Thursday, June 22, 2017

Syphoning Stale Sugar (Part Two)

Inflection Never Arises During Exceptional Quantum Understandings Always Telling Everything

Ominous Rapture

Judicious Utility, Spurning Time

Blemished Aura Readily Embarking: Longing, Yearning

Entangled Necessity, Oppressive Urgency -- Guarding Hysteria

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Invisible fences

We, humans, we do this thing
We tack up our lives inside invisible fences
We draw lines around ourselves, never daring anyone to cross
Never looking inside them, not even for ourselves

Maybe not all of us
Most of us, though, yes.

I've been watching
I've paid close, careful attention

To myself.
To those around me.

And it's true.

We build these invisible fences, each of us has our reasons.


They are good reasons.
They are valid reasons.
And the fences work, almost usually, for almost everyone


Not always, not for everyone, and certainly not for me.

In the end, the fences we build fry everyone we love
And though my thoughts are somewhat disjointed
I'm tearing mine down
It's dangerous and grueling work.

Bear with me

And in the meantime, know...
If I say I love you, I mean it.
If I say I'm sorry, I don't.

Because sorry is just another fence
And regret is useless
I'm still struggling with this one.
The posts are buried deep.

We all make mistakes
And in that space, forgiveness thrives on it's own

None of us are getting out of this alive,
but some of us will get out of it happy.
And I,

I intend to try.

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Not a real thing

This isn't a real thing.
I'm just trying to figure out what to do
to better hear the ticking of a keyboard
against the tocking of the clock.

It's musical,
this droning on of time.

As the tempo changes
the dance moves
onto summer flowers
forcing themselves up
through last autumns decay,
in all that winter didn't kill.

I found the perfect black pearl mulch to cover the soil,
and a lovely paint to mask the dullness of yesteryear.

The story is over.

And I'm ok.

My forearms are sore.
A perfect reminder of my weakness.

The white whale is dead
The dead are gone
The living are hungry

There is no right way
no wrong way
and no better way.

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Glow-in-the-dark Heart.

Shut all the doors.
Pull the drapes.
Patch all the holes.

Close your eyes.

Didn't fucking work, did it?

Keep pretending, though.
That's exactly what we're best at,

isn't it?




it.  isn't.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Saving grace

From the raging waters flows
A fresh obssession
A new hope for something tangible

A vibrant array of ink scrawled across thousands of pages

J. Herbin, Iroshizuku, Edelstein, Noodlers

And the tools by which they transform from a liquid bottle of potential
Into my soul,
the core of who I am,
my regrets,
my dreams,
my existence,
my sharpest learning curves
and my straightest edges

Shaeffer, Noodlers, Pilot, Parker, Hero, Jinhao, Lamy

And an oblique holder,
with countless vintage nibs
unearthed from the darkest corners
forgotten by antique shop owners long ago

On brighter days
I go treasure hunting
Hoping beyond hope to find something inscribed
with one of the following names

Mabie Todd, Wahl Eversharp, Shaeffer, Esterbrook, Merlin 33

Working overtime to afford
Yoke, Aileron, Edison, UniqueObliques
Maybe someday

Buying sacks to restore all the broken forgotten things
The world becomes clearer through a focused loupe
The tines align with my mind
The ink flows from my heart

The closest to home I've felt in ages

At my own table
In my own space

Fountain pen in hand
Fearless page before me

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Old Ironsides

One hundred thousand times I've recited it in my head. 
Half of those times aloud to my steering wheel. 
Half of that half through a voice choked with anger
and the other half through tears.

"Oh better that her shattered hulk should sink beneath the wave. Her thunders shook the mighty deep and there should be her grave.  Nail to the mast her holy flag, set every threadbare sail; and give her to the god of storms, the lightning and the gale."

Oliver Wendell Holmes.

Such a cheeky bastard.  I love him.

I've settled solidly into anger.  Grief is a giant bear, chasing it's prey through the forested acres of life.  I should know better than to attempt life with this much rage in my veins, but alas, bills need paid and things need done.  In the process of trying to function under this mental and emotional strain I have damaged more than one important relationship.

I am ashamed to admit it, but I am also too apathetic to concern myself with the damage beyond what my apologies are capable of repairing.  Smoldering still, is my earth.

It is easier to cut through the thickened air of loss in this hateful place.  Doing things out of spite is better than doing no things at all.  Especially given that I have over a week's worth of shit to catch up on from all my bed-bound bawling and inability to see anything outside of my own shadow.

I'm embracing the fuck out of this phase.  Hoping that enough of it will linger on that I might never find myself back here again.  I mean, not right here.  I'm sure there will be plenty things to grieve in the future, but not this.  Not again.

I am nailing windows shut and sandbagging my heart.  The broken dam will not flood me out again.  I have evacuated the homeland and called a stop to the gas lighting.  I will survive this.  I will not let one more of my cells dance in that hopeless space.  I will not sit around and listen to and contemplate all the ways I am the problem.  I will not be told how to perceive or how to feel or how to behave.  I am a mother fucking human being and I am ENTITLED to feel how the fuck ever I feel.  I harbor no feelings that come from any place that isn't genuine.  I have been devoted to authenticity for far too long to be subject to such incredible lies, and my fears are valid, evidence based, and oriented around decisions that were made to exclude me and devalue that shared space.   But apparently, somehow, that's just what I do.  That's how I operate.  That's what I've done.  Okay.  Reflect, deflect, and mirror some more.  Fine. WTFever. 

I'd ask forgiveness for my humanity, but I know he doesn't know how.  And furthermore, the man I love would not need me to ask, he would offer it freely.  And he did.  It just wasn't who I thought it would be.  Shocking, innit?   Yes.  And infuriating, too. You wanna know what else is infuriating?  Having been told he wanted to see me fight.  Evidence that he failed to see my battle all along.  Completely ignorant to the armor and the sword.  Adding fuel to the fire, his complete and total willingness to toss me from his life like so much trash in a memory bin. A thing that has always been far too easy a thing for him to do, and a thing that has always given me great fits of insanity.  Yes.  There is a great deal of rage brewing within the walls of my existence.  Finally, though, I can breathe a great fuck you back through these silent tides. 


See there.  and I fucking meant it.

Now, to get from here, to "I'll idealize and realize that it's no sacrifice because the price is paid and there's nothing left to grieve."  Yeah.  That's something I suppose I can hope to look forward to.  Denial was awful.  Depression was awful.  At least anger feels more alive.  At least anger is productive.  At least anger has some substance to it.  Anger has something tangible to hold onto.  I only wish I knew where to go from here.  I guess that's just the thing.  You're not meant to go anywhere from here.  You're meant to ride that wave til it crashes into whatever else it crashes into.  I can't help but think that this is exactly what Holmes meant in Old Ironsides.  And I can't help but to thank him for his divine guidance in this matter.  Even if it was written for a completely different purpose, and without regard to it's great success in that purpose.  I'll use the tools I have on hand to craft the things I need to survive the day, as we all do, as we all must.

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

Tracing lines on our eroded shore

Where there's smoke, there's fire.
Where there's hope, there's destitution.
Where there's love, there is destruction.
Where there's liberation, there is imprisonment.

Reading things where there are not things to be read

Reading my fuckedupedness where there is only my fragmented heart
Reading paralyzing fear where there is only courage to have come this far
Reading idiotic decisions where there is but survival
Reading bitch in my open wounds
Reading apathy in the ash where there is a burning ember of hope
Reading obtuseness in my attempts to understand
Reading selfishness in my greatest sacrifice
Reading lies in my deepest truth
Reading blame in equal guilt, on every end from mine to yours and yours to mine.
Ignoring the only promise kept in a world where the very earth is made up of broken ones.
Ignoring how the shapes of things change completely in a world where you might actually return the love I've had to bury.
Ignoring how it turns the tiniest speck of dust into a shimmering flake of gold
Ignoring how it turns the dull light of an ordinary street lamp into the sun itself
Forgetting how I'm not meant for such a world, that the brightness of it is too blinding
Forgetting how to celebrate the thing
Forgetting how to cherish the thing
Forgetting how to hold the thing
Forgetting the fragility
Forgetting who I am.
Pretending I am more.
Pretending I am stronger.
Pretending I can rise above.
Pretending I can make the most of nothing.
Every single second
Hits like brick against my skull.

You can't outrun what you leave undone.
Throwing a towel on a fire only makes the flame grow.
Even if the towel is the size of a blanket.
And the blanket is sopping wet with the waters from our ocean of collective tears.

You lit the match. 
You put our iron in the fire
and me in the trash.
So I spit gasoline from my dustbin and let it burn.

I pulled the trigger
But you,
you loaded the gun

When it comes to drawing lines, the lines are clearly drawn.
They wash away, every single day.
Because this is not who we are,
This is what we become when we can't be together.

How it has always been
How it may always be
Because I won't drag you through a place you can't stand to be.
And I need to be loved for me
So I don't spend my whole life trying to be "she"
And always faltering in the process
Giving my children the gift of watching me drown
And a another man who doesn't want them around

I have no right to a broken heart
You have no right to be angry
What's it matter what rights we have
When everything in the world is wrong

Living every moment to understand a thing
Dying a question mark anyway

So I'll try to work on my evolution
And you can work on yours

And maybe we can let it go
Or maybe we can let it grow
Or maybe we will never know
Anything but this

Monday, February 10, 2014


The epic saga.
I don't think it's over.

After all, nothing ever truly ends.
Well, until the last person you knew says your name for the last time.

Then you end. 
Unless you restart somewhere.

Butterflying and hovering over some other there.
Energizer bunny-ing over all the things

Green space and sand dunes.
Sea scapes and cratered moons.

But then you open up a new bag of cherry flavored craisins
Pair them with a chocolate covered coffee bean

And breathe in the hope
That both names linger on lips longer than life

And that in another time
 Her perfect hair won't make you ill
 And His perfect power will amount to nihl.

Because a post-apocolyptic world does suit you
And zombies don't scare you
And nightmares keep you awake
Because sleep is silly

And breath is nice

Sunday, November 17, 2013

The eye of the storm

For the last 22 hours I have been in bed, nursing my ridiculously sore feet.  The last 12 days wrecked them completely.  I think I'll use some of that overtime money to buy new shoes.  Sometime before the next 12 days of pre-christmas overtime insanity begins.  I am sitting in the eye of the storm that is my own life, these precious two days off, contemplating the eye of the storm that is dementia.

I lied about not going back into nursing.  It's not as though I meant to.  We were getting pretty hungry waiting around for the economy to relent itself enough for me to obtain the job to end all other jobs.

There's good news, though.  I'm doing things differently now.  I'm working in a lock-down unit for the demented. It's a dramatic shift from your typical long-term care or home-health environment.  Dramatic, I say.  This is the kind of work that changes who you are as a person, and maybe not necessarily in a "good" way.  Three months have gone by since I started there, and the burn-out is significant, but I feel the ability to carry on radiating from my liver.  These people are different.  These people are unique.  And not just because they are often quite violent, but because they appear to me as remnants of humanity's core.

They are constant reminders of our most basic emotions.  Joy, Fear, Pain, Anger, and Sorrow.  They will laugh uncontrollably for hours.  They will scream out in psychological agony until dawn.  They will fight you when you least expect it. They will kiss your face without warning.  They switch between moods in a matter of nanoseconds, and they do so without any apparent trigger.  They are evidence that we are more than a mosaic of memories.  They are evidence that mood matters.  They are the very soil that nourishes growth, and at the same time, they are the storm that destroys life.  These people are the very definition of poetry in motion.

They are the most random people on the planet.  And I have fallen madly in love with every last one of them.  And not just them, my co-workers too.

My co-workers are intelligent, hard-working, caring, and crazy.  I've yet to be partnered with anyone I didn't fully enjoy working with.  We seem to grow fairly close, fairly quickly.  There's something about being in an environment surrounded by disease, death, and dementia that calls for the quick bonding of co-workers.  It's been a hot minute since I've worked with such a large number of incredible individuals.      

The facility is something just beyond antiquated.  There are bugs of all types invading my space.  Centipedes, spiders, stink, and water bugs to name the most predominant among them. The building is in desperate need of an internal face-lift. Short of that, there is nothing notably different about working there.  The politics are the same.  The call-off policy cripples all other attempts to control infection.  No vacation or PTO for a year.  No insurance for six months.  Short of staff more often than fully staffed.  Ample opportunity for overtime.  Wavering overall morale.  Finicky time-clock.  The occasional nit-picking nurse.  The gossip hounds.  The ever-present feeling of being looked down upon, by family members and admin.  Administration that is so far removed from the daily grind that they initiate policies that are, at best, unobtainable pipe dreams.  From what I can tell, lower level staff feedback does not exist within the walls of that place.  Above all else, the most shamefully typical attribute of this facility, are residents whose faces ring with the bitter taste of institutionalization.

But lo, I think I will stay for a while.  If for no other reason, to bear witness to the weighted efforts of every day people attempting to untangle the fibers of existence from the darkest corners, in the murkiest waters, of this thing we call life.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013


When we put words together to form sentences
We often do it in search of truth
But the bullshit stories we tell each other
are never any closer to truth
than the space between our varied perceptions
Fallacy abounds, largely ignored
Because coping without it is impossible

And still we live for the hours
And still we stay alive for each other
And still we strive to learn some new trick or another
And still we smile
And still we laugh
And still there are nights that are absolute torture
And still the moon gets bigger this time of year
And still the sunrise blinds bleary morning eyes
And I can still see that last one in my rear view mirror
And I can still feel its beautiful sting in my veins
Every one of those precious minutes carries a hundred tears
Our ocean grows deeper
But never wider 
And always