Saturday, December 31, 2011

Asleep, in flight.

I've spent the biggest part of 2011 sleepwalking.  It's true.  Yes, I earned my first college degree and dealt with some serious catastrophe, but I did it all while sleep walking.  Starting to pull up from this state of stagnation over the course of the last couple of months I've found it much more difficult to rise from the tarry pits of looming hopelessness and survival mode than imaginable.

Across every synapse and around every sinus in my skull I've found the tangles impossible to unravel and the colors without brilliance, it's all just completely dull.

What sort of resolution might I find in such a peculiar place?  To tear down smoke screens and forgive the goddesses of beauty? To peel and open and revive and radiate a somewhat necrotic heart? To shed the dreams that weigh me down and chase the ones that could give me flight?  To see reality and hold to self-made promises like imaginary best friends while releasing wishes into the wild like wounded animals nursed to health?


Put me in the woods and let me breathe like the trees.  Roll me in the mud and let me wear the earth.  Cast me boundless into the sea and let my inhibitions seep from my pores.  Maybe then I'll know something.  Maybe. Maybe. Perhaps.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Winter Coping Mechanisms

Seasonal Affective Disorder is a debilitating issue for many sun-worshippers and other cold-weather, gray-sky haters.  This is a list of a few of my favorite methods for coping with the wretched frozen darkness we call winter.  As RedGreen says.... We're all in this together, I'm pulling for ya! *reels in imaginary fishing line*

10. Drink and be merry. If ever there was an excuse for alcohol consumption, keeping warm tops them all... Unless you believe in transubstantiation, in which case you should not be reading my list ...get thee to a nunnery!
9. Bigger, better bacon.

8. Go tanning. Warning: may cause skin cancer and/or unadulterated bliss.

7. There are two kinds of serenity in the world. One for those who crochet and one for those who knit. Join a side and roll with it. (Sidenote: The end result is almost always helpful for mechanism #2)

6. Plan your summer. Of course, it might seem like it sucks the spontaneity out of life but nobody said you had to do the details. That’s where the devil is anyway.

5. Maple-Syrup Snow Candy. It’s maple syrup, do you really need more convincing?

4. Build and army of non-violent snowmen to protest and protect against “the man”… really, this is the only time of year when it’s possible and it’s as effective as anything else you might try.

3. Stand outside and curse the sky. Not only does it release frustration but it keeps your neighbors from getting too personable.

2. Wear layers. It makes the end of the day strip-tease a lot more fun.

1. Pretend you are the white witch. A little imagination goes a long way.

*This should go without saying since it's spoken word, but just in case you need it said, curl up with a blanket, some sort of hot beverage, and have a dose of passionate verbiage. Feel free to start right here *

Sunday, December 11, 2011

There ain't no ash will burn

First, have a listen... or rather a feel...

Sifting through all the charred bits to find something burnable to kindle a new love finding embers still aflame from every past experience.  Self definition is so inaccurate perhaps it is more futile than hope.  Futility means nothing to me.  Importance, though....  There is significance in strangers.   Aletheia doesn't rest in every interaction.  Resting seldom, reaching though ...always.  Into and around, through and out of.  Toward. Always toward that truest state, she aims.

It's a heavy sigh breathed into crisp December air across the globe with wishes for bliss on any road.  It's a smile so wide that treks across space so grand it cuts through mountains and washes down rivers intact.  Dix doigts entrelac√©s √† travers l'espace et le temps.... unmitgated joy in the crumbling statue of memory. 

There is no such thing as a blank slate, and there ain't no ash will burn. So long as I breathe, I breathe fire.  So long as I wish, I wish for this.

Laissez-nous danser, toujours dans cet endroit.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Hot Cross Buns

I've been reading nursery rhymes lately.

No clue, either... so don't bother to ask.

I'm backtracking I think. In the most irrelevant ways. It comes with the territory, maybe completely obligatory... maybe not. She's stuck in there.

I fed a baby today. It was nice.

She's still in there.

I am.


But where is here for some to be?
I'm still too blind to see,
as barren as a beetle infested tree.

Burning rhymes won't make them fade from memory
So I'll explore this abandoned territory
And continue writing this ridiculous story.

And talking to myself in public places
creating friends out of invisible faces
Trying to fill unfillable spaces

Mother goose has me in her noose
Hoping to shake something loose
but still wondering if there's any use

Miracles simply do not exist.
Ego maintains itself in this list.
Holding to passions with a clenched fist.

I'm not ready to let it go.
Complacent peace, I do not want to know.
Life exists within the ebb and flow.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Pragmatically speaking

Wrapping oneself in a cocoon of words does not necessarily mean merely waiting for transformation, but initiating it.

The study of change in the inebriation of a forgotten sentiment.

A token of gratitude, an investigation of self, a bubble popped, a smoke screen filtering silver the gold of a charred daffodil, and a mountain meant to float held in place by a wall of fire and moat of the driest ice.

Below the dirt lies unimaginable wealth. Theories are pointless without practice. Practice hard your finest theories, lest you forget them.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

I'm just fine here, finding me.

This is exactly the kind of thing that happens when you happen to let people in your life who tear you down. This is exactly the kind of thing that happens when you lose yourself inside of another persons cadence. No. More. Of. That. God, have I learned NOTHING in the past four years!!?!!?!

Sad thing is that it is another person's cadence that has reminded me of my own. But as June would say, "that's what we call a friend." So I will not focus my attention on the this minor triviality because what I know is true is not linked to the catalyst of this spiritual autolysis. Of this I am certain.

I've lacked authenticity for a while now. And also, a backbone.

I think I thought that just because I wasn't lying to myself on a grand scale as I did in my marriage that it was all good, but the self discoveries I'm making this week scream at me the truths long ago buried.

The difficulty is in the wall between me and the burial ground.

Some self imposed blocking mechanism. I can't articulate what I don't know. Yet.
For example:
I can't define ecstasy. I have two opposing visions. But do they really oppose? Probably not. I've been in a similar place before. I fear what I find when I find the courage to go deeper.

So why can't I define it? I'll tell you why.

Because I've never known it. Not by the construct presented to me as unmitigated joy across all levels of experience, whether through another or any other method. And still the notion, the very idea ... of Aletheia resting, it stops me cold and warms me on a some sub-atomic level. From where I am this appears to me as my primary objective. To study this, to find this, to understand this, to create this.

Perhaps it always was, perhaps I forgot, perhaps I wanted to forget. Perhaps there's no perhaps about it. Fear does terrible things to the already miserable state of the inescapable human condition, does it not?

More to come, very soon. Assuredly. I've been holding back for far too long... and that's only the beginning of the problem.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

(wo)man v. mirror

Dwelling in futility, staring at the key
Thinking sometimes its best not to let it be.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Itches in stitchs

Meditation does not help memory retention but it does seem to cool the burning fires of my neural activity.
Limitless, I wish I were.  Settle for timeless.

I swore I wouldn't do it again, but I have.  So here's to knowing what comes next.

Saturday, October 8, 2011


I don't think I've been up this late in years. 

Not like this anyway.

I suppose writing a eulogy will do that to a person.  I've done everything I can to put it out of my mind now that it's been writ, and for the most part have been successful.  I even managed to get a bunch of coursework done.  Go me.

I'm still numb. But it's times like this that I come here and think about how ridiculous and stupid everything I've written is.  Even this.  Especially this.

Yeah.  Seriously.

In any event, I've got to try to sleep before sunrise, so good night. <3

Sunday, September 25, 2011

I read this book once.

I was in a bookstore. Killing time. Waiting on a friend.
Well the book was good and I wasn't finished so I bought it.
I'm glad I did.
I was introduced to Goethe there. In a book titled "Three Philosophical Poets."
The book used three primary examples, Faust being one of them, as a means of showing how deeply related philosophy and poetry are. Extraordinary reading, really ... for a girl with very little formal education and even less connections to people who provide this sort of enlightenment.
I read Faust aaaages ago, but never read any more of Goethe's work for a lack of time and a massive obligation list.
Then today I was wandering around the flea market and spotted what you see ^ up there. Yeah, right up there, in my lap. :)
The irony is so think it could drown a fish, BUT I won't get into all of that. There's a back story to the Ginsberg thing too, but we'd be here a century if I attempted to explain it's importance and relevance to my current state of bewilderment, excitement, intoxication, and attachment to this new literature in my possession.
I figured since my last post was all about how I don't have time to read the books I already have I might as well point out that I'm just insane enough to keep doing the thing that I know won't change but continue to expect to, but only because I want to. Whew! Dijya jibe with all that?
No? Well, it's okay, I think I might move to Mexico anyway. :)

Monday, September 19, 2011

Sincerest apologies

To my dearest friends,
I've left you forsaken in that underworld
I've let you become another dusty corner
In a world where apathy reigns
I didn't mean to... you see,
Life grabbed me by the toes and
... excuses
To forsake you is to give to another
and there's only so much time in a day
only so much space in my brain
and as time slips beyond my reach
I look at you, you made time enough to make it
to my wooden shelf
And there I let you lay
The remains of a life not yet lived
the wasted words of discovery
How could I ever leave you?
My drunken bedfellows and bosom buddies,
Waiting, as steadfast as I.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Once. An ode to personal history and irrelevance

Once I ate organic peanut butter.
Once I investigated the innards of a cat, and did not shudder.
Once I tried to sleep upside down.
Once I moved to a new town.
Once I tried to knit a pair of socks.
Once I took up collecting rocks.
Once I walked six miles on my knees.
Once I made a souvenir out of fallen leaves.
Once I drove head first into a giant snow drift.
Once I held out my hand for another to uplift.
Once I loved someone I'd not yet kissed.
Once I threw my phone at someones head, and missed.
Once I gave birth to a dismembered fetus.
Once I made out in the back of a school bus.
Once I believed in sin.
Once I lied my way out of a psych ward, which made sense, since I lied my way in.
Once I knew what fiction was
But eventually it all became fuzz
Once I understood everything but didn't try
and couldn't die
But now I know better...

We are just a bunch of narcissistic assholes, trying to get by.

Saturday, September 17, 2011


That's kinda what it's like you know. A nagging gnawing.

They're all busy and happy and doing what kids do. The neighbor comes over to get a hug, and the birds keep pissing me off with that constant chirp chirp chirppery that they do at this time of year. I think they're fighting over who's going in what flock, south, for the winter. Lucky bastards.

It's almost 7 now and the sun is on it's downward creep, sinking for the moment into oblivion to illuminate someone elses darkness. Isn't that nice?

You know what I miss? I miss the ocean. I miss the mountains. I miss the caverns. I miss adventure. My school schedule wouldn't allow for much of it this year and that's exactly what this gnawing is all about. The need for flight.

Long-haul. I'm forced to keep this whole long-term objective in mind, and I am wired to live as if the long-term doesn't exist. Put a lion in a cage to get it to safety, and it paces back and forth as if it just knows it'll be in the box forever... even if there's a sign on the bars screaming in bold red print "YOU WILL BE FREE IN 4 SHORT YEARS" That's not the whole truth though.

4 years til' I've my Masters, 2 for my bachelors, and just a month for my Associates. The internship is less than a year regardless of masters/bachelors... and after that student loan repayment. So I figure ten years. MINIMUM. It's enough to make me quit, sell everything I own and load the kids up in the first rusty RV I can find right now and go see some shit, do some shit, experience something other than contractual allowances and staff annualization.

Who says what we have to do, to do what we need to do, to be successful. Who has that authority? I'd like to meet the jackass who makes all these fucking rules up. Smack him across the face, feed him a bottle of viagra, and hire a thousand angry whores to fuck him silly and watch gleefully when his head explodes. Providing it is a man... though whoever it is is just trifilin' enough to be a chick.

So there it is. Stuckery.

OMG. My neighbor is singing I believe I can fly.... at the top of his lungs. All the kids are cracking up. How ironic. I wonder if he knows how miserable his wife is. Oh, the lols of life. They just keep coming.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Be caused

It occured to me this morning that this place is a place of selfish indugence for me, and selfish indulgence doesn't reflect my life or who I am at all. It's just easier to mope here so I can go be bright for everyone else. A girl has to have someplace to mope after all. Not fair to you, is it? Sooooooo I thought I'd share some inspiration instead of my downtrodden bits of crazy. :)

Here they make solar light bulbs out of plastic bottles. NO SHIT!!! Just watch.

And here they make stuff to sell (VIA CROCHET!!!) out of garbage bags they find floating around the everywhere.

Yup. Happy thoughts. :)

Dead heat

Silent solitude, quiet mind, and shallow breath
Disappearing acrobats from behind my eyes
Swinging songs of spoken verse again have left
Diverging arrows pointing the way to incognition.

Tis not heaven nor the barren earth
Bridled and girdled and swept from the start
Tis only what all must face from birth
Betwixt us lay a local form

And we shall finish adrift in the same sea
In a similar boat with a familiar shoe
All of us prisoners and all of us free
Needlessly silent, forever quiet.

Without breath or sound or name
Drawing from this dead heat
Spiraled emotions and love in vain
The base of the underbelly -- humanity.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011


If this day had been any more awkward. Uncomfortable. Insane. or strange... I might've thought I was dreaming.

I'm glad it's over.

The night falls like an old enemy.

Familiar comfort.

Soothing crickets singing for my insanity.

Can you hear them, too?

Oh there's great poetry to be had in the song, but it's going down in ink, where it belongs, not here, no, not here, where you'll defile it with all your misunderstandings and inferences... No, it's going where it's safe.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Criminal Reform

What of breath
of breadth?

Have we no song to sing
Have we no shared remembrance
Of dreams held loosely
Tied to wishes and love

Have we only this cold stone
rolled between fingers
and fallen to the quarry
masked by so many


Like us.

So far gone
Ever removed
Ever halted
Hardened by

. . . life.

An innocence you can't return
Non-refundable aftermath

Orange suits and stale bread
Stale breath
eventual death

Sentenced for an act
never committed
Committed to white walls
and paper shoes.

Reform the criminal,
before the criminal reforms you.

Another fragmented process

Forgetting impossibility.

It's impossible.

Remembering possibility.

Also impossible.

What we have here is an unlikely return to a time in my life that I'd just as soon remember as a nightmare, and the fight to forget. Which is silly, at best... I've come so far, and gotten absolutely nowhere.

The rolling grape is leaking it's black blood.
The heating element is burned out.
Nothing gets dried here anymore.
Damp and musty inability permeates the atmosphere.
The front door has holes in it big enough to let in spiders and frosty air,
but too small for a single thought to escape.

The struggle is constant, and that's never changed.
The attitude changes like day to night
In and out
A beam of white light at midnight
A total eclipse of the sun at noon

Another liar in my doorway.
Another milky promise gone to spoil.
Another collision of hearts
Another clearing of debris
From another wreckage on another bleached shore

Another assembly of hope
In a painful era.
In a tearful time.
Soaking the wetland.
Salting the earth.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

I'm a lover, and a fighter.

I think that I'm hulled up in bed this morning for a very real reason probably mostly to do with the man outside cleaning up the neighborhood trees who is pushing sixty and serious stalker status. I was gonna go to help my mother with her bean situation but my ride is just shitty enough that I probably shouldn't go anywhere I don't have to.

There's hope that I'll get a sitter for tonight to watch the fights with my favorite person on the planet these days. I used to really abhor UFC and all it stood for, but there's this really interesting dynamic at play in the ring and I'm captivated by it. I still believe that the only two true forms of human connection are fighting and fucking so obviously you can see why I would finally find myself on the other end of this thing.

I think it's about being open to it. I'm not just going to sit around here and pretend like I'm all lover and no fighter. That would be a lie. I have enough rage to choke a rhino.

I think realizing this has been difficult, but now that I'm open to it, I'm accepting it... I fight. I have to. All the time.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Ready or not it's still bad for you

But so is everything else.

It would be faster to suck on a tail pipe though

I could sit here, idle, or I could row

I can't' believe how positive everyone seems

Pure white light, such radiant beams

There was a time when I was the only positive person I knew

Where I couldn't fathom that sort of blue

and now I'm secretly stuck in a constant state

of what I can only call sudden hate

I'd say more, but I can't.

The words are still froth

dissolving on the tip of my chin

to be licked away by my present day

Why bother, what's really to say

It wouldn't matter anyway

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Halfway - a broken question on a broken road.

I've gone beyond halfway.
I'm so much more than half way.
It's the end of a road
a road I designed
and have hated
and cherished miserably
for helping me to avoid my misery.

I wonder how many people
chase a dream they never had
just for sport

Too many, I think...
far too many.

Thursday, August 11, 2011


I remember things I'd like to forget
and forget the things I'd like to remember.
Almost usually.
There are exceptions.

Wind sailing through hair
under half a bowling ball
ears ringing from biting

Ohio's wondrous August chill
blackened trees swirl and blur
trying to show themselves through the
pale reflection of the moon's constant struggle

The ride halted
bodies emerge
merging ageless
between perfect rows of heightened corn
and the wild, wooded land

the road expands
exploded for the moment
and contracts

pushed out of the foraging forest
into civility and convenience
where cell phone stuck world haters
absorb the dawn haplessly

watching with abandon
to abandon again

and living
smallest hour
I will remember
even if I forget

Tuesday, August 9, 2011


To be completely honest I thought it was the ugliest yarn I'd ever seen, and I find nearly all yarn enjoyable. It was given to me by a sweet 94 year old woman who still lives on her own and goes to the YMCA three times a week to swim and socialize. I gave the purposeless yarn a purpose and the final product is riddled with mistakes. Mistakes I could've easily fixed. Mistakes that were chosen to remain to serve as a reminder that purpose comes from the most unexpected places, and that mistakes are not only inevitable, but that they offer a certain quality of character that would otherwise not exist. After twisting it to it's imperfect perfection, I sent it somewhere, where it is loved. It seems there is salvation, after all.

Monday, August 8, 2011


Where ever I go, there I am.
It is what it is.

No shit. Have a sit. I have things to say.

Well I used to.

I can't take any more.

I imagine the free fall.

A certain tie to death, yet... an absolute freedom... then darkness.

They say it makes me crazy. I say it makes them ignorant.

Or maybe I'm the ignorant one. I can recall believing that this was just that when... well, nevermind that. It's not like I'm even capable of such inhumanity anyway. It's all just a grand and glorious distraction from the things I'd rather not face, knowing all the while I must not only face them but lay with them, mingle with them, overtake them, and walk right through them.

I have to wonder though... It keeps me alive.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

To day

To day,

Please move quickly through the grueling bits, or don't be so grueling.

Please breathe easy.

Please wake up.

Please catch up.

Please smile.

Please see.

Thanks a million four hundred and three,

Much love, always,
Love, Me.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

and it's gone. again.

I swear, I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached. Oh wait, It's not and I did.

There's this whole victorian aspect of the thing. Kind of sweet and surreal, a darker shade of white. And a shadow in the doorway begging me to seek shelter from the heat and humidity.

There's an air of southern charm and a deep sense of comfort in the drifting of these dried vines across the pavement.

Though my path is not crossed the way is not clear and I'm perfectly content to live in this strange state of almost torment. I enjoy the sensation of labored breathing through the sticky air and the tiny beads cascading downward across my flesh after only a few short seconds in the blazing sun.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Forewords for chapter 29

Burnt to a crisp and absolutely stoked about it. Saturated completely with words, concepts, ideas, ability, and hope. Motivitated. Driven. Focused. HUNGRY!

Friday, July 15, 2011

Chapter 28ish

Lately I've been trying to inspire myself. Soft voices carry through the back of mind and beg me to return. Full force. To all of that brilliance that was life before the broken wrist, the surgery, the job change, the car accident, the dead friends, the month of home repair from hell, the son's operation, the client's bed bound madness, the daughters rape. In short in the brilliance that was anything before ten months ago. With the seemingly constant state of chaos that my world has been producing one can only reasonably conclude that it will continue in this fashion for the foreseeable future. I suppose I shouldn't complain if it does, after all I have managed to maintain a 4.0 gpa during this time as well as keep my children housed, clothed, fed, and moderately happy for spoiled American children anyway. I've also churned out some really fantastic yarn work. Crochet has become my crack, my only real coping mechanism.

I did something new this week though. I got some books from the library that I ordinarily wouldn't be caught dead reading and I intend to read them. Why not? At this point the only thing I stand to lose is a really bad attitude. I'm going to need a better one if I'm going to survive even one more catastrophe. So it's better that I put on my cognitive conditioning hat sooner rather than later.

I have external help this time though the full extent of it remains to be seen, at this point I am just grateful to have a soft place to land that I didn't conjure up on my own in a moment of witchy reality alteration, and doesn't seek to alter me by my continued dwelling there.

So this is me, scanning the page before turning it. Turning, turning, turned.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Lobster tail

No one blames me. Isn't that wonderful?

I've tried. Oh, how I've tried.

Honestly, I recognize the futility of guilt. Unfortunate things happen. I have all the information I need to construct a map out of my madness. I'm just not sure I'm ready yet.

How do you work through having left such an awful place only to find that the place you ran to had as many dark, moldy corners as the place you left. Sure there's still more sunshine here. Sure, the advantages are clear. Sure, it's not my fault.

She will bear this scar for the rest of her life and as much as I would like to blame her child rapist, as much as I would like to blame his parents, as much as I would like to blame the world, I can't. I've never been very good at the blame game.

There are a number of people who feel that I should be doing more. A number of people who seem to have answers. A number of people who appear to have the capacity for handling things. I do wish they would shut up.

The only thing I know is that I know too much to not try to help her. The only thing I know is that I know too much to let it be swept under the rug. So I'm up early filled with an uncertain amount of anxiety because things happen that I am not trained to deal with. I hope American psychology offers her more healing and hope than it offered me. She's much too young to know this sort of suffering.

I'm looking forward to the day when "How are you doing?" doesn't feel like "How are you holding up?"

I'm fine. She's fine. Let's go play. Life is short. Horrible life experience doesn't make it any longer. It's only more reason to go suck the marrow out of the living. Even at the age of seven, she knows that. She amazes me every single day.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

shores expanded, uselessly

paper butterflies swarm
to explode an already escaped soul

bliss that was once there
died in a fit of raging incompetence
and returned half hearted
and fragmented

blood stains sat too long to fade
tainted mourning drops of dewy expressions

reminders of the world beyond
the imagined beauty

violet adhesion, vascular deformity

cuts like the serrated edge of a circular saw
infinite destruction

disintegrating napkins transformed to purified gold
giving peace to another
another other

lines in the sand
I crave a high tide
to wash me free from them
my invisible prison

Funny face

So I remember this jackass saying something about how poetry has to be this formed fucking bullshit and how all the fucking elements have to line up to create this most magnificent painting with all the right shades and hues and shapes. Fuck that. I suppose he missed that scene in Dead Poet's Society where poetry was born and rules were ripped out of the book of his precious admiration.

Fuck all of that limiting nonsense. I still say that it's all poetry, most especially the things that never get written. But even still, anything that is motivated from any place primal or articulate or emotive or hell even just empty. All. of. it.

Where was I going. Oh, nowhere really, just freely writing some seriously non poetic bullshit because I feel like it and I can't be stopped tonight. Not tonight.

I used to think there was some value to it. While I'm not sure of worth, or any other type of measure I am always sure that I knew more three years ago than I do now. Before that it's all just plot points and story line.

The day my car was sent spinning into smoldering oil and crushed glass I remember that my life did not flash before my eyes. My life has been all together as meaningless as any ones, but every thought I ever had that I ever found to have any relevance... I had them all all at once... and it's still fucking with me.

The being trapped was awful, but only because I had this underlying urge to get to the place where I could make sense of the cataclysmic event that had just transpired behind my eyes.

Funny how I still haven't done that. Funny how I spend so much time living and surviving and trying to enjoy something that I still can't figure out how to articulate a halfway coherent conceptual thought. Funny how I'm still better with ink than I am with verbalization. Funny how the look in my eyes remains unchanged and as crazy as ever despite my new found apathy.

Funny how this isn't helping.
Funny how there's nothing to be helped but I use the word helping.
Funny how easily we forget.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Stockholm syndrome

Somewhere beyond the realm of this one
there is a place where I always go
It's similar to a redwood forest
but the trees are not so tall
and there is no fog to cover anything
Enough sunlight to illuminate shade seekers
while still providing protection
from a flesh searing heat
Captivated by a past of dark figures
Chasing us through white rooms with tiny doors
in valleys of unknown depth and beauty
A shared nightmare, a common dream
Bound and boundless

We love




Saturday, June 25, 2011

And so it goes

Yes, yes, just about the time everything's coming up black-eyed susans and stargazer lilys something so horrific happens that you can't even put it into words. And when speaking becomes impossible, what's left to do but fold over and into and out of again until either another spring blooms over mountains of graves or you throw yourself to the mouth of the beast.

The nice thing about my walls, I suppose, is that they don't offer pity, only heart.

Friday, June 17, 2011


Inspiration to return to words, from an unexpected source, to a place where I can dwell in solitude, happily unfolding truths that do not directly correlate the indirect correlation to which words have always kept me bound to.

Though this attempt is an epic fail, there is hope, under the tongue, to pass it by for an even greater depth.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

The fragile

It comes as quickly as it goes and with as much reason.

There is no arguing with a mood.

They don't make coffee strong enough for days like today, because coffee wasn't made for this. Candy coat the beans and chew them all day long and wait for a joy so thick it gurgles from some unknown depth of your gut.

Acceptance from anywhere... from beyond the sphere we call home? I think not, from the intangible form of a brittle soul.

There used to be this sort of forceful spewing of the stuff. I don't miss those painful times.

The gulf is calling. A straight shot down I-65. I want at least two weeks to explore the entire shore, though endless time would be best to inhale the riches of it's offering, and I have no choice but to decline even a single day in that vast open space. Empty, open, and choiceless as the beach itself.

Monday, May 30, 2011

Memorial Day

Today, I'll be remembering you. Not much different from any other day really, except today I'm uberenthusiastic about it! :D

Memories and dreams intertwine. Happiness is reborn with new certainty. History repeats, patterns continue, and love defies the properties of space and time.

Love You,


Friday, May 20, 2011

Bag of tricks

"99 times out of 100 I reach into my bag of tricks and can find something to get me through another day, but soon I'll forget where I put it, too."


Sunday, May 15, 2011

To being

To being in front of a tree able to appreciate the tree for just being a tree.

To being out of words to the point that the only expression left is in movement.

To being. Alive.


Sunday, April 24, 2011

Nausea (A long ago written thing about an always present thing)

Jean-Paul Sartre. Next to the greats of Roman glory this Frenchman was among the few who captured my early admiration. Perhaps it was what felt like his raw nudity. And I don't know why exactly.

With Antoine and his solitude there is a warming sensation as I follow him through his wasted days and lonely encounters. To walk with him in his meager, humble, self-absorbed existence and to feel the arbitrary nature of his seemingly simplistic thought patterns as they stretch and swell into what seems no one else but everyone else ponders.

Is it impossible to not feel the inevitable solitude of humanity? To make the obscure void completely abstract, to loose the deepest emotion and understand madness at its core of sane men and its creep upon thinking men.

My thoughts are jumbled and often lost. I am trying much like Antoine to capture something arbitrary or concrete in all of these spiralling conceptual ideas. I feel as though Sartre has captured some part of me... two parts of me... maybe three, in this seemingly over-looked book.

The first is obvious. Antoine. he is consumed by meaninglessness and existence and he can get as lost in the past as he can in the present with a looming uncertainty about the future. His nausea. The way he is fascinated by things and equally and simultaneously disgusted by them. he studies people and is attached to both routine AND adventure.

Second, the self-taught man and his gentle soul and love for humanity. I neither agree nor disagree with either Antoine or the self-taught man but I certainly identify with both.

Then of course, dear Anny. Gypsy spirits and perfect moments. Hardened by life and always outliving herself.

Sunday, April 3, 2011


She was the one who was there in the night like a star burning holes in the blackness.

She was the one who pierced the silence when the world was mute.

She was the one who did what none of the others could. She saw you.

You pushed her away, she fell into a hole she can't get out of, and no one, no, not no one can save her.

They all said

It would be worth the agony.

They said not to give in to defeat no matter how hard it got.

They said to keep going, that the result would give me happiness beyond measure.

And they weren't right. But they weren't wrong.

I am two people, locked inside a single mind, a hopeless western girl, always up and always down.

The sun is shining the breeze is soft... for the first time in weeks...
The hard part is over. The fun has begun...

...and still days like today I long for nothing more than to dwell on the bank of some lazy river that the warming water may whisper through my calloused hands.

Thursday, March 24, 2011


Two weeks. Two awful fucking weeks later...

Yesterday it looked like it might all be coming to a close but today's productivity level crushed my spirits more than I can begin to understand. I should be grateful for any help at this point but I am super pissed off just the same.

These violent moments that keep me awake and are not the least bit stifled by herbal supplements and they are immune to booze. By immune I mean, made worse.

So here I sit, all sober, and sleepy, and talked out, talking more because it's never enough, and it will never BE enough... I blame it on my Americanized self.

Grateful for good friends... yes... but super pissed off just the same.

The walls are back up. Yesterday made me feel like I could take on the world. Today just feels like I'm being swallowed up by chaos.

Eh, it'll all be over soon enough and there will be something else. So what do I do but sit around and wait for something that might alter my heartbeat. Isn't that what we're all doing?

Mold removal... sucks ass. Just thought you should know. Oh, and here's a bit of advice... NEVER have a tub installed by someone who ISN'T a certified plumber... they will fuck your shit up and insurance won't deal with you. I'm starting to wonder why I renewed my policy... I can think of a million things I could do with that money that might serve some purpose aside from taking up space in a filing cabinet in the form of documents that do nothing but collect dust and provide a little peace of mind in case of a REAL disaster. Or something. I'm sure Japan could think of a few ways to use it too.

Everything is amazing and nobody is happy. I'm seriously stranded in the wrong time. I belong in the woods. Barefoot and smiling. I can't wait for muggy days again. Humidity so thick it makes breathing hard in the face of a blazing sun.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Saturday, March 12, 2011

It is what it isn't

Trying to get out of an empty ocean
feverishly clawing at walls of sand and fish bone
Gashes in my hands clot with salty gains
The fire in my flesh does not stop me

yet I get nowhere

The dim turns dark
The dark turns light
The light turns bright
Humor escapes for an escape
as a twisted joke

The lights burst, glass flies
Screaming hoards of drunken men
brawling for reasons unknown

I'm pushed to a place
Unable to reach
As my children are mutilated
by the untamable crowd

And still I can not weep
Forward is all I know

yet I get nowhere.

Saturday, February 26, 2011


Recently someone made a very disturbing, very grotesque assumption about me. Now, I don't know where it came from or how such ideas could fester in anther's head about me, except for in the case of someone who didn't know me. These types of inferences are unavoidable in life, we all do it, at some point, but it's silly, stupid, childish, ignorant, and a downright harmful thing to do.

For someone who has posited a number of soulful and personal things in public eye, many of which I know to be untrue, it essentially destroys my hope for humanity to know that the same person then creates further falsehoods, on a dime, with no questions asked, on which to operate a worldview that seeks to discover truth.

Hypocrisy is the most unattractive attribute a person can have.

Friday, February 25, 2011

The wall of notes

A soft-spoken yet vibrant woman who has been diagnosed with early onset dementia has dedicated more than one of the walls in her home to leaving notes for herself. Of these notes there is one that stands out to me always, like the brightest star on a night of a million stars. It reads, "A friend hears the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails."

That wall represents what her mind used to be and the chaos of the scattered, mostly illegible notes clearly indicates its current condition.

I love her, so as I listen for what remains of that beautiful song I dedicate it all to my own jumbled array of thought and memory that I might be counted among her friends when the slate is left utterly and hopelessly blank.

... and inevitably it becomes a part of my own melody.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Consider it done

We all get to that point of sink or swim... but what about that point just before a psychotic break?

Monday, February 7, 2011

Child behind the glass

At first I wondered what makes a nine year old suicidal, then I remembered my own nine year old self. She will make it, I think, in the meantime she is pulling her hair out at the roots and my heart strings with it... I only hope I can spare my own daughter some of that horrific experience.

Lively though she is, turmoil follows her everywhere. I dust the frame surrounding her plastic smile while fighting tears at such inescapable knowledge. If only I could reach her from here...

Examine closely the world around you. A simple smile can save a life.

Breathing through the sadness. Dancing in the madness. And all that other silly stuff.

None of it matters, but it all has meaning. Influence. Whatever. There's a child behind the glass, and she needs more help than any one of us could offer.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Maybe its a metaphor, maybe it's not.

It's amazing what the sullen yellow glow of a porch light can do to a dead shrub covered in ice.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Maybe its a metaphor, maybe it's not.

When a man who can't physically rape you tries to rape you and winds up covered in his own bloody semen....

hand the poor fellow a tissue.

Friday, January 14, 2011

What a man needs

A man needs a steady source of income and sense of purpose to go with it. He needs to feel powerful and successful and he needs to feel like that will never ever end.

A man needs a fantastic car. One that will take him far and still handle well in stop and go traffic. It should also be sporty with some serious horse power.

A man needs a woman. Preferably one who looks like a dream, right off the silver screen. She should have hair long enough to pull and be without a mind of her own that she may never want or need anything but his love. She should be able to turn off her emotions on demand, well all of them that aren't positive or pertain to her complete devotion. It helps if she's under 25 and still malleable.

A man needs porn more than he needs poetry, and he can rarely tell the difference.

A man needs his ego stroked as often as his cock, and he can rarely tell the difference.

A man needs a set of tools, to construct the world to fit his own.

But what man needs most is a welders helmet, so he might see the truth if enough flame is shined upon it without becoming blind to everything else.

*Sidenote: There's nothing sexy about jaded over-generalizations, which is why a man is not everyman, just the persistant mid-life crisis-ers. ;)

Saturday, January 8, 2011


She would never sell her seashells, she keeps the shore on a shelf, in a glass vase meant for blossoms. The ephemeral bloom exchanged for lasting Floridian flowers in the lapping tides of love and loss. The gulf winds turn gently. Shifting sands awaken her dreams, stretching her heart strings beyond the farthest reaches of sight. She steps into the glowing mist of sunrise stealing a final glance at the broken road behind her and whispers goodbye with equal measures of both sorrow and joy.

How apt

The color of death is not blue, or black, or gray.

The color of death is yellow.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Butterfly In Reverse

I've been having trouble trying to tap into the ethereal realm where I have always kept a part of me. Articulation speaks louder in action yet in some backward falling motion the sentimental notion arises that "the butterfly in reverse here is me."

I've been in reflection mode. Not the kind of reflection where two mirrors facing each other with a flame between them create some grand and glorious infinite sparkle, but the other kind of reflection... the kind where you sit in front of the fire and face into the mirror gazing deeply into the darkest shadows of your silhouette.

I've come away with a small token of appreciation for the hardships and heart-ache this past year has brought me. A tiny smudge of gold powder has been marked across the bridge of my nose signifying what the past few weeks of reflecting has given me. It was by far the most difficult and painful year of my entire life, but I can hardly count it as the worst. It was certainly my most lived, my most felt, my most adventurous, and without a doubt... my best yet.

In strange places I have met incredible people, in familiar places I have lost the same. I have closed off and I have opened up, I have learned that being open is always better. I have experienced divinity and bliss only to touch the face of ugliness and let its violence embrace me with torment and rage. I have tasted the bitter and the sour and have learned to savor the sweet. I have floated and I have sunk, I have tread the stillest of water and been crushed by oceanic waves. I have been in the valley in awe and admiration of the great mountains, and I have stood atop the tallest peaks I could get to, to lose myself in the marvel of a span of a horizon more vast than I had ever imagined. I have been empty and full and both at once. I have loved. I have lost. I have feared. I have skated. I have fallen. I have broken. I have mended. I have scarred. I have laughed until I cried and cried until I laughed. I have triumphed, completely intact, dreams and all.

Sometimes it's necessary to be a butterfly in reverse. Here's to the grand adventure and it's continued existence. *raises glass*