What does a little Latin four year old know about the majestic waters of the Nile?

Or exotic palms surrounding a grandiose Egyptian throne?

Or dark, tanned, shapely servants at the foot of an untouchable and godly queen?

An endless dessert that holds a flourishing kingdom?

Nothing!

But I did. Gradually my memories faded.
The Gods took them from me in order to not exploit the sacred past secrets of my reign.
My people would bow their heads down in the presence of my regal stride.
My painted eyes were steady over Egypt as I was ordained.

I was Cleopatra.

Caleb bought me a finger puppet crafted by Native Americans at the state fair. I thought it was stupid at first. Couldn't find one that captured my essence. But, indeed I found one.

It was a brown bundle of yarn shaped to form a kangaroo.

How am I a kangaroo?

Well…this creature has a pouch in its belly.

Just like me!

God was probably manipulating his powers to create a marsupial, but probably got sidetracked by some universal disaster and accidentally molded me.

I am supposed to be a marsupial.

So I slipped in my finger and chuckled to myself.

Clumsily bumped into the wall again. The same one...that never moves...that's always there. With a long frustrated sigh, she leaned on the parallel wall with a thud, slid her body down to a crouch. Her fingers traced the skin on her calf, which soon would surface a colorful bruise reminding her of her imperfections. Her index moved up to her knee, a brown aged scar gossiped about her susceptibility to fall…to fall short. Her skin don't keep secrets. It's supposed to be a protective organ to her obvious vulnerabilities, instead it's a painted canvas to showcase her faults.

"Are we dead?," he asked as we were suspended in the air like twinkle lights over a deep blue shimmering lake without a visible beginning or end. The sky was a deep purple that transformed into pink as it touched the edge of the water.

"No stupid, we're dreaming. I just wanted to tell you not to feel bad for what you did to me. I know you didn't wish your immaturity and stupidity upon yourself. I'll be alright."

I spanned my arms out like an eagle, spun around away from his face for the last time and floated away.

"Buy me a macaw!"

She raised an eyebrow at me that said here-we-go-again. We walked opposing traffic at the fresh-market, lightly jostling shoppers oblivious to my loudness.

"A big colorful one! We'll buy an antique iron cage for it. Next to it we'll build a huge perch for me. I'll paint my body in parrot colors!"

Watching her steps as we pushed our way through, she looked up at sky and said a quick prayer for me. She knew I wasn't finished.

"Together, we can both mimic humans and their vulgar comments. We can't be held accountable…because we're just parrots!"

My poor pillow winced in pain when I ruthlessly beat it across the bed post after we abruptly demolished the last few months of our intoxicating bliss. It never happened! We made it up in our wildest imaginations. The tears, yes! They're imaginary tears. Don't think for a second I will miss the love we never had. The bed released an echoing bellow when I furiously pounded my fists with all my soul against it. I cursed your lips, tongue, words and promises and everything expelled by your filthy lying mouth. I do not cry for you. I cry for me.

Tip-toeing, I approached the clear crystal jar. My mission was to discover the reason behind the undulating glow and glimmer. A strong radiance at first. Seemed like it was flashing a desperate message….but the light dimmed, the twinkling became random and seldom, giving me a chill down my spine. I wanted to cry. With slightly bent knees I leveled myself to observe my finding. There sat a jaded emerald fairy looking to me with sorrowful eyes. Her tiny finger pointed behind me. I turned… my heart filled with despair. I too was in a crystal jar…and my wings were broken.

Yesterday happened millions of years ago. The memory has faded to black in her mind with ironic ease. What they spoke of must have been in an unworldly tongue, because they never came to have a mutual understanding. The issues in question remain unanswered and forever lost in a black void. But she's still smiling like a gaping idiot, and she's still signing her song. Somebody is making sure that she remains that cheerful hoydenish girl she has to be to survive. And tonight she will pray to Him and once again devote her life to Him.

Do I know you?

You seem eerily familiar to me, as if I've met you before. Those hands, I can almost feel your fingers slithering down the small of my back. Your smell of soap and lust…I know it. And your thick lips…they're explored my body once, I'm sure of it. I can feel that voice tremble inside of me.

Well… look, I don't have time to figure you out, so I will continue on about my way. It was nice meeting you…maybe we'll meet again in another world, perhaps in a dream. You and I might just work out.

She'd picked a rock-hard spot on the edge of the cliff. She sat, contemplating the fiery sky as the sunset extinguished behind the ancient plateau. In slow motion she oscillated her delicate face from left to right, accepting the energy of the sun.

Inhale …… Exhale.

Quick as a voracious beast attacks its prey, on her knees, pulled a steel dagger strapped to her boot and viciously stabbed the unprovoked patch of grass in front of her. The scream was unearthly, on the verge of terrifying. Out of breath, she gained composure. Sat down. This time breathed from right to left.

When I leaned down to reboot the computer tower, I heard it. A sinister chuckle. I swiftly swished back up and stared down the monitor. Damn technology and it's evolutionary advancement. Who are you to mock me? There and then, I decisively assumed leadership in the revolution against A.I. (artificial intelligence for those of you that still use typewriters).

With my cat-like claws I will shred every computer related contraption to miserable shreds, starting with this one. To such a degree that the world will never know such machines once existed. I growled back at the computer.The battle begun.

She wrapped her hand around the thick green vine, closed her eyes and let her body go. "He loves me not". She swung smoothly until she grabbed the next vine. "He loves me". Flowing through her aerial journey she clutched at a verdant vine. It gave away with a loud violent snap. "He loves me not". Down she went into an abyss of black nothingness where she floated and lingered for days, falling deep and deeper. Ultimately, a concrete slab emerged unannounced out the endless darkness. Her body mortally collided into it…a quick and painless end to her emotional turmoil.

Everybody pokes and prods the wounded heart on display. But you…you made your way through it. And on your way out you made the incision that would leave a scar for eternity. Small, insignificant on the surface, but enough to release the suppressed tears like an overflowing out-of-control dam. Tears spilled, leaving the heart empty, staining my fragile hands as the tears are wiped away. Why don't you taste it? Put your fingertips in my little pool of sorrow and savor the bittersweet taste on your lips and tongue … the tools you used to open my now vacant heart.

If I would've been enrolled in ballet classes when I was little, I would've been the cute, but scruffy girl. Pudgy belly protruding through my gleaming pink tutu, my white tights slightly unaligned, hair up in a messy bun, the ribbon from the wooden shoes tied in a confused knot. I would raise my stubby arms ever so gracefully as I squatted into a plie, but my stance would never be perfected. So in Swan Lake, I would be nothing but an ugly ducking. Momma must have seen my potential was elsewhere. Bless her heart for not signing me up.

I leaned on the wall as the business meeting dragged on and on.

"Blah blah blah…"..blathered on the C.E.O. of the company.

Suddenly, a tropical palm tree sprung from behind him.

"Blah blah profit."

The Quality Control team outfitted coconut bras and grass skirts. The conference room morphed into a tiki hut with a dance floor.

"Blah Blah proactive."

The accounting department began to juggle fire torches.

"Blah Blah…..Elena? Why are you dancing?"

"Can't anyone else hear the steel drums?". They blankly stared at me.

"I mean….we must implement a plan of synergy to increase productivity."

They nodded in accordance.

As established in a precedent entry, I'm supposed to be a kangaroo because of a minor cosmic slip-up. At times I'm bouncy like one these creatures. But that's the bunny inside of me that wants to hop on out. Sometimes I stand firm on my feet and try to wish a white fuzz-ball tail to grow on my butt. It hasn't happened yet, but I've already bought the long furry ears at Walmart. I'll not fail to mention I also bare resemblance to the feline family in a variety ways. I purr, claw, and meow. I'm a Hip Hoppity Kitty-Roo.

The skill to be an artist never developed inside me. I wanted to paint my vintage and modern dreams to share with the world as valid, credited masterpieces, framed in marble with intricate carvings. Since that plan backfired, my hopes to share my quixotic fantasies might be able to come through in my writing. Not like a merited masterpiece, but more like a kindergarten finger painting that you clip on a refrigerator with a magnet. It will not be worldwide as I first planned…but the ones I hold dear will be able to read my mind through my painted words.

My day is mediocre today. But I read on one of Taco Bell's hot sauce packages that the road to mediocrity is littered with ketchup packets. So I've collected all my ketchup packets and filled up a bunch of ketchup bottles and threw them all out. I've loaded up on hot sauce. The spicy kind that inflames every single pore. Don't get me wrong, I accept mediocre as the perfect balance in an imperfect world. Highs and Lows. Take em or leave em. Ying and Yang. But today...I need to exceed the average lifestyle. There is no room for mild.

My heart dropped to the floor. Splat! The only motion detected in my body was the steady blinking of my eyelids.

"It was a joke", she'd confessed.

I wiped my tears, spun her around, and kicked her so far up the ass my foot got stuck. Jerking it back and forth to get it out only led us both to clumsily fall on the floor. We both laughed and cried and wrote it down in the ‘memory book'. I should surgically prepare my hole as well, cause when I get her back, her foot will probably land in waaay deeper.

Life would be much easier if the little impish demons in my head were blind and deaf. They wouldn't tell me all the screwy shit to think about and deal with. It's enough dealing with my own insanities. I need them to be violently impaired so I can have a moment of serenity. They can get really loud and feisty in there. People wonder what's wrong with me. Can't tell them the truth… "I'm fighting with the voices in my head, gimme a minute." Nope. Now, how do I get in there and stealthily stab the devilish creatures w/o startling them?

Smile! Be positive. Because there's a light of the end of the tunnel. Hold on! Stop!...Her contacts are dry. She can't see the light. Houston we have a problem! Her vision is blurred…again! She tripped and fell cause she can't deal with the dry air and a little bit of slippery mud on the way. You've got divinity on your side, so what's your excuse? Just follow all the other rats. A rat can do it, so can you. Brush your dirty hands on your clothes and walk forward. Forget your vision…make it to the light, even if you're blind.

Sucks to be half-sick? What is that, you ask? That's when under-the-weather consists of drowsiness, but not enough that you really need sleep. Or when your dizzy spells fade as quick as they come. When your talk is juhst e-duf tdo be uhnduzstud by humans. Inside you, hell is up in flames, but when they give you the forehead test, they say, "Your skin temperature's fine." In other words, you're feeling shitty enough to not be excused of responsibilities. You half-ass your way through everything…supporting the term: half-sick. You just wanna say, stick an IV in me … I'm done.

Torturous nightmares in the midnight hours
Vatic dreams lay down the rules
A velvet trickle tear, a bead of my sweat
Blend with my heart
Drip slowly into your thick crimson blood
That flooded the 7 seas and the 4 oceans
I swim through the liquid consistency, tired and numb
Insatiable desire fortifies my dying spirit
Strength comes alive just to be with you.
Diving deeper to be lost in you
A maze through lost cities and underground legends
You hold golden treasures and the wonders of the world
Diablerie opposes me, you're worth it
Just wait a little longer

Were you that wonderful, that you had the power to drain the flow of my words from my mind (simple as they are)? Your kisses intoxicated me with the most quixotic of fantasies and expressions. But you left me with only the ghost of you. My fingers no longer will to write. Your hands gave mine life. My smile remains, so you couldn't have been my elixir to eternal love. If you let me have your touch one more time, only until my next inspiration comes to wrap me in love, then I can release my words from their prison.

Goodbyes should be put away and remained arcane in one universal box. Gather and collect all the tears and last hugs and carefully stack them one on top of the other. They should be buried at the ends of the earth where they can't be found. Finding it would replicate the sorrows once unleashed by Pandora's box. The pain and agony would be heard as a hollow cry through the city streets, the country, and the towns of the world. No, let's just keep the hope that utterances of goodbyes only result in finding that person again to say hello.

No! No! No! It's not supposed to rain this week. The waters are pissing on my outlook. The Sun once once paused in mid-orbit. Shall I pray to freeze the droplets in mid-air, so I can push them out of my way and listen to them crackle as they hit the ground? After piling up my errors, the celestial bodies are upset with me, so they might decide to ignore my request. We'll settle for rain and allow ourselves to slip into that zombie zone. We'll have to embrace life and feign our happiness from under the blankets at home.

Obsessive compulsive doesn't necessarily mean turning the coffee pot on and off 10 times, of tugging your earlobes 6 times before you can pick up the phone. Spend a day in her head and you'll find a passive victim of the disease. Very mild, but dangerous to intake for long periods of time. Like a surviving venus fly trap. Exotic and fascinating of a plant, but deadly. Somehow always finds a prey and keeps on going and going: Thinking, churning the brain, ticking the clock, weathering the cliff. But keep a safe distance from her, and she's a great pet.

A new cd! Why hadn't I thought of that before? What better way to drop old memories to fantasize new ones? The sappy albums that sang about him, stored away with lock and key for eternity. Goodbye! Bubbly. Poppy. Crazy. Energetic. Bump and Grind booty beats playing the drive into the rose-colored future. Gwen didn't know him. She's tasted bitter heartbreak and she knows carefree. Together we'll sing and laugh about it over a bottle of Mr. Daniels and dancing shoes. Tonight I'm metro-japanese, Indian or Jamaican. Wild flung out arms and ready to love again with my new soundtrack.

When I close my eyes I'm starting to see you ever more. The hurt should've faded, but instead I'm getting in deeper. We should've had one last encounter, one last kiss. Where I would've been more sober and you would've been more ready. And by the way I would lay my head on your heart you'd know that I was the one to fill in the empty crevices your soul bares. One more time you could've let me feel your weight on me and feel relief when I invited your burdens. But you were never ready. It's better this way.

Candy hearts and pink lace love you spoke of! I don't believe it anymore. I roll my eyes at it. It's making my head dizzy. Stop spinning those lies and come with me to a new realm where all those hopeless fantasies don't exist. Where it's blurry street-lights and lightly dimmed alleys littered with other victims of the lies, dancing the pain away to blasting music. At this masquerade the mask itself doesn't matter. Take it off, leave it on….the only price of admission is a lustful sparkle in your eye and no future prospects for an emotional love affair.