Archive for December, 2011


Pearls before swine

The color of her dusted up ’68 Caddy resembled the cold dry blood that caked her cracked leather motorcycle boots. The kinda blood that weather and tears could never truly wash away.

She was a scrappy thing, standing bold and brazen, a scant five feet, two inches. Atop her head a mop of weather wiped amber curls that trailed behind her like that of a small sea of fire. Her emerald eyes burned a deeper shade of trouble, flashing neon blaring NO EXIT!!! She was the kinda gal who had real lippy hips, ya know the kind, always undulating, a  finger tips graze from those who sought the maddening heat she threw and left behind in a sprawled pile of broken.

Clementine could never truly understand how it be possible that all these previous lovers still yet vied for her heart, ya see, there had always been the wrong amount of the right men. Often times, after shootin whiskey for a trifle too long with the lousy locals, she could be find growling and snarling ” Give me an emotionally stunted man, I’ll give the dumb bastard my heart “!!

Listen up fools, only a scant few shall ever be kissed by a muse, don’t be that dumb fuck who bungles the shit out of it!!

Cry

She swayed a little in the jukebox light, lost in the sweet misery of whiskey and broken hearted bits.

How dare she let the unknown sort scratch her caustic veneer? Dare she bother to care, to allow another be granted entry at the low low price of her heart?!?! How silly to even consider! No, she needed to eat asphalt for days and years on end and wish for the cool black top to bleat it all out, to let the deluge of uneven surface keep her from the broken promises and those who didn’t deserve her heat. What lopsided freak ever sang the songs of wanting and yearning? And what unguarded soul ever let em in without having earned the trust of the lust?

She has cryed enough tears for the unworthy, lost enough of her soul to sell the sea to the gaping, useless souls who struggle. As she sits still for no man, no soul, no song or siren!! For she is a mear vapor, that which songs are constructed at such late hours, when hearts hurt and crave to heal, she is not meant to keep company with mortal souls. She knows now that tears are empty, a crapped out vessel of nothin. Who gives a shit if her heart is used and abused, surely the angels care not to weep for such things, they have bigger fish to fry!!

She will steel herself from such common emotion, and proceed with a plucky soul, head held high, boots pointed forward in motion and allow the dust to settle, her tears shall turn to fire upon her broken cheek, and she will not cry another goddamn tear for him.

The funny thing about life, is that no one ever gets out alive.

It starts out as a notion, a flicker, with no regard to my tasks at hand. All too many times driving me from the safe haven of  my bed, stumbling blindly in search for my the two friends I rely on the most, pen, and paper. Merely look around my abode, every where there are scraps of paper with scrawled sentences, incomplete thoughts, ideas begging me to take the time to realize their full potential. I choose to succumb each time the urge takes over, even if it is a few random words to capture an emotion, however fleeting.

I have always written, in fits and spurts, no consistancy and have fallen prey to months of lack of inspiration. My private journals date back to the angst filled, searching, teenage years and I hold them as such dear possesions. And one thing remains consistant, and that is the rawness of my expression. Always the train wreck of first and third person colliding in one deliciously compossed paragraph, past and present tense co-mingled with alarming consistancy, grammar tangled through and through. Fraught with run on sentences and a certain vagueness in content. Sentence structure a foreign concept, and complete and utter lack of regard to refinement of form.

In time, I found myslef intrigued with the madness of blogging, such the awkward term, like a graceless thud. I had felt the urge to throw myself out for mass consumtion, to make my words somewhat accessible for the first time. Again, lacking in focus, I wrote inconsistantly, but when I did, with a previously unknown sense of accomplishment. And in time, began to look forward to the time I would spend pecking away at the keys and finally hitting post, and waiting to see what occured. Soon 5 readers became 15 and so on, people I had never even conversed with had begun to contact me, to tell me of how they were left feeling after consumming my words. I marveled at what filled my ears and of course, fed my heart.

It was a simple habit to form. When the words began to beg for attention, when I couldn’t contain a blossoming concept, I fell into delightful mode I am about to describe. Once the ancient computer is up and running, I take my seat. Out comes the Ipod, and I search for that song, that tune that would lead me in. I need to have the first song match the mood I am creating, to set the scene. The first cigarette is lit and I am off! Fingers dashing madly, pounding away at the helpless keys cruelly. Attempting to keep up with that which is growing, and taking shape in my mind. Seldom do I look up to see what is taking shape, I simply spill words across the screen, satisfaction found in the knowledge of the previously blank space filling up . When I have appeased my brain and come to an end, it is the same scene played out each time. Only one quick glance,a brief reread to be certain I had expressed all I desired in those moments. Then, send off my little slice of me, satisfied in some form. Never a sense of orgasmic bliss, just accomplishment.

Up till this day, one could count on my inconsistancy, my unrefined ways. Trying on various styles in the attempt to locate my true voice. Never having given care to anything beyond keeping pure in my words, remaining true to myself. Things are about to change.

What had begun as a haphazard attempt to appease the need for expression, now MUST be taken on a more serious level. Me, serious, please, hold back the snickers ladies and gentlemen! It is rather simple you see, for in the time that has passed since I have taken on this endeavor, I have grown, in some ways that I am only now beginning to comprehend, and now, my writing must do the same. With more careful thought, nurturing at a slower pace and a whole lot of spell checking! Some may see the subtle changes in time, and it may also fall before many blind eyes, but ultimatly, I am doing this for me, I want to, somehow, need to.

I am a writer.

I take great pride in the moments that I am able to throw my head back with laughter, arms spread wide to catch it all, and proclaim with great laughter, ” I am so in love with this moment”!!!!! The blood singing through my viens with that acknowledgment, the fact that I am able to feel it for all it is worth, to not let the most minut aspect go by unnoticed, this, this is when I know I am alive!

Something that rises to the platue above enchantment, when it is locked in your heart, not merely your memory.  But that which bends you in new directions, shapes your soul and feeds you mind. Like a gloriously wrapped gift, given to you for no reason other than, just because.

I have been known to fall so in love with a piece of music, to be mystified by each note, each word. It could be a sad, soulfull lament that cartures my pain as it spills over lillting strings, the thuds that makes your battered heart beat harder to meet it in the meaning. Or perhpas those that lift me above, finding a new source of joy, or renewing that which is already present. I can name the songs that in a simple bass line, it sends me over the moon, again and again. There are the nights when the music suffuses your every fiber, and nothing else is present. You gyrate with out thought, helplessly, delighfully in the moment. And you move, untill you are slick with sweat, all a glow and weary limbed.

At times, when a of burst of laughter continues to resonate for days on end, if a sweet secret has been shared, or the comfort of a dear friend lights my way, these I keep, all safe and shimmering. When another makes your heart swell with gratitude for all that they are, and they see you for who you really are, at times, I almost can not take it all in. I will never loose such things, they are that which makes me the person I have become.

I will continue to marvel in the small ways one falls in love with these moments life brings.

Late night urges, compulsions over taking the the need for sleep. Oh, the endless, boundless wanderlusts, when will such things stop plagueing me?

Warm evening breezes brings forth the promise of the unknown, my very nature finds this all too appealing. The allure of the countless possibilities, adventures that may be awaiting me, I follow the command. Moonlight soaked conversations, the ebb and flow of it mesmerizes me, luring me to the uncommon scenario. Music tempts me, draws me into the rythmic, pulsating trance. I can not turn my self away from it, deny that which propels me further in my multitude of quests, to do so would be like that of a small death.

Unbound, fearless, expectant, I seek it all. Filling the empty spaces that crave experiance, electing to follow the energy that may temporarily quiet all of the unequal aspects of me, my desires. To push aside the stupor of the mundane, seek out the fascination, break the confines to further meet my needs.

I am distracted.

Just when it begins to rain, when there is yet an urgency  to the drops, how the air smells, as if a pocket full of loose change has some how become damp. Despite my aversion to such a scent, I hold out for the promise of the deluge that makes its way down the street towards us. I hear it, anticipate the arrival. And when it comes to be, I feel my body give into it.

You murmur in your sleep, and the room is cool and dark. Relentless rainfall over the soothing sound of the gentle fan, cars driving too quickly, punctuate at the moments the train whistles lament does not.

I shift my body into yours, finding the places I fit, as if tailored for me. Strong, sleepy arms encircle me, welcoming me back to the melting slumber that awaits. Lost in the rise and fall of my head upon your chest, a heart beat lulling me into that warm, embryotic peaceful state. I am safe now, these moments are home.

Each individual person has their own simple pleasures, simple passions, things that ring true and honest in their hearts. Such things defy convention, and also, explanation, for they are their own, they need no explanation.

Pleasure is derived in so many forms, may it be common bits of happiness, or perhaps the odd moment that tickles one to their very soul. And you, the reader, should you choose to read on, shall find but a few of mine in the words that follow.

I marvel at the comfort of a long drive, windows down and the only company I have is that of words and music to soothe me, for there is nothing like an amazing song with a long stetch of open road before you. Also, now with aid of my lovely new bike, Lily, I am able to explore so much more in these sea side towns I love so, at times, alone with my thoughts, other moments allow me the company of one of the many fine folks I have the honor of keeping company with.

Or for the sake of appealing to my rather keen sense of smell, on some evenings, the breeze blows so through my room so that I may smell the pungent sea brine. At the other end of my delightfully crooked abode is my comfy living room, and there, there is always a gentle breeze to bring the scent of my garden to me. As of late, the dominating scent is my lily garden, it brings a soft  thrill to me each time. Years ago, when my neices and nephew were so much smaller, I loved bath time, because once the were dried off and in their fuzzy pajams, they would all crowd onto me and curl up on my lap, so many sweet, tiny heads to smell, being an aunt is a thing to marvel at. And have you ever driven down a patch of road way in the midst of spring to have the permiating scent of lilacs in bloom transforn the ordinary moment? I have.

I love the feeling of fresh sheets after having taken a long shower. And I don’t think I will ever stop wanting to stroke a puppies ears each time I happen upon one, for they are one the softest things I have ever known, try it some time, you most certainly shall see what I mean. Another I think many will agree upon is the tactile sensation of a heart felt hug, when one puts a thousand words in one simple act of physical contact. Perhaps one that some may find odd, is how I adore the sensation of putting pen to paper, I can’t explain it beyond the knowledge of the endless possibilities a blank page offers.

Then there are the moments, when laughter over takes conversation, your face is in a permanant state of smile and your sides begin to ache, that, is a good one indeed. Or when a person who is distressed smiles for one reason or another, and you helped to bring that moment to them, you have then accomplished something of much worth. I love these moments best when they are in my home, my garden or on the porch, because then when you sit there, you can conjur the memory so easily after the fact. I love to think back to when I have had a supper in the late evening in the garden, withfood and libations aplenty and the company to compliment it all. For these times are largely unplanned and they seem to be the most wonderful. At times, I have been puttering about when a random knock comes to my door, and to have the surprise at the other side, a friend who knows to merely stop by, makes my heart full.

Let us not forget some of my favorites, when a kiss is more than just a kiss. When a large hand of a man takes mine, or is gently rested upon the small of my back. On cool, rainy Sundays, when you have a warm body laying next to you and nothing to keep you from nestling into it. Or of times when arms have encircled my body to slowly sway to the music that isn’t there. Times have found me being awoken at some late, unfamiliar hour when one didn’t wish to wait till morning to be with me, that, that one gets me every time. And how it makes me swoon when a vicious storm is brewing and I have someone to play with outside, to share the elements with, knowing that when inside we go, to dry off, get warm, the quietness of melting into a safe embrace. THAT may be one I will always find to be dearest to me.

Once one dares to open ones self to another, one always runs the risk of finding out the hard way. Each scenario is in and of itself, unique. At times it may be with a friend, other times, a lover. Either way, one is left to wonder if by having the guard down, allowing another access, that one may be open to as much to loose in the arena of the heart, as one stands to gain.

Something of this nature is delicate, requiring balance, and nurturing and tenderness, or else one may lean towards flight, as opposed to fight. One may choose to either fight for what one believes in, call it the ways of the hopeless romantic, or simply take flight. When the later of the two is chosen, it tends to leave one to believe, there was nothing there to fight for to begin with. So, when one has fought the good fight, and realized that their efforts were in vain, it makes one skeptical as to if it had been such a good idea to leave ones self open to begin with.Not to say that it invalidates the time spent, by no means, just makes one wonder if it would have been best not to leave their heart on their sleeve, only to find it to be left out in the cold.

One isn’t so much the lonliest number, just, well, rather different than two.

A storm story

The rain fell, straight and steady, I took shelter beneath a canopy of linen colored blossoms. Something in me felt lost, along with the remnants of my gilded youth, ideals forgotten, intentions mispent. A time when I sought my own Aurora Borealis, inspired desires that were to lead me to the place my heart resided. I felt I have lost her, the parts I always held so dear to my heart, nurtured for the sake of  my unfolding. Once, so bold, so fearless, why must growing older rob you of that? Need it be so, is it too late to change course?

The meloncholy rain held no comfort for once. It served to merely draw me back to another time, when I ran to meet the rain, usher in the storms, immerse myself in the deluge. Life was never simple then, just different. My heart had long since calloused and even then, I knew I was the better for it. Perhaps then, more so the cockeyed optomist than I am even percieved to be now, I felt the eternal wander lust, propelled by the futures uncertainty, grasping all unknown. I need to locate that, for I know, it is laying dormat underneath years of accumulated dust and tears.  I know not when I let it slip from my grasp, when I became distracted and abondoned so much.

The winds shifted, bringing the soft sting of the rain to brush my skin. Why do I seek shelter, why hide myself from it? It’s merely a storm, it shall pass, and won’t it feel so much more to be a part of it?

Slowly, deliberatly, purposefully, I released myself from the safe confindes I had so foolishly sought, allowing the drops to fall where they may. For I heard myself just now, felt who I am, gleaned a faint sense of what I wish to become. I knew the desire, to be that much more myself. I walked forward, welcoming the subtle shift, needing to be in motion with my emotions. I felt the rain, and the promise it offered me. And I walked, searching for the thunder, and to be illuminated from within from the next bright flash.

I have stepped in shallow puddles, seeing my reflection, afraid of debth. I fear not my capacity of my heart and mind, perhaps it is the ever present malaise, one I have grown comfortable with, my companion. A small child hiding behind the safe confinds of a parents shielding, seldom yielding presence. I have fallen prey to the seeping ignorance, I am ignorant, sadly enough, that appears to be the norm. Socially acceptable, globally disgusting, A selfish spoiled continent, teeming with greed, breeding a myriad of lost, hopeless souls. Thoughtless, careless, how easily we fall into the pattern of self indulgent natures. This is not beyond ones control, for however cliche it may sound, we are in so many ways masters of our destinies. And I know that which ails me is within my realm to rectify, and I intend to do just that.