Too Old To Be Feeling Like This...
Friday, June 30, 2006
"The fellow that agrees with everything you say is either a fool or he is getting ready to skin you."
----
Kin Hubbard
Try as I might, dealing with my father can be interesting. Ironically, it took the man that has been closest to me to get a clue about what my father tried to say to me.
As you guys know, I’m broke. Having no job for three months and waiting to get back in school has been a little stressful. Ever since I could remember, my father handles money with relationship to people in a possessive manner. If he gives you money, he has taken something away from you. Let me explain.
On more than one occasion, when my father hands out money—whether to pay someone for services received, going to the grocery store, or to simply be charitable—there is a sense of “I’ve got money, you don’t, so I can give you this money any way I want to, and there is nothing you can do about it. Well, you can take it and be thankful that I did give it.” He would be so snobby in his attitude sometimes that it would be embarrassing to me.
So it goes without saying that I go through the ends of the earth to not ask him for money. It’s not about pride. It’s about seeing the smug look on his face. Now, listen, people. Maybe I do deserve to be treated like what got stuck on the bottom of a shoe, but when I do not ask him for anything unless I truly need it. Otherwise, I call my dad on occasion--I try at least once weekly--for no reason at all. I often page him to let him know that I love him, just so he can see that I’m thinking of him.
So when I got a note from him, I was beside myself. He wrote, “Parents have their children, but they don’t own them, except for you.” Help me out, people. How else can I interpret this?
I never told him about my sexually traumatic childhood—something I haven’t told you about either; I may or may not—but it took me back there. It also took me back to the many, many times that I have felt like less than a human being from so many people. I’m fitfully mad. I think that is not the right word for it. More like hurt. How could a man feel like that about his children? How could he feel like that about me? How diminished am I supposed to feel about myself for other people?
Someone, anyone, tell me. Is there anything positive that anyone could get out of that statement for me?
----
Kin Hubbard
Try as I might, dealing with my father can be interesting. Ironically, it took the man that has been closest to me to get a clue about what my father tried to say to me.
As you guys know, I’m broke. Having no job for three months and waiting to get back in school has been a little stressful. Ever since I could remember, my father handles money with relationship to people in a possessive manner. If he gives you money, he has taken something away from you. Let me explain.
On more than one occasion, when my father hands out money—whether to pay someone for services received, going to the grocery store, or to simply be charitable—there is a sense of “I’ve got money, you don’t, so I can give you this money any way I want to, and there is nothing you can do about it. Well, you can take it and be thankful that I did give it.” He would be so snobby in his attitude sometimes that it would be embarrassing to me.
So it goes without saying that I go through the ends of the earth to not ask him for money. It’s not about pride. It’s about seeing the smug look on his face. Now, listen, people. Maybe I do deserve to be treated like what got stuck on the bottom of a shoe, but when I do not ask him for anything unless I truly need it. Otherwise, I call my dad on occasion--I try at least once weekly--for no reason at all. I often page him to let him know that I love him, just so he can see that I’m thinking of him.
So when I got a note from him, I was beside myself. He wrote, “Parents have their children, but they don’t own them, except for you.” Help me out, people. How else can I interpret this?
I never told him about my sexually traumatic childhood—something I haven’t told you about either; I may or may not—but it took me back there. It also took me back to the many, many times that I have felt like less than a human being from so many people. I’m fitfully mad. I think that is not the right word for it. More like hurt. How could a man feel like that about his children? How could he feel like that about me? How diminished am I supposed to feel about myself for other people?
Someone, anyone, tell me. Is there anything positive that anyone could get out of that statement for me?
Labels: My Writing
Making Some Tea For My Renter. Won't You Join Us?
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Wow. I got to make a lot of tea.I'm getting to be a big gurl! I set up the renting of my space and only a couple of minutes later, I get an offer!
Yay! Well, you know I feels purdy!
Deals On eBay is a site about sports. KIDDING! They are a wonderfully adorable site that lets you know about deals that a group of sellers offer on eBay.
Now, you know what the deal is. Make your girl happy and click on their site. While you are there, post a comment and let them know that I've got tea for them. It's hot and I have lemon wedges, honey and cucumber sandwiches for them.
Maybe I can get some tips on how to sell stuff on Ebay. Y'all know how broke I am.
Maybe they can give advice to you also. You'll never know if you don't click on them.
Be nice. Move your little arrow over there and click! Go on! Scoot!
Thanks, y'all.
Labels: Blog Sites to See
Gas Bragging
"You must work at the talent as a sculptor works at stone, chiseling, plotting, rounding, edging and making perfect."- Dylan Thomas
Mwahahahahahaha!
I got this gas at this price last week. Don't you just hate me?
Not so fast, pal. I had to drive 30 miles to find this gas. The gas in my small town is always ten to twenty cents more than this gas per gallon.
I wanted to have this pic just to reminisce. I almost cried with joy and grief about having gas this cheap. Four gallons for ten bucks... woo hoo!
It's back up to $2.66. In the other town. I'm happy, though.
It has been worse.
It will get worse.
Labels: My Writing
The First Time Is Always the Most...
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
"I am not young enough to know everything."----
Oscar Wilde
So, I wanted to do something interesting. I wanted to put a pic up. And this is what happened.
I chose a pic that I took of a close up of an arrangement of flowers that my father made. It took a rather long time to do.
I still don't know if I got it right at the moment, butI hope I did, because I want to see some of the things I see.
And some of my pics are darn purdy. Did you know that I took the background picture? I have it as my background shot.
Okay... here goes nothing....I'm squeezing my eyes shut tight before I publish this.... Doh!
Okay, I came back here after I posted it and was on the verge of jumping
up and down. It posted! It posted! Yay!Of course I want to show you another one. Let me look and then tell you the story behind the pic. This is the pic that I took at the same time that I took the background pic. I was driving home. I keep my digital camera with me when I'm driving. This view looked so beautiful to me that I had to try. I took about fifteen or twenty shots of the same area. I can't wait to show more!
Labels: My Writing
What Love Will Make People Do
Saturday, June 24, 2006
“Love is like a butterfly. It goes where it pleases and it pleases where it goes.”
—-
Unknown
“I hate you.”
“Yes," he sighs. "I know you do. I feel the same.”
Even now, defining what hurts more—looking into her eyes or avoiding them—is difficult. He glances at them to determine her mood. Turbulent as a midnight ocean. Negative. Fear? Anger? He sees flexing in her jaw; gritting her teeth. Anger. Definitely anger.
“It should have never felt so,” she pauses. “So much despair.”
“I know.”
“I mean if we could have only kept it simple, this would not have—”
He finishes her sentence. “Hurt so much. I know. I wish—”
“You could have avoided this.” Exasperation shakes her body violently as she exhales. “Yeah. Don’t think I can remember how I got into this with you.”
“We need help.” He closes his eyes, disgusted with himself. She means the world to him. If there were a way to get through this unscathed, he would do it. There is no way, though.
“Your turn.” Her eyes turn to slits.
He tries to adjust his body weight to lift his hand. Moments later, they tumble in agony, then in laughter.
“Wanna play another game of Twister?’
—-
Unknown
“I hate you.”
“Yes," he sighs. "I know you do. I feel the same.”
Even now, defining what hurts more—looking into her eyes or avoiding them—is difficult. He glances at them to determine her mood. Turbulent as a midnight ocean. Negative. Fear? Anger? He sees flexing in her jaw; gritting her teeth. Anger. Definitely anger.
“It should have never felt so,” she pauses. “So much despair.”
“I know.”
“I mean if we could have only kept it simple, this would not have—”
He finishes her sentence. “Hurt so much. I know. I wish—”
“You could have avoided this.” Exasperation shakes her body violently as she exhales. “Yeah. Don’t think I can remember how I got into this with you.”
“We need help.” He closes his eyes, disgusted with himself. She means the world to him. If there were a way to get through this unscathed, he would do it. There is no way, though.
“Your turn.” Her eyes turn to slits.
He tries to adjust his body weight to lift his hand. Moments later, they tumble in agony, then in laughter.
“Wanna play another game of Twister?’
Labels: My Writing
A word from the Desert Madman
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
A guest post by the SunKingpoet from Across the Sands.
I have a secret… one I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable sharing with you.
Normally, I’d keep this secret to myself, or I’d have saved it for one of my Friday Confession blog posts, but today, I’m feeling the need to get this thing off my chest. So if you’ll bear with me, here goes.
I met the woman you all know as Gina in --- of all places --- an internet chat room (Jesus). From the start we hit it off (or at least I let her think we were hitting it off… truth is, she’s kind of annoying). We shared a similar love for the written word and we began to exchange thoughts and ideas (I did most of the exchanging… she just took, took, took… she’s pretty selfish like that). She became a valued friend (so she believes) and trusted editor (damn, she really won’t get off my back about that book), and we’ve remained in contact for the past six or so years (she’s getting wrinkly in her old age).
She really is a dear friend (whatever) and I consider her something akin to a sister (considering I barely even speak to my sisters… that’s fair) (and a much, much, much older less wiser sister)(aren’t these parenthetical addins getting a bit tedious?)(I know… I know)(continuing). I don’t have too many people I’m close to (I’m allergic to people), yet I’m sure that Gina and I will be friends for the rest of our lives (if she keeps messing with me, that’s going to be a relatively short campaign). I was there for her (even if it didn't seem that way) when her mother passed (she’s still not completely done dealing with that pain) and she was there during a rather trying time in my life (Jordan really is a blessing). We’ve held each other’s hands as we’ve walked through the trials of life (sometimes in spirit is just as solid as flesh) and she knows that if she ever needs a nonjudgmental ear to listen to her problems, then she has it (as long as she doesn’t start yammering on about her pants not fitting or her tits sagging). Seriously, I love Gina beyond her comprehension (like a good old fashioned root canal), and I’ll never be able to repay her kindness, friendship, compassion, devotion, and … uh… all that other shit (just don't tell her I said anything nice about her... I've got a reputation to uphold).
One love.
I have a secret… one I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable sharing with you.
Normally, I’d keep this secret to myself, or I’d have saved it for one of my Friday Confession blog posts, but today, I’m feeling the need to get this thing off my chest. So if you’ll bear with me, here goes.
I met the woman you all know as Gina in --- of all places --- an internet chat room (Jesus). From the start we hit it off (or at least I let her think we were hitting it off… truth is, she’s kind of annoying). We shared a similar love for the written word and we began to exchange thoughts and ideas (I did most of the exchanging… she just took, took, took… she’s pretty selfish like that). She became a valued friend (so she believes) and trusted editor (damn, she really won’t get off my back about that book), and we’ve remained in contact for the past six or so years (she’s getting wrinkly in her old age).
She really is a dear friend (whatever) and I consider her something akin to a sister (considering I barely even speak to my sisters… that’s fair) (and a much, much, much older less wiser sister)(aren’t these parenthetical addins getting a bit tedious?)(I know… I know)(continuing). I don’t have too many people I’m close to (I’m allergic to people), yet I’m sure that Gina and I will be friends for the rest of our lives (if she keeps messing with me, that’s going to be a relatively short campaign). I was there for her (even if it didn't seem that way) when her mother passed (she’s still not completely done dealing with that pain) and she was there during a rather trying time in my life (Jordan really is a blessing). We’ve held each other’s hands as we’ve walked through the trials of life (sometimes in spirit is just as solid as flesh) and she knows that if she ever needs a nonjudgmental ear to listen to her problems, then she has it (as long as she doesn’t start yammering on about her pants not fitting or her tits sagging). Seriously, I love Gina beyond her comprehension (like a good old fashioned root canal), and I’ll never be able to repay her kindness, friendship, compassion, devotion, and … uh… all that other shit (just don't tell her I said anything nice about her... I've got a reputation to uphold).
One love.
Much / Not So Much
"The most important things to say are those which often I did not think necessary for me to say -- because they were too obvious."
----
André Gide
Watching Oprah? Much.
Knowing that she is not as open-minded as everyone thought she was (by not allowing rappers on her show)? Not so much.
Being dressed to impress? Much.
Wearing latex, too much hairspray, your hair being able to hit the door frame, 12 shades on your eyelids and thinking you're dressed to impress? Not so much.
Being cool? Much.
Thinking Prince and Pat Robertson singing a duet is cool? Not so much.
Fruit smoothie? Much.
Fruit smoothie with spoiled milk? Not so much.
Abu Musab al-Zarqawi dead? Hold on, everyone.
Weren't we supposed to be hunting down some other guy that was responsible for bringing down the towers? What happened to trying to find Osama Bin Ladin's back forty? WE HAVE FOUND SADDAM, WE FOUND AL-ZARQAWI, WHERE IN THE SAM HILL IS BIN LADIN? SOOOOO NOT SO MUCH!
----
André Gide
Watching Oprah? Much.
Knowing that she is not as open-minded as everyone thought she was (by not allowing rappers on her show)? Not so much.
Being dressed to impress? Much.
Wearing latex, too much hairspray, your hair being able to hit the door frame, 12 shades on your eyelids and thinking you're dressed to impress? Not so much.
Being cool? Much.
Thinking Prince and Pat Robertson singing a duet is cool? Not so much.
Fruit smoothie? Much.
Fruit smoothie with spoiled milk? Not so much.
Abu Musab al-Zarqawi dead? Hold on, everyone.
Weren't we supposed to be hunting down some other guy that was responsible for bringing down the towers? What happened to trying to find Osama Bin Ladin's back forty? WE HAVE FOUND SADDAM, WE FOUND AL-ZARQAWI, WHERE IN THE SAM HILL IS BIN LADIN? SOOOOO NOT SO MUCH!
Labels: Much / Not So Much, My Writing
Happy Anniversary, Baby!
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
"All writing is garbage."
----
French playwright Antonin Artaud
"I never said I had no idea about most of the things you said I had no idea about."
----
Elliot Abrams
Wow, I can't believe it's been a month already. I feel like I have shared a lot with you and it's just begun. Don't worry, we've (the people in my head and me)have got a lot more where that came from.
In the meantime, my life is still financially suspended. Got more job hunting to do. I talked to my dad, who wants me to come up to St. Louis to work with him, but he's talking about how he's struggling and how people are coming up to him begging for money left and right. He and I have a stressful relationship--at least to me it is. Always has been. I figured that I've been trying to stay in his good graces while I have been sacrificing myself in ways that I truly regret. In one way, I want to be there with him, but when I get there, he always makes me feel like I'm in his way. I always feel like a diminished part of myself when I'm around him. Much more than I feel now. At least down here, I am who I am. When I am up there, I am Joe's (not his real name) daughter, or baby, or some other stuff that really pulls me apart and shrinks me simultaneously. Would I be the better woman to go up there and endure his world? Am I supposed to feel stronger as I am demeaned and humiliated in his prescence? Am I?
Here's something that I was thinking about while I was writing. I'm disturbed about so many people being in financial crises on one level or another. If this is not the problem, then something is. I mean is anyone's life perfect? Is there anyone out there that can say they've nary a care? I'm feeling so antsy waiting for this fall. I'm hoping that when I go back to school, I can get back into remembering my purpose: learning to write, learning to strengthen myself academically. There is so much out there to experience if I can just make it another two months.
I haven't heard from the school that I'm applying for yet. I plan on calling them in a couple of days to make sure they have all of the necessary paperwork before I make a decision about going to St. Louis. No wonder I'm sleeping day and night. I guess I'm more anxious than I thought.
Hmmm... I feel like I should erase a lot of this, but at the same time, I need to get this off my chest.
I have to say one thing on a high note. I feel like I've established a relationship with a relative that I would have never expected otherwise. I shared some family pictures, and did something I haven't done in a long time: talked with someone that had no negative ulterior motives. If you are reading this, D., thanks. I love ya, cuz.
They ain't open!!! LOL
----
French playwright Antonin Artaud
"I never said I had no idea about most of the things you said I had no idea about."
----
Elliot Abrams
Wow, I can't believe it's been a month already. I feel like I have shared a lot with you and it's just begun. Don't worry, we've (the people in my head and me)have got a lot more where that came from.
In the meantime, my life is still financially suspended. Got more job hunting to do. I talked to my dad, who wants me to come up to St. Louis to work with him, but he's talking about how he's struggling and how people are coming up to him begging for money left and right. He and I have a stressful relationship--at least to me it is. Always has been. I figured that I've been trying to stay in his good graces while I have been sacrificing myself in ways that I truly regret. In one way, I want to be there with him, but when I get there, he always makes me feel like I'm in his way. I always feel like a diminished part of myself when I'm around him. Much more than I feel now. At least down here, I am who I am. When I am up there, I am Joe's (not his real name) daughter, or baby, or some other stuff that really pulls me apart and shrinks me simultaneously. Would I be the better woman to go up there and endure his world? Am I supposed to feel stronger as I am demeaned and humiliated in his prescence? Am I?
Here's something that I was thinking about while I was writing. I'm disturbed about so many people being in financial crises on one level or another. If this is not the problem, then something is. I mean is anyone's life perfect? Is there anyone out there that can say they've nary a care? I'm feeling so antsy waiting for this fall. I'm hoping that when I go back to school, I can get back into remembering my purpose: learning to write, learning to strengthen myself academically. There is so much out there to experience if I can just make it another two months.
I haven't heard from the school that I'm applying for yet. I plan on calling them in a couple of days to make sure they have all of the necessary paperwork before I make a decision about going to St. Louis. No wonder I'm sleeping day and night. I guess I'm more anxious than I thought.
Hmmm... I feel like I should erase a lot of this, but at the same time, I need to get this off my chest.
I have to say one thing on a high note. I feel like I've established a relationship with a relative that I would have never expected otherwise. I shared some family pictures, and did something I haven't done in a long time: talked with someone that had no negative ulterior motives. If you are reading this, D., thanks. I love ya, cuz.
They ain't open!!! LOL
Labels: My Writing
Is It Just Me? Please Tell Me It's Not Just Me...
Monday, June 19, 2006
"There is less in this than meets the eye."
----
Tallulah Brockman Bankhead
I’m a terribly sick person. My brain has many issues. The thoughts that go on in my head scare me sometimes to boisterous laughter.
Here’s one of them.
I was walking down the aisle of a grocery store minding my own business when I had this picture in my head. You see, an older woman who was wearing lovely white polyester pants was bent over behind her basket as her friend was talking to her. She was seeking out something on one of the lower shelves on her side of the aisle. Then it came to me out of nowhere. The picture of my bending my leg outward, bending my knee and kicking her. I pictured that, though my kick was gentle, it pushed her through the cart, which opened and the momentum of her falling into the cart pushed forward down the aisle until she ran into the dairy counter. The bags of shredded cheese and blocks of plastic-wrapped cheese would topple over her, and because there was some apparatus or torque or something, the shredded cheese was freed and she was in her cart smushing her groceries and topped with mild and sharp cheddar, mozzarella, Mexican mix cheeses like some type of lasagna. Moments later, yolks and whites of eggs oozed from under her.
Senior Citizen, four-cheese Omelet!
Told you I’m sick.
----
Tallulah Brockman Bankhead
I’m a terribly sick person. My brain has many issues. The thoughts that go on in my head scare me sometimes to boisterous laughter.
Here’s one of them.
I was walking down the aisle of a grocery store minding my own business when I had this picture in my head. You see, an older woman who was wearing lovely white polyester pants was bent over behind her basket as her friend was talking to her. She was seeking out something on one of the lower shelves on her side of the aisle. Then it came to me out of nowhere. The picture of my bending my leg outward, bending my knee and kicking her. I pictured that, though my kick was gentle, it pushed her through the cart, which opened and the momentum of her falling into the cart pushed forward down the aisle until she ran into the dairy counter. The bags of shredded cheese and blocks of plastic-wrapped cheese would topple over her, and because there was some apparatus or torque or something, the shredded cheese was freed and she was in her cart smushing her groceries and topped with mild and sharp cheddar, mozzarella, Mexican mix cheeses like some type of lasagna. Moments later, yolks and whites of eggs oozed from under her.
Senior Citizen, four-cheese Omelet!
Told you I’m sick.
Labels: My Writing
SunKingpoet Has Arrived!!!!
"Do we, holding that gods exist, deceive ourselves with unsubstantiated dreams, and lies, while random careless chance and change alone rule the world?"
----
Euripides
Well, I’ve been out of pocket for a few days. I found a chance to come back in and lookie-loo, lookie-thar, my dear friend has rented my blog!
He’s said kind words about me and guest hosted me on his blog this week, so I humbly introduce the king, the sun, the poet that is SunKingpoet. He is one of my favorite writers in the whole wide world. I’d say my favorite of all, but it’s hard for him to get through the door frames with his big ole granite head in the first place.
This old soul has nearly infinite wisdom at his age. His writing is a blend of the contemporary and ancient, quirky and profound, light-hearted and soulful. I’ve seen much of his work over the years and only hope that I could acquire a thimble of his talent.
Instead of his personal blog, Across the Sands (there is a link on the lower left), he has posted “Original Man,” a community that expresses several points of view from a group of online friends including myself.
Please take a moment and click on this blog. Thanks.
----
Euripides
Well, I’ve been out of pocket for a few days. I found a chance to come back in and lookie-loo, lookie-thar, my dear friend has rented my blog!
He’s said kind words about me and guest hosted me on his blog this week, so I humbly introduce the king, the sun, the poet that is SunKingpoet. He is one of my favorite writers in the whole wide world. I’d say my favorite of all, but it’s hard for him to get through the door frames with his big ole granite head in the first place.
This old soul has nearly infinite wisdom at his age. His writing is a blend of the contemporary and ancient, quirky and profound, light-hearted and soulful. I’ve seen much of his work over the years and only hope that I could acquire a thimble of his talent.
Instead of his personal blog, Across the Sands (there is a link on the lower left), he has posted “Original Man,” a community that expresses several points of view from a group of online friends including myself.
Please take a moment and click on this blog. Thanks.
Labels: Blog Sites to See
Why are there 5,280 feet to a mile?
Friday, June 16, 2006
"He who angers you conquers you."
----
Elizabeth Kenny
From the files of coolquiz.com...
Why are there 5,280 feet to a mile? Why not a number like 5,000?
The measurement known as a mile is a vestige of the Roman Empire's rule over Britain. At this time, the Romans had a measurement known as mille pasuum (ME-lay PA-soo-em), or a thousand paces. A pace comprised five, possibly sandal shod, Roman feet. Using a simple mathematical calculation, we arrive at 5,000 feet per mile.
The demise of the Roman Empire left the Britons in a quandary. They now had a mile, consisting of 5,000 feet, and their own agricultural measurement, the furlong, used to measure the farmers' fields for the purpose of property deeds, etc. Instead of using the Roman foot in calculating the measure of a furlong, they used the distance a horse could pull a plow, in a linear fashion, before the nag needed a nap. They agreed that this measurement consisted 660 feet.
Now came the dilemma. The British wished to marry the furlong to the mile, but, as they wanted a mile to comprise eight furlongs, totaling 5,280 feet, instead of the Roman 5,000 feet per mile, they had no choice but to select one of the two. Not surprisingly, they chose their measurement over the Roman measurement because, as property deeds at the time were measured in furlongs, or 660 feet, a change to the Roman measurement would short the farmer or landowner.
----
Elizabeth Kenny
From the files of coolquiz.com...
Why are there 5,280 feet to a mile? Why not a number like 5,000?
The measurement known as a mile is a vestige of the Roman Empire's rule over Britain. At this time, the Romans had a measurement known as mille pasuum (ME-lay PA-soo-em), or a thousand paces. A pace comprised five, possibly sandal shod, Roman feet. Using a simple mathematical calculation, we arrive at 5,000 feet per mile.
The demise of the Roman Empire left the Britons in a quandary. They now had a mile, consisting of 5,000 feet, and their own agricultural measurement, the furlong, used to measure the farmers' fields for the purpose of property deeds, etc. Instead of using the Roman foot in calculating the measure of a furlong, they used the distance a horse could pull a plow, in a linear fashion, before the nag needed a nap. They agreed that this measurement consisted 660 feet.
Now came the dilemma. The British wished to marry the furlong to the mile, but, as they wanted a mile to comprise eight furlongs, totaling 5,280 feet, instead of the Roman 5,000 feet per mile, they had no choice but to select one of the two. Not surprisingly, they chose their measurement over the Roman measurement because, as property deeds at the time were measured in furlongs, or 660 feet, a change to the Roman measurement would short the farmer or landowner.
I Screamed At Inhumanity
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
I screamed
My brain turned hot
My heart became a piston
Driving beyond its limits
I screamed
Angry
Saddened
Hurting
For my ancestors
For my relatives
For my offspring
I screamed
For the royalty that was stripped away from me
For the royalty that was stripped away those before me
To do the work of people who would not do it themselves
Kings and queens who were shackled and stripped
Turned from human to inhumane
From beautiful to black
Raped, whipped, and stripped
From one to three-fifths
Then finally given freedom that was stolen
Only to be raped, whipped, and stripped
Switching the torture from outside to inside
Switching the torture from physical to psychological
I screamed
Seeing my family
The kings and queens of centuries ago
Who relinquished their titles to honor much less
Drugs
Genocide
Ignorance
I screamed
Looking far
Seeing my cousins killing my other cousins
Not understanding why
But seeing my distant home being stripped of its jewels
The blood of my blood enriching the soil, poisoning the waters
Contrasts of black and white
Contrasts of beauty and fear
I screamed
Looking across the street
Seeing my cousins killing my other cousins
Not understanding why
Seeing my relatives being stripped of their inner beauty
The blood of my blood infused with drugs and abuse
Contrasts of black and black
Contrasts of beauty and ignorance
I screamed
At my children and their future
The evolution of man
From human to inhumane to nonhuman
Void of living
Void of compassion
Only an amalgamation of atoms
Swirled into a mass
Whose decisions, if based on the past,
Can produce the best of me
Can produce the worst of me
The blood of my blood flowing
From generation to generation
Hoping the atrocities will decrease
Knowing the atrocities may increase
I screamed
For the tragedy of slavery
I screamed
Remembering
Miss Evers’ Boys
I screamed
Remembering
The strange fruit
I screamed
Remembering
The Watts riots of the 60’s
I screamed
Remembering
The Watts riots of the 90’s
I screamed
For the degradation of visual, mental, and chemical genocide
I screamed
For the fear of what is to come
I screamed
Wondering if the towers were in Nigeria
Would the New York Times have posted the name of each dead person
I screamed
Wondering when the names of each soldier killed displayed in the news
Became renamed simply as troops
I screamed
Wondering when gross acts of humanity
Became normal and usual
I screamed
How inhumane
My brain turned hot
My heart became a piston
Driving beyond its limits
I screamed
I screamed
I screamed
Until all I could do was inhale
My brain turned hot
My heart became a piston
Driving beyond its limits
I screamed
Angry
Saddened
Hurting
For my ancestors
For my relatives
For my offspring
I screamed
For the royalty that was stripped away from me
For the royalty that was stripped away those before me
To do the work of people who would not do it themselves
Kings and queens who were shackled and stripped
Turned from human to inhumane
From beautiful to black
Raped, whipped, and stripped
From one to three-fifths
Then finally given freedom that was stolen
Only to be raped, whipped, and stripped
Switching the torture from outside to inside
Switching the torture from physical to psychological
I screamed
Seeing my family
The kings and queens of centuries ago
Who relinquished their titles to honor much less
Drugs
Genocide
Ignorance
I screamed
Looking far
Seeing my cousins killing my other cousins
Not understanding why
But seeing my distant home being stripped of its jewels
The blood of my blood enriching the soil, poisoning the waters
Contrasts of black and white
Contrasts of beauty and fear
I screamed
Looking across the street
Seeing my cousins killing my other cousins
Not understanding why
Seeing my relatives being stripped of their inner beauty
The blood of my blood infused with drugs and abuse
Contrasts of black and black
Contrasts of beauty and ignorance
I screamed
At my children and their future
The evolution of man
From human to inhumane to nonhuman
Void of living
Void of compassion
Only an amalgamation of atoms
Swirled into a mass
Whose decisions, if based on the past,
Can produce the best of me
Can produce the worst of me
The blood of my blood flowing
From generation to generation
Hoping the atrocities will decrease
Knowing the atrocities may increase
I screamed
For the tragedy of slavery
I screamed
Remembering
Miss Evers’ Boys
I screamed
Remembering
The strange fruit
I screamed
Remembering
The Watts riots of the 60’s
I screamed
Remembering
The Watts riots of the 90’s
I screamed
For the degradation of visual, mental, and chemical genocide
I screamed
For the fear of what is to come
I screamed
Wondering if the towers were in Nigeria
Would the New York Times have posted the name of each dead person
I screamed
Wondering when the names of each soldier killed displayed in the news
Became renamed simply as troops
I screamed
Wondering when gross acts of humanity
Became normal and usual
I screamed
How inhumane
My brain turned hot
My heart became a piston
Driving beyond its limits
I screamed
I screamed
I screamed
Until all I could do was inhale
Labels: My Writing, Poetry
I Screamed
This poem is here because I wanted to show this to someone. However, I needed to be reminded of this. Thanks for reminding me. You know who you are.
I screamed.
I screamed at the whole, wide world.
I screamed at a handful of people.
I screamed at myself.
I screamed at the ruthless nemesis that lies within.
My scream opened at the dark, hovering, clouds
Getting some spirits’ attention.
My scream cracked the earth’s crust
Informing some demons to take notice.
My scream reached through time
Angry at my forefathers’ slack
Demanding my offspring that of excellence
Exclaiming one to have wanted more
The other to accept no less.
My scream reached
Through dendrites
Through capillaries
Through epidermis
To atoms
My scream adjusted spirit.
My scream adjusted soul.
My scream adjusted consciousness.
My scream shook them.
My scream funneled them.
My scream made them agree
That enough is enough.
That finger-pointing is no more.
That progress and discipline are psalms of praise.
I screamed.
I screamed.
I screamed.
I screamed.
I screamed.
Until all I could do was inhale.
I screamed.
I screamed at the whole, wide world.
I screamed at a handful of people.
I screamed at myself.
I screamed at the ruthless nemesis that lies within.
My scream opened at the dark, hovering, clouds
Getting some spirits’ attention.
My scream cracked the earth’s crust
Informing some demons to take notice.
My scream reached through time
Angry at my forefathers’ slack
Demanding my offspring that of excellence
Exclaiming one to have wanted more
The other to accept no less.
My scream reached
Through dendrites
Through capillaries
Through epidermis
To atoms
My scream adjusted spirit.
My scream adjusted soul.
My scream adjusted consciousness.
My scream shook them.
My scream funneled them.
My scream made them agree
That enough is enough.
That finger-pointing is no more.
That progress and discipline are psalms of praise.
I screamed.
I screamed.
I screamed.
I screamed.
I screamed.
Until all I could do was inhale.
Labels: My Writing, Poetry
Lack Of It May Be the Root, But...
Monday, June 12, 2006
"No man can put a chain about the ankle of his fellow man without at last finding the other end fastened about his own neck."
---- Aristophanes
I wonder if there is anyone else out there that is under the dire circumstances I am? I haven’t worked since March 11, and though I’ve graduated from community college, I cannot find a job. My electricity will be cut off. My phone is already off, and I pretty much anticipate that, even if my lights were out, the internet and tv cable (which I don’t watch much in the summer) would be off Monday, the 19th.
I’ve made efforts to find a job, traveling to the other towns near me, and in my small town, but it hasn’t been productive. I feel like I’m running through mud. I really do.
I've lived through difficult times, living check to check. How do people thrive? How do people make so much money that they can go out of town on a whim? How does that work?
---- Aristophanes
I wonder if there is anyone else out there that is under the dire circumstances I am? I haven’t worked since March 11, and though I’ve graduated from community college, I cannot find a job. My electricity will be cut off. My phone is already off, and I pretty much anticipate that, even if my lights were out, the internet and tv cable (which I don’t watch much in the summer) would be off Monday, the 19th.
I’ve made efforts to find a job, traveling to the other towns near me, and in my small town, but it hasn’t been productive. I feel like I’m running through mud. I really do.
I've lived through difficult times, living check to check. How do people thrive? How do people make so much money that they can go out of town on a whim? How does that work?
Labels: My Writing
Much / Not So Much
"I'll make you wish there were 48 hours in a day."
----
Chaka Khan
Reminiscing about the good old days? Much.
Wearing a mullet, crew cut, jheri curl, wave nuveau, or too much hairspray? Not so much.
Wearing black lip liner, too much mascara, eyeliner that look like tire tracks, or any colors of makeup that you used when you are in high school? Not so much.
Wearing your children’s clothes? Not so much.
Wearing your children’s clothes that show bulges and cottage cheese that you are blocking out of your mind because you believe that you simply don’t have them? Not so much.
Being flat out delusional about your age? Not so much.
----
Chaka Khan
Reminiscing about the good old days? Much.
Wearing a mullet, crew cut, jheri curl, wave nuveau, or too much hairspray? Not so much.
Wearing black lip liner, too much mascara, eyeliner that look like tire tracks, or any colors of makeup that you used when you are in high school? Not so much.
Wearing your children’s clothes? Not so much.
Wearing your children’s clothes that show bulges and cottage cheese that you are blocking out of your mind because you believe that you simply don’t have them? Not so much.
Being flat out delusional about your age? Not so much.
Labels: Much / Not So Much, My Writing
Hospital Trip (Why I Haven't Blogged)
Sunday, June 11, 2006
"You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war."
----
Albert Einstein
I have been to Memphis over the last two days. My cousin had to go to the hospital. Yes, we went to Memphis to go to the hospital. TWO HOURS AWAY.
The main reason that we went is because he had lived in Memphis a few years ago, and the hospital that we went to has a record of his history. A second reason is that we live in a small town.
I was told that our town was so small that the hospital has shut down their surgical department. People do not go to the local hospital for serious conditions. The town is so small that when someone is ill, the EMT’s will take you to the local hospital for emergencies, but they are more likely to use our hospital as a pit stop, if you will. When the hospital is out of their scope, or if the patient’s medical history is primarily in another town, they will take the patient there. It appears that our hospital is more like the nurses station at one’s elementary school.
Another reason why I hate living in a small town.
----
Albert Einstein
I have been to Memphis over the last two days. My cousin had to go to the hospital. Yes, we went to Memphis to go to the hospital. TWO HOURS AWAY.
The main reason that we went is because he had lived in Memphis a few years ago, and the hospital that we went to has a record of his history. A second reason is that we live in a small town.
I was told that our town was so small that the hospital has shut down their surgical department. People do not go to the local hospital for serious conditions. The town is so small that when someone is ill, the EMT’s will take you to the local hospital for emergencies, but they are more likely to use our hospital as a pit stop, if you will. When the hospital is out of their scope, or if the patient’s medical history is primarily in another town, they will take the patient there. It appears that our hospital is more like the nurses station at one’s elementary school.
Another reason why I hate living in a small town.
Labels: My Writing
A Letter
"Only with the heart can we know and understand the secrets of the soul."
----
Dick Innes
I took offense to my own existence this morning. As a retort, I wrote a suicide letter.
In that letter, I wrote why I thought I would have done this. It is an atrocious notion; something that I have thought about doing. Seriously thought about doing. That’s another therapy session.
This morning, I asked myself, “Self, if you wrote your suicide letter, what would you say? Who would you address? Are there people whom you would not want to leave terms of endearment?” I found after a few moments, that not only did I have a lot to say in almost three pages in as many minutes, it seemed, but I knew who I wanted to leave a note too, and I would want to leave some guilty pleasures that made me feel they were against me, including a couple of very close relatives.
I stopped writing for whatever reason. I was somehow diverted, but as I wrote, my thoughts seemed to move faster than the mighty sword I held in my hands.
Is there something wrong with me? Is it just me? Am I angry? Am I bitter?
This I know as fact: I have negative feelings inside me. I harbor them, and they encase me. I’ve often said that I’m the type of person that would say that Mother Theresa was too short. I’d say the ice cream was too cold. I’d say that… well, you get the point.
The irony of this is that my letter started with the ability of my disappearing with nary a care. Yeah, you’ve heard this before, but not the twist part. I was writing the letter after a fitful sleep in my best friend’s home. I awoke just shy of 6am in a startling condition that has never happened to me in my life: I did not immediately know where I was. I acclimated myself then recalled the circumstances. My cousin needed to go to Memphis to get his heart checked, and, though I cannot swear to it, I was the only person he had told that he needed to go. I had done some other things over the last few weeks that people had asked of me. And suicide crossed my mind like an old memory that I try to forget to no avail.
Right now, the letter is set aside in a book that I want to read, hidden from others, and perhaps, myself.
My girlfriend came out later and asked me what I was doing.
“Oh, just writing a suicide letter.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you.”
If but for no other reason than to appreciate her sense of humor the way nobody else can, I’ll stick around.
----
Dick Innes
I took offense to my own existence this morning. As a retort, I wrote a suicide letter.
In that letter, I wrote why I thought I would have done this. It is an atrocious notion; something that I have thought about doing. Seriously thought about doing. That’s another therapy session.
This morning, I asked myself, “Self, if you wrote your suicide letter, what would you say? Who would you address? Are there people whom you would not want to leave terms of endearment?” I found after a few moments, that not only did I have a lot to say in almost three pages in as many minutes, it seemed, but I knew who I wanted to leave a note too, and I would want to leave some guilty pleasures that made me feel they were against me, including a couple of very close relatives.
I stopped writing for whatever reason. I was somehow diverted, but as I wrote, my thoughts seemed to move faster than the mighty sword I held in my hands.
Is there something wrong with me? Is it just me? Am I angry? Am I bitter?
This I know as fact: I have negative feelings inside me. I harbor them, and they encase me. I’ve often said that I’m the type of person that would say that Mother Theresa was too short. I’d say the ice cream was too cold. I’d say that… well, you get the point.
The irony of this is that my letter started with the ability of my disappearing with nary a care. Yeah, you’ve heard this before, but not the twist part. I was writing the letter after a fitful sleep in my best friend’s home. I awoke just shy of 6am in a startling condition that has never happened to me in my life: I did not immediately know where I was. I acclimated myself then recalled the circumstances. My cousin needed to go to Memphis to get his heart checked, and, though I cannot swear to it, I was the only person he had told that he needed to go. I had done some other things over the last few weeks that people had asked of me. And suicide crossed my mind like an old memory that I try to forget to no avail.
Right now, the letter is set aside in a book that I want to read, hidden from others, and perhaps, myself.
My girlfriend came out later and asked me what I was doing.
“Oh, just writing a suicide letter.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you.”
If but for no other reason than to appreciate her sense of humor the way nobody else can, I’ll stick around.
Labels: My Writing
Antithesis
Thursday, June 08, 2006
"There comes a time in every man's life and I've had many of them…"
----
Casey Stengel
Wherever you are
you are there
and I am here
until I am there
and there is not there anymore
because there is now here.
There does not exist
where I am
because I am always here
and when I get there
I am here
and there disappears.
So you don’t miss something
until it’s gone,
but what is there to miss
if I were never there?
. . .
Everything is everything.
So nothing is nothing
and something is something.
Everything relies on something
to make that thing something
So that thing can be
a part of everything
except nothing.
Yet even nothing relies on something
to be nothing
and everything includes
a lot of somethings.
But is nothing included in everything?
Well, if nothing is nothing,
but nothing has to be something simply to be nothing,
Then nothing is a part of everything
and nothing is also the opposite of everything.
Though nothing is not a part of anything,
nothing is a part of everything!
----
Casey Stengel
Wherever you are
you are there
and I am here
until I am there
and there is not there anymore
because there is now here.
There does not exist
where I am
because I am always here
and when I get there
I am here
and there disappears.
So you don’t miss something
until it’s gone,
but what is there to miss
if I were never there?
. . .
Everything is everything.
So nothing is nothing
and something is something.
Everything relies on something
to make that thing something
So that thing can be
a part of everything
except nothing.
Yet even nothing relies on something
to be nothing
and everything includes
a lot of somethings.
But is nothing included in everything?
Well, if nothing is nothing,
but nothing has to be something simply to be nothing,
Then nothing is a part of everything
and nothing is also the opposite of everything.
Though nothing is not a part of anything,
nothing is a part of everything!
Labels: Poetry
Hey! Scooter's Hangin' In!
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
What a nice guy Scooter is. I can vouch for him. He did talk about Prince. Who could argue with a man that makes his personal "Greatest Hits" CD?
Have you cared about Scooter, though? Where is the love? He put out just to be here. Please be kind, show him some love, and click on his blog a little more, 'kay?
Good times.
Have you cared about Scooter, though? Where is the love? He put out just to be here. Please be kind, show him some love, and click on his blog a little more, 'kay?
Good times.
Labels: Blog Sites to See
His Windsong
"The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved."
----
Victor Hugo
How was I to discover
His permission was allowed
for them to fly today
and bring someone along?
How was I to comprehend
that the newly appointed team
fluttered and flitted
brimming with excitement?
how was I to sense
they had swooped up
the souls of the saddened
for the ride of their desires?
I was to discover
to comprehend
to sense
I discovered when outside
the notes of the song
gave in to an improvisation
through the rustle of buds and birds
Outside the notes of the song
drummed bass notes on the flagpole
hummed softened scats through blades of grass
the floutist’s tuned heard and breezed nearest me
But the ride revived all
for they each were given the chance
and my love, whose song had lost its tone
brushed his fingers, tussling my hair
hushed his lips over mine
meshed his cheek onto my skin
with his wind song carrier
a composition he crooned
I did come to understand
his love within the breeze.
----
Victor Hugo
How was I to discover
His permission was allowed
for them to fly today
and bring someone along?
How was I to comprehend
that the newly appointed team
fluttered and flitted
brimming with excitement?
how was I to sense
they had swooped up
the souls of the saddened
for the ride of their desires?
I was to discover
to comprehend
to sense
I discovered when outside
the notes of the song
gave in to an improvisation
through the rustle of buds and birds
Outside the notes of the song
drummed bass notes on the flagpole
hummed softened scats through blades of grass
the floutist’s tuned heard and breezed nearest me
But the ride revived all
for they each were given the chance
and my love, whose song had lost its tone
brushed his fingers, tussling my hair
hushed his lips over mine
meshed his cheek onto my skin
with his wind song carrier
a composition he crooned
I did come to understand
his love within the breeze.
Labels: Poetry
Thrown-Away Fan Mail
"Show me a guy who's afraid to look bad, and I'll show you a guy you can beat."
----
Lou Brock
Ever wonder what happened to fan mail that did not complimenting the stars? Well, from the vaults of the garbage cans of fan mail...
Dea Mista Ty-lerrr Perrrray:
Dis hea’s Miss Bertha Joe Mommasuggly. Naw boy, you don knoa me, but Ah’s a mother of the church you came by whin you all had that play in taown, The South Side West Side Upside Your Head Missionary Apostolic Baptist Methodist Forgetdist Church of God In Christ Almighty Amen?
I jus wonted tah say that I shore enjoyed the way you spoke to our young folk in da church. We really need tah come togedah to brang our chilren out of da skreets an intah da church.
But, Ty-lerrr, babydawl, we really need ta talk! Nah you can have that big ole house afta awla dat time bein homeless an awl. You all can even say that you are lookin fo da woman of yo dreams. But, baybe, either you are wut the young folk call “met-tro-secs-uu-ul” or you all got some shugah in yo tank.
Naw, we let Luffa slide becaws he was a manlay man. Even wid dem derr rhinestones all ova his suits n drankin Kool-Aid outta dem fancy glasses (I heard dat on “Oprerr”), his voyce made all of us so… well, you knoa, baybee… Lemme jus say dat us gurls wus afraid we’d slip and fall, derr was so much… well, you knoa! An don git me wron, you all are nice looking for a man.
But, baybee, you shole knoa how ta wear dem derr Madea dresses.
Now you all jus come on outta da closet. Set choself free!
Yours truly,
Mother Bertha Jo Mommasuggly
Head Usha
President of the Missionary Boad
South Side West Side Upside Your Head Missionary Apostolic Baptist Methodist Forgetdist Church of God in Christ Almighty Amen
----
Lou Brock
Ever wonder what happened to fan mail that did not complimenting the stars? Well, from the vaults of the garbage cans of fan mail...
Dea Mista Ty-lerrr Perrrray:
Dis hea’s Miss Bertha Joe Mommasuggly. Naw boy, you don knoa me, but Ah’s a mother of the church you came by whin you all had that play in taown, The South Side West Side Upside Your Head Missionary Apostolic Baptist Methodist Forgetdist Church of God In Christ Almighty Amen?
I jus wonted tah say that I shore enjoyed the way you spoke to our young folk in da church. We really need tah come togedah to brang our chilren out of da skreets an intah da church.
But, Ty-lerrr, babydawl, we really need ta talk! Nah you can have that big ole house afta awla dat time bein homeless an awl. You all can even say that you are lookin fo da woman of yo dreams. But, baybe, either you are wut the young folk call “met-tro-secs-uu-ul” or you all got some shugah in yo tank.
Naw, we let Luffa slide becaws he was a manlay man. Even wid dem derr rhinestones all ova his suits n drankin Kool-Aid outta dem fancy glasses (I heard dat on “Oprerr”), his voyce made all of us so… well, you knoa, baybee… Lemme jus say dat us gurls wus afraid we’d slip and fall, derr was so much… well, you knoa! An don git me wron, you all are nice looking for a man.
But, baybee, you shole knoa how ta wear dem derr Madea dresses.
Now you all jus come on outta da closet. Set choself free!
Yours truly,
Mother Bertha Jo Mommasuggly
Head Usha
President of the Missionary Boad
South Side West Side Upside Your Head Missionary Apostolic Baptist Methodist Forgetdist Church of God in Christ Almighty Amen
Labels: My Writing
Much / Not So Much Tuesday
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
"Our life is what our thoughts make of it."
----
Marcus Aurelius
Jambalaya? Much.
Jambalaya with crunchy rice? Not so much.
Honesty? Much.
Honesty in the eye of the beholder? Not so much.
You lyin’ to me, mofo? You betta not be, Sucka.
Charles Gibson (newly hired ABC anchor)? Much.
Katie Couric (newly hired NBC anchor)? Jury’s still out on that one.
Going out on a blind date? Much.
Going out on a blind date to an all-you-can-eat buffet to meet a sumo wrestler? Not so much.
Sorry, but I can’t even compare a “much” to this: Congress wasting taxpayers’ money to debate the amending the United States Constitution to define marriage as a union between a man and a woman (making same-sex marriages unconstitutional) when the likelihood of it is nearly impossible? What is Congress smoking on?
----
Marcus Aurelius
Jambalaya? Much.
Jambalaya with crunchy rice? Not so much.
Honesty? Much.
Honesty in the eye of the beholder? Not so much.
You lyin’ to me, mofo? You betta not be, Sucka.
Charles Gibson (newly hired ABC anchor)? Much.
Katie Couric (newly hired NBC anchor)? Jury’s still out on that one.
Going out on a blind date? Much.
Going out on a blind date to an all-you-can-eat buffet to meet a sumo wrestler? Not so much.
Sorry, but I can’t even compare a “much” to this: Congress wasting taxpayers’ money to debate the amending the United States Constitution to define marriage as a union between a man and a woman (making same-sex marriages unconstitutional) when the likelihood of it is nearly impossible? What is Congress smoking on?
Labels: Much / Not So Much, My Writing
To See Or Not To See
Monday, June 05, 2006
"Man is a creature who lives not upon bread alone, but principally by catchwords."
----
Robert Louis Stevenson
I’ve awakened after a day of virtual solitude many times. With not one person calling or visiting me, I would find no particular reason to pass through my threshold. This day, I’ve awakened with intentions to leave my house and accomplish specific goals.
There are people who live with other’s lives woven tightly into theirs. A kaleidoscope of connections can easily create a quilt of a well-rounded, well-connected person. I, on the other hand, have awakened on more than one occasion wondering how soon I would be discovered if I died in this house.
Sounds crazy? Fatalistic? Perhaps. After something happened to me that I’m still not at a place to speak yet, I, who once lived in Omaha, Nebraska, was often told that people did not know that I am a denizen of my town. I have been told such things: “I didn’t know you were still down here?” “I thought you went back to wherever you came from,” and statements along these lines. Yes, these words sound peculiar for lack of a better euphemism. It was not enough for these same people who have driven by my house to say, “well, I’ve been by, but I didn’t think that you were there.” or “I didn’t know you still lived there!” They would satisfy their own guilt by looking at me as if I am speaking another language when I retort, “Did you knock on the door?” “Did you try to call?” “If my car is there, I’m there.”
I will support their guilt by telling that I often do not open my front door, nor do I open my blinds. I’ve been trying to be more regular about this, but even with those signs of availability, I’ve gone weeks without someone knocking at my door.
Am I supposed to stepping out and go to every person’s house to sit down and ingratiate myself? Maybe, maybe not. I rarely do, though. I am open to having people come over to socialize or what they call nowadays “entertain”, but my visibility, or invisibility, curtails my party planning.
So, another naked truth is exposed. I’m going out now to run my errands. Maybe someone will acknowledge my presence. Time to roll the dice.
----
Robert Louis Stevenson
I’ve awakened after a day of virtual solitude many times. With not one person calling or visiting me, I would find no particular reason to pass through my threshold. This day, I’ve awakened with intentions to leave my house and accomplish specific goals.
There are people who live with other’s lives woven tightly into theirs. A kaleidoscope of connections can easily create a quilt of a well-rounded, well-connected person. I, on the other hand, have awakened on more than one occasion wondering how soon I would be discovered if I died in this house.
Sounds crazy? Fatalistic? Perhaps. After something happened to me that I’m still not at a place to speak yet, I, who once lived in Omaha, Nebraska, was often told that people did not know that I am a denizen of my town. I have been told such things: “I didn’t know you were still down here?” “I thought you went back to wherever you came from,” and statements along these lines. Yes, these words sound peculiar for lack of a better euphemism. It was not enough for these same people who have driven by my house to say, “well, I’ve been by, but I didn’t think that you were there.” or “I didn’t know you still lived there!” They would satisfy their own guilt by looking at me as if I am speaking another language when I retort, “Did you knock on the door?” “Did you try to call?” “If my car is there, I’m there.”
I will support their guilt by telling that I often do not open my front door, nor do I open my blinds. I’ve been trying to be more regular about this, but even with those signs of availability, I’ve gone weeks without someone knocking at my door.
Am I supposed to stepping out and go to every person’s house to sit down and ingratiate myself? Maybe, maybe not. I rarely do, though. I am open to having people come over to socialize or what they call nowadays “entertain”, but my visibility, or invisibility, curtails my party planning.
So, another naked truth is exposed. I’m going out now to run my errands. Maybe someone will acknowledge my presence. Time to roll the dice.
Labels: My Writing
I'm Being Broken In!!!!!
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Well lookie derr! Now, y’all knows wut kinda blogger I is. I bees a dumb one. I jus knows how tah do da writin’ an dat’s dat! Y’all may be noticin my doodads an bells an whissles. An now, I have this little squayare ova derr on da lef.
Okay, for you guys that don’t know Southern, I will do it right. I am honored beyond words that someone wanted to rent some space to my corner of the world. Scooter’s site is interesting, and when I grow up, I’m gonna—woops—going to have a blog like his.
Please give him a click.
Do it for the ones you love.
Okay, fine. Do it for me.
Okay!
Okay! Do it for Scooter!!!
Okay, for you guys that don’t know Southern, I will do it right. I am honored beyond words that someone wanted to rent some space to my corner of the world. Scooter’s site is interesting, and when I grow up, I’m gonna—woops—going to have a blog like his.
Please give him a click.
Do it for the ones you love.
Okay, fine. Do it for me.
Okay!
Okay! Do it for Scooter!!!
Labels: Blog Sites to See
Family--The Ties That May Bind
"To the family -- that dear octopus from whose tentacles we never quite escape, nor, in our inmost hearts, ever quite wish to."
---
Dodie Smith
Yesterday, I went to a cousin. I had to talk to them about something and I revealed a secret that I’m going to tell you now.
Most of you know me from my personality here, and a rare few know me a little more intimately. When I was younger, my worst fear was that when my mother would pass away, I would be alone; no connections to the outside world nor to my family.
I need to elaborate my family structure. My mother, an only child, had an only child. The extended family on my mother’s side is related to me by her parents. From them, I have a connection with a small number of them. My father has several brothers and sisters. However, my parents separated when I was 10, and my mother moved me from my father and his family when I was 11. I do have an older and a younger brother by two other women, but we do not have a close relationship. I live in Mississippi, and they live in St. Louis.
The secret is this: in essence, once both of my parents are gone, I’ve always felt that I would, in essence, be alone. I have no unique relationship that connects my parents with anyone.
(Yeah. For those who know me, you know that I’m not saying something. I know I’m not saying it. It’s still hard for me to do, and I don’t want to say something that is stuck out there forever just yet.)
Whoa, Nelly, I’ve digressed!
Today, I was reminded of something. My cousin on my mother’s (grandmother’s) side called me to take my great-aunt (my grandmother’s sister) to pay some bills. I spent the day with her doing this, including going to another town (BECAUSE WE LIVE IN THAT SMALL OF A TOWN—SCREAMING!!!!) to pay off one of her loans. I have some stories about our trips to another town (SEE PREVIOUS PARENTHETICAL PHRASE!!! SCREAMING!!!!!!) and the things she has said.
After coming back to town to pay her other utilities, she went grocery shopping. I saw a cousin who is related to me through my great-grandmother—my cousin is her sister’s great-grandchild—who made me smile. My great aunt forgot something at the store. In my efforts to retrieve dog food, I saw a cousin on my father’s side (guess what? I don’t know how he’s related to me! It’s somewhere on my maternal father’s side.) and we talked for a while. After dropping off the dog food, I went over my cousin’s house. We talked for a while.
I was driving home when it hit me. I’m as alone as I want to be. I am created from so much and the evolution to me and of my descendents could create a small town.
Egad. A freaking small town.
SCREAMING!!!!!!!
---
Dodie Smith
Yesterday, I went to a cousin. I had to talk to them about something and I revealed a secret that I’m going to tell you now.
Most of you know me from my personality here, and a rare few know me a little more intimately. When I was younger, my worst fear was that when my mother would pass away, I would be alone; no connections to the outside world nor to my family.
I need to elaborate my family structure. My mother, an only child, had an only child. The extended family on my mother’s side is related to me by her parents. From them, I have a connection with a small number of them. My father has several brothers and sisters. However, my parents separated when I was 10, and my mother moved me from my father and his family when I was 11. I do have an older and a younger brother by two other women, but we do not have a close relationship. I live in Mississippi, and they live in St. Louis.
The secret is this: in essence, once both of my parents are gone, I’ve always felt that I would, in essence, be alone. I have no unique relationship that connects my parents with anyone.
(Yeah. For those who know me, you know that I’m not saying something. I know I’m not saying it. It’s still hard for me to do, and I don’t want to say something that is stuck out there forever just yet.)
Whoa, Nelly, I’ve digressed!
Today, I was reminded of something. My cousin on my mother’s (grandmother’s) side called me to take my great-aunt (my grandmother’s sister) to pay some bills. I spent the day with her doing this, including going to another town (BECAUSE WE LIVE IN THAT SMALL OF A TOWN—SCREAMING!!!!) to pay off one of her loans. I have some stories about our trips to another town (SEE PREVIOUS PARENTHETICAL PHRASE!!! SCREAMING!!!!!!) and the things she has said.
After coming back to town to pay her other utilities, she went grocery shopping. I saw a cousin who is related to me through my great-grandmother—my cousin is her sister’s great-grandchild—who made me smile. My great aunt forgot something at the store. In my efforts to retrieve dog food, I saw a cousin on my father’s side (guess what? I don’t know how he’s related to me! It’s somewhere on my maternal father’s side.) and we talked for a while. After dropping off the dog food, I went over my cousin’s house. We talked for a while.
I was driving home when it hit me. I’m as alone as I want to be. I am created from so much and the evolution to me and of my descendents could create a small town.
Egad. A freaking small town.
SCREAMING!!!!!!!
Labels: Feel Goods, My Writing
The Picture
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Something I haven't seen... a blog that just... well... blogged. Here is one from my private journal.
I was watching television when I was in the middle of a commercial when I glanced over and in an acrylic frame where someone slid a picture of my mother and I felt like I had seen it for the first time She was wearing a dark paisley bloused and she had her hair parted on one side and her hair was almost at her shoulders which is something I don’t ever remember seeing She had her shaded bifocals on and her full jaws appeared to be pressed against the inside of the magnified parts I remember when this picture was done She told me that she was at her class reunion and I think about how she must have felt because I feel the same way now thinking about how successful the other classmates are now in their lives and how I am struggling so much even though I have joy and I find myself laughing a lot at the most ridiculous things I think to myself how much of a failure I am and how much more I thought I would have for myself I see the disgust and the self-hatred in that picture that I often see of myself when I look in the mirror I see it all I see all of the people who looked at me the way my mama looked in that picture the way that so many people looked at me with hopelessness and that I would not matter to them just as she looked in that picture I can see her looking at the person looking through the lens of the camera and see the look that that person is looking at her with pity and sadness because I know that when this picture was taken though it was not visible my mama couldn’t walk and she was sitting in the chair looking at the person looking at her so sad to have seen the life that she was relegated to because the person taking the picture remembered when she was the best dancer and how she dressed so gracefully even though she had to make her own clothes with her aunt who was only 15 days older than her and how she use to be sassy and cool and smart but now she is sitting in a chair unable to look at the person looking at her with pride or joy or anything because now she is stuck in this chair and I know that my mama is sitting in one of those hard metal folding chairs in pain the thing that disturbs me the most is that she is wearing some off colored pink lipstick that is glittery and glossy and I think as I see her lips how painful it must be to put on the only lipstick that she has and realize that it does not even blend in with what she would normally wear so I realize that though I do not wear makeup and I only wear reading glasses occasionally that somehow within this moment I see my mother and I see myself and we both are saddened to see our fate and we are sickened at the person who has pity on their face by looking at us
I was watching television when I was in the middle of a commercial when I glanced over and in an acrylic frame where someone slid a picture of my mother and I felt like I had seen it for the first time She was wearing a dark paisley bloused and she had her hair parted on one side and her hair was almost at her shoulders which is something I don’t ever remember seeing She had her shaded bifocals on and her full jaws appeared to be pressed against the inside of the magnified parts I remember when this picture was done She told me that she was at her class reunion and I think about how she must have felt because I feel the same way now thinking about how successful the other classmates are now in their lives and how I am struggling so much even though I have joy and I find myself laughing a lot at the most ridiculous things I think to myself how much of a failure I am and how much more I thought I would have for myself I see the disgust and the self-hatred in that picture that I often see of myself when I look in the mirror I see it all I see all of the people who looked at me the way my mama looked in that picture the way that so many people looked at me with hopelessness and that I would not matter to them just as she looked in that picture I can see her looking at the person looking through the lens of the camera and see the look that that person is looking at her with pity and sadness because I know that when this picture was taken though it was not visible my mama couldn’t walk and she was sitting in the chair looking at the person looking at her so sad to have seen the life that she was relegated to because the person taking the picture remembered when she was the best dancer and how she dressed so gracefully even though she had to make her own clothes with her aunt who was only 15 days older than her and how she use to be sassy and cool and smart but now she is sitting in a chair unable to look at the person looking at her with pride or joy or anything because now she is stuck in this chair and I know that my mama is sitting in one of those hard metal folding chairs in pain the thing that disturbs me the most is that she is wearing some off colored pink lipstick that is glittery and glossy and I think as I see her lips how painful it must be to put on the only lipstick that she has and realize that it does not even blend in with what she would normally wear so I realize that though I do not wear makeup and I only wear reading glasses occasionally that somehow within this moment I see my mother and I see myself and we both are saddened to see our fate and we are sickened at the person who has pity on their face by looking at us
Labels: My Writing, Poetry, Thoughts
What Is It?
Okay, so I had this creative writing class assignment where I was supposed to write a poem about a small object. This is the assignment. Tell me what you think this is...
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Allow the air to use me as I cling so closely,
refusing to release. Such a tortured
relationship we have. Your weakened ache
yearns for my pristine armor.
Every moment that we are close,
your warmth melds me with you.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
You get stronger as I become tainted,
tarnished with your remnants of weakness.
Later I am falling apart for you.
Yes, you!
Your once shattered pieces
become whole. Your need for me
weakens and as I hold on as long as possible
to help you, you begin to cleave. Your warmth
becomes cooler. The strength that I once had
fades as I fall away from you.
Finally, you push and pull,
aggravated with my dingy presence.
So precious I was to you, now I evoke
so many distraught emotions.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
A final release tosses me aside,
but confidante?
How will you bid me adieu?
Not with disgust and disdain.
Ah, yes.
No pain.
Place me in a position of dignity
before you set me free.
Fold me into threes.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Allow the air to use me as I cling so closely,
refusing to release. Such a tortured
relationship we have. Your weakened ache
yearns for my pristine armor.
Every moment that we are close,
your warmth melds me with you.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
You get stronger as I become tainted,
tarnished with your remnants of weakness.
Later I am falling apart for you.
Yes, you!
Your once shattered pieces
become whole. Your need for me
weakens and as I hold on as long as possible
to help you, you begin to cleave. Your warmth
becomes cooler. The strength that I once had
fades as I fall away from you.
Finally, you push and pull,
aggravated with my dingy presence.
So precious I was to you, now I evoke
so many distraught emotions.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
A final release tosses me aside,
but confidante?
How will you bid me adieu?
Not with disgust and disdain.
Ah, yes.
No pain.
Place me in a position of dignity
before you set me free.
Fold me into threes.
Labels: My Writing, Poetry