Diario

  • tail of comet

    Giu 6 2013, 9:51

    “Loneliness does not come from being alone, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important.”
    - Carl Jung

    so when i was born, the grandparents, friends, family, and associates gathered shoulder to shoulder in the delivery room. i was the first grand baby born to to a first born father, and an only child mother. both had stories that root much deeper than these descriptions, however... i was a big deal. my sex was unknown until i appeared on the scene. and so anticipation could be sliced with a cake knife as my mother's pains became more frequent.

    wine was served, and schlit cans could be heard echoing down the hallway as immature husbands crushed them on their own foreheads. smoking was permitted in the hospital in those days, and my grand entrance was veiled in a heavy curtain of exhaled cigarettes. the nurses and doctor could barely push through to check on my mother, and inevitably me.

    when i finally pushed through into the festivities well on their way, a hush graced the room as the doctor announced..."a healthy baby girl!" and then the uproar magnified like peace had been declared to those who survived a world war.

    i was the first baby girl born to the group. and i was passed around from unfamiliar arm to unbearable breath cuddling me and professing charming destinies for my newly given life. all toasts were made, and this celebration in my honor slowly began to unwind. my parents were left to recover and coo, to compete with each other on making the most perfect descriptions of their new found love.

    i was perfect. i was adored. i was all hopes and dreams realized. and we rested us three, for another day or two, greeting visitors like a royal family, if not for my cowlick refusing to cooperate with the countless attempts to spit smooth it down.

    home we finally arrived. and we learned our roles and accepted each other and studied all imperfections brushed off as devils thoughts to be resisted and replaced quickly with appreciation for this gift.

    my grandfather met me a few days into my new life. and furious at the name 'erin' my mother chose for me in honor of his very irish heritage, he took to calling me Mary. he adored me, and he was not shy about smothering me with love, and a confusing new identity. he believed my mother named me for Hank Aaron, and was offended my mother did not name me after his mother.

    so my dual identity was groomed at a very early age, and my confusion over humanity ignited before i could even roll over. i learned to trust and depend on these strange and stupid humans, as they learned to meet my every need, and soon my wants as well. other babies soon followed in this camp of close knit friends, and i received a sister to torture and eventually boss around.

    my family grew to three sisters, raised on a farm on a river a long way off from the rest of the world. our childhood was a well controlled environment, and beautiful expensive gifts were showered over us on all occasions.

    my universe did not inch much further than the country road that passed by my driveway. and i really had no interest in imagining a life any different than the one i lived. my grandmothers were doting, and unique and each determined to pass on to me the interests and qualities they held most high.

    i was a thinker, and a dreamer, and far too busy exploring the pathways inside my head, to retain a damn word the old birds said to me. but my gram's knew me better than my parents, and they identified traits i possessed and nurtured each and every one.

    i balked at all encouragement, all starring rolls in scenes dreamed up by the adults raising me. but still, i found myself bragged about in nearly every conversation before 13. "how mature, how grown up, how thoughtful, how well behaved, how creative, how beautiful, how charming, how delightful!" and as these words flew past my ears, i wondered who the fuck they were referring to. it mattered none, as long as this bitch in question remained behind the scenes. i was not about to share my fame, with someone so potentially threatening.

    but i was slipping. a slope that both captured my attention, and offered no release from the gravitational pull it harbored like magnetic beams from cartoons i watched.

    my parents paid for me to sing, dance, play instruments, travel, participate in sports, clubs, and social events... yet i took to none. i shined at none. i revelled my lack of ability in every area of interest. i grew dull, difficult, disinterested in all extracurricular activities.

    it was the unseen that i shined in. thinking, dreaming, waiting, wondering, wondering all about the manipulation of life before my eyes. i failed in school, i failed in sports, i failed in socializing with others... but still these odd adults all around me... showered me with praise.

    i tested them time and again. pushing their buttons, making scenes, distracting them from their passions, for attention. i pushed their patience, i punished their unconditional love for me, and still they embraced me with the love one must give to its offspring, or else eat it.

    my parents mothers turned blind eyes to the boil i became. ignored the frequent hair color changes, the tattoos, the lies, the cussing, the offenses i patiently collected like most girls do with miniature dolls. my fathers mother... graciously bragged about any small accomplishment i accidentally added to my resume. she encouraged me to chat, to share, to embellish a patience so foreign to me. she offered her disapproval in small doses, and she demanded very little attention often unfocused, unenthusiastic, un interested. she actively reached out to me and shared her love of music, holidays, family, and home cooked meals... even when she knew i only noticed how untidy the lose ends were, and how much i despised the covered up edition that everyone else seemed too willing to accept.

    when asked "how are you?" i learned to bite my tongue and say "fine" even days aftyer giving birth to a baby boy at age 18. nothing was fine. in fact i did not even understand the meaning of the word. but she preferred not to gossip, and believed it was no one's business but "ours". so many secrets we swept under the carpet as guests arrived for some festivity.

    celebrating the good life, and brushing off the defeats to our ambitions was her way. put on some rouge, some flashy beads, and smile through gritted teeth at the clowns surrounding us. somehow this stage life was not one i was cut out for. never the eye for detail so many women mastered, my lose ends frayed out from under the carpet... and hiding scars was just too time consuming.

    but i learned that loving family and friends often meant doing things that made me feel uncomfortable. and doing these things afforded me the peace of mind to enjoy myself, because they appreciated my efforts.

    i offered those closest to me much pain and disappointment. took me years to understand that no matter the shape or size i arrive in, my presence is welcome. my participation is counted on. and regardless of the news i carry with me, avoiding a topic is not the same as lying about it. small talk comforts small folk. most humans will never climb to the heights i've reached. and most of them dont want to hear about them either. it is kindness to listen, to show interest in the oven mits another knitted... even if i'd rather buy my time back and leave.

    the unexpected joy happens in unplanned moments scattered thinly through our lives. the laughter and happiness exchanged rarely beats breathtaking views or trips around the world. most people are just not wired to get much further than their back yard. i can not get the time i wasted back, nor can i share another moment with my grandmothers. both have passed by my life, and what i took, is all i have to remind me of their gifts.

    i heard my parents talking one late night in the kitchen. something said about her not being my fathers mother, but marrying my grand dad when my father was young. in my mind she equated to a spy, or an outsider. i never allowed myself to accept her as a wonderful human, because of the secrets overheard in childhood.

    she was so much more than his step mom. she was one of the only people on earth who showed me unconditional love and support. and so much more.

    it is too late for apologies or explanations. i cannot force time not spent with her, or offer love not shared with her since she exhaled her last breath of air. i cannot make up for anything i said or did, or more likely didnt do. but i can change how i spend the time i have with the people who still might find happiness in this gift.

    she sacrificed a wandering mind, a playful soul, a passionate heart so she could be there for the people she loved. i dont believe i will ever have that regret, but i accept that for many it is hardly a regret, its a selfish fulfillment of what makes them/ her happy.

    in the end, if we can exhale one last time with out a mind full of damn i wish i"d just done...

    than a good life was certainly achieved.

    in the end she suffered and slipped away from all her hard earned memories. but this was unpredictable and unfortunate... and the majority of her days she spent satisfied.

    i will miss her presence, but her spirit is, as always, watching over me.
  • fall from grace

    Feb 18 2013, 12:38

    i used to say my prayers every night before bed. my sister and i shared a room, and we knelt at our beds, and prayed for every person we knew. made the sign of the holy cross, and slid under the covers. i confessed all of my sins to a priest who visited the catholic grade school i attended 4 times a year. "i lied, i cheated, i pushed, i disobeyed". he made the sign of the cross on my forehead, and sent me off to pray 40 hail mary's.

    yet i lied, cheated, hit, pushed, and disobeyed as soon as i finished the last "now and at the hour of our death". what difference did it make? i probably believed in santa longer than i believed in the holy spirit. after all... the spirit was invisible, and santa was a jolly old soul. either way, there came a time in childhood when the mystery and magic held no weight with me.

    as the curtain was drawn back... some simple clumsy elf was revealed pulling all the strings... and writing all the fairy tales i once held so true. and standing there stark naked and shivering in front of him... i thought... you are nothing to believe in. and i sleep walked back to my room, slipped under the covers, and devised a plan of escape.

    my prayers did not cease immediately. but they changed dramatically in nature. when once i thanked the good lord for the food and the bed and the sunshine on my head... now i questioned him. i challenged him. i taunted him. defiantly i refused to cooperate. and my confessions became less truthful, and less descriptive. but my actions were far more damaging.

    fewer and fewer were the postcards i sent to heaven. leaning heavily on those who had passed on, as a confessional. after all, the burden of carrying my sins alone was crippling. mostly because of the stigma the church burned into my flesh like a brand to keep track of the flock in the fields.

    and i began the tedious process of removing each strand of infestation from the soul inside. a soul i had no intention of ever returning to its rightful owner. this pilgrimage away from the pearly gates required patience, and determination. far more difficult then trying to stop my hiccups at the dinner table. but... help was on the way.

    at 18 i gave birth to an illegitimate son. having told no one, nine months isolated me from any meaningful relationships... other than ones i imagined on soap operas i watched after returning home from community college. so the surprise hit like a tsunami in december of 92. and as the nurse wheeled me from my parents car into the ER she asked them "how far along is she?"

    no time for drugs to numb the pain, let alone explanations... i delivered a healthy baby boy in less than an hour. knowing that decisions must be made quickly, and fearing the loss of control to make the decisions i made a call to the priest from my high school. he reached out to a family in his congregation and by nightfall, my son had a new family.

    the agreement i made was for the family to adopt my son the next morning, and for the priest to counsel me in my remorse. to guide me through the pain. and to deliver me back to the flock.

    he and i never spoke again. he never returned my calls, he never arranged to see me. and so i floundered. no child to hold, no forgiveness, no map out of hell. neither tossing nor turning relieved my sleeplessness. and distraught i muscled through the next decade.... drowning thoughts, feelings, and regrets with the most non discerning addiction a girl could indulge in and still walk away from.

    not looking so much for god... but throughout the next ten years i searched endlessly for a reason to breathe. unfortunately with no map, the extent of my search found me most nights bellied up to the bar... and unremarkable were the reasons i found for life there.

    burning myself at a stake... and casting stones at the ashes... very little remained of the girl i once knew. but my spirit rose up. a new religion offered me a ride away from habits meant to mutilate me. the rooms of recovery offered me a safe haven to clear my mind. and penniless, with grungy clothes not fit for plowing the fields... i gained the confidence and determination i needed to move past the dead weights assigned to me.

    fast forward another decade... and finally free from any regrets over running away from the makers knee... i stand on my own. no need to poke the silent beast, no need to stoke any signal fire on the ship wrecked beach. preferring instead... this collarless existence than any card carrying member bowing down to false idols in the promised land will ever know.

    answering to no higher authority... i guide myself through countless mistakes... without bearing the weight of stone tablets to rule over me. life is built upon answers that only worked for a "chosen" few even 2000 years ago. religion like fashion must change with the times. we no longer wear sheets. religion should be tested, taunted, teased... not because it offends our senses... but because if a code must be followed, then it must be our own.

    every day i rewrite the book. i have my own commandments... and the ink is never dry on the covenant i make daily with myself. because i am constantly in flux. and i am eager to abandon all that fails me from moving forward. about once a week i need to empty the back pack i stash all the tools my family needs in unpredicted moments. and i empty weights unseen too.

    my skin looks nothing like the skin i was born with. and to care for it i must keep up with a daily regiment which i adjust regularly. we clean out garages and discard things we no longer find useful. yet billions are bound to rules binding them to one another because they are too afraid to graze unprotected.

    the hardest part is believing in yourself, knowing that all acknowledgments, and appreciation will go to the kneeling first row. as i adorn myself in daisy chains... and sing my praises out of tune... i rejoice in my imperfect life. i rejoice in my clumsy unsolicited, unrefined, un-choreographed stroll through the only heaven my soul will ever know. the pearly gates are not on my bucket list. but i will do my best to cross off all adventures that are.
  • C&D

    Feb 12 2013, 3:57

    i just told a friend about the time i climbed the 300 foot bridge in the tiny county where we grew up. he is familiar with the story. just not my perspective. it happened on a cold and stormy night back in november of 1993. i was 19, and wild at heart. i was hanging out drinking southern comfort in my 2 bedroom apartment with the local community college soccer team.

    i coached the team, because i was not allowed to play, and frankly i was not very good, but neither were they. my girl friend stopped by, and the rooms became unbearably steamy. she and i sat on the kitchen counter, with the tiny window above the sink wide open cooling us off.

    after a half of a fifth, two well dressed boys entered stage left. i was intrigued. they were not the typical white trash red neck specimens i had grown so bored with. these two looked university bound. and when they asked me to head north to bar hop, i agreed and grabbed my favorite wool sweater for warmth.

    there ended up being three boys... and that suited me just fine. never cared for competition and i made myself irresistibly interesting as we shared several joints and swigs of rail vodka. we hit the local watering holes hard, and i believe we were thrown out of a few.

    by last call, my head was spinning, and my sweater tied loosely around my hips, could not keep me from dancing till the lights went up, and the bouncers pointed us to the door. the usual shrugs in response to "what should we do now?" and as one of the boys drove toward the one horse town i loathed with every fiber, i made out with one while we crawled out onto the hood of the car. 50 miles an hour with the rain in our faces... and our tongues weaved like stems of roses creeping along a fence line.

    suddenly the car stopped, and the boys discussed an alternative to returning me home. they asked if i liked to climb? i said i was a great tree climber, and they smiled and said this was slightly higher than most trees. perfect! we retured to the seats of the car, and the driver steered us toward the canal.

    he parked in a lot adjacent to the restaurant beneath the bridge. we climbed a staircase until we reached the road. two of the boys asked me if i felt like going higher. i said "hell yeah!" and they led me to a ladder. it was too high to reach from the road, and so they lifted me together, until my finger tips wrapped around the first rung. from there, i pulled myself up, and continued at a steady pace up, up, and still further up. strangely no traffic crossed the bridge while we ascended into the dark and depressing sky.

    finally i reached the end of the ladder, and with two boys close behind i looked for a way to make room. the arced beam was just out of reach. so i hopped onto a tiny 2 inch bar, and scooted over carelessly to the arch. the boys followed my lead. and i smiled largely believing our adventure had reached a climax. boy was i wrong.

    so someone had the idea to cross the giant x holding the two arches together. and i was picked to go second. so the first boy hopped up to his feet, and it seemed so effortless, that i followed close behind. focused on the beam beneath my feet, arms outstretched like i was walking the yellow line for a traffic cop. we safely crossed over to the other side, and we found ourselves a wicked view of the river 300 feet below.

    i am not sure how much time passed. minutes seemed like hours, and after all the work it took for us to secure such a breathtaking position, none of us had any desire to head back. i do not remember the temperature, but my sweater was soaked and hanging like a sheep had been plastered to my frame. the wind was whipping hard, and i heard later that the bridge was swaying at least 6 feet in either direction. but from where i admired the world, only stillness and satisfaction surrounded my awareness.

    i remember laughing a lot. and then as if being yanked into reality all at once... we fixated on a fire truck maybe 8 miles off. and then another one. and some police. and then the lights seemed to be dispatched from many directions. one of the boys said to me, "must be a big fire, but i do not see any flames". he said "look for flames" and i asked what flames would look like from so far up. he replied that he imagined like a tiny campfire. and i imagined tiny fairies dancing around the fire to keep warm. but now we could see boats with sirens and flashing lights, and the noises seemed to be closing in on us. and a parade from either way approached the bridge like armies storming a castle.

    out of no where, several cop cars parked blocking off traffic from both sides of the bridge. and one of the boys looked at me and said, i think they are here for us. and i looked down for the first time, and all the flashing reds and blues reflected off the rain soaked asphalt was dizzying. and the same boy grabbed my face and said, it is important that you do not panic.

    and i nodded. i asked what should we do. and he suggested we wait and listen to what the troops had to say. so we waited, as spotlights were shined, and speakers were tested, and engines roared up to the barricade. and i realized how high we were. finally, an officer made contact through a bull horn. and he said... "don't jump".

    and i remember thinking, or maybe saying..."we are not jumping are we?"

    And the boys nodded their heads in unison NO. but it was not very convincing. and i found a tiny voice inside myself shouting down..."we have no intention of jumping". The officer then relayed some information to his comrades. and then came back with "i want you to come down now".

    i shouted back "i will come down, but please don't shoot!" he assured me he would not be shooting me if i followed his instructions. and i thought... what good would it do to shoot me if he didn't want me to jump? so now, much more careful than before, i scooted myself back across the giant x. and legs straddled to either side... i realized how narrow the beam was, and wondered how we walked so easily before.

    when we reached the ladder, the boys began to argue over who would climb down first, and i accepted the lead because really, when that many men with guns aimed spotlights at you, seemed like a perfectly good time to cooperate fully. as i reached the bottom rung i hung and dangled, until a fireman came over and wrapped his arms around my legs bringing me safely to the ground. i was then pushed to the ground and cuffed quickly.

    a buzz was immediately circulating about me being a girl. and they bombarded me with questions about the two boys still bickering at the top. i said nothing. they asked me why i climbed the bridge. i smiled and said... "because it was there".

    a lady cop sat me in the passenger side of her cruiser out of the rain, and i became aware of my thirst. she had a bottle of sprite in her console unopened. i grabbed the top with my mouth, hands still cuffed behind my back. i placed the bottle between my legs and twisted the cap off with my teeth. spit the cap to the floor. and tilted the bottle back to drink the cold drink. after several deliciously refreshing swigs, her buddy alerted her to my innocent stunt. she dashed toward her car and smacked the soda from my teeth.

    she asked me why i would do that. i said "because i was thirsty". i think they expected some devious shit to come pouring out of my mouth. but honestly my intentions were purely motivated by boredom. so now being watched like a hawk, i waited for the boys to descend and meet the same fate i had already been rudely greeted with.

    the trip back to the barracks was fairly uneventful, her trying to crack the nut, me trying to be as utterly defiant and yet cunningly irresistible all at once. only a few months ago did i become aware of how useless my charms are on women, especially jealous women. i was held in a room with several officers and a type writer. they asked questions, i asked for a soda, and the bathroom. this back and forth continued passed dawn. they told me my parents would meet us at the court house.

    i asked them why the court house, and they said climbing the bridge was illegal. i told them that i must have missed the sign that stated that fact. i stuck with that particular admission which served me well. we were released to our parents, might have well been very concerned ogres who lost their sense of humor completely. and as i drove away from the court house... i thought... i hope the rest of my life lives up to that night.

    we got off on all charges. the next day our house was bombarded with phone calls and visitors and everyone asking the same thing "WHY?" and i just shrugged, because if you have to ask, you will never understand.

    that particular feat made several news stations, many radio stations and a slew of newspapers. the emergency departments from three states and a dozen counties were called out for the main event, and the marine police and search and rescue had divers in the water. apparently our laughter carried quite well that night, and the security guard at the restaurant below called 911.

    to this day, my sisters, cousins and aunts are asked about whether or not they are the bridge climber. but i rarely get associated with any of the endeavor. only by introduction do i claim any fame. and even after being positively associated, no one believes it. they shake their heads in disbelief.

    once when trying to escape reality by slipping into canada for a sleepover under the stars, canada border police held me for almost 2 hours demanding i swear not to let my feet leave the ground in even so much as a skip, hop or jump. after filling the tank up with gas, and grabbing coffee and smokes, i promptly returned to the much much much cheaper us of a.

    my life is much more centered. much more grounded. much more mundane. and truthfully i would probably scold that young lady with disapproving glares of disbelief. i never stopped seeking thrills. harmless little thrills. never thinking through the cost associated to the free rides i demanded. never apologizing for my actions, or learning lessons. always pushing the boundaries just a little bit further than anyone was comfortable with.

    because i have learned, the view from just outside the limits, is always slightly more spectacular than it seems surrounded by societal laws and rules and property lines. and if my life was simply for obediently accepting that which has been doled, than perhaps they should have made me with an on off switch, or bought me a collar and a short leash. since those things were thoughtlessly left out of my story, you all might as well expect the unexpected.

    if rules were not meant to be broken, we would have stopped making them a long long time ago. instead jobs depend on people like me. to this day, there is a sign stating that climbing the bridge is an illegal offense which trespassers will be prosecuted for should they chose to break the law.

    pushing limits is best done before anyone else has done it. because the red tape is down right sticky after the planners and thinkers and rainers on parades get themselves in to tizzy's over the endless dreadful possibilities should anything unimaginably stupid and more importantly 'FUN' happen.
  • remiss

    Gen 12 2013, 6:37

    i have been breathlessly waiting for the 29th of january to arrive. my blood speaks to me as i dream, and as i move. screaming a secret that doctors and nurses and dermatologists and vampires have missed for well over a decade. there is gold in them hills. all the lines and curves, stiffen to the constant revolt. and i twist, and turn, and gasp for air. as i scratch and scrape and pick at layers to expose the truth.

    the disorder i have bared over the years, forbidden admittance to all the self help groups, and no scripts in hand. i have stumbled and fumbled and feared the worst. i have forced myself out of bed, to comfort my brood, and i suffer in shadows mocked and antagonized by all who roam well.

    i am a hypochondriac, a self absorbed bored and insane house wife. i am psychotic, and moody, and lazy, and useless. i take too long, and go to fast, and miss all the important details, and dwell on all the bad parts.

    i am in agony. my skin is shredding away from my bones. like a million paper cuts... my body inflamed, swelling to new and amazing sizes. my aches bat me down like a gang of hate filled teenagers... destroying a lost mountain lion that ate the neighbors dog.

    my body covered in unexplained rashes... which i cover contemplating all the rare and ridiculously vulgar possible points of entry. none of which would seem impossible considering the life ive led. and yet, as the hours tick by, and the infectious, and transmittable deadlines tick by, here i still lie.

    to run water over this battered frame... is first like lemon juice, and then equilibrium reached... i float on. to dry off is first like lovely silk pajamas against soft skin... and then like sand paper rubbing raw against open wounds. i can not win. hair falls to the ground... like flakes of snow softly and silently unnoticed in the dark of night, but accumulations cover cars and keep the children home from school another day. and yet, i must motivate... cultivate, calculate... i must activate the mommy robot because needs must be met.

    children leap into my arms, and even though i self medicated on three classes a week to shed some pounds, and tone and strengthen... i collapse under their laughter... unable to maintain stability.

    i am dying, arn't we all? my suffering seems to have bit me unexpectedly like a snake camouflaged in the desert sand... and my untimely demise drawn out and masked by bitter contempt hurled at the naked shrew adorned with a scarlet letter upon her breast, mocked and criticized by all the disbelievers.

    i gnaw on the dogs biscuit. now with my mouth dry, and tears filling my eyes at unquantifyable rates... i shake my head in disappointment... too little too late. i had so much left to do. folding sheets and matching socks, and hearing them learn to play the flute. sound waves rattle these rusty bones and dust dances off my shelves trailing paths that lead into the tomb. a rock is rolled and now all ceases, as light is drained from creases.

    hands clasped, reservations made, and paid, and now lost tickets are of no consequence. feebly i crouch in the coldest dimest corner of the vault... knowing its simply a matter of time before this drained heart will stop. and i just know they are enjoying my surprise party without me.

    a toast to my determination. marshmallows roasted by my last ditch radiation. and it will be light years before my death is recorded. reaches into a torn pocket, pulls out a ripped off eraser, and as i carefully erase the lines that lead to me, i think.... i bet flint was behind door number three.
  • agitation

    Gen 2 2013, 2:02

    i imagine life incredibly different then how it unfolds, even as it is unfolding. i allow myself chronic daydreams, fascinations and indulgences which distract me from the boring, routine, decaffeinated version presented to me from all directions. this is my super power, and this is my unique talent ive cultivated since youth.

    i remember my parents arguing from the kitchen, their voices raised, cursing and swearing and disagreeing about things i could not fully understand. i remember the tension building, and how all of my senses seemed heightened. and then i can not remember how those memories end. because i learned to slip away. removed from that uncomfortable reality... into a rearranged looking glass.

    i escaped to the porch which wrapped around the front of the house, facing the river. i laid there staring at the breeze blowing gently through leaves on bushes and trees. i followed her unpredictable patterns as she lifted and twirled and swooshed and sank after climbing each branch. hours slipped by, while i crunched myself in between bush and brick steps, camouflaged by shadows the afternoon sun left just for me. the marina next door moored sail boats most of the year. but in the summer every buoy was chained to a vessel. the wind lined them up, and faced them like soldiers saluting her majesty.

    the sails were raised and lowered every day, secured by long wire ropes. these wires were wind chimes, set at high pitches determined by tautness and fabrication. clang. clang. clangclangclang. i can here them chime, no rhythm, no rhyme. i could find my way home from any adventure as long as the wind blew.

    some days were breathless, the water like sheets of glass, reflected the clouds hung for the whole day. on still days, other sounds erupted. birds chirped, cawed, screeched, flapped, honked and quacked. water splashed against walls made of rock to hold back impending floods and high tides. boats revved, dogs barked, tractors mowed, and giggles were audible from miles away.

    when the wind slept late, or died down earlier than the sun, crickets chirped, bats whizzed, horses whinnied, and dinner bells rang.

    the sounds and sights were easily tuned in to. the smells and tastes of counter pain required a more curious pallet. chlorine in the pool, bloated fish on the beach, goose laid eggs gone to rot, the pasture our horses roamed, clay from the beach smoothed over my face and slipped into my mouth, fires burning sticks collected after large storms, diesel gasoline from the marinas, sun block, laundry freshly washed and hung to dry, cherry blossoms, crab apple blossoms, and lilac and lily's in early spring. dusty old barns being swept for bails of fresh hay every fall. winter snow melting on solid soaked soil. still water, meals prepared, and finished with the last drop of milk swallowed down.

    and last but not least... every fiber of me, feeling every fiber presented to me...pricks from holly leaves downed on the sidewalk pierced my tender barefooted soles. rough rocks lined the long and winding driveway to the majestic river stoned gates. scraped knees from climbed trees. itchy blisters from leaves of three that touched me. mosquito bites. horse tails whipped scattering flies. cool water swallowing me into her silent blurry tranquil bliss. sand smoothed over tanned legs. shards of glass dragged down unblemished skin, sounding alarms that all is not well, in this hell.

    the rough shingles impressed by my run away bum after lights out on second floors lay dark to the night. and whispers so silently seducing the moon, to soften the pain and lull my raging mind off to sleep with one of her melodic, magical tunes.

    when push comes to shove, and the scene threatens to offend, i slip silently away to a place far far away. comforted by the way things ought to be. amused by the many who pass unaware... heaven's passing them by. they imagine some kingdom up off in the sky, and they pray on their pillow for admittance whenever they die. but we become nothing more than the next layer of soot, to cushion the remarkable creation i adore, underfoot.
  • clarify

    Dic 15 2012, 23:36

    a pile is all that remains.
    a pile of ashes, dust, and disturbed dirt on the ground
    a heap of debris
    tattered clothes
    torn and tossed.
    if jesus was attempting to demonstrate a miraculous transformation
    if he was emphasizing what his fans were capable of
    if he was advertising something remarkably different than what he hung for three days on the cross
    if he was the poster child for heavens billboard

    than why did he emerge from the tomb, exactly as he entered?
    why was he wearing man made robes
    and bearing the wounds man made on his body
    and glaring a vision of the malnourished, uncleansed, unkempt embodiment of jesus the heretic

    when i transform, and my premis is far less attractive or inviting, my first appearance will be aimed at knocking out all the naysayers.
    i will be offering assistance to the countless jaws hitting the floor
    i will be busting doors off hinges with my mind, and clearing the way, the path, the trail ahead of all bumps... smooth sailing.

    when i come out of hibernation i will glow, i will shine, i will be irresistible.
    they will all want a piece of me.
    modesty from before will lay strewn on the floor
    humble snow balls whirled past onlookers just to make sure i have everyones attention
    heaven here!
    hear me now
    those of you, few, who stayed true... follow me if you want what i have.

    the rest of you should hang your heads in shame

    i told you so.
  • introspection

    Dic 9 2012, 23:56

    wrapped in slumber, sacred fall
    not strength to take this graceless call
    echoes strewn like cut out dolls
    retracing steps to stillness

    havent the slightest clue how i fell so far away from you
    from here i pan each new horizon, a universe away from last i spied
    scissors scratch the surface of my skin to bleed a fresh new map
    useless calculations and coordinates specifically lost

    there never was a formula
    this breakdown tenderly embraced
    this dawning a new day wasted
    these ashes blown apart

    i reached for you in dreams last night
    and as you turned away
    my voice scraped silence like a new born
    contempt displayed this desire displaced

    phoenix hatched without feathers nor with wings
    a premature labor of longing in a thoughtless soul
    miles laid out before me cant compare
    to the trials i came through so far in desperation

    this heart still beats a rhythm soft and barely audible
    and rushes blood urging me to move
    i trail behind me shadows of enlightenment
    useless to me now instead of there

    on this ledge i prepare to slip
    and smiling toward the light that disappears
    this last adventure holds no secrets to reveal
    this sacrifice offered in despair
  • manic depression

    Set 20 2012, 3:40

    sitting on the edge of the bed, i see my legs, i tell them to move, to work, to behave. and they stubbornly refuse. a yawn slips out, and i curl back into the spot in the bed that he left behind. cover my face with sheets stained with stalled attempts at artistic expression. receipts litter the floor. and four towels hang molding over the bedroom door.

    i should wash towels today! i fall back to sleep. even the noises the boys make from the living room are not destructive enough yet, to motivate me. anger fills my head. but it is not fuel. sadness is stuffed. but even that overfilling dose won't support the sag.

    petals from flowers wilted on display drop one by one to the hard wood floor. and another season passes. and i give myself some space. and i permit myself more time. and i accept any pathetic offering of forgiveness.

    short bursts, enough to pour milk over the stale cereal. who lives like this. disgusted at the sloth reflected everywhere expanding out, and shrugs as if to exclaim... fuck you!

    when i am creeping out, i feel brand new. like i have never heard the song being repeated continuously through the speakers. "what's this?". and yet i breathe recycled air.

    sharp awareness fleeting. as my soul retreats from yet one more defeat. slipping like sludge down cracks in the pavement. and then bubbling rush from storm drains as the water rises. this goes on and on. perhaps the right choreographer could mash up some amazing grace from this pathetic display of sorrow.

    but this aged woman tosses and turns and settles into the awkward uncomfortable moment. mind on overdrive, and reconsidering everything. breath rises and falls and one thought passes the other. securing my seat for the final solution.

    closed minded to the reality rotting around me. the walls are caving in, and the room become a coffin. i am wrapped in linen and the service remained closed casket. these cycles are predicable. and like watching a horror flick from 20 years ago, i see all the mistakes in advance. i hear the symphony shift announcing tidal waves an hour or two out. run for the hills. back and forth instead she swings.

    knows the signs and read the smoke signals clearly. understood the direct orders, and interpreted the directions literally. and then my batteries ran out. and the lava sculpted my failed attempt at escape for eternity. nothing meant to last.

    i sway in this insane shadow. i bow down as the whip cracks across my back. the scars will heal, they always do... but i will pick the fresh scabs until the blood stains my skin. and when each scar has smoothed, and skin is soft and defensive... my mind remembers the compulsion to hurt. a sharp blade pressed down against milky white complexion. and new wounds opened and adored.

    shamelessly showcased for weeks to come. spot lighted agony exposed. words will not compare to each bit of flesh i rip and tear. a muffled cry squeaks out between my lips... and voices stifled attempts at sense making.

    these extremes are become less uncommon. i wander naked and empty in search for a forgiveness i am unworthy of. and i suffocate myself to sleep with the understanding that its impossible for me to accept the sentence for an uncommitted felony.

    but i am committed. and confined. and the wound infects. and if this ship wreck ever lands... i will spit on the ground which welcomes me with open arms. if you dont know what you are looking for, be prepared for the disappointment that follows. because after a discovery is made, its too late to decide.

    i am sure in all of heaven and hell... the mad minded are the most severely made to suffer. because both pleasure and pain intensified at once leaves me wanting more and regretting every second.

    i swallow myself out of the frame, and nothing remains exactly the same. erase the penciled bread crumb trail back to the end of time...
  • twisted

    Set 8 2012, 0:56

    ribbons long and bright red
    round the funnel's edge
    weaved through dusty rings
    spinning unbound

    bits of grass and flowers pass
    slows them into view, slows them as they pass by you
    buttons, bits of thread
    clouds drawn out, puffs of string

    gray and brown muddied down
    ferocious rumble radiates
    sows some notes
    frame floats

    lays head back
    plays with her hair, it twirls.
    listens for the sound
    waits to be bound

    and he talks
    wont stop
    passing her by
    calling her
    stop

    hears every word
    eyes dart side to side
    contact shakes shallow frame
    mascara masks desire

    pressed hard against this wire
    call me now
    have me how
    collared throat cant whisper
  • cass

    Ago 29 2012, 2:14

    she picks away at epidermal layers to reveal
    soft skin removed, long legs pitted with lovingly aged scars.
    her eyes become deeply exposed pools of despair,
    if you stare too long, you risk imprisonment there.

    her locks divide the abyss, from tourists escaping the norm
    golden olive sands hug her tidal breaks.
    shade trees reach their roots down deep
    as erosive waves reveal their blistered grip.

    her torso twists and turns in pale moon's light
    and reaches out for no one at all.
    she teases every sneak of eager eye,
    mocks your attention for what her beautiful mind vies.

    and she cradles her own crawling skin in gently carved arms.
    every loving caress perceived, is hidden slices and slits, cuts concealed.
    as blood red trickles and percolates through pin pricked pores,
    smeared. to canvas... "cass behave!"

    and the world laughs with her, and the heavens shudder and heave
    and she pierces her own heart to make a fool of you, brutally.
    and she withers with her final breath,
    and your amore is inseparable from the molecules you breath.

    patience and virtue boomerang back
    at your ridiculous displays to contain and control
    eternities pulse. and the promise of death everlasting is fulfilled.
    love is a precious fragile and fleeting thing,

    touch its delicious silky soul,
    and delight in fortune and fame.
    make your offering in exchange,
    for to be enlightened is to possess the last laugh.

    cookies reveal terrifying premonitions of what once was
    and never could be,
    and thank yourself for your selfishness
    and then thank me.