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Posts Tagged ‘life’

Sick Suck Suck Sick

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on September 12, 2012| 8 Comments »

When it comes to being sick I must admit it; I’m just no good.

I picture that some people are good at being sick. What that looks like in my mind is someone who doesn’t mind lazing around. Slinking. Slothing. They are happy and content to sloop and watch- oh, I don’t know- soaps? Nature channel? Documentaries? Glee? Oprah? Ya got me, I don’t know. That’s because I’m no good.

Luckily it doesn’t happen all that often, with the acception of course of that long year when I worked in a K-2 special ed class. Hellooo petri dish. That was the pits. This one kid in particular- the Germ House. He should have won a prize or something. Man. I caught the stomach bugs from him, ear stuff, sore anything possible… All the way up to the last two weeks of school before summer, I remember recovering from a throat infection and saying to my man at the time, “Uh! Well, at least that is over with. There’s only one week left. I got this. Nothing else can touch me now. I’m in the clear.” Two days after this declaration pink eye appeared in my right eye. I vividly recall the fear I felt, knowing that all that stood guard between eyes was the bridge of my nose. My nose is not dainty, but by God the bridge is certainly not sizable for defense. By the end of that week I had pink eye in both eyes. He got me good, that kid. Made me sicker than dirt. All the time. Like chemy, beige, depleted dirt where no invasive weeds even grow or something. That was 3 years ago. I haven’t got ill apart from that year from health-hell for a while.

And so now, at the return of the school year, guess who’s a sneeze n’ drip factory. This girl. It is an odd and uncomfortable thing to be sick on the 2nd and 3rd day of work. My ego is running laps and doing jumping jacks trying to be resilient and not be crushed. Who wants the boss to think they are a weeny? Or a crier? Yick.

I actually went in today and much like a plague victim would be treated, they took one look at me and told me to get outta there. So I did, semi excitedly because I’m not feeling up for it, but also crummy because I really want to be there. Plus, like I said, I’m not very good at just lamping around and doing a whole lotta nothing. At least not off the beach or off vacation or in the states for that matter.

So now I virtually have a snow day. It’s the same feeling, but just with the sick counter part. And so I have compiled a list of what I will do today that demands little to no energy.

1. Make CDs for friend’s going away party (tonight (ahem))

2. Go to Ross and get cheap sheets to cover back of car to protect from shedding dog

3. Car wash

4. Tea and tea and tea and pee x3+3

5. Sell books to Powells and get a new one to read… ON THE COUCH. That’s right- I’m capable

6. Nap? Ha.

7. Wash sheets because tomorrow is health-only-acceptable day and new sheets will be lovely and not germy

8. Get more tissues (possibly earlier on the list)

9. Drink more potions of lizard tales, bat wings, ant balls, grapefruit seed extract and what the hell

10. Write a surplus of stories so that I don’t have to have month lapses on this here blog

So now,  a question: Is the purpose of rest supposed to include the head or do you think it’s ok to have a lot of mental activity going on during down time? This is day two of me supposed to be sitting on my keester. Wack. Who out there has this sick biz dialed? What do you do? Tips please.

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9/11 A New York Story

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on September 11, 2012| 2 Comments »

It’s been 11 entire years since that fated day in September. That terrifying day- where it is easy to remember a stillness void of calm, and a heartbeat’s pounding of anticipation’s unknown. Each of us remember where we were that day… What we were doing… Some of us remember where we were standing when we heard… And then there were those of us that saw.

That particular year I was pulling a stint in Colorado, tucked away from the crumbling buildings and smoldering remnants where my family and friends were. Where I called home. Where I grew up. Despite being far, there were no safety guarantees for anyone. There was no escaping the eeriness that had  thickly and unwelcomingly lay down upon the country. Creating this incomparable muteness, removing flights from the air, and instilling a fear that we as a whole had yet to experience.

My mother worked in midtown Manhattan. My father, in L.I., but had a job interview scheduled at the towers for the following day (the difference a day makes!). My other family and friends in and close to the city, and the people we knew working at the towers… it was terrible. No one was reachable. The lines were all down. We didn’t know who was alive and allright and we didn’t know how wide spread it was going to get. It was the most dreamy-doom feeling that I had ever experienced. It was all too large to understand. And that was just me- the abridged, clipped version of that day, a person who had not experienced it 1st hand.

Today’s post is a story of a friend of mine, Cheryl, who did experience it 1st hand. Her story has a silver, no- a golden lining. Not everyone was so lucky. I’m glad that she could tell her tale. It’s a very worthy read. It is insightful, raw and real (with even a touch of sass!), and gives us another reason to give thanks.

—————————————-

It was September 11, 2001. It was my first day of work after college. I was so excited. I didn’t sleep at all the night before. I kissed Ezra (my 4 year old roommate) goodbye and got a thumbs up from Mike and Aubrey along with a “you can do it” smile. I left the house in Jersey City about 8:00 am which I NEVER do as I normally can sleep till noon. I took a cab to Journal Square Path Station and started walking down into the building. I remember it seemed really empty which surprised me because we were smack in the middle of rush hour. Everyone there seemed engaged in heavy conversation and I noticed a lot of people were leaving as I was heading in. Huh?? I asked a worker standing outside what was going on and he said a small private plane hit the WTC. I asked if the trains were still running and he said “yes ma’am” so I headed in and got on the next train hoping to wind up on 14th & 6th near where my new job as a sound engineer was.

The next little bit I completely blacked out about and remembered just a few years ago.

So the train departed. I was oblivious to what I had heard earlier and was focusing on my skirt which was way too short and my heels which were way too high. Those that know me know that I never dress that way at all so I had to make sure everything was looking good when I got off (FYI if you are a sound engineer I would not recommend wearing heels and skirt to work). To those not familiar with the Path Train, it leaves from NJ to NY and stays above ground until it hits the Hudson (Pavonia/Newport) and then it goes back underground, through the tunnel and stops at WTC, Christopher Street and then 14th (I think). Right as we approached the tunnel I noticed smoke billowing out from one of the towers and at that split moment, when I looked up, I saw another plane hit the other tower, and then my train went underground heading straight for it.

As we rolled into the WTC station, there was complete and utter chaos. People were banging on the doors to get in, and the conductor made an announcement that we would not be stopping and that he would be taking us straight to Penn Station. Wait. What? We’re not stopping? I looked around and realized for the first time since I got on that train that I was the only one in there. The people outside were begging for me to open the doors. They were pleading for me to help them. I started screaming to stop the train “PLEASE STOP!!!” but we didn’t’, we just rolled passed them. They were running alongside banging on the car! I think I went into shock and complete fear as they tried to pry open the doors. And then blackness. We were out of the station and heading to 34th Street. I was crying. I was scared. I could hear rumbling and screaming. When I got out I was so confused. It was quiet. Like really, really quiet. Scary quiet. Like from the movie Legend quiet. Everyone was just standing with their mouths gaped open or their hands to cover it… and when I turned around I could see both towers were on fire, smoking. Smoldering. This was real? Shit. Shit!!. Fuck. What do I do??. Where do I go?? Someone help me! Wait. Get a grip! Calm down. Take a breath. Breathe. Ok, you’re breathing. Now run!

I didn’t know where to go or what to do so I just ran to my new office/music studio on 16th and 8th and when I got there everyone was just staring out the large window that had the ideal view of the devastation. Within those moments, the first tower came crashing down and everyone screamed and gasped and cried…we all went to the roof and watched the 2nd tower plummet soon thereafter… everyone started running out of our building, I was knocked down because I was wearing those dumb heels and that stupid short skirt. Ugh! I got up and left the building with everyone else. I remember I had to pee like there was no tomorrow, but all the shops were closed. No one would even let me in let alone come to the doors in fear of riots. I couldn’t blame them, but man, I had to go.

I remember wishing someone was there to tell us what to do and where to go and what was happening….I mean, there wasn’t a cop anywhere. I then stood on a long line to use the payphones to call home, (you know this is an old story when there’s a pay phone involved), but by the time I got up to use it, the landline was dead. No one even had a working cell phone. A Verizon guy told us the phone lines were down because the antenna was at the top of the WTC, he had a small radio and he said that there were bombs reportedly in the subways and on the bridges, so to stand clear and get the hell out of there.

I walked up 6th ave. and that’s where I saw the mass exodus of people heading uptown. The fire trucks and ambulances were covered in soot along with a lot of the people. I was scared. Really, really, really scared. I remembered my dad’s friend had an office right where I was standing so I wrang up and he let me in. My dad’s friend assured me everything was just fine and that he had an inside scoop that there were boats coming to get us off the island (Sounds like Hunger Games, I know). I used the bathroom and then the alarms started going off so we all had to evacuate. I stepped back outside onto the sidewalk and noticed that the slow exodus soon turned into a running mob!! So I started running too. Damn these heels!!! I ran about 20 blocks and stopped. I began walking backwards so I could watch what was happening as well as continue moving away. Then, I bumped into this guy and all his papers went flying up in the air. Poof! As I began apologizing and helping him pick them up, I realized I knew him. He was a friend from school that I had just graduated with. We had hung out on graduation day. We hugged. He said he was gonna walk over the Brooklyn Bridge. I tried to convince him to come back to N.J. because all the bridges were closed. He didn’t care, he had to get home. Before we departed, I had asked if he remembered James from our class. He was the only one I could even think of that would have James contact info. I had a big crush on him since school ended, but I couldn’t seem to find any contact info anywhere not even on the internet. And with a name like James Doe, a black guy from Brooklyn, it was nearly impossible. David was like “Yeah, he actually called me the other day looking for your contact info, that’s so weird.” I was shocked. I gave him my email and phone number and said “Please, when you make it home call me and also please pass my info along to him.” And he did. (Yes, I was giving out my phone number to get a date during a terrorist attack, sigh, only me).

I began walking up to like 90th street or wherever so I could get myself on one of those boats heading home. After I got there they were like, “no, sorry they are leaving from 14th street”. Fuck!. Are you serious??? So then I walked all the way back to 14th street. My legs were tired. I had already ditched my shoes and I had sores on my thighs from the walking. Eventually I snuck in line and got on a cruise ship headed for Jersey. The entire ride was silent. When I got there, Aub, Mike and Ez were already there to take me home. I don’t think I said anything to anyone until we got to the house and then I just lost it. I tried to compose myself so Ezra wouldn’t be scared but I couldn’t. He came in my room, smiled, sat next to me and put his head on my lap. I moved over to the window and just sat there, and then he came over and hugged me and we both sat there together, watching the towers burn to the ground.

I think I have only taken the train once since that day. I insist on ALWAYS wearing comfortable shoes and clothing when I go to the city, even at the expense of my friends who I constantly embarrass when I show up to a high class venue in Nike’s.

I tell this story as I remember it. To add a few things, James did call me 2 days later. We went on our first date a week later. I was in love big time, and today we say is our 11th Anniversary. We now have a beautiful almost 10 year old daughter, Sasha, the love of my life whom I would go through a thousand other terrorist attacks for just to be with her.

Thanks for listening,

Cheryl

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Advice

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on September 2, 2012| 5 Comments »

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No Longing

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on September 1, 2012| 4 Comments »

In one swift motion I set to emancipate the cavalcade of ideas that splintered the air whenever you were released from the weathered barracks of my mind.

I had actively intended on to burying the idea of you.

It was the irresistibility of flirting with disaster when I wrang your number just to hear your name, having nothing to say.

Irony is comedic only in time, where once it sliced.

The question hung: does purging happen in Purgatory, or do thoughts become mute? Paused. I wondered truly.

It was being somewhere on the cusp between “me” and “us” and I was caught holding thin hopes in one hand that we would withstand, and shielding my eyes from even picturing your image with the other.

Duality- a hard iceberg to straddle. Icy waters splash and are no friend, and it’s no fun to slide and fall when you’re all by yourself and not laughing. And there is nobody to pick you up, brush you off, warm you.

The wieght of one steam engine is what it took to pull you out of myself. But like ripping a  weed out at the base, disregarding the roots, your face returned, reliably.

Your face. A smooth pallet of yesterday. A memory of the fruit that never fell from the tree. And an understanding of how delicious I’de thought it could be.

Luckily there is time- the magic magnet- pulls heavy metals from blood. Gravel from cuts. Heals wounds, though occasionally trapping debris.

When you come to me now I don’t tremble anymore, but that doesn’t make me steady. You can’t expect to be let in and must know now that you will never know me. Count that. I am tied up in the back for safe keeping. Your embraces last too long, and you’re too small for this song, and the vacancy bulbs are all burnt.

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A Village of 100 People

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on August 8, 2012| 16 Comments »

This here lil’ diddy was developed by the Wisconsin RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) group. This is a bird’s-eye view into what the world would look like if the population were shrunken down to a village of 100 people with all of the existing human ratios remaining the same. The following is what would be:

61 are from Asia

14 are from Africa

11 are from Europe

8 are from South America, Central America (including Mexico) and the Caribbean

5 are from Canada and the United States

1 is from Oceania (an area that includes Australia, New Zealand and the islands of the south, west and central Pacific)   even my computer doesn’t know about Oceania because it’s reprimanding my for misspellings. Twice.

More than half the people in the global village come from the most populated countries:

20 are from China

17 are from India

5 are from the United States

4 are from Indonesia

3 are from Brazil

3 are from Pakistan

More than half of the people speak these 8 languages:

21 speak a Chinese dialect- 16 speak the Mandarin dialect

9 speak English

9 speak Hindi or Urdu

7 speak Spanish crazy, right? My ethnocentric side is all like “What?! I thought everyone spoke Spanish, everywhere!”

4 speak Arabic

4 speak Bengali

3 speak Russian again- this surprised me. It’s a huuuge country! I figured more! And certainly not the same amount of people speaking as….

3 speak Portuguese !

More than half the villagers are under the age of 30. On average, 1 person dies and 3 babies are born every year. A baby born in the village today can expect to live to age 63. Hmmm world average…. Interesting. Three cheers for modern meds, eh? Keeping us up past 40 on the regular. 

There is no shortage of food in the global village. If all the food were divided equally, everyone would have enough to eat. But the food isn’t divided equally. No way! So although there is enough to feed the villagers, not everyone is well fed:

20 other people are severely undernourished

Only 30 people always have enough to eat. Count your blessings my friends.

52 would be female

48 would be male

70 would be nonwhite

30 would be… guess… white! right.

68 would be non-Christian

32 would be… you got it.

89 would be hetero

11 would be homo

10 people would possess 59% of the entire world’s wealth. I found this figure rather astounding, assuming the number would be far lower. Trickle down, anyone??

76 would have electricity. Ya’ll are surprised by this too, right? That’s a lot. I figured… well… wrong.

17 would be unable to read. That’s more like it. Not that that’s a good thing, I am just not surprised by that fact. Incase you cared about what I thought! Boy, I’m seeing cynical patterns brewing up inside of me in relation to all this info…

1 would have a college education

17 would not have clean, safe drinking water

43 would not have adequate sanitation (public or household disposal)

32 would breathe air that was unhealthy because of pollution

15 would own a computer. On my bike the other day I rode by a dirty, dusty gutter punk kid sitting outside of his squat messing around on his laptop. Amazing. I composed a list for him in my head for when he’s packing up camp after, oh- I don’t know- train hopping? Do kids do that these days? I might be romanticizing. I used to be in the know!… Toilet paper- check. Leathermen- check. Mangey puppy- check. Banjo with missing string- check. Facial tattoos- check. 100 lb. pack- check. Overalls- check. Sign for skrilla- check. Portable computer—- um- check?

And so~ if you have $$$ in the bank, your wallet, or even spare change in a dish somewhere~ you get to rank among the top 8% of the world’s wealthy

Being able to read this message you have a leg up on the over 2 billion who cannot read at all.

~ Food for thought people. It’s good to have some perspective. Bless up!

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Waxing on the Primitive Connect

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on June 12, 2012| 17 Comments »

Many of our inexplicable urges are primal and connect us to our intrinsic past. A lot of how we operate comes from a deep, ancestrally patterned response system. We act out of habit and it is a habit set if not by ourselves, by our heredity. These actions are set in us for reasons of survival. Many of these things that we respond to have been watered down at this point, and no longer serve the same purposes as earlier times, yet we are left with trace urges that might wiggle and dance out from under thumb when asking why. What we see now as doing for simple fun and/ or pleasure just might be telling of where we came from. “What does she mean?” Let me explain with some supportive examples~

Numba 1: game hunting. Obviously we come from a lineage of hunter gatherers. Men went out to pasture, forest, and plain to bring home the bacon. Hunting was a necessity and provided our sustenance. These days we can bargain hunt for our meats and other fleshy things in the long isles of the grocery store. Most bros I know never even shot an animal… Well, maybe rats with bb guns, but that’s straying from the point. The need to have ill aim, be able to stalk prey (animals, fellas, come on), skin beasts, etc. has silently slipped by as a skill. Right? Right. However, men still have this urge to kill kill kill with out the real need in modern society to do so (purely for sport) and take it out on little Bambis’ of the world, often discarding the meat and saving… the head? Hmm. Something got lost in translation, no? You see- and people still have that innate urge for hunting, despite it’s existence of being a necessity (over all) long gone.

Specimen 2: Buffets. Yes- let’s examine this one fattys’! I kid. This is actually viewable as a relative to the first example, just in different clothing. But again, this is a post on breaking down what we are subconsciously drawn to do in the name of survival. I have noticed time and time again how people will eat faster when there is excess food in front of them. Instead of taking time with what is currently on the plate, they rush through their 1st plate so that they don’t miss out because others ate faster/ more and there are no seconds, though had they taken their time on the first plate they may realize that they were not hungry anymore. That question is disregarded and/ or ignored. So what’s my theory on how this relates to old patterns of survival? This is totally connected to scarcity mentality. During the hunter gatherer day, dependent on the season, it was often feast or famine for peeps. When food was abundant, it was wise to eat what was available, as there were no fridges or storage. People ate what they had while they had it. It was not sensible to abstain from eating because there was no guarantee that abundance would be part of tomorrow. In today’s culture (generally speaking (apart from famine stricken lands)) food is plentiful. The urge to eat and eat till we’re immobile stems from what I am saying. You feeling me?

3rd: Let’s address… Playerrrrs. Alright, I think this is connected to the urge to procreate. I’m not saying that most promiscuous people want to make bunches of babies per-say, but I am saying that the urge to screw as many people as possible stems from the assurance of the tribe continuing. If your sleeping with just one person, there are only so many children they can provide. Knockin boots with several people at once ensures a small gaggle of minis’. People wanted to do it (obvs because it feels fabulous and) to keep the blood line strong and to have extra hands to help raise the roof or whatever they needed. It’s like hunting for sport, people. The chief of tribes would have several wives. They were big biz. Importante. Their ancestry must be continued. Players might just be thinking that they are super important and need to spread seed so that their babies would be popping out a plenty. Think big ego and king of domain mentality.

Possible supporting theories: Making our hair big… Guilty! Or at least I certainly was. Yeah, I sported a wave. And it was taller than yours. And your sisters’. Yup. Lotsa people want to have thick, big ol’ hair. Proof? Weaves, wigs, extensions, hair thickening treatments, teasing, blow outs, hair spray… Maybe this is connected to wanting to appear larger to seem intimidating to predators. ??  I mean, genrally speaking, some crazy chick looks more intimidating to me when she’s got big hair then someone who has short, straight hair. Kinda. I don’t know- it’s a stretch. But just think about it.

But then there are questions… Residual things that don’t make sense.

For example, what is with the urge to talk to people that don’t speak the same language as yourself in an increasingly loud voice? Like if you get to the point where your are shouting you might break the barrier of misunderstanding and they will be suddenly capable of telling you exactly where the bathroom is.

And here’s another. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this one, and maybe you can help me… What is the deal with the whole appeal of the chase and challenge? The being wanted so bad when you are unavailable or disinterested. The wanting of someone when they do not show clear signs of reciprocity. It is so powerful on both ends. I have seen it now in full circle and got temporarily swept by the force of it. It’s so powerful and something that we all fall victim to, so I am thinking that there has to be a bigger reason for this phenomena. What is the biological basis for the intrigue of the chase and challenge? Is there some larger picture that it fits into to protect us from something? Because I cannot see it, if so. What’s your philosophy? Why do we so often want what we can’t have?

And one left over for the dogs: Spinning around and around in circles before laying down. Even when they are trying to lay on hard wood or carpet… This goes back to when they would have to lay down in tall grasses, they would flatten them down and make a tiny nest-like place to slumber.

Ah, there are so many more for us though, but there’s my jumping point. Do you have any glaring ones?

So much to think about.

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A Song I Wrote

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 21, 2012| 15 Comments »

I went to Lovetown and all I got was this lousy song. (;

 

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Oh No She Didn’t!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 18, 2012| 13 Comments »

This is the official launching of publicity and requests for my new collection. Get ready for it… I am requesting- ANONYMOUSLY- your MosT embarrassing stories. I want the juiciest of details. I want the funny, the savage, the outrageous, the tormented, the moments inducing the barrage of curse words. GIVE. IT. TO. ME.

Write it out in the comment area if you want- though obviously that would not be anonymous. ORrrr- send them to me here:

Lisita Lawless

3333 NE Morris St.

Portland, OR. 97212

I will collect and post them. Oh boy!!!

Don’t put your name. Just put your truth.

The idea for this came to me when I was watching a TED Talk about a man who went out onto the streets of NYC, handed out 1,000 self-addressed (to his abode) postcards with the simple question on the back: “What is your biggest secret?” Needless to say it caught like wild fire and a website exists now that you simply must check out at www.postsecret.com

His wife and himself receive unruly amounts of people’s dirty laundry from silly, to scandalous, to simply heartbreaking. I gift you with the TED talk that I watched that inspired my brilliant, comparable idea you see today. I am excited!

http://www.postsecret.com/2012/04/postsecret-ted-talk.html

So, in order to get the juices flowing- I suppose it’s only fair that I give you a good admission. Fine. Fair enough. (Deep breath) … Well, the truth of the matter is that a lady like myself runs into things a good bit on the often tip- that are pretty ridic. I have a bit of a penchant for it. That being said, the first things that come to mind have to do with peeing. Either a devil lives inside my bladder and takes up all the room, I have a premie one, or I only have a year and some months left on my bladder before it gives out completely… so yeah, you’re about to get a good pee story. And the answer is yes, for the record; I do fear incontinence.

Setting: The mountains of Mexico, on a a janky, rickety, music-blaring bus with those little hanging fabric balls (bolitas pequeñas??) for proper decor. And dashboard-Jesus too. It was mostly campesinos on this piece. And there’s me. Chilling. Actually, that is a huge lie. I was not chilling. I had to take a wiz like nobody’s business. No one else seemed phased by the fact that we would only stop for long enough to pick people up, and if you dare disboard and were not on the bus by the time the (crazy f*%^ing drive-like-a-death-wish) driver was ready to bounce, sucked for you. So I was under silent torture. Everyone around me was settled in on those crazy roads- perhaps the best way to deal was to catch some rest, but nope, I wasn’t that lucky. I had to go. And to make matters worse, I was surrounded by strangers. A friend that was traveling with me was one row across and one seat up, so they could do me no solids (not a foreshadowing pun). Finally I asked her if she had a plastic bag. She knew right away why. Bitch! She liked it too much. No bag though. I fumbled through my belongings until I found a beautiful, gorgeous, thin, blessed plastic bag. I blew it up to check for wholes because I am very smart like that. Safe. Now again, I will remind you- everyone around me was sleeping. Accept my pal, of course, and that was fine. I squat down off my seat and pulled my pants down and ahhhhhh. Relief. Pants up, bag hanging, BUT suddenly- a river. The bag had deceived me and had a terrible whole. A very bad whole! And the river- there she was, twisting rivulets down the isle and around, and into people’s belongings, and all over the floor. And here is the craziest part- people began waking up. This will never make sense to me. Liquid is silent. Things spill on the bus. Those 2 facts put together do not sensibly equate to waking up the sleeping. How? Was this something they were hyper aware of due to others going through the same thing? Well people started to get very excited and upset. Before the people next to me woke up I managed to chuck my rapidly deflating bag-of-pee out of the window (which is part of the (fairly generous) list of the reasons for why I am going to hell) and look relatively innocent. My friend on the other hand, had completely lost her shit. She was out of her body laughing. She could not get it together. There was nothing to be done.

All in all, I was never burned at the stake, or got found out about for that matter, but still the experience with terrible and embarrassing, and I am sure that there was at least one other person that saw the entire ordeal unravel. Yup, pretty embarrassing. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Your turn! Hooray!

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Here

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 15, 2012| 2 Comments »

Purest form is a mind stark white.

An empty canvas unrushed to dress.

A now now now now now frame that doesn’t desist.

A soft focused eyeful with steady and attended pulmonary response.

Where everything is from the same, original cell~

Once and still somehow.

It’s advanced harmonics at play.

And the breeze blow the trees in unison,

while figurative branches burst to bloom.

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The Sweet and Short of It

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on May 9, 2012| 17 Comments »

Something has got a hold of me. It’s bigger than my words can net. I’ll try to climb to the top and find a suitable description. Should be a good traverse…

Let’s just call it for now and say that there has been a shift. I find, as I grow older and step into my adulthood more that my capacity to love has deepened. Once again, this hails in the realm of reclamation~ (see Reclaiming Romantic post) when I say love, I’m not specifically talking about with a man, but love of ALL things, large and small. However, I do believe the next time that I fall in love it will be deeper than ever before… because why else go there at this point? Obviously.

The older I become, the more I cry in the name of beauty. Yes, I’m laying it on the table. I’m not a sap, I just get choked up at the good stuff. (I am not a crier in general, with the acception of movies. (Fine, commercials too if it’s around a certain time of month.) It’s kind of wild. I teared up at the park yesterday, all by myself, because the temperature was so beautiful, and the time of dusk was a favorite of mine. It was the time when the lightening bugs would have begun to flash were we in a place that had them. It’s a peek of my childhood; running in fields, catching and releasing. Marveling. It’s amazing how deep the memory and feeling go. If I was back east I know they would have been all over that park, in between the trees, hovering about the field.

A woman was strolling while I was having my moment and I wanted to share it. Every now and then I am compelled to reach out and have a completely random exchange with a total stranger. I asked her if she was from here (Portland, Oregon) and she told me no. We got to talking and it turned out that she too was from an area where there were fireflies. There was a vacant lot full of wild flowers across from the house where she grew up. We talked about the sweetness of them, and then the conversation shifted to bees. It was lovely. It was such a special, simple, and fluid talk. It was one of those things that was so fulfilling because of it’s true and pure nature. It brought me great peace…

Appreciation for the smallest of things- be it memories or stolen moments has simply increased. It’s nice to observe and allow it to run it’s course. Who knew I would become that person ((sniff))? Ah life, you’re such a wild ride.

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