Long before I joined WordPress, I had a page for my poetry on Facebook.

I’d love if you’d join me there on Everybody Has A Story, there’s a widget in the right hand sidebar here.

If you’d like to share your posts there, feel free to shoot me a message here or from the page itself.

Cheers all!

Everybody Has A Story ~ keib's Facebpok page

Everybody Has A Story ~
keib’s Facebpok page

It’s My Anniversary!

I’m not sure if I should be stoked to last this long or mad at myself for forgetting and now having to buy me gas station flowers and some Red Bull to… err… celebrate! 😉

Three years WordPress… it’s been wild, wooly, weird and wonderful. I’m still here, still spinning yarns (no pun) and poetically poet-ing.

Thank you all you amazing people who take time from your own day to come and read me. It really does make my day (in the Sally Field way, not the Clint Eastwood way)

Cheers all! You keep me smiling 🙂

Happy Three Years!

Happy Three Years!

A Girl’s Gotta Eat

So, fair warning, this’ll show up on “All Of The Blogs!” today.

I have books for sale on Amazon and I’d love if you’d download  one or three.

You can find them here, via my Amazon Author profile: Spilled Ink
and the fancy widget is on the right sidebar here: So Many Vices, So Little Time

KeiB Designs and Karin Bole Tupper – cheaper than a Barista’s specialty and always gluten, lactose and calorie-free!

~ kei

If you’d like to share, please feel free

What’s Important…

The article and more photos can be found here.

My humble opinion? Let it never be said that I squandered my Present by worrying about my outward appearance in the Future.
(and I hope I look as effing fabulous as this model some day)

I gotta say: it’s a sad commentary on humanity when tattoos, an “older” woman with hair longer than her ears, or dressing unconventionally; generates more discussion, outrage, or unsolicited opinion than say, unsafe drinking water, the corruption of religious and political leaders or child abuse…

From Buzzfeed article tattoo

Just a quick note: I’ve been finding it hard to catch up on my reading and responding on WordPress. Some of you know that I have a two other active blogs, a full and a part time job and a family. The volume of wonderful posts is sometimes overwhelming, especially when my M.E. kicks up and I hope you’ll forgive me if I miss something. Always know that your visits are what keeps me going  and are very much appreciated. ~ kei

In Memoriam

This was written at the request of a friend, a woman who has shared part of my journey. She asked if I could write a farewell to be posted on the Facebook poetry page I had shared with the man I once loved and who I lost to his own inner demons. It’s been almost a year since I last heard from Peter. I’ve struggled with a goodbye I didn’t want but had to make, with grief and rage as secrets and not-so-secrets were revealed or confirmed. Having had the opportunity to share with his last partner and to hear from her, his words for me; I feel I can at last put this to rest. Not in the murk of those last days but in the sunshine that was once what he brought to my life.

Once upon a time…

There was a man who loved me. We were friends. We were colleagues. We spent almost two years together planning a life, writing books, creating this page and my own. We planned to marry, to open a writer’s retreat in upstate New York and to have a pied-à-terre here in Canada.

Some of my acquaintances here will remember those happy, creative times. Some will remember when it began to fall apart. None will ever know the full story or how the end was never really the end nor ever will be. The story is Peter’s and mine and it lives still in our words – the good and the bad chapters – and in the life that I live now.

So, the time passes and slowly I begin to realize…. Time does heal. It does not unbreak, it does not erase but it does soften the edges of the wound and it does replace the aching, the tears and sleepless nights with calm and grace. Time fades the hurt, it answers the questions and sometimes, it brings you a gift you couldn’t have imagined…

There aren’t words for the gratitude that I feel for meeting Anna, for her understanding, her belief and her kindness in asking me to say some words here.

Dear Peter, I will never understand the demons in your head. I will never understand how things went so wrong. At the end, I had to let you go. I couldn’t stay to watch your destruction become mine.

You did leave me a gift though; words that you spoke to Anna. A woman of grace and courage, a woman whom I am proud to call my friend. The healing began for me once I heard from her that yes, you had loved me.

I think that is all I needed to know…


Some of you may recall how Peter and I wrote back and forth. Two poems, one thought, one heart, he’d say. One of the first poems he wrote for me follows. I wrote my response, slightly different from the 2011 version, on my blog just short days ago and I share it below Peter’s. The words are raw; you may wish to stop reading now. The words at the end of mine come from one of our last conversations. Fitting I thought as it echoes the last line of his poem to me short years before. Our relationship was emotional, fiery, and incendiary at times – the words reflect that. I smiled as I read his poem, for the first time in so long, I left the spelling exactly as he wrote it, he’d relied on me to do the editing for the books we wrote together. We had many laughs over this, many good times before outside influences and Peter’s own demons began to prey on him. It’s important that people know that.

I’m sharing both these pieces in the spirit of healing, in the spirit of forgiveness and in the spirit of grace. For Peter, for myself, for our families and for what might have been.


by Peter Fifield on Tuesday, 22 November 2011 at 16:05 

Look at me Karin

as you look upon the night sky.

Look at me my love

and we’ll watch time pass us by.

Sing with me my green eyed angel

as we sing our own love song.

Sing with me Karin

and let the the world sing along.

Kiss me my love

and let us mould into one.

Kiss me my darling

until our last breath is gone.

Look at me my love

when you steal my lonely heart.

Look at me

as you tear my soul apart.

Look at me Karin

and don’t ever forget me.


By Karin Bole Tupper, 7 January 2015

I miss you so much sometimes…

You know, I can hardly write here anymore. You’ve spoiled me for any other man. I can’t – no – don’t want to write what is not. The irony isn’t lost on me. Nor you I suppose. Wherever it is that you are now.

Funny how anger can lose its razor-sharp edges over time. Almost a year now Baby.


That name slips off my tongue so easily. I hear it in your voice though. Bourbon and Marlboros, whispering over golden wheat fields. You loved my description of your voice.

And oh God – if there is such a thing – how I miss you when I hear the kiss of your voice against my ear. “Baby”, growled soft and low as you stand behind me, running your huge hands down my arms, stooped to reach the shell of my ear. I’ve never felt so safe and yet so bereft in my life as I do now.

I feel you everywhere.

You tattooed yourself onto my skin. Words, kisses, sweat, spit, cum… You wrote yourself onto my body, into my heart and soul. Wrenched out by the madness in your own and yet… here I am now.

Craving yet the smoothness of your skin, the long sinewy muscles of your thighs, thrumming under my fingertips, my lips, my tongue. Aching for those huge hands to run down my back, cup my ass and pull me close to you.

Whisper please… whisper again how much you love me. Tell me everything will be okay again someday.

For my desire is nothing but winter. My body cold and frozen, ice in my veins and a howling blizzard in my heart. All that remains of you, me, the fire of we.

Is this tiny spark.

This contained flame, this tip of your cigarette as you stub it out and once again pull me to you.

“You’re mine Kiddo. Always. Don’t forget me. Promise me Karin. Don’t ever forget me.”

~ kei
7 January 2015

B and P Necklace

Princess & Bleddyn, Kateri & Akwaho, Baby & Boo. Let that be what remains.


 I would say “Rest In Peace” but you aren’t gone, merely slipped out of sight as Dylan Thomas said. I choose to let the good memories reign. Whatever and whoever came during the period of your darkness is irrelevant and certainly cannot erase you and I.

Hyd nes ddiwrnod arall my Bleddyn.

~ kei
18 January 2015

The Making Of Apaths

noun \ˈa-pə-thē\: the feeling of not having much emotion or interest : an apathetic state

Full Definition of APATHY
:  lack of feeling or emotion :  impassiveness
:  lack of interest or concern :  indifference
See apathy defined for English-language learners »
See apathy defined for kids »
Examples of APATHY
People have shown surprising apathy toward these important social problems.
I’m not Gay / Black / Red / Female why should I care?

The term “Apath” has evolved to describe the people surrounding a Narcissist who deliberately or benignly turn a blind eye to the characteristics, activities and victims of the Narcissist, or simply sit back and allow it. “Not my problem”, “Not hurting me”, “But he writes so beautifully!”, “He/She was just wrong for her/him, I’m the one he needs”, “Who cares?”, “I don’t want to get involved”


Having emerged from an abusive relationship, I can see more clearly how my life and my self were deconstructed to the point where it was possible for a predator to take over. One part of the story was my short time as being simply an Apath during the devalue, discard,  and smear of one of the previous targets of the Narc.

With the knowledge I’ve gained since February, when the “relationship” ended permanently with me telling the Poetical Predator that we were finished and implementing “No Contact” (before I was aware that this is both a tool and a coping strategy); I admit at times feeling a little guilt that I was once the type of person who so infuriates me now. Apaths are the adoring audience that a Narcissist surrounds him/herself (for the purpose of clarity and because this is my story and my carpal tunnel, this Narc was male and all pronouns in my writing will reflect that fact going forward). Apaths can be involved with the Narc to varying degrees, sometimes they only see the public face and therefore, have no reason to question or involve themselves when a drama erupts around the Narc. Others, like me, are in fact being evaluated for our potential as the next “Target”. The Narc was textbook in his approach with me, unfortunate that they don’t make that book available in Social Studies or Psych 101.

A friendship that developed over time, the gradual inclusion in my Social Media, where he promptly began data-mining for the “Mirroring” phase (add water and presto! You’re an indian who loves wolves, Thai, vintage cars and purple). The private communications that began innocently enough. It’s easy for anyone to see that I am compassionate, empathetic and a good listener. We talked about his troubles with children, an in law, PTSD from military service; even requests for “womanly” advice about his daughter and help with recipes! All meant to be disarming. Then the more intimate sharing of past marital disputes, spousal infidelity, his enforced celibacy and dating issues associated with his being online. I had no way of knowing that virtually all of this had zero basis in reality. Zero. ALL of it. I only saw the online persona at that time. It never clicked that in all his “troubles”, he was always the victim.

In those early days, he was actively devaluing and demonizing – my Narc couldn’t stop at just devaluing – a woman who I now suspect may be his first online victim. She was an easy target. Loving, older, single for a long time. He would encourage her publicly and then precipitously ban or block her from the public forum where we’d met. She’d be back again within a couple of weeks. As an observer of people, I noted the trend after a while. It became more evident once he and I connected as “friends” on the Facebook platform. By then, he’d begun to use the terms “stalker” and “stalking” when he spoke about her. In fairness, the behaviours I could see supported his comments. I believe now that there was much behind the scenes orchestration of that. After all, performance art is a Narc’s existence. I could not see the other side and herein lies my point: I bought it based on what I could see.

Narc was adept at weaving tales and particularly skilled at portraying people here online as bat shit crazy. There’s a LOT of you, LOL! By the time it was no longer necessary to smear this one woman, ostensibly because he’d created several other “enemies”, real women and accounts he created, he had not one, not two, but three restraining orders against her. I wonder if she knows? By that time, he had enlisted my support as a “protector” of sorts. Blocking this woman, not allowing her onto my public Facebook page (because she “stalked” him there – the evidence of those days is there yet) and as a Manager Admin on his Facebook page, keeping her and an ever-growing group of women blocked – AT HIS REQUEST. “Baby, can you keep an eye on her? My daughter says she’s posting about me again.” This is the same time he began laying the groundwork for having me remove much of my online presence, since reestablished. Why yes. Yes I do have evidence to support what I’m saying.

I was a very good Apath. First Lieutenant Apath. It never occurred to me to question because he manipulated this woman to support the stories he told me. Her piteous poems of their dates, her dreams for their future, his stories about her parked outside his home and pursuing Facebook relationships with his children and family; all served to make her look crazy. Why couldn’t she just let it go? Why didn’t she just leave him be when there was a restraining order against her. I certainly wasn’t going to engage with her by asking the questions. Who knew what might set her off. Right? If I’d asked, just once; my life might be very different now. I chose to believe the poor, beleaguered poet because I was” the only one who understood”, “his best friend”. In reality, his best and longest lasting “Supply”.

It wasn’t long before the “love-bombing” began. He professed his love on 11 November 2011 and the “romantic” chapter of the saga began.

But that’s another story for another day.

~ kei

24 August 2014


This site and the wonderful, compassionate woman who Admins there, saved my sanity. If you suspect you or someone you love is involved with a Narcissist Predator, her site and those that she recommends can provide a wealth of education, healing and most important for this little known and often minimized type of abuse; belief, understanding and support.

 Let Me Reach here on WordPress.