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A couple having a baby
A women with twins in her belly
The joining of three rivers
Words, images and sentiment
The past, the present, the future
The man, his muse and his mother
The cause, the action, the effect
A wife, a husband and their house
A fork in the road
A couple having a baby
What happens to 2 points of a triangular relationship when one point is knocked out? Can the other 2 stay standing in the same form?
The dynamics between any three people or things is infinitely more interesting than two.
How did I become this person surrounded by all this stuff, full of my own odd ideas and associated with such an inconsistent string of acquaintances? I mean when did I make all these choices? It’s commonly said that you can meet people in the oddest places and I don’t generally believe it. But then I stop and think about the people I’m friends with and I’ve met a few of them in odd places, like the corner store, at a concert, at a friend’s house, online or through work. It surely is a wild world. What makes people stick?
You mattered so much to me just the other day and then so many other things start to happen in my life and I see a message from you that just a week before would’ve excited me but I’m now more engaged with work, friends, vacation plans and interviews and anyway I resent how obsessed I’ve been with you and how reserved you’ve been with me so I’m happy with myself not to care so much when I see your message and it’s easier to see it for what it really is, just a few well meaning rather empty words.
I can’t believe you’ve been looking at me like this all day because that isn’t at all what I feel like I’ve been looking through. It sucks when a mirror trips me up. I could blend into this strange middle American town. That scares me. I should look sophisticatedly urban. Heads should turn because I’m so obviously out of place. Recently I was trying on Old Navy summer garments, like shorts and tank tops. Suddenly, in the dressing room I saw a fat white trash trailer park mama staring back at me from the mirrored glass. I ran out fast.
I laid floating, arms outstretched like Jesus, recovering from the dessert heat. It takes desire and trust. You’d need my permission and some guts. You’d also have to stir the desire and earn the trust. That’d call for a lot of action and thought on your part. You’re not just any average Joe. I know.
I lay buoyant in the motel pool. You are nowhere to be seen. My head is clouded by drugs but light bulbs are turning on.
Desire, trust, guts.
Desire and permission are the same in my mind. Maybe they shouldn’t be.
Imagine three sisters named Red, Blue and Green.
The middle child, Blue, got the short end of two sticks. She had red hair and happy eyes. She dressed in all shades of green.
Her sister Green had the blues. By the time she hit grade school the novelty of their color combinations had worn off. The boys at school made jokes about her parents puking when they first laid eyes on her.
Red, the eldest, was blond and she blushed when she thought of all the red parts of her body. She fainted at the site of her own blood.
The doors to the Crematorium opened, the music from the solo cellist vibrated louder into the chilly air and three generations of family took to the steps all at once, finally draw together as a pack after lingering awkwardly in various clusters. I watched everyone’s feet ahead of me - worn brown loafers white socks, stead black pumps black stockings, black flip flops bare feet, shiny black men’s dress shoes black socks, gym shoes, spiked heels, more loafers - heels all stepping forward, climbing up the gray stone steps almost in slow motion as the music flooded my numb body.
My sister tells me she’s a little league mom.
I’m tossed off, do you know anything about baseball?
Sure, she says. There’s nothing like the batting cage on a Tuesdays, if you have any aggression you should hit the batting cage. Sent me 16 balls. I pegged every single one of those things. The kids are distracted and climb the fences and none of the other moms say anything but I call those boys on it. They should be supporting each other. They come to me, not the coach when they question something.
She’s the best suburban woman I know.
A traffic cop bumper sticker reads:
MANY STOPS DO NOT FOLLOW
who in their right mind would choose to follow a traffic cop?
Where else could someone so blatantly denounce leadership?
I’d like to engrave my forehead with a similar message but instead of warning against frequent stops it’d read:
MAKES AWKWARD TURNS
DRIVES AT AN INCONSISTENT SPEEDS
PRONE TO RUN RED LIGHTS
AND TAKE THE LONG WAY HOME
FOLLOW AT YOUR OWN RISK
I’ve never been a good follower (or am I?) and if I don’t want to be a leader, then where does that leave me?
I can understand how people can slip out of the external world. Occasional I get glimpses of true depression. What’s strange is that today I’ve become immobilized by too many ideas, plenty to do, bushels of hope, and busy days ahead. I’m overwhelmed. My loneliness depresses me, my energy confuses me, my desires shock me, and my ideas immobilize me. I want to shed some skin and whisper in the ears of random strangers. I want to scream at the smug and shrug at angry masses. Oh right, there aren’t any angry American masses, only complacent populations and freaky strangers.
I don’t want to fight for your respect, negotiate understanding, prove my passion, put my accomplished skills on demonstration, or re-create my commitment – not again, not for you, not for this. I’m a hard working, honest, capable fireball in need of a fireplace that desires warmth and power. I’m tired of staring down the nozzle of a fire extinguisher. There’s a key to a door somewhere but my mentors have swallowed it. Deflated I stumble backward, confidence seeping away. This brick wall is merely one of the walls that surround me. The greater wall has large windows and open doors.
Boys will be boys. One boy found a live bullet and decided to hammer it.
Explorative mind, natural reckless curiosity, cute & idiotic experiment.
He shot himself in the ass without even touching a gun.
I’ve done that before
At least in a figurative sense
The heat is appalling
Dry heat, yes
But at 112 degrees does that really matter?
It’s damn hot
Makes wild fires more comprehendible
I could use a good internal fire
At least in a figurative sense
It’s fire season
This year is especially intense
It’s the year of the firefighter
The aunt says she didn’t figure out what it was all about until she was 24. Her twin (who figured it out much earlier) used to shave her legs and call the boys for her. It’s odd to hear a tipsy sixty five year old women talk of loosing her virginity. She caught me in a stoned daze with my jaw on the floor.
The mom says ‘that was during your black phase’. Quickly everyone outed each other, it appears they (or we) have all had a black phase – or at least slept with (or dated) a black man. Phase?
Tears, silent tears running down the face of my friend squished in next to me in the car full of people. I knew why she was crying and why she didn’t want to say anything in front of her mom and her aunt. Her boyfriend at the wheel is moving out in the morning for a one month break from each other. Spending the eve of a break up sandwiched in a car with an oblivious mom and aunt is crappy. All I could do is find her a tissue and rub my hand against her leg. Silent, heartfelt tears.
I catch myself every time I think that my world is coming to an end. It’s just a job. There will be others. But it’s a job that used to be my world, it’s hard to believe that it’s coming to an end. It’s odd how transient work is these days. Five years I’ve spent committed to them. I’m just employee #7. They’ll just become a description on my resume from 1997-2002. I’ve spent more time with my co-workers than my friends or family but I doubt I’ll be in contact with too many of them five years from now.
a b c d - How can I ever truly repay thee?
e f g h - There isn’t much that rhymes with H
i j K L - I wish I knew how to spell
m n o p – You don’t really want me
q r s t – That is plain for me to see
u v w x – I’ve never really had Tex-mex
y & z – Hold on a moment I have to go pee
1 2 3 4 Please come in quickly and close the door
5 6 7 8 Hurry hurry it’s getting late
The bibliography of my future
Dancing in a Zen Garden
Question the answer
One hundred ways to one hundred
(that’s how this all got started)
The month of July
The potential for new ideas surprises me. How many catchy book titles, surprising turn of phrases and band names have already been created? Is the potential has to be tapped out. But then I think of how many people have existed in this world’s history and I’ve never doubted that the next baby born into this world will have a unique set of genes. Infinity is a hard concept to grasp.
please disconnect me
I think back on my childhood to gain some understanding of who I am and all I come up with is that I was fascinated by rocks. I collected rock specimens on cardboard squares; shiny and sparkling rock with gold flakes , jagged, dull sandstone, turquoise lumps, rocks that changed color when wet. All kinds. My collection even included salt crystals. I used to lick them. Yup, just like a cow. I think if a few of my co-workers actually had the balls they’d call me that right now. A cow. I have stronger words for them.
Screw it. I held back my hurt yesterday but after sleeping on it I realize I’m angry and I’m finished. The lap dances are over my friend. The guise of building a friendship won’t work on me anymore. God I’m a grown women, I should know better. God I’m a grown women, I should be at peace with the power of my sexuality. God, I’m a grown woman, I should have a reliable source by now. God I’ve grown into the needy girl I never accepted within me. I’m hurt. It hurts just like an immature girl. Please acknowledge that.
In any relationship who either person really is doesn’t actually matter. There are other personas to deal with – who you think you are and who you want to believe the other person is. Why is it that both men and women have similar relationships & emotions but men traditionally won’t show it at all but women crap on about it? All I can say is that the most drama in my life has been trying to hit a man over his head in a variety of ways to illicit a reaction, to expose his sentiment. It’s frustrating. It beats me.
I’ve lived most of my life at a great distance from the people closest to my heart. There doesn’t seem to be much I can do about that. I float away from people I love. I’ll say it upfront so I don’t have to go on blaming them later… my life has taken an odd structure due to the accidents and opportunities in my parents’ lives. They divorced before I could remember and they’ve raised me to view life’s mishaps as opportunities. I’ve learned from them the survivor skill of endless rationalized emotion. I swear I didn’t feel a thing.
Who’s going to love me today? I know there are people out there who love me but there’s no one in line to step up today. Sure I love myself. I took care of myself three times yesterday. I’m hot. I stepped out today and faced the big bad world with a hesitant smile. Walking out of work, confident and free, I realized there’s nobody around to love me today. I wanted it right there and then. Since then the day has fallen. The moon is starting to burst. It will take her several rotations to empty herself as well.
Have you ever known your days are numbered? They start moving in slow motion and the moments feel long and drawn out but before you know it you’ve been to hell and back and then heaven and back and the days click away so rapidly. They’re packed with miniscule choices and each one matters. Some you make so naturally, others feel significant. Your mind is running and your body is juggling. You know that it, whatever it is, will soon be all over and you’ll be somewhere else with plenty of time ahead. Things will then become normal again. Normal?
Imagine all the audio cues you are trained to respond to. The sound of an elevator passing your floor, the different sound of it arriving, the clicking of your palm, the ring of your phone, your neighbor coming home, the tone of your mom’s voice when she’s sad, your alarm in the morning, someone exhaling smoke through the phone. The sound of a smile. The numeric tones of the ATM, the ‘Huston we have a problem’ you have no money sound. Your car’s engine when it’s low on gas, the tune of that bubble gum song locked in your head.
I'm so lucky! I found a shaded spot in the park. There were tons of birds in the trees and a lot of people under them. Contact would be random. Two huge spots of bird crap landed on my windshield yesterday. Some cultures think getting dumped on by a bird is lucky. That's probably just to make people with crap on them feel better. I didn't sit there for long because I didn't have a light for my cigarette. Walking back to work I found a light. White ashes on my pants caught my eye. Yup, it was bird shit.
More people have asked me how I am recently, more strangers are smiling at me and talking to me in elevators. When I get into a conversation I’ve been told by so many people talking about a variety of situations I don’t completely have control over “Deicide what you want.” Here it is: I want to do a good job and get fired. I want a romantic fun sexual weekend encounter with a specific man. I want to live for awhile in a peaceful small minded place and write odd stories. I don’t want to have to worry about rent.
I was getting dressed in the living room. When I raised my hand to put on my shirt I heard a thump as it collided with the ceiling fan. Now my finger is swollen. It hurts. I know you’re wondering what I was doing getting dressed in the living room but I actually do that often. Maybe because it’s near the bathroom? Or probably because my bra often ends up on the coach since I take it off there when I get home, so I just return there to put it back on. Who knows really, I sure don’t.
What do you always do without any words? There has to be something but I can’t think of anything. My first thought is listening – but that can be so wrapped up in talking. Or listening to words of others, or sounds overheard that I’d describe in words. Sleeping I think that’s the furthest removed from words. But I used to be a sleep talker. Feelings maybe. I know I spend a lot of words communicating feelings but there are some that I just can’t find words to describe, or some that I don’t even understand enough to try to describe.
It’s odd how a little bit of unrealistic hope can lift me up over the madness and torment I put myself through. I let my thoughts run in small daydreams and my mood brightens. They have to be small daydreams because if I let them become large then they overshadow my present state of mind and then I feel delusional and walking through life when I’m completely somewhere else is depressing. But little happy scenarios playing out the future fills me with love I’ve yet to find again, looking forward to the intensity of being completely happy in the moment.
Is wearing a thong in a short skirt daring? Blatantly lying to someone’s face shows you’ve got some balls. Honestly reveling your needs and exposing your vulnerability also takes guts. Running around naked – well that’s just crazy. Or is it? Packing it in and giving up when it’s appropriate takes real backbone. Giving up before you’ve really tried, well, that’s shameful. Spitting on a customer’s food is cowardly. Screaming at someone who is innocent is idiotic. Taking drugs can be enlightening, or daring, or idiotic. Intoxication is more shameful but can lead people down daring paths.
The thong feels daring.
Some people will wait around to follow –they latch on to someone and just wait for decisions to be made, wait to be lead somewhere. So empty, available and needy.
There are probably some people turning 31 today. I bet a few of them are waiting for someone to lead them somewhere.
A new batch of people was born today. They are also waiting to be lead somewhere but I don’t blame them for that.
Why do people say they have their whole life ahead of them when the only part of life they’re guaranteed is actually already behind them?
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