry 13 year old niece, don’t mean to insult you – but it’s a sad fact.

    Ho hum.

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