"Oh Loretta, it's marvelous, isn't it?"
"It is Lizzie, it most definitely is."
"Do you think mother will like it?"
"Oh no, it's not her thing at all."
"Fabulous. I was hoping you'd say that."
As Lizzie purchased the gaudy coat that her mother would most certainly not approve of, Loretta looked at the garish baubles that were also for sale.
The coat paid for, the two walked out into the rain; Loretta hummed "Moon River" while Lizzie skipped in and out of the puddles.
"Lizzie, what should we have for a snack d'ya think?"
"I want cheese and crackers."
"Can you make me some too?"
"Yep."
The two girls had lived together for 4 months now, in a loft above a convenience store (really, living above the store was the height of convenience. Loretta and Elizabeth were sisters; they had just moved to Montreal in the fall and were thoroughly enjoying themselves, despite the fact that schoolwork tried to distract them from their earthly pleasures.
Loretta was seeing a young chap called David, and although he really wasn't the sort of guy she saw herself settling down with, he was taller than her and had a penchant for buying her flowers - two qualities that made Loretta incapable of dismissing him. Lizzie thought the whole situation silly, but of course, she wasn't seeing anyone herself so maybe it was just jealousy or not understanding.
Once at the loft the girls peeled off their raincoats and Lizzie began assembling two plates with sliced marble cheddar and triscuits.
"Lorrie", (Lizzie's nickname for Loretta), "have you seen the latest episode of How I Met Your Mother? It's frightfully good."
"Let's watch it then."
"But I've already seen it!"
"I know you want to watch it again."
The girls wedged themselves onto their couch with blankets, pillows, and nibblies and commenced watching the sitcom.
"Can you sit on my feet?" Loretta asked her sister.
"Are they really cold?"
"Yeah."
And so Lizzie let her sister stick her icy toes underneath her thigh, and they watched the rest of the show in relative silence.
The next day, David stirred things up a little.
You see, David had quietly been working himself up into a frenzy. As a lacadasical Catholic, David had somehow managed to saddle himself with large amounts of guilt for having committed a dreadful sin: pre-marital copulation. He had wracked his brain for a way to remedy the situation, and the only solution he could think of was marriage; as though a wedding could be the big eraser that wipes out this blot from his record. Pre-marital sex would be ok if you actually intended to marry the girl, right? David had it all figured out.
Unfortunately, Loretta didn't feel the same way.
"You want me to WHAT?" Loretta expostulated.
"I... well... I thought we could get married. I mean to say, Loretta you're the one for me; will you marry me?"
He lost it when she laughed at him. Whatever careful fabrication of facts that had kept David's life together like a carefully balanced house made out of creamers and stir sticks, was quickly undone by Loretta's decision to condemn him. That was how he saw it - not that he was deprived an eternity with the woman that he loved, no. He was concerned that this sin - one he didn't even really mean to commit - would stain his permanent record forever, and God might not understand how truly silly women could be. (Although, he did create them, so maybe he knew better than anyone the depths of their follitude?) David sat there, feeling very silly, and began stewing in a marinade of self-pity.
Loretta couldn't believe her ears, and Lizzie was stifling giggles into a hand towel in the kitchen.
David stormed out soon after that. Humiliation is often best-suffered alone.
----
Lizzie was completing a Master's degree in English Literature. Being a well educated girl, the idea of marriage left a bad taste in her mouth. She didn't relish the idea of being sold off as a possession, handed off from her father to her husband. She did however have an elaborate plan for elopement, even down to the taxi company she would call to take her to city hall. But she had always known that David wasn't the "one" - he was a little too straight-laced, a little too rigid, as though he had once read that good posture was important and had from that moment never let up. His spine was always perfectly vertical.
"You didn't see it coming? Not at all?" Lizzie asked after the fit of laughter had subsided.
"Nope. I mean, I probably should've, but I hadn't been thinking about it, so."
"Ha HA! Well, too bad for him." Lizzie had sprawled out on the couch. She was flipping through Cosmo magazine while dipping a spoon first into the smooth peanut butter, and then into a bag of chocolate chips. She ate the chocolate and peanut butter off the spoon like a ___.
The phone rang. Loretta answered.
That stupid fool, David, had asked Loretta's father's permission for her hand in marriage. Now, more than ever Loretta questioned her decision to ever get involved with that guy. He didn't know her at all - and now she had her mother screaming in her ear, tittering away about how she was twenty-three, and did she think that such opportunities came around ever day? Loretta knew. Her mother went on in that way until Loretta finally said she would have to call her back; there was something burning in the oven. It was partially true. The situation had certain gone out of the frying pan and into the fire.
To deal with the strange events of the day, the girls decided to go dancing. They called up some friends, but only Sarah was willing to go dancing on a Sunday night. Most of them had work the next day, but Sarah was an artist that kept her own hours.
[more about Sarah]
Loretta could attract men quite easily when she tried. But trying involved make-up, tight clothing, and the figurative or literal batting of lashes. After a few years of those shenanigans, she had abandoned such false demonstrations of "self". (A little education is a dangerous thing, especially for a woman. Loretta had gotten notions of self-worth that stemmed from things other than appearance, and much to the chagrin of the materialistic culture surrounding her, she had pretty much stopped with make-up after that.)
But although Loretta preferred her eyes to shine with the light of intelligence rather than Loreal's bikini bronze shimmer shadow, she also liked to look good for herself. She figured that was acceptable. And so after a swoop of black eyeliner above her lower lashes (yes, it would probably make her blind one day, but we all have our vices) and a touch of lip gloss, she was ready to go. In her tight black dress she didn't look half bad.
Lizzie was a lot more awe-inspiring. Unlike Loretta, Lizzie looked amazing with make-up or without. In fact, she had mastered the art of highlighting her natural beauty, rather than covering it up with creams and various face-paint. She looked phenominal with dewy skin, rosy cheeks, and eyes that simply popped. She wore a pretty hot pink dress, which could be understated on anyone else but on Lizzie it was divine. Neither girl wore heels - the footwear was torture for dancing, and they were both so tall it was really quite unnecessary.
Lizzie had never had a boyfriend. She was simply too stunning; boys were completely intimidated, and more often than not assumed she already had a boyfriend - a gorgeous girl like that would have to, wouldn't she? It didn't particularly bother Lizzie (yet) because her life was full already, and it was ludacris to imagine factoring a guy into it. Men were needier than dogs, and Lizzie had her own pursuits to think of.
-------
young - having to movie, notes, letters etc.
- older, still friends, they meet Sarah.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Michael Cormick
I was desperately unhappy. So, rather than offing myself and ridding the world of my miserable existence, I set out to get rid of all my money. I decided to test the theory, that money can't buy happiness.
I was pretty sure it could.
To be continued.
I was pretty sure it could.
To be continued.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Like Pregnant Pause
The silence, need not be filled
An empty cup is full of air
Your smile makes me delirious
My heart is now aware
That it too, once was empty
You fill it with a grin
The story that was ending
Knows now how to begin.
An empty cup is full of air
Your smile makes me delirious
My heart is now aware
That it too, once was empty
You fill it with a grin
The story that was ending
Knows now how to begin.
Brains
It was quite different. In the bath my brain would melt, but it didn't slip out my ears like it did in class. In the bath, it was like custard; warm and soon to be cooling, but at the moment just sweetly warm inside its bowl. At school my brain melted not from temperature, but from boredom, and it would run out of my ears like cream soup and drip onto the floor until my head was emptier than when I had first sat down.
Sometimes I enjoyed the emptiness. With my brain matter pooling on the floor, I was free to let thoughts enter my head, rather than having to make them up myself. I'd find myself thinking about haircuts, and who in the room used the best shampoo. Or else lies, and whether or not they were good or bad. Flowers; was picking them wrong? Sometimes songs would enter the space between my ears, and I would soothe myself with Henry Mancini classics.
From time to time the present would snap back into focus, and with the remnants of my brain that had not yet liquefied, I would realize I was being taught. I was being informed of things that I cared not for, I was being told facts and details that had nothing to do with things that matter. Would algebra help me to determine right from wrong? Would numerical dexterity make me better as a person? Fortunately, "Moon River" started playing in my head and I was spared the inanity of having to answer these questions.
One has to be careful, though. If you're not careful, the songs or the absence of brain can lull you into a deep sub-conscious state. It's important not to be conspicuous, and while sub-conscious the brain can start leaking out of the mouth, which because rather obvious.
I usually take a short jaunt to the bathroom. Not because I need to rid my body of impurities - I need the walk. It slows the de-braining process. "I have to go to the bathroom" is not a lie - it's simply misleading. Once in the bathroom I try very hard not to touch anything; I know that the place is completely rife with dirty and dangerous bacteria - but it's still the safest place to go. I count to thirty, then use both of my pinkies to open the door. Returning to class feels like a death march. Slow, plodding. Full of what would be dread if I weren't so accepting of it.
The bath though. Sitting in a hot stew of my own filth. It's a great way to stay warm. I take off my glasses in order to spare myself the intolerable sight of dust floating in the water. I once bathed in my clothes, because nakedness is so awful, but if you've ever worn wet jeans you'll know that it didn't work out very well. So now I always bathe naked. Sometimes I slip down into the water, my nose still above water, and I pretend that I'm safe in this little cocoon. I love how something clear and permeable can feel so... so enveloping. Talk about a false sense of security. My custard-brain filled with delicious thoughts.
Sometimes I enjoyed the emptiness. With my brain matter pooling on the floor, I was free to let thoughts enter my head, rather than having to make them up myself. I'd find myself thinking about haircuts, and who in the room used the best shampoo. Or else lies, and whether or not they were good or bad. Flowers; was picking them wrong? Sometimes songs would enter the space between my ears, and I would soothe myself with Henry Mancini classics.
From time to time the present would snap back into focus, and with the remnants of my brain that had not yet liquefied, I would realize I was being taught. I was being informed of things that I cared not for, I was being told facts and details that had nothing to do with things that matter. Would algebra help me to determine right from wrong? Would numerical dexterity make me better as a person? Fortunately, "Moon River" started playing in my head and I was spared the inanity of having to answer these questions.
One has to be careful, though. If you're not careful, the songs or the absence of brain can lull you into a deep sub-conscious state. It's important not to be conspicuous, and while sub-conscious the brain can start leaking out of the mouth, which because rather obvious.
I usually take a short jaunt to the bathroom. Not because I need to rid my body of impurities - I need the walk. It slows the de-braining process. "I have to go to the bathroom" is not a lie - it's simply misleading. Once in the bathroom I try very hard not to touch anything; I know that the place is completely rife with dirty and dangerous bacteria - but it's still the safest place to go. I count to thirty, then use both of my pinkies to open the door. Returning to class feels like a death march. Slow, plodding. Full of what would be dread if I weren't so accepting of it.
The bath though. Sitting in a hot stew of my own filth. It's a great way to stay warm. I take off my glasses in order to spare myself the intolerable sight of dust floating in the water. I once bathed in my clothes, because nakedness is so awful, but if you've ever worn wet jeans you'll know that it didn't work out very well. So now I always bathe naked. Sometimes I slip down into the water, my nose still above water, and I pretend that I'm safe in this little cocoon. I love how something clear and permeable can feel so... so enveloping. Talk about a false sense of security. My custard-brain filled with delicious thoughts.
Friday, December 3, 2010
What am I doing
Some is good, and some is bad.
These are the days that I have had.
And so you say that you like me,
But you are blind, and I can see.
These are the days that I have had.
And so you say that you like me,
But you are blind, and I can see.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Axioms, Adages?
"Success is being able to do what makes you happy."
- Ian
"...the failures of big ideas are more impressive than the successes of little ones."
- Joel Fisher
"Sometimes you have to jump out of the box to realize you were in it."
-Alexis McKenzie
Three movies, that collectively should be able to help you find your happiness, your passion, or simply contentment:
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/randy_pausch_really_achieving_your_childhood_dreams.html
http://www.ted.com/talks/viktor_frankl_youth_in_search_of_meaning.html
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/srikumar_rao_plug_into_your_hard_wired_happiness.html
- Ian
"...the failures of big ideas are more impressive than the successes of little ones."
- Joel Fisher
"Sometimes you have to jump out of the box to realize you were in it."
-Alexis McKenzie
Three movies, that collectively should be able to help you find your happiness, your passion, or simply contentment:
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/randy_pausch_really_achieving_your_childhood_dreams.html
http://www.ted.com/talks/viktor_frankl_youth_in_search_of_meaning.html
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/srikumar_rao_plug_into_your_hard_wired_happiness.html
Apathetic fallacy
Yes, please water me
I need to grow
I’m not old enough to deal with all this death and sadness
It’s no wonder you cry for me
But do you really know
What it’s like
And that the same tears on my head
Fall on her
But she can’t feel them
And somehow
Neither can I
I need to grow
I’m not old enough to deal with all this death and sadness
It’s no wonder you cry for me
But do you really know
What it’s like
And that the same tears on my head
Fall on her
But she can’t feel them
And somehow
Neither can I
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Count to ten
I yell into the void of darkest night -
I cry and scream with all my might.
Angst rots my soul like trees cut down,
Etched in my face: the deepest frown.
Tears like rivers make soggy trails,
I am a siren, with salty wails.
Volcano contained, I will implode.
My sanity crushed under heavy load.
And though my rage is terrible,
The taste of it makes me feel full.
Fire bleeds out of every pore,
The flames create a soundless roar.
Despair creates a deep abyss,
Anger fills it with a hiss.
I cry and scream with all my might.
Angst rots my soul like trees cut down,
Etched in my face: the deepest frown.
Tears like rivers make soggy trails,
I am a siren, with salty wails.
Volcano contained, I will implode.
My sanity crushed under heavy load.
And though my rage is terrible,
The taste of it makes me feel full.
Fire bleeds out of every pore,
The flames create a soundless roar.
Despair creates a deep abyss,
Anger fills it with a hiss.
A thousand thankless days
All love ends in tragedy,
they say. And some never begins,
Like dawn without the day.
The light through yonder window breaks
- my heart, because the darkness in my soul
must start, each time I see you look upon my face.
And when you're near my eyes refuse to see
Looks of disdain,
or else distrust, that you bestow on me.
Although my heart does fly,
I am afraid - and so deny myself true joy,
No promenade for me tonight - I must be lone.
Your garden I avoid because
you're near; proximity to you increases fear,
that you should hate me more than yesterday.
I lock my heavy heart and hide the key -
Impossible to find; I make myself forget, I hardly feel
and do not mind.
Hideous in the eye of the rejector,
I've now become: the monster that you saw me as -
completely numb.
I kill the love and fill myself
with loathesome hate,
It slowly makes eternal pain abate.
they say. And some never begins,
Like dawn without the day.
The light through yonder window breaks
- my heart, because the darkness in my soul
must start, each time I see you look upon my face.
And when you're near my eyes refuse to see
Looks of disdain,
or else distrust, that you bestow on me.
Although my heart does fly,
I am afraid - and so deny myself true joy,
No promenade for me tonight - I must be lone.
Your garden I avoid because
you're near; proximity to you increases fear,
that you should hate me more than yesterday.
I lock my heavy heart and hide the key -
Impossible to find; I make myself forget, I hardly feel
and do not mind.
Hideous in the eye of the rejector,
I've now become: the monster that you saw me as -
completely numb.
I kill the love and fill myself
with loathesome hate,
It slowly makes eternal pain abate.
The Curmudgeon's Lament
And I was made for more than this,
The listless talk and drinking piss.
The excrement of daily life,
The need for me to find a wife.
I am deep in the machine,
I know not where I have been.
But I know where I'd like to go,
and there are things I'd like to know.
This daily driving towards a goal,
throws me deeper into a hole -
The hole, my grave, seems closer now,
but how to quit? I'm not sure how.
I had dreams once, and passions too;
So many things I'd hoped to do.
But in the meadow of my days
I found a job, one that pays.
And now I'm in the winter-time,
Each day a little more a mime,
A dollar earned is no relief
from travesty, and sad belief:
The wealth I sit on isn't grand,
And Death has clutched me in his hand.
He squeezes out the life from me,
And only now may my eyes see:
All is nothing, without heart,
With love, you learn this from the start.
So too with goals, they need some flame,
They need passion, don't be tame!
Don't back down from destiny,
Don't imprison stuff that's free!
Let thoughts and dreams and goals go wild,
Maintain the wonder of a child!
Let yourself do better than me,
I'm old and rich and unhappy.
I woke up from my dreams too soon,
my life became a thankless tune.
Create great music - live your dreams!
Before you're splitting at the seams.
The listless talk and drinking piss.
The excrement of daily life,
The need for me to find a wife.
I am deep in the machine,
I know not where I have been.
But I know where I'd like to go,
and there are things I'd like to know.
This daily driving towards a goal,
throws me deeper into a hole -
The hole, my grave, seems closer now,
but how to quit? I'm not sure how.
I had dreams once, and passions too;
So many things I'd hoped to do.
But in the meadow of my days
I found a job, one that pays.
And now I'm in the winter-time,
Each day a little more a mime,
A dollar earned is no relief
from travesty, and sad belief:
The wealth I sit on isn't grand,
And Death has clutched me in his hand.
He squeezes out the life from me,
And only now may my eyes see:
All is nothing, without heart,
With love, you learn this from the start.
So too with goals, they need some flame,
They need passion, don't be tame!
Don't back down from destiny,
Don't imprison stuff that's free!
Let thoughts and dreams and goals go wild,
Maintain the wonder of a child!
Let yourself do better than me,
I'm old and rich and unhappy.
I woke up from my dreams too soon,
my life became a thankless tune.
Create great music - live your dreams!
Before you're splitting at the seams.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
End Tay Part II
When I'm moody, I'm a force to be reckoned with. Unresponsive, yet shooting death glares with my eyes. I'm too apathetic to move any other part of my body.
My body. They like it. I cheat on Jason all the time. My dealer, Dave, he'll give me stuff for free when I'm friendly with him. Sometimes all it takes is a handjob. If I'm really desperate I'll blow him - ha, sometimes I blow him for blow. I wonder if that's why they call it that. It certainly feels like a job.
I don't know how I've stayed in school this long. The art program is unique, in that I only have to be productive for short periods of time (as long as those periods are before the deadline). A great work of art can be created really quickly. Like John Cage's 4'33", sometimes all you need to be is a great bullshitter, and you can make something out of nothing. If you're really good, you can even make it seem substantial.
Once I handed in a blank canvas. I spun some story about how it was tabla rasa, all of human existence before experience. It was the feeling before life and after death. Blah blah blah. She totally bought it and I got an 'A'. This was too easy.
When I needed to come down and I couldn't get valium, I'd use alcohol to rock me to sleep. The hyperactive euphoria that comes with a buzz would soon be followed by the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with mild inebriation. I'd wrap myself in layers of intoxication until I'd slip into sleep, thinking of nothing and enjoying the silence.
After a night like that, there was a good chance I'd wake up feeling like hell. My mouth tasting like garbage and my head being sliced apart by sharp knives, I'd down a few advil (or T3's, if I had them) and hide under the covers until they kicked in. Sometimes I was in my own bed; other times I'd spent that time covertly trying to figure out where I was. Guys are too easy - they're always willing to bring you home. This is supposed to reflect poorly upon the girl, but I think that it says a lot about the standards of most guys. Today was a situation of the latter variety. I consider phoning the stud's mother. I think better of it. I consider hurling on his carpet. I refrain. Soon I am well enough to scrape myself off of his bed, and shuffle home to shower. I might be fucked up, but I make a conscious effort to not be dirty. I don't like the feeling of filth. I'm corrupt enough on the outside, I don't need to look like it too.
My body. They like it. I cheat on Jason all the time. My dealer, Dave, he'll give me stuff for free when I'm friendly with him. Sometimes all it takes is a handjob. If I'm really desperate I'll blow him - ha, sometimes I blow him for blow. I wonder if that's why they call it that. It certainly feels like a job.
I don't know how I've stayed in school this long. The art program is unique, in that I only have to be productive for short periods of time (as long as those periods are before the deadline). A great work of art can be created really quickly. Like John Cage's 4'33", sometimes all you need to be is a great bullshitter, and you can make something out of nothing. If you're really good, you can even make it seem substantial.
Once I handed in a blank canvas. I spun some story about how it was tabla rasa, all of human existence before experience. It was the feeling before life and after death. Blah blah blah. She totally bought it and I got an 'A'. This was too easy.
When I needed to come down and I couldn't get valium, I'd use alcohol to rock me to sleep. The hyperactive euphoria that comes with a buzz would soon be followed by the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes with mild inebriation. I'd wrap myself in layers of intoxication until I'd slip into sleep, thinking of nothing and enjoying the silence.
After a night like that, there was a good chance I'd wake up feeling like hell. My mouth tasting like garbage and my head being sliced apart by sharp knives, I'd down a few advil (or T3's, if I had them) and hide under the covers until they kicked in. Sometimes I was in my own bed; other times I'd spent that time covertly trying to figure out where I was. Guys are too easy - they're always willing to bring you home. This is supposed to reflect poorly upon the girl, but I think that it says a lot about the standards of most guys. Today was a situation of the latter variety. I consider phoning the stud's mother. I think better of it. I consider hurling on his carpet. I refrain. Soon I am well enough to scrape myself off of his bed, and shuffle home to shower. I might be fucked up, but I make a conscious effort to not be dirty. I don't like the feeling of filth. I'm corrupt enough on the outside, I don't need to look like it too.
End Tay
It's always unexpected. One minute I'm on top of the world, I can do anything, follow my passions, multi-tasking, taking on new jobs, making new friends, I can do it all. My brain is whirring so fast and I'm positively exhilarated. Feet firmly on the ground, but I'm flying.
The next is stasis. I'm trapped. Stuck within my own inability to function. A lump on a log. I am a human blob on the face of the planet. A waste of space.
The ebb and flow of my mood is inconvenient, to say the least. Caffeine brings me up, makes me alert, full of energy, and ready to take on the world. Over-eating slowly immerses me into a coma of self-loathing and numbness, my brain over-loaded with serotonin.
The uppers make my mind explode with fireworks - pretty, fiery, explosive. Happiness in all its colours. Valium brings me down, makes the world move more slowly - I'm wading through life like I'm up to my eyeballs in pool.
I don't even know what I want anymore. It used to be happiness; now, sometimes all I crave is clarity. Respite from the fogginess that permeates my existence. More recently I've thought wistfully of death. Lusted after it. The quiet. The peace. But I know it's not the answer.
Popping a few friends into my mouth, I swallow breakfast. I can function fairly normally off of ecstasy, and it's a great way to start the morning. I feel alive.
I've lost 20 pounds since starting this deadly regimen. My clothes hang on me like my body is a coat hanger. My hair comes out more quickly than I'd like to admit. But my stomach is flat as a board (concave sometimes) and I'm managing to get everything done. I've never been so creative. My art is prospering - my professors are noticing, and the feedback is good. They're talking about art galleries. On a good day I listen, and nod enthusiastically (yet modestly). Other days I'm a typical artist; completely out of it, immersed in my work.
Jason (my boyfriend) is supportive, but not in the way you would think. He likes 'em thin, and he is a child of the 80's at heart. He shares drugs with me, we do them together. Instead of roses he brings me acid. What a sweetheart. We trip out together, and watch the colours of a sunset bleed into the trees below. We watch the trees dance in all the light.
I stop eating. It's not intentional. I'm just so busy, and really, what with all the appetite suppressants I'm ingesting, it's not surprising. When I can't get real uppers I combine pseudoephedrine (a decongestant in cold pills) with coffee, and I feel pretty ok. I consume liquids and pills; food is incidental, serendipitous, or the result of the munchies on the rare occasion that I smoke pot. Sometimes my roommate slips me a vitamin pill. She's a sweetheart, but I can't help but think: What's the point? No pill can undo the damage I've done.
I'm careful though. I never use needles - I don't want to bother speeding up this process by catching AIDS or a festering wound that turns into gangrene. That doesn't sound like my idea of a good time. Cocaine, now that sounds like a good time. It feels clean, and it doesn't leave much of a mess, except for when I sneeze blood.
Jason's a tool, and when he drinks we have fights that are high volume, high velocity. It always ends with some E and some intensely hard make-up sex. Rough. Like I want him to beat the love into me. Fierce. Make me feel something, even if it hurts.
The next is stasis. I'm trapped. Stuck within my own inability to function. A lump on a log. I am a human blob on the face of the planet. A waste of space.
The ebb and flow of my mood is inconvenient, to say the least. Caffeine brings me up, makes me alert, full of energy, and ready to take on the world. Over-eating slowly immerses me into a coma of self-loathing and numbness, my brain over-loaded with serotonin.
The uppers make my mind explode with fireworks - pretty, fiery, explosive. Happiness in all its colours. Valium brings me down, makes the world move more slowly - I'm wading through life like I'm up to my eyeballs in pool.
I don't even know what I want anymore. It used to be happiness; now, sometimes all I crave is clarity. Respite from the fogginess that permeates my existence. More recently I've thought wistfully of death. Lusted after it. The quiet. The peace. But I know it's not the answer.
Popping a few friends into my mouth, I swallow breakfast. I can function fairly normally off of ecstasy, and it's a great way to start the morning. I feel alive.
I've lost 20 pounds since starting this deadly regimen. My clothes hang on me like my body is a coat hanger. My hair comes out more quickly than I'd like to admit. But my stomach is flat as a board (concave sometimes) and I'm managing to get everything done. I've never been so creative. My art is prospering - my professors are noticing, and the feedback is good. They're talking about art galleries. On a good day I listen, and nod enthusiastically (yet modestly). Other days I'm a typical artist; completely out of it, immersed in my work.
Jason (my boyfriend) is supportive, but not in the way you would think. He likes 'em thin, and he is a child of the 80's at heart. He shares drugs with me, we do them together. Instead of roses he brings me acid. What a sweetheart. We trip out together, and watch the colours of a sunset bleed into the trees below. We watch the trees dance in all the light.
I stop eating. It's not intentional. I'm just so busy, and really, what with all the appetite suppressants I'm ingesting, it's not surprising. When I can't get real uppers I combine pseudoephedrine (a decongestant in cold pills) with coffee, and I feel pretty ok. I consume liquids and pills; food is incidental, serendipitous, or the result of the munchies on the rare occasion that I smoke pot. Sometimes my roommate slips me a vitamin pill. She's a sweetheart, but I can't help but think: What's the point? No pill can undo the damage I've done.
I'm careful though. I never use needles - I don't want to bother speeding up this process by catching AIDS or a festering wound that turns into gangrene. That doesn't sound like my idea of a good time. Cocaine, now that sounds like a good time. It feels clean, and it doesn't leave much of a mess, except for when I sneeze blood.
Jason's a tool, and when he drinks we have fights that are high volume, high velocity. It always ends with some E and some intensely hard make-up sex. Rough. Like I want him to beat the love into me. Fierce. Make me feel something, even if it hurts.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Burning at Both Ends
I was some sort of sadist, holding my plants hostage, letting them get nearer and nearer to death before bringing them back from the edge with a much needed drink of water. It wasn't intentional - I just tended to forget they were there. Besides, I was much more accustomed to plants of the cactus variety.
It was an unusual place to live, what with no bathroom of my own and the holes in the floor that really got you when you stumbled home drunk. The walls were thin, but nothing a sleeping bag under your covers couldn't fix.
I was learning how to become a candle maker. No, I'm not from the 18th century - although that would make slightly more sense - but I do make candles. I work for some hoity toity home decor store, and the handmade candles sell for a bargain.
Sometimes I make them out of crayons. It doesn't make the candle smell good (unless you enjoy smells that are reminiscent of kindergarten) but by dipping the wick into a variety of colours, you can make a very rainbow-rific taper. I enjoyed it.
Until I met her.
Cecilia came into my life like virus. Maybe it would lie dormant, or maybe it would rise up against you and destroy the self you thought you knew. Regardless, she entered my life rather quietly, but I should have seen the portents of disasters to come.
She phoned me up, out of the blue. That was how we met. Cecilia loved my candles, and wanted to know who made them. She tracked me down from some bumblehead at the home decor store, and before I knew it I was talking to her on the phone and she was asking if she could buy me a cup of coffee while I told her about the candles. I was so busy feeling important and flattered, that I didn't stop to think about why a regular young woman could have any interested in candles, of all things.
I met up with her at the Starbucks on Granville Street. There was some debate as to which Starbucks we would be meeting at (seeing as how there are multiple Starbucks' across from one another, or on the same street) but ultimately we met up. I had taken for granted that I would know who she was - but fortunately I was spared the embarrassment of asking strangers because a tall blonde woman tapped me on the shoulder and, "Excuse me, are you the candle-stick-maker?" and I smiled and replied that I was.
How's this for poetic? Cecilia was a Baker. All we needed now was a Butcher. She spoke animatedly about cupcakes and croissants, flans, and loaves, custards and brownies. The woman loved to bake. But she was extremely interested in candles, and begged me to tell her how I made them, what helped me to choose the exact specifications that made each one unique. I was only too happy to oblige.
We soon picked up our conversation and took it from Starbucks to The Warehouse. Extremely close by, but the atmosphere was radically different. Instead of yuppie housewives on their way to yoga requesting a tall half-calf skinny latte with one and a half pumps of sugar-free vanilla, we had people scrunched down in booths, mowing down burgers and fries amidst an atmosphere of inebriation and noise. I wondered how old Cecilia was. At 28, I figured I could risk it and be interested in her.
It was an unusual place to live, what with no bathroom of my own and the holes in the floor that really got you when you stumbled home drunk. The walls were thin, but nothing a sleeping bag under your covers couldn't fix.
I was learning how to become a candle maker. No, I'm not from the 18th century - although that would make slightly more sense - but I do make candles. I work for some hoity toity home decor store, and the handmade candles sell for a bargain.
Sometimes I make them out of crayons. It doesn't make the candle smell good (unless you enjoy smells that are reminiscent of kindergarten) but by dipping the wick into a variety of colours, you can make a very rainbow-rific taper. I enjoyed it.
Until I met her.
Cecilia came into my life like virus. Maybe it would lie dormant, or maybe it would rise up against you and destroy the self you thought you knew. Regardless, she entered my life rather quietly, but I should have seen the portents of disasters to come.
She phoned me up, out of the blue. That was how we met. Cecilia loved my candles, and wanted to know who made them. She tracked me down from some bumblehead at the home decor store, and before I knew it I was talking to her on the phone and she was asking if she could buy me a cup of coffee while I told her about the candles. I was so busy feeling important and flattered, that I didn't stop to think about why a regular young woman could have any interested in candles, of all things.
I met up with her at the Starbucks on Granville Street. There was some debate as to which Starbucks we would be meeting at (seeing as how there are multiple Starbucks' across from one another, or on the same street) but ultimately we met up. I had taken for granted that I would know who she was - but fortunately I was spared the embarrassment of asking strangers because a tall blonde woman tapped me on the shoulder and, "Excuse me, are you the candle-stick-maker?" and I smiled and replied that I was.
How's this for poetic? Cecilia was a Baker. All we needed now was a Butcher. She spoke animatedly about cupcakes and croissants, flans, and loaves, custards and brownies. The woman loved to bake. But she was extremely interested in candles, and begged me to tell her how I made them, what helped me to choose the exact specifications that made each one unique. I was only too happy to oblige.
We soon picked up our conversation and took it from Starbucks to The Warehouse. Extremely close by, but the atmosphere was radically different. Instead of yuppie housewives on their way to yoga requesting a tall half-calf skinny latte with one and a half pumps of sugar-free vanilla, we had people scrunched down in booths, mowing down burgers and fries amidst an atmosphere of inebriation and noise. I wondered how old Cecilia was. At 28, I figured I could risk it and be interested in her.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Chapter 1
Her body was littered with tattoos, and she was littered on the ground - strewn on the side of the street like yesterday's trash. Piercings punctuated her skin, like an exclamation mark. Nothing too extreme, unless you thought that piercing both sides of the nose was over-kill.
Long, thick blond hair fell down her slumped shoulders; dirty blond, in more ways than one.
Next to her, an open book. November (her name, not the month) had fallen asleep while pouring over her textbook. She was sitting at the entrance to a park, up against the chain-link fence. Fall was easy, because it was warm out and she could sleep just about anywhere. Winter would take a little more cunning, but she knew how to survive. She hadn't had a "home" in 2 years, and had figured out how to manage. She did pretty well for herself. When it got cold she would rotate between the library, McDonald's, and movie theaters. Luckily winter coincided with term finals, and the libraries tended to stay open for 24 hours.
November was a wild child. She called herself Nova, and it was a very suitable nickname. A nova is a cataclysmic nuclear explosion that occurs in space, essentially, an exploding star. This sums up Nova much better than "November" ever could.
So much about Nova was not from this planet; she often felt very far apart and different from the earthlings surrounding her. Also, the universe above is part of the reason Nova didn't mind sleeping outside.
The word "nova" also means "new", and Nova was obsessed with new experiences and learning. Every day was a new day, and she started them off right by embodying the uniqueness of varied experience.
When she craved the feeling of a bed or needed a shower, she went to Shopper's Drug Mart or Sephora and used their make-up to paint on her beauty: shiny and fake. That was the sort of look that appealed to most guys. She'd go to bars and get friendly with men that she knew wouldn't push for sex - they might settle for making out, or sometimes even just talking. Regardless she'd end up at their house, and this beautiful, witty, adventurous girl would sleep in their bed. In the morning, she'd shower and scrub off accumulated filth. Then, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, Nova would politely say goodbye and venture out.
She was a very bright girl. Nova loved to learn and spent her days reading - always absorbing knowledge from tomes of words. She devoured new words, rolling them on her tongue and enjoying the satisfying taste of "Spackle" and "aplomb". She immersed herself in concepts - trigonometry, relativity, and metaphysics. Music was a little harder, because it wasn't realistic to carry around a lot - but slowly she was improving on the harmonica. Life was too short, but Nova intended to spend it learning.
Sitting in McDonald's, salt raining down on her already salty fries, Nova considered her options. There was a speaker presenting at the University in the afternoon, but that would mean leaving the free yoga-in-the-park half-way through the session.
Long, thick blond hair fell down her slumped shoulders; dirty blond, in more ways than one.
Next to her, an open book. November (her name, not the month) had fallen asleep while pouring over her textbook. She was sitting at the entrance to a park, up against the chain-link fence. Fall was easy, because it was warm out and she could sleep just about anywhere. Winter would take a little more cunning, but she knew how to survive. She hadn't had a "home" in 2 years, and had figured out how to manage. She did pretty well for herself. When it got cold she would rotate between the library, McDonald's, and movie theaters. Luckily winter coincided with term finals, and the libraries tended to stay open for 24 hours.
November was a wild child. She called herself Nova, and it was a very suitable nickname. A nova is a cataclysmic nuclear explosion that occurs in space, essentially, an exploding star. This sums up Nova much better than "November" ever could.
So much about Nova was not from this planet; she often felt very far apart and different from the earthlings surrounding her. Also, the universe above is part of the reason Nova didn't mind sleeping outside.
The word "nova" also means "new", and Nova was obsessed with new experiences and learning. Every day was a new day, and she started them off right by embodying the uniqueness of varied experience.
When she craved the feeling of a bed or needed a shower, she went to Shopper's Drug Mart or Sephora and used their make-up to paint on her beauty: shiny and fake. That was the sort of look that appealed to most guys. She'd go to bars and get friendly with men that she knew wouldn't push for sex - they might settle for making out, or sometimes even just talking. Regardless she'd end up at their house, and this beautiful, witty, adventurous girl would sleep in their bed. In the morning, she'd shower and scrub off accumulated filth. Then, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, Nova would politely say goodbye and venture out.
She was a very bright girl. Nova loved to learn and spent her days reading - always absorbing knowledge from tomes of words. She devoured new words, rolling them on her tongue and enjoying the satisfying taste of "Spackle" and "aplomb". She immersed herself in concepts - trigonometry, relativity, and metaphysics. Music was a little harder, because it wasn't realistic to carry around a lot - but slowly she was improving on the harmonica. Life was too short, but Nova intended to spend it learning.
Sitting in McDonald's, salt raining down on her already salty fries, Nova considered her options. There was a speaker presenting at the University in the afternoon, but that would mean leaving the free yoga-in-the-park half-way through the session.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Rules
These are the rules.
- Whenever possible, you cannot hurt others.
- You must avoid that which will cause irrevocable harm to yourself.
- Be free. Do as you will, and refrain from doing that which you would not like to do.
- Be creative. Find a way to live your life successfully. Assess your wants. Re-evaluate your needs.
- Repeat.
This is very radical thinking, and it is lovely. It sounds great.
It will be isolating. It will be illuminating. It will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.
At least, it was for me.
People will try to tell you that it isn’t possible, that it can’t be done. Everyone has do to things they don’t want to do, they’ll say. It’s part of life.
They were wrong. Trapped within the prescribed lives that were fed to them, these people simply did not know.
---
3 years ago, I lived in residence at McGill.
I was in the final year of my Master’s Degree in Library Science. A lesser-known but rather respectable degree, I was on the right track (so to speak) and would likely get a decent job upon graduation. With the prospect of a 9-5 Mon-Fri career looming on the horizon, I had a little melt-down.
It all started with the inspirational videos.
---
I didn’t like library school. I found it boring, tedious, and easy. The monotony and dullness of it all was something I spent much of my time seeking to escape – enter inspirational videos.
Watching Gossip Girl is not productive. Watching Gossip Girl is a “waste of time” and probably turns my brain into mush. However, if one must watch some form of visual entertainment, inspiring videos are just the ticket!
Enter Randy Paush.
Randy is one of the many genius individuals that gives absolutely wonderful talks. He was a professor (as many of these geniuses are) but the Amazon guy, the Apple guy, and Bill Gates left the world of academia and followed their own path. Common link: They become wildly successful. Other common link: These men emphasize the importance of following your dreams! “Do what you love!” is a common refrain. Find a way to do it! If you’re passionate enough, you’ll find a way.
It’s sentiments like these that turned that snowballed my musings into a snowman with a jaunty hat. I was hooked.
---
As I was saying, I was nearing graduation. Having been in school since the age of 5, the prospect of beginning a career was… unsettling. Would it mean the end of learning? Would it mean settling down, stability, responsibility? Would it mean lots of money and no time to spend it? Or would I find that elusive balance, and master the work/play dichotomy?
Rather than facing these interesting yet daunting questions, I chose to be unemployed.
---
Enter “The Rules”.
I devised the rules one night when I was up late from having a shot of coffee 14 hours earlier. My caffeine sensitivity combined with a newly-cracked-open-Nietzsche book created a monster – one with a desire to learn! And do! And make every second of my life count.
“The term “free spirit” cannot have any other meaning here, but that it is liberated, a spirit that took control of itself once again.” – Nietzsche
I sought to liberate my spirit, my soul, my intangible sense of being. Watching Randy (a dying man) explain the importance of time made it seem URGENT to seize the day (carpe diem!) and free myself now. A part of me had waited for this moment, and waited years.
And finally, with school nearly over, and no children, pets, or ailing parents to care for, I was free. The world was my oyster. I would be a pearl.
This took some plotting.
---
Unsurprisingly, as a student, I did not have a huge amount of savings. So as I suffered through the remnants of my final term, I concocted some money-making schemes:
I sold everything I could bear to part with.
I sold the regular stuff, like furniture and appliances - the easily replaceable big stuff that didn’t really have that much sentimental value anyways. I sold clothes I hadn’t worn in years, CDs and DVDs that could be accessed virtually anywhere (they’ll be outdated soon anyways, if they aren’t already), I sold technology (laptops, ipods, phones) and jewelry from old boyfriends. I sold my blood plasma.
(I kept the accordion.)
When I had tricked other people into spending their hard-earned money on my useless possessions (root “possess” because they end up owning you) – I had provided for myself a nice little budget of about $8000. This had the potential to be a lot of money. I felt rich! Flush and fat with money, I dreamt of the things I could buy, but they were no longer the things I was “taught” to buy.
I wanted more than material things. I wanted adventure.
---
I brought a knapsack with me to graduation. I stretched the truth by telling my parents I was going back-packing in Europe (who knows? I could end up there). I was going to cross the stage, grab my exorbitantly expensive piece of paper – and hit the road like a ton of bricks on roller skates.
I had with me what I deemed to be the bare essentials (and I soon learned that there was much more I could do without):
- 7 pairs of underwear
- 7 pairs of socks
- 1 pair of skinny jeans, not too tight
- 5 shirts of varying colour, thickness, material, length, and design
- 2 bras
- Toothbrush and floss
- Deodorant
- Little curved nail scissors
- Chapstick
- Pen, pencil, notebook
- $200 cash and a bank card
- My library card
I wore sweatpants and a t-shirt (and the appropriate underthings), a hair-tie in my hair, a silver necklace that was a dragon pressed into molten silver, 2 friendship rings and a watch.
For the first time in 5 years I would be parading around the world without make-up.
---
Make-up is a very interesting thing.
- guys don’t and/or can’t wear it
- we all look better with it
- it can cost a fortune
- it’s damned heavy
- sometimes tested on animals, sometimes causes eye or skin infections
- really a fucked up idea with polarized consequences
Bottom line: it’s heavy.
- Whenever possible, you cannot hurt others.
- You must avoid that which will cause irrevocable harm to yourself.
- Be free. Do as you will, and refrain from doing that which you would not like to do.
- Be creative. Find a way to live your life successfully. Assess your wants. Re-evaluate your needs.
- Repeat.
This is very radical thinking, and it is lovely. It sounds great.
It will be isolating. It will be illuminating. It will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.
At least, it was for me.
People will try to tell you that it isn’t possible, that it can’t be done. Everyone has do to things they don’t want to do, they’ll say. It’s part of life.
They were wrong. Trapped within the prescribed lives that were fed to them, these people simply did not know.
---
3 years ago, I lived in residence at McGill.
I was in the final year of my Master’s Degree in Library Science. A lesser-known but rather respectable degree, I was on the right track (so to speak) and would likely get a decent job upon graduation. With the prospect of a 9-5 Mon-Fri career looming on the horizon, I had a little melt-down.
It all started with the inspirational videos.
---
I didn’t like library school. I found it boring, tedious, and easy. The monotony and dullness of it all was something I spent much of my time seeking to escape – enter inspirational videos.
Watching Gossip Girl is not productive. Watching Gossip Girl is a “waste of time” and probably turns my brain into mush. However, if one must watch some form of visual entertainment, inspiring videos are just the ticket!
Enter Randy Paush.
Randy is one of the many genius individuals that gives absolutely wonderful talks. He was a professor (as many of these geniuses are) but the Amazon guy, the Apple guy, and Bill Gates left the world of academia and followed their own path. Common link: They become wildly successful. Other common link: These men emphasize the importance of following your dreams! “Do what you love!” is a common refrain. Find a way to do it! If you’re passionate enough, you’ll find a way.
It’s sentiments like these that turned that snowballed my musings into a snowman with a jaunty hat. I was hooked.
---
As I was saying, I was nearing graduation. Having been in school since the age of 5, the prospect of beginning a career was… unsettling. Would it mean the end of learning? Would it mean settling down, stability, responsibility? Would it mean lots of money and no time to spend it? Or would I find that elusive balance, and master the work/play dichotomy?
Rather than facing these interesting yet daunting questions, I chose to be unemployed.
---
Enter “The Rules”.
I devised the rules one night when I was up late from having a shot of coffee 14 hours earlier. My caffeine sensitivity combined with a newly-cracked-open-Nietzsche book created a monster – one with a desire to learn! And do! And make every second of my life count.
“The term “free spirit” cannot have any other meaning here, but that it is liberated, a spirit that took control of itself once again.” – Nietzsche
I sought to liberate my spirit, my soul, my intangible sense of being. Watching Randy (a dying man) explain the importance of time made it seem URGENT to seize the day (carpe diem!) and free myself now. A part of me had waited for this moment, and waited years.
And finally, with school nearly over, and no children, pets, or ailing parents to care for, I was free. The world was my oyster. I would be a pearl.
This took some plotting.
---
Unsurprisingly, as a student, I did not have a huge amount of savings. So as I suffered through the remnants of my final term, I concocted some money-making schemes:
I sold everything I could bear to part with.
I sold the regular stuff, like furniture and appliances - the easily replaceable big stuff that didn’t really have that much sentimental value anyways. I sold clothes I hadn’t worn in years, CDs and DVDs that could be accessed virtually anywhere (they’ll be outdated soon anyways, if they aren’t already), I sold technology (laptops, ipods, phones) and jewelry from old boyfriends. I sold my blood plasma.
(I kept the accordion.)
When I had tricked other people into spending their hard-earned money on my useless possessions (root “possess” because they end up owning you) – I had provided for myself a nice little budget of about $8000. This had the potential to be a lot of money. I felt rich! Flush and fat with money, I dreamt of the things I could buy, but they were no longer the things I was “taught” to buy.
I wanted more than material things. I wanted adventure.
---
I brought a knapsack with me to graduation. I stretched the truth by telling my parents I was going back-packing in Europe (who knows? I could end up there). I was going to cross the stage, grab my exorbitantly expensive piece of paper – and hit the road like a ton of bricks on roller skates.
I had with me what I deemed to be the bare essentials (and I soon learned that there was much more I could do without):
- 7 pairs of underwear
- 7 pairs of socks
- 1 pair of skinny jeans, not too tight
- 5 shirts of varying colour, thickness, material, length, and design
- 2 bras
- Toothbrush and floss
- Deodorant
- Little curved nail scissors
- Chapstick
- Pen, pencil, notebook
- $200 cash and a bank card
- My library card
I wore sweatpants and a t-shirt (and the appropriate underthings), a hair-tie in my hair, a silver necklace that was a dragon pressed into molten silver, 2 friendship rings and a watch.
For the first time in 5 years I would be parading around the world without make-up.
---
Make-up is a very interesting thing.
- guys don’t and/or can’t wear it
- we all look better with it
- it can cost a fortune
- it’s damned heavy
- sometimes tested on animals, sometimes causes eye or skin infections
- really a fucked up idea with polarized consequences
Bottom line: it’s heavy.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Baby don't hurt me
Love is reading the story even when the print is too small for your eyes and you're squinting.
Love is walking in the rain wearing a pair of shoes that have holes in them, as your socks get increasingly soggy.
Love is hating, but still loving just the same.
Love is walking in the rain wearing a pair of shoes that have holes in them, as your socks get increasingly soggy.
Love is hating, but still loving just the same.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
And Then He Started His Own Business and Made Big Bucks
There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who went to Grad School then said "Fuck it!"
He quit all his classes,
And stepped on his glasses,
Now serves KFC from a bucket.
Who went to Grad School then said "Fuck it!"
He quit all his classes,
And stepped on his glasses,
Now serves KFC from a bucket.
Happiness
What makes you happy?
Is it the sky when filled with sun?
Or times with friends when you have fun?
Is it having money or wealth?
Or enjoying perfect health?
Is it music, in your ears?
Or drinking way too many beers?
Is it closeness with a friend?
Or broken hearts just on the mend?
Is it your job, or your career?
Or conquering a favourite fear?
Is it your dog or cat or fish?
Or seeing a star and making a wish?
Is it your family, or your wife?
Or babes to whom you've given life?
Is it grass or trees or flowers?
Or climbing to the tops of towers?
What makes your heart spin, round and round?
What makes it resonate with sound?
Go to it, find it, make it be!
With this in mind, you will be free.
Is it the sky when filled with sun?
Or times with friends when you have fun?
Is it having money or wealth?
Or enjoying perfect health?
Is it music, in your ears?
Or drinking way too many beers?
Is it closeness with a friend?
Or broken hearts just on the mend?
Is it your job, or your career?
Or conquering a favourite fear?
Is it your dog or cat or fish?
Or seeing a star and making a wish?
Is it your family, or your wife?
Or babes to whom you've given life?
Is it grass or trees or flowers?
Or climbing to the tops of towers?
What makes your heart spin, round and round?
What makes it resonate with sound?
Go to it, find it, make it be!
With this in mind, you will be free.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Don't Anybody Move
PUT YOUR HANDS UP (for Detroit)
Put your hands up 'cause I told you to
-------------
I put my hands up, 'cause I'm a single lady
But with hands up I can't hug myself
And I just want to feel some arms
And so this gun will keep me warm
Happiness, is a warm gun
Shooting them / release I need
My bullets tear through flesh
Like your words tore through my soul
I'm not alone when surrounded by bodies
You can't leave me if you're dead
-------------
You get a little kinky
Handcuffs around my wrists
You're rough (you know I like it)
You play cop and I'll play me
Put your hands up 'cause I told you to
-------------
I put my hands up, 'cause I'm a single lady
But with hands up I can't hug myself
And I just want to feel some arms
And so this gun will keep me warm
Happiness, is a warm gun
Shooting them / release I need
My bullets tear through flesh
Like your words tore through my soul
I'm not alone when surrounded by bodies
You can't leave me if you're dead
-------------
You get a little kinky
Handcuffs around my wrists
You're rough (you know I like it)
You play cop and I'll play me
Thursday, October 21, 2010
English Teacher
It seems you punctuate my thoughts
With shiny words (you sure know lots!)
The quotidian of my mind
Becomes unique with words you find
And yet, it's more than words you say
In fact I'd say it is the way
That you express yourself to me
That makes me feel so gleefully
A period here, a comma there
Has never caught me unaware
But now the gentle roll of prose
Has got me curling up my toes
The ecstasy of careful words
Like choc-o-late or "flightless birds"
It fills me with obscene delight!
Of happiness, this is the height
And so exclaim! And also pause,
Wrap me in your words like gauze
Let them cloak me / keep me warm
Dazzle me with written form
Eloquence can be such fun
And new words I will never shun
I want to hear them all, do tell!
You seem to know this language well
So use your words to tell me more
If words are sex, I am a whore!
A single picture, please describe
Your thousand words I will imbibe
Open up the world for me
The words make things easy to see
They make it much more fun to touch
Of words there never is too much
Semi-colon has my love
And Circumflex that sits above
I guess I like the tilde too
(Why can't a simple hyphen do?)
Ellipses... they give voice to void
I like it when they are employed
Apostrophes aren't like the rest
I often put them to the test
The elements of language, see,
Mean so very much to me
So as you use these words un-plain
Know that you write my heart's refrain
With shiny words (you sure know lots!)
The quotidian of my mind
Becomes unique with words you find
And yet, it's more than words you say
In fact I'd say it is the way
That you express yourself to me
That makes me feel so gleefully
A period here, a comma there
Has never caught me unaware
But now the gentle roll of prose
Has got me curling up my toes
The ecstasy of careful words
Like choc-o-late or "flightless birds"
It fills me with obscene delight!
Of happiness, this is the height
And so exclaim! And also pause,
Wrap me in your words like gauze
Let them cloak me / keep me warm
Dazzle me with written form
Eloquence can be such fun
And new words I will never shun
I want to hear them all, do tell!
You seem to know this language well
So use your words to tell me more
If words are sex, I am a whore!
A single picture, please describe
Your thousand words I will imbibe
Open up the world for me
The words make things easy to see
They make it much more fun to touch
Of words there never is too much
Semi-colon has my love
And Circumflex that sits above
I guess I like the tilde too
(Why can't a simple hyphen do?)
Ellipses... they give voice to void
I like it when they are employed
Apostrophes aren't like the rest
I often put them to the test
The elements of language, see,
Mean so very much to me
So as you use these words un-plain
Know that you write my heart's refrain
Friday, October 15, 2010
The Blissful Misery of Love
Put your hands into my ears
Into my mouth - into my fears
Put them softly on my heart
Slowly pull my ribs apart
Now quickly take the organ out
And hook your fingers on the doubt
Steal my love and worries too
And keep them always safe with you
Sew me up with a caress
As you slip off my fuchsia dress
Kiss me gently like the sun
And tell me I'm the only one
Clothed in laughter; deep in thought
Half-way through the wine you brought
Under cover sans disguise
I'm lost and found within your eyes
Let's make a pact to stay this way
In love in lust in disarray
But nothing lasts - not even this
(Let's seal the promise with a kiss)
Just know that each sweet touch will lie
Each word has life and soon must die
The honesty of love so pure
Will try, but must fail to endure
The passing of days/months/years
Destroys a love and brings back fears
One day my heart will cease to beat
No longer will you be complete
Our love will end in tragedy
Too soon your blinded eyes will see
The folly of eternal love
And shame of heaven up above
So when you hold my hands in yours
(as we make love instead of wars)
Know that our time is very brief
That soon you will be filled with grief
Like water carefully cupped in hands
Time flows through (like hourglass sands)
This moment - it could be our last
This fleeting present becomes past
Into my mouth - into my fears
Put them softly on my heart
Slowly pull my ribs apart
Now quickly take the organ out
And hook your fingers on the doubt
Steal my love and worries too
And keep them always safe with you
Sew me up with a caress
As you slip off my fuchsia dress
Kiss me gently like the sun
And tell me I'm the only one
Clothed in laughter; deep in thought
Half-way through the wine you brought
Under cover sans disguise
I'm lost and found within your eyes
Let's make a pact to stay this way
In love in lust in disarray
But nothing lasts - not even this
(Let's seal the promise with a kiss)
Just know that each sweet touch will lie
Each word has life and soon must die
The honesty of love so pure
Will try, but must fail to endure
The passing of days/months/years
Destroys a love and brings back fears
One day my heart will cease to beat
No longer will you be complete
Our love will end in tragedy
Too soon your blinded eyes will see
The folly of eternal love
And shame of heaven up above
So when you hold my hands in yours
(as we make love instead of wars)
Know that our time is very brief
That soon you will be filled with grief
Like water carefully cupped in hands
Time flows through (like hourglass sands)
This moment - it could be our last
This fleeting present becomes past
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Yo, Shakey
Some pop songs repeat words words words
But Hamlet did it first (first first)
Some say music's for the birds
And Shakespeare is for nerds nerds nerds
But I say music feeds the soul
And Hamlet's part of that dear goal
His speeches are my vitamins
Without them death - it always wins
Well Hamlet's dead I guess that's true
But his words truly live through you
And through the plays you strive to read
You somehow satisfy a need
Else why read it? Why trudge through?
What do these ancient words pursue?
Look quite closely, then you'll see
Shakespeare knows what you can be
Some are Brutus or King Lear
or fathers poisoned in the ear
Some find love like Juliet
or like Ophelia get all wet
It doesn't matter who you are
These plays (it's true) can take you far
Venice, Denmark, England too!
They'll take you off to someplace new
But Shakespeare wrote these long ago
About today, what could he know?
A microwave he's never seen
Into a car he's never been
But human souls are quite the same
(He doesn't have to know your name)
His words can see into your heart
And he can tell you all apart
"Thinking makes it so" you see
The thoughts you have will come to be
So sing your life and sing it fierce!
(The latest hit from Britney Spears)
Sing the music of your life
And worry not about the strife
It passes - all is over soon
Immerse yourself into a tune
"The earth has music for those who listen"
So cover yourself with sounds that glisten
Let your heart shine with the sound
And spin yourself around and 'round
Dance your whole life 'fore it's gone
And know that your true self has shone
Let Shakespeare tell you what to do
Allow the beat to flow through you
Just give yourself to something pure
Today's hits or words that were
Trendy beats or classic songs
Will help you stay away from wrongs
So "keep it real" and stay so true
Find words that truly inspire you
Let them flow into your heart
The music of your life will start
And like a song your life will end
And on the way you must defend
The open hearts and honest wits
In dusty books and billboard hits.
But Hamlet did it first (first first)
Some say music's for the birds
And Shakespeare is for nerds nerds nerds
But I say music feeds the soul
And Hamlet's part of that dear goal
His speeches are my vitamins
Without them death - it always wins
Well Hamlet's dead I guess that's true
But his words truly live through you
And through the plays you strive to read
You somehow satisfy a need
Else why read it? Why trudge through?
What do these ancient words pursue?
Look quite closely, then you'll see
Shakespeare knows what you can be
Some are Brutus or King Lear
or fathers poisoned in the ear
Some find love like Juliet
or like Ophelia get all wet
It doesn't matter who you are
These plays (it's true) can take you far
Venice, Denmark, England too!
They'll take you off to someplace new
But Shakespeare wrote these long ago
About today, what could he know?
A microwave he's never seen
Into a car he's never been
But human souls are quite the same
(He doesn't have to know your name)
His words can see into your heart
And he can tell you all apart
"Thinking makes it so" you see
The thoughts you have will come to be
So sing your life and sing it fierce!
(The latest hit from Britney Spears)
Sing the music of your life
And worry not about the strife
It passes - all is over soon
Immerse yourself into a tune
"The earth has music for those who listen"
So cover yourself with sounds that glisten
Let your heart shine with the sound
And spin yourself around and 'round
Dance your whole life 'fore it's gone
And know that your true self has shone
Let Shakespeare tell you what to do
Allow the beat to flow through you
Just give yourself to something pure
Today's hits or words that were
Trendy beats or classic songs
Will help you stay away from wrongs
So "keep it real" and stay so true
Find words that truly inspire you
Let them flow into your heart
The music of your life will start
And like a song your life will end
And on the way you must defend
The open hearts and honest wits
In dusty books and billboard hits.
...uhm...
Writer's block - the Muse away, it seems I have no words today.
I'm blocked - stopped up - no words will flow, and suddenly I'm filled with woe!
I can't write, I'll never write! My sentences seem so contrite.
I'll never write again I say! I don't know how; I've lost my way.
I'm no Shakespeare, I'm no Poe, I'm not sure how the words should go.
Devices do betray me now. Write a poem? I don't know how.
Alliteration always acts happily for poetic hacks.
Internal rhyme can earn a dime - but I don't want to waste your time.
I'd like to make a star's light wink, but then my floating heart would sink.
Personify the world I would! If I thought that that could do some good.
I want the words to flow like wind! (Then this poor simile I'd rescind.)
Metaphors are a broken mind, they don't know love from an orange's rind.
It's hopeless! I've no words to give, a silent life I'm forced to live.
Ol' Bill and Edgar had a skill, and I know that I never will.
I'm blocked - stopped up - no words will flow, and suddenly I'm filled with woe!
I can't write, I'll never write! My sentences seem so contrite.
I'll never write again I say! I don't know how; I've lost my way.
I'm no Shakespeare, I'm no Poe, I'm not sure how the words should go.
Devices do betray me now. Write a poem? I don't know how.
Alliteration always acts happily for poetic hacks.
Internal rhyme can earn a dime - but I don't want to waste your time.
I'd like to make a star's light wink, but then my floating heart would sink.
Personify the world I would! If I thought that that could do some good.
I want the words to flow like wind! (Then this poor simile I'd rescind.)
Metaphors are a broken mind, they don't know love from an orange's rind.
It's hopeless! I've no words to give, a silent life I'm forced to live.
Ol' Bill and Edgar had a skill, and I know that I never will.
It's like Fight Club - but they don't call him suicidal
You told me 'bout the ketchup bottle
And how my neck you sought to throttle
And how my arm you'd love to squeeze
And push me down onto my knees
Steal my words with your strong fist
Seal the mouth you often kissed
Pull my hair until I scream
Make me wish this was a dream
Tell me that I have no worth
And that you do regret my birth
You want to kill me (yes it's true)
And you won't stop until you do
I'm crying as you hold the knife
I know you want to end my life
But somehow I can't let it go
Still I need some time to grow
Please hate me less I need to see
What kind of person I can be
You always try and tear me down
And turn my smile into a frown
But I just want to feel so free
And get you far away from me
I don't want to see your face
I want you so far from this place
But you are me and I am you
I can't escape the things you do
I can't block out the words you say
That ring inside my head each day
I can't turn off the constant hate
And the abhorrence won't abate
Self-loathing, it is here to stay
So murder is the only way
I kill you so that I can live
This option is my gift to give
The freedom in this last resort
Is worth the life that I abort
And how my neck you sought to throttle
And how my arm you'd love to squeeze
And push me down onto my knees
Steal my words with your strong fist
Seal the mouth you often kissed
Pull my hair until I scream
Make me wish this was a dream
Tell me that I have no worth
And that you do regret my birth
You want to kill me (yes it's true)
And you won't stop until you do
I'm crying as you hold the knife
I know you want to end my life
But somehow I can't let it go
Still I need some time to grow
Please hate me less I need to see
What kind of person I can be
You always try and tear me down
And turn my smile into a frown
But I just want to feel so free
And get you far away from me
I don't want to see your face
I want you so far from this place
But you are me and I am you
I can't escape the things you do
I can't block out the words you say
That ring inside my head each day
I can't turn off the constant hate
And the abhorrence won't abate
Self-loathing, it is here to stay
So murder is the only way
I kill you so that I can live
This option is my gift to give
The freedom in this last resort
Is worth the life that I abort
Cup of Joe
They say that pot is a gate-way drug, but you never hear people warning about caffeine.
Suddenly you're alert and your head has never felt so alive before.
You can do it all. You can clean and think and dream and run and dance and do homework and take it all on you are super! You can do it all! It's amazing and magical and less than $2!
Until the crash, and you're falling... falling asleep. You feel so tired and you need it again. Give me the coffee, I'm jones-ing for it. I don't need it I just really really want it.
Uppers were the next logical step.
Coffee stains your teeth and really it's not as convenient as a few little pills. Let's start with adderall and pseduo-ephedrine. They're easily procured, not illegal, and really ease you into the flighty high that feels so. damn. good.
Everything is still moving very very quickly. It's great - you're getting so much done! And nothing seems crazy important like it used to. When it's time to sleep ('cause let's be realistic - you have to sleep eventually) all it takes is a few shots of vodka (it tastes so clean). Food is no longer necessary for energy.
Ecstasy is just another pill.
It's great when you have time for, well, everything! It feels really good when you have your pills, and that girl from that party shared her coke with you and that felt pretty fucking good too. It's not as easy to get as the pills, but it works twice as well.
Life starts moving really quickly, like when you're on the merry-go-round at a kid's playground and it's spinning really, really quickly and any second you're going to fall off but for now you're hanging on and it feels really, really good (even though you might get sick any second now).
You don't think about inconsequential things anymore. It doesn't matter. You used to care about what people thought or how you looked but now all that matters is that you're awake! And that you have a pocket full of pills. You could quit, but what's the point? You feel happy for once. Things feel good.
What does it matter that it's artificial? Everything is artificial these days.
(Including happiness).
Suddenly you're alert and your head has never felt so alive before.
You can do it all. You can clean and think and dream and run and dance and do homework and take it all on you are super! You can do it all! It's amazing and magical and less than $2!
Until the crash, and you're falling... falling asleep. You feel so tired and you need it again. Give me the coffee, I'm jones-ing for it. I don't need it I just really really want it.
Uppers were the next logical step.
Coffee stains your teeth and really it's not as convenient as a few little pills. Let's start with adderall and pseduo-ephedrine. They're easily procured, not illegal, and really ease you into the flighty high that feels so. damn. good.
Everything is still moving very very quickly. It's great - you're getting so much done! And nothing seems crazy important like it used to. When it's time to sleep ('cause let's be realistic - you have to sleep eventually) all it takes is a few shots of vodka (it tastes so clean). Food is no longer necessary for energy.
Ecstasy is just another pill.
It's great when you have time for, well, everything! It feels really good when you have your pills, and that girl from that party shared her coke with you and that felt pretty fucking good too. It's not as easy to get as the pills, but it works twice as well.
Life starts moving really quickly, like when you're on the merry-go-round at a kid's playground and it's spinning really, really quickly and any second you're going to fall off but for now you're hanging on and it feels really, really good (even though you might get sick any second now).
You don't think about inconsequential things anymore. It doesn't matter. You used to care about what people thought or how you looked but now all that matters is that you're awake! And that you have a pocket full of pills. You could quit, but what's the point? You feel happy for once. Things feel good.
What does it matter that it's artificial? Everything is artificial these days.
(Including happiness).
Friday, October 8, 2010
Closer
Push me up against the wall
and catch me as I start to fall
so deep in love with you.
Bodies - separate - feel like one
(Oh! Life has never felt this fun!)
I like the words you whisper in my ear.
Buttons never felt so grand
As when undone with your strong hand
Take off my clothes and inhibitions too.
Enter my life and body too
I like the things you want to do
and suddenly the world becomes so still.
You like my touch I like your smile
Let's just stay here for a while
I want to live inside your circling arms.
The world is big and I'm so small
And as we stand here in the hall
I feel the universe condense for once.
This too will end (as all things do)
But for now, you're all that's true -
I'll hang on to this moment for all time.
And when I'm alone in my bed
I'll think of curls upon your head
and recall that I once was part of two.
and catch me as I start to fall
so deep in love with you.
Bodies - separate - feel like one
(Oh! Life has never felt this fun!)
I like the words you whisper in my ear.
Buttons never felt so grand
As when undone with your strong hand
Take off my clothes and inhibitions too.
Enter my life and body too
I like the things you want to do
and suddenly the world becomes so still.
You like my touch I like your smile
Let's just stay here for a while
I want to live inside your circling arms.
The world is big and I'm so small
And as we stand here in the hall
I feel the universe condense for once.
This too will end (as all things do)
But for now, you're all that's true -
I'll hang on to this moment for all time.
And when I'm alone in my bed
I'll think of curls upon your head
and recall that I once was part of two.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Now is the summer of our content...
Web 2.0 = Narcissism.
We all just want to be known, yeah?
I had to revert to my pen name, simply to avoid lumping myself with the plethora of others than need to be known! They want a name for themselves!
But Mary Anne (Mary Ann, Marian) Evans and Samuel Langhorne Clemens didn't feel the need to be known. Maybe they thought it wouldn't work out for them.
Maybe they didn't want their hearts to be labeled by their lives. (See: Autobiographical readings). Maybe they didn't want censorship to bind them to safe topics.
Hard to say.
I just know how irritated (and hypocritical) I get when I encounter personal websites so filled with the need to be SEEN! RECOGNIZED! ADORED! ADMIRED! ENVIED!
I just want to write. And yeah, when I'm dead, I want to be posthumously appreciated.
But for now, I am Allie Victoria Summers.
_____________________________________________
We all just want to be known, yeah?
I had to revert to my pen name, simply to avoid lumping myself with the plethora of others than need to be known! They want a name for themselves!
But Mary Anne (Mary Ann, Marian) Evans and Samuel Langhorne Clemens didn't feel the need to be known. Maybe they thought it wouldn't work out for them.
Maybe they didn't want their hearts to be labeled by their lives. (See: Autobiographical readings). Maybe they didn't want censorship to bind them to safe topics.
Hard to say.
I just know how irritated (and hypocritical) I get when I encounter personal websites so filled with the need to be SEEN! RECOGNIZED! ADORED! ADMIRED! ENVIED!
I just want to write. And yeah, when I'm dead, I want to be posthumously appreciated.
But for now, I am Allie Victoria Summers.
_____________________________________________
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
My $0.02 or They Call it Being "Well Off"
Ka-¢hing Ka-¢hing Ka-¢hing
Catching the disease
$pending $pending $pending
Until your house they seize
1 day you'll be happy
2 much you've had to lose
3 more breaths and you'll think
be-
4 you have to choose
between your life and living
between passion and a job
between a real or forced smile
between a tear or sob
living life is not free
but can you pay the cost?
is it worth the payment,
years of your life lost?
is there no other answer?
no way to simply be?
some way to "pay the piper"
and still escape the fee?
why can't we just be happy
living as we are?
resist the diamond bracelet
and brand-new sporty car
what world made "things" important
and made us care so much
about the things we purchase
objects we see and touch
intangible are love and lust
(i can't touch sympathy)
but surely it is possible
to feel philanthropy
i can hold opinions dear
and i can buy some time
some things are worth so very much
don't focus on the dime
don't care about the dollar
or yen or british pound
just let yourself get lost
and soon you'll find you're found
release yourself from rubies
divorce your diamonds too
there's definitely more to life
than buying old and new
don't focus on your income
and other revenue
the dollar signs are blinding
and soon your "things" own you
what is the price of happiness?
how much for just one smile?
will money get you closer?
or will it just beguile?
let go and give yourself a break
it's going to be ok
there's more to life than buying
and waiting for pay day
just breathe and try to realize
you have so many things
assess what is important
and give your dreams some wings
Catching the disease
$pending $pending $pending
Until your house they seize
1 day you'll be happy
2 much you've had to lose
3 more breaths and you'll think
be-
4 you have to choose
between your life and living
between passion and a job
between a real or forced smile
between a tear or sob
living life is not free
but can you pay the cost?
is it worth the payment,
years of your life lost?
is there no other answer?
no way to simply be?
some way to "pay the piper"
and still escape the fee?
why can't we just be happy
living as we are?
resist the diamond bracelet
and brand-new sporty car
what world made "things" important
and made us care so much
about the things we purchase
objects we see and touch
intangible are love and lust
(i can't touch sympathy)
but surely it is possible
to feel philanthropy
i can hold opinions dear
and i can buy some time
some things are worth so very much
don't focus on the dime
don't care about the dollar
or yen or british pound
just let yourself get lost
and soon you'll find you're found
release yourself from rubies
divorce your diamonds too
there's definitely more to life
than buying old and new
don't focus on your income
and other revenue
the dollar signs are blinding
and soon your "things" own you
what is the price of happiness?
how much for just one smile?
will money get you closer?
or will it just beguile?
let go and give yourself a break
it's going to be ok
there's more to life than buying
and waiting for pay day
just breathe and try to realize
you have so many things
assess what is important
and give your dreams some wings
What is the sound of two hearts beating?
The poetry of your mouth
Makes music on my cheek
And fills my heart and head with words
I'm unable to speak
Fill my face with wonder
As your lips press on mine
More words upon my heart are felt
As with your hands you sign
The languages they sweetly blur
(So soft) you speak to me
The droplets of your raining words
Fill up my heart (an endless sea)
Your breath tells me of life
Your tongue of living free
And when I'm right beside you
I close my eyes and see
I'm pressed to you - a flower
Between the pages of our love
Preserved for all eternity
Like stars in skies above
You tell me with your eyes
That I'm the one for you
Your arms and teeth and knees
They tell me that it's true
Tell me dear, forever,
(in wordless ways so fine)
That I am all your lover
And you are always mine.
Makes music on my cheek
And fills my heart and head with words
I'm unable to speak
Fill my face with wonder
As your lips press on mine
More words upon my heart are felt
As with your hands you sign
The languages they sweetly blur
(So soft) you speak to me
The droplets of your raining words
Fill up my heart (an endless sea)
Your breath tells me of life
Your tongue of living free
And when I'm right beside you
I close my eyes and see
I'm pressed to you - a flower
Between the pages of our love
Preserved for all eternity
Like stars in skies above
You tell me with your eyes
That I'm the one for you
Your arms and teeth and knees
They tell me that it's true
Tell me dear, forever,
(in wordless ways so fine)
That I am all your lover
And you are always mine.
I hate moving
Even when stationary, we're moving. Like bodies of water that are "still", under the surface we're teeming with life and constantly going going going.
The blood in our veins, the air in our lungs, the molecules and atoms and electrons. (What is smaller than an electron? It's probably moving too.)
We're always moving. So it's no wonder I'm so damn tired. Do we rest when we're dead?
We're not just moving, we're rushing. What are we rushing towards? Where is it that we need to get to so quickly? What is the purpose of deadlines and due dates? What happens if we don't get it all done? Does life stop? Does everything fall apart?
What would happen if it all fell apart for you? Would you finally be free to do as you like? Or would you be trapped, trapped within this world that revolves around time and appointments and goal-setting and goal-attainment and fixed periods of time for everything from gestation to graduation?
It's no wonder that books and movies like Fight Club are popular - our greatest fantasy is to give it up all up and start over. To live with "nothing". To live with as little as we can. Imagine not working towards buying new things. Imagine buying only what you need. Imagine feeling. Imagine care less, and caring more. What would that mean for you?
But no. You need this job. You need it so you can buy ___, and you need ___ so that you can be happy/healthy/look good/feel good/keep up with the Jones'. Or is it Joneses?
I think one day I'll have to find out what it's like. But first I just have to achieve some fixed-time-period goals, and buy a few things.
The blood in our veins, the air in our lungs, the molecules and atoms and electrons. (What is smaller than an electron? It's probably moving too.)
We're always moving. So it's no wonder I'm so damn tired. Do we rest when we're dead?
We're not just moving, we're rushing. What are we rushing towards? Where is it that we need to get to so quickly? What is the purpose of deadlines and due dates? What happens if we don't get it all done? Does life stop? Does everything fall apart?
What would happen if it all fell apart for you? Would you finally be free to do as you like? Or would you be trapped, trapped within this world that revolves around time and appointments and goal-setting and goal-attainment and fixed periods of time for everything from gestation to graduation?
It's no wonder that books and movies like Fight Club are popular - our greatest fantasy is to give it up all up and start over. To live with "nothing". To live with as little as we can. Imagine not working towards buying new things. Imagine buying only what you need. Imagine feeling. Imagine care less, and caring more. What would that mean for you?
But no. You need this job. You need it so you can buy ___, and you need ___ so that you can be happy/healthy/look good/feel good/keep up with the Jones'. Or is it Joneses?
I think one day I'll have to find out what it's like. But first I just have to achieve some fixed-time-period goals, and buy a few things.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Just let go
Whirling twirling almost hurling
throw yourself into my arms -
Spend your time exploring/learning
time to face our dear world's harms.
Don't hide or shield yourself from wonder
it's all within your reach, my sweet.
Just let your guard down once again
and I'll fall at your feet.
Love life - love me - love it all,
this is the only shot you get...
Be as curious as can be
my lovely little pet.
We'll run and then we'll scamper
and frolic in the night
I know that this is scary
But also it's so right.
throw yourself into my arms -
Spend your time exploring/learning
time to face our dear world's harms.
Don't hide or shield yourself from wonder
it's all within your reach, my sweet.
Just let your guard down once again
and I'll fall at your feet.
Love life - love me - love it all,
this is the only shot you get...
Be as curious as can be
my lovely little pet.
We'll run and then we'll scamper
and frolic in the night
I know that this is scary
But also it's so right.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
"Can I help you find anything, or are you just browsing?"
Maybe we can't figure out what to do with our lives because we already have everything. If you're reading this, it means you're literate and have access to the internet. I think it's safe to assume that you have many or all of life's "basic necessities". (Who coined that phrase anyways?)
We are so completely materialistic ("we" being the affluent western world and a few other select areas on the globe). Our daily lives revolve around what we're going to buy next. Do you go to work to pay for your house? Do you go to school to get a job so that one day you can pay for a house? Even if you own your house, you can buy stuff for it (decor/furnishings/etc.) Is it your kids you buy for? It would be awful if they missed out on growing up with the incessant need to want and "need".
Let me be clear: want ≠ need. What constitutes need? Do we need a house? (Could you live without one?) Do we need a car or shoes? There are people that do without. Do you need a bathroom when you "have" to "go"? (Technically, no.) Do we need 5-20 pairs of pants? Seriously. Things are getting out of hand. We've forgotten the difference between want and need and everything is getting confused and SOMEBODY out there is making a buck and that's good, because they have a house to pay for, you know. And that's going to make them "happy".
It gets worse.
We have commercialized emotion. We have commercialized LOVE. We have. In one breathe we declare love as "sacred" and in the next we configure ways to prove this with objects. The idea of "marriage" is lost somewhere in the shadow of "weddings", and this materialistic gesture is forever immortalized by (often) insanely expensive rings. With the rise of capitalism (or some form of it) came the institution of marking your love by precious metals and accompanying stones. We've heard the questions: "Well what what you DO if he proposed but you hated the ring???!" and despite insisting that we'd marry them anyways, a small voice inside of us confesses that we'd have to do something about that ring and get it changed or what have you.
Because it matters. (But why?)
You've probably also answered the question, "If your house was on fire and you could only save one thing, what would it be?" For some people, it's photos. For others, "valuable" items or sentimental objects. It varies, but there are things we hold near and dear and seek to keep forever. As though holding on to a picture frame would give us some sense of purpose, being, or happiness as we stare at the rubble that once functioned as shelter.
We are so completely attached to stuff. It's undeniable. I'm not exempt from this widespread disease. I save my money for things and spend my money on stuff and it makes me "happier". I work hard in school and "achieve" so that one day I can get a nice fancy job and make MORE money so that I can do things that make me "happy". I'm not trying to suggest that this is completely wrong, and that the direction my life is going in is downhill. I'm merely recognizing that I'm a part of the problem, and I'm not sure what the solution is.
Maybe only when we have nothing do we have a chance to figure out what we need. Maybe having so much, so little real need, has caused us to lose our way. What makes you happy? Is it your car? Your ipod? Your couch? I'm ignoring the fact that there are most likely living-breathing-organisms that are extremely important to you. I'm focusing on the fact that we think of STUFF/OBJECTS/THINGS as the gateway to happiness. I just need that dress. I just need the iphone4. And it'll make me happy, or at least happier.
This stuff breaks. It deteriorates. It gets lost. It burns in a metaphorical fire. And then what? What do we have then when everything that makes us "happy" goes up in smoke?
Is it the people around us? Moms, dads, girlfriends, boyfriends, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, children, neighbours, aunts, uncles, grandmothers, grandfathers, teachers, friends, mentors, librarians, mistresses, step-children, foster children, step-parents, foster parents, and the strangers we don't even know but do feel empathy for? Is this what truly matters? Is this what's left?
I would like to say yes. I would like to say that love is the thing. In fact, sometimes I even believe it. But we know too well that love can break. And love can break us. It can take us up to heights so high that when it drops us, smashing us into bits, we don't know how to put the pieces back together again, and suddenly that house you live in is also no longer a source of happiness.
This calls for clarification. The aforementioned love relies upon other people. It is inter-personal, and not fully within your control (as much as you may like it to be.) Perhaps it is other forms of love that cannot be taken from us (as long as we don't allow them to be silenced by our "needs").
Some sensations are not readily apparent to us. Have you ever "loved" air? Probably not (unless you're a yogi, in which case you probably understand why yoga has been practiced for thousands of years). But if it (air) were taken away, if you needed it (more than you needed that new toaster oven), I'm fairly certain you would love it were you able to obtain it again. Have you ever loved the colour of the sky, the fact that you could see, or the way you thought to look up at all? Have you given yourself that much credit? Have you thanked and loved yourself for ever facet of your being?
Children allegedly laugh 80 times more than adults. Children generally have no money, and until a certain age do not know the concept of "buying" or "owning". Most likely their young life is comprised of discovering and viewing the world with wonder and awe with a penchant for hilarity. Sure, kids "need" - they need food and cleanliness, social interaction and other healthy things. That, I don't think I could argue against. In fact, this is not a perfect example so much as it is a model for being.
Learn. Laugh. LIVE your life. Enjoy it. Don't wish it away. LOVE yourself, wholly and completely. Without make-up, without hesitation. There are few things that cannot be taken away from us, and if we establish some form of self-love and a wonder and appreciation for the world around us (whatever form it may take), perhaps then we may find happiness. Perhaps then we'll stop pursuing it with the rabid tenacity of a starving dog.
---------------------------------------------
Wow, but I digress.
If one achieves self-love & world-wonder, then what? What do you do with yourself if you are perfectly content with yourself and your life situation? I think part of the reason we create so many projects for ourselves (renovate the kitchen, lose 10 lbs, obtain a degree, etc.) is an effort to defeat the possibility of boredom. Maybe we create feelings of inadequacy in order to have something to "fix" and AHA! A project is born.
That is pathetic.
There should be only one answer: do what you are passionate about. If you love making music or solving math equations or talking to old people - DO THAT. Do what fills you with joy, intensity, or calm, or whatever you consider a manifestation of your passion. You can have more than one. You can change your mind. But do what stokes that fire within you, DO what contributes to your zest for life.
If you are creative and imaginative enough, you won't have to sacrifice your passion for some dull career you're not interested in but need to pay the bills. If you work at your passion and give 100% effort and think outside the box and do whatever it takes, you will find a way to make it happen. And if you've come to love yourself and be at peace with the workings of the world, your path will be that much easier.
What fills you with that fire? A difficult question, I am sure. What fills you with desire and longing that is not a tangible object? Think hard, think very very hard. And then find a way to make it happen. If the creativity switch in your brain has been switched to "off" for far too long, enlist the aid of others. Get them to help you come up with a solution, an opportunity, anything.
Maybe you want to be a mail man, a nurse, or a nuclear biologist. Maybe you don't want a "job" and you want to create and wander and profess - it doesn't matter - the point is that if you put 100% towards it (have you ever put 100% effort towards any goal?) the only possible outcome is success - it will be achievable (if you don't reach your goal, you haven't tried hard enough or exhausted all options). We are trained and we train ourselves to believe that there are certain things we can't achieve - but this is simply not true. You can achieve ANYTHING, but you have to want it badly enough and devise ways to get there.
And if you do what you're passionate about while accepting yourself and your decision to follow this path, you will be happy.
And that can't be taken away without your say-so.
_________________________________________________
We are so completely materialistic ("we" being the affluent western world and a few other select areas on the globe). Our daily lives revolve around what we're going to buy next. Do you go to work to pay for your house? Do you go to school to get a job so that one day you can pay for a house? Even if you own your house, you can buy stuff for it (decor/furnishings/etc.) Is it your kids you buy for? It would be awful if they missed out on growing up with the incessant need to want and "need".
Let me be clear: want ≠ need. What constitutes need? Do we need a house? (Could you live without one?) Do we need a car or shoes? There are people that do without. Do you need a bathroom when you "have" to "go"? (Technically, no.) Do we need 5-20 pairs of pants? Seriously. Things are getting out of hand. We've forgotten the difference between want and need and everything is getting confused and SOMEBODY out there is making a buck and that's good, because they have a house to pay for, you know. And that's going to make them "happy".
It gets worse.
We have commercialized emotion. We have commercialized LOVE. We have. In one breathe we declare love as "sacred" and in the next we configure ways to prove this with objects. The idea of "marriage" is lost somewhere in the shadow of "weddings", and this materialistic gesture is forever immortalized by (often) insanely expensive rings. With the rise of capitalism (or some form of it) came the institution of marking your love by precious metals and accompanying stones. We've heard the questions: "Well what what you DO if he proposed but you hated the ring???!" and despite insisting that we'd marry them anyways, a small voice inside of us confesses that we'd have to do something about that ring and get it changed or what have you.
Because it matters. (But why?)
You've probably also answered the question, "If your house was on fire and you could only save one thing, what would it be?" For some people, it's photos. For others, "valuable" items or sentimental objects. It varies, but there are things we hold near and dear and seek to keep forever. As though holding on to a picture frame would give us some sense of purpose, being, or happiness as we stare at the rubble that once functioned as shelter.
We are so completely attached to stuff. It's undeniable. I'm not exempt from this widespread disease. I save my money for things and spend my money on stuff and it makes me "happier". I work hard in school and "achieve" so that one day I can get a nice fancy job and make MORE money so that I can do things that make me "happy". I'm not trying to suggest that this is completely wrong, and that the direction my life is going in is downhill. I'm merely recognizing that I'm a part of the problem, and I'm not sure what the solution is.
Maybe only when we have nothing do we have a chance to figure out what we need. Maybe having so much, so little real need, has caused us to lose our way. What makes you happy? Is it your car? Your ipod? Your couch? I'm ignoring the fact that there are most likely living-breathing-organisms that are extremely important to you. I'm focusing on the fact that we think of STUFF/OBJECTS/THINGS as the gateway to happiness. I just need that dress. I just need the iphone4. And it'll make me happy, or at least happier.
This stuff breaks. It deteriorates. It gets lost. It burns in a metaphorical fire. And then what? What do we have then when everything that makes us "happy" goes up in smoke?
Is it the people around us? Moms, dads, girlfriends, boyfriends, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, children, neighbours, aunts, uncles, grandmothers, grandfathers, teachers, friends, mentors, librarians, mistresses, step-children, foster children, step-parents, foster parents, and the strangers we don't even know but do feel empathy for? Is this what truly matters? Is this what's left?
I would like to say yes. I would like to say that love is the thing. In fact, sometimes I even believe it. But we know too well that love can break. And love can break us. It can take us up to heights so high that when it drops us, smashing us into bits, we don't know how to put the pieces back together again, and suddenly that house you live in is also no longer a source of happiness.
This calls for clarification. The aforementioned love relies upon other people. It is inter-personal, and not fully within your control (as much as you may like it to be.) Perhaps it is other forms of love that cannot be taken from us (as long as we don't allow them to be silenced by our "needs").
Some sensations are not readily apparent to us. Have you ever "loved" air? Probably not (unless you're a yogi, in which case you probably understand why yoga has been practiced for thousands of years). But if it (air) were taken away, if you needed it (more than you needed that new toaster oven), I'm fairly certain you would love it were you able to obtain it again. Have you ever loved the colour of the sky, the fact that you could see, or the way you thought to look up at all? Have you given yourself that much credit? Have you thanked and loved yourself for ever facet of your being?
Children allegedly laugh 80 times more than adults. Children generally have no money, and until a certain age do not know the concept of "buying" or "owning". Most likely their young life is comprised of discovering and viewing the world with wonder and awe with a penchant for hilarity. Sure, kids "need" - they need food and cleanliness, social interaction and other healthy things. That, I don't think I could argue against. In fact, this is not a perfect example so much as it is a model for being.
Learn. Laugh. LIVE your life. Enjoy it. Don't wish it away. LOVE yourself, wholly and completely. Without make-up, without hesitation. There are few things that cannot be taken away from us, and if we establish some form of self-love and a wonder and appreciation for the world around us (whatever form it may take), perhaps then we may find happiness. Perhaps then we'll stop pursuing it with the rabid tenacity of a starving dog.
---------------------------------------------
Wow, but I digress.
If one achieves self-love & world-wonder, then what? What do you do with yourself if you are perfectly content with yourself and your life situation? I think part of the reason we create so many projects for ourselves (renovate the kitchen, lose 10 lbs, obtain a degree, etc.) is an effort to defeat the possibility of boredom. Maybe we create feelings of inadequacy in order to have something to "fix" and AHA! A project is born.
That is pathetic.
There should be only one answer: do what you are passionate about. If you love making music or solving math equations or talking to old people - DO THAT. Do what fills you with joy, intensity, or calm, or whatever you consider a manifestation of your passion. You can have more than one. You can change your mind. But do what stokes that fire within you, DO what contributes to your zest for life.
If you are creative and imaginative enough, you won't have to sacrifice your passion for some dull career you're not interested in but need to pay the bills. If you work at your passion and give 100% effort and think outside the box and do whatever it takes, you will find a way to make it happen. And if you've come to love yourself and be at peace with the workings of the world, your path will be that much easier.
What fills you with that fire? A difficult question, I am sure. What fills you with desire and longing that is not a tangible object? Think hard, think very very hard. And then find a way to make it happen. If the creativity switch in your brain has been switched to "off" for far too long, enlist the aid of others. Get them to help you come up with a solution, an opportunity, anything.
Maybe you want to be a mail man, a nurse, or a nuclear biologist. Maybe you don't want a "job" and you want to create and wander and profess - it doesn't matter - the point is that if you put 100% towards it (have you ever put 100% effort towards any goal?) the only possible outcome is success - it will be achievable (if you don't reach your goal, you haven't tried hard enough or exhausted all options). We are trained and we train ourselves to believe that there are certain things we can't achieve - but this is simply not true. You can achieve ANYTHING, but you have to want it badly enough and devise ways to get there.
And if you do what you're passionate about while accepting yourself and your decision to follow this path, you will be happy.
And that can't be taken away without your say-so.
_________________________________________________
Pause for thought
Is it enough to do things on a micro level, or do we need to do them on a macro level to truly effect change?
Does changing the lives of many people you don't know matter more than changing the life of a person that you do?
How close can we really get to anybody, if we can never be inside their head?
What is the purpose of a "career"?
Why has money become so necessary?
What could we accomplish if we created something more powerful than caffeine and less harmful than speed?
What do you want to do with your life, and why aren't you doing it?
Does changing the lives of many people you don't know matter more than changing the life of a person that you do?
How close can we really get to anybody, if we can never be inside their head?
What is the purpose of a "career"?
Why has money become so necessary?
What could we accomplish if we created something more powerful than caffeine and less harmful than speed?
What do you want to do with your life, and why aren't you doing it?
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Superman
You say it’s so important:
The saving of the world.
But what if she were in it
and compliments you hurled -
And then you kept on going
running far away,
because she was too special
you knew you couldn’t stay.
What happens if you slow down
and let in someone new?
Have you ever thought that this could be
something you would do?
I know you have your goals and dreams,
she does, too, I know -
don’t you see that you could have
your dreams and still not go?
You could love her and be free -
I’ve heard it can be done.
Just take a chance and try it!
Who knows? It might be fun.
To love it is to flourish,
and still let things fly free;
but next time that you run so far
please leave your heart with me.
The saving of the world.
But what if she were in it
and compliments you hurled -
And then you kept on going
running far away,
because she was too special
you knew you couldn’t stay.
What happens if you slow down
and let in someone new?
Have you ever thought that this could be
something you would do?
I know you have your goals and dreams,
she does, too, I know -
don’t you see that you could have
your dreams and still not go?
You could love her and be free -
I’ve heard it can be done.
Just take a chance and try it!
Who knows? It might be fun.
To love it is to flourish,
and still let things fly free;
but next time that you run so far
please leave your heart with me.
Letter to some guy
It's like when you told me I was "quite a dancer". It's a compliment on the good days, but sometimes I think you're just another douchebag that wasn't quite sure what to say.
So here you are telling me that you like me because I'm "somethin' else". Your eloquence knows no bounds. You're a regular William fuckin' Shakespeare.
Sometimes I wish you words were flowers, and each petal that fell delicately out of your mouth was an effort to describe to me how truly, despairingly, quintessentially fantastic I am. I wish your words were candies, sweet little nuggets that I could roll around on my tongue while the happy centers in my brain light up before the sweetness dissolves.
But that's not your way. You love me with your eyes, with your arm around my shoulders. Words have always been my medium of expression - I'm a regular bulimic when it comes to word vomit. You're about as talkative as a fence post (but just as good a listener).
I think you know what I'd like from you - I'd like to hear it just once. But you'll never say it, will you?
Does that make it less true?
So here you are telling me that you like me because I'm "somethin' else". Your eloquence knows no bounds. You're a regular William fuckin' Shakespeare.
Sometimes I wish you words were flowers, and each petal that fell delicately out of your mouth was an effort to describe to me how truly, despairingly, quintessentially fantastic I am. I wish your words were candies, sweet little nuggets that I could roll around on my tongue while the happy centers in my brain light up before the sweetness dissolves.
But that's not your way. You love me with your eyes, with your arm around my shoulders. Words have always been my medium of expression - I'm a regular bulimic when it comes to word vomit. You're about as talkative as a fence post (but just as good a listener).
I think you know what I'd like from you - I'd like to hear it just once. But you'll never say it, will you?
Does that make it less true?
Love Song
Play for me a song of love
your fingers know the notes...
Softly like a turtle dove
my love for you - it floats.
Catch it 'fore it flies away
Hold on to it you must -
When my fierce love leaves you one day
who'll satisfy your lust?
And like a drop of water
That could quench thirst (I guess)
The sound can make you hotter
'Till you burn up - a mess.
So choose to drink and keep and touch
My love for you is real.
Our entanglement is marked as such
that I must break the seal.
Too real too good I cannot stay
Entangled here with you -
a rope with knots is fun for play
at least until I'm through.
Senseless though you think I am
The truth is deeply there -
the saddest part about this sham
is that you're unaware.
your fingers know the notes...
Softly like a turtle dove
my love for you - it floats.
Catch it 'fore it flies away
Hold on to it you must -
When my fierce love leaves you one day
who'll satisfy your lust?
And like a drop of water
That could quench thirst (I guess)
The sound can make you hotter
'Till you burn up - a mess.
So choose to drink and keep and touch
My love for you is real.
Our entanglement is marked as such
that I must break the seal.
Too real too good I cannot stay
Entangled here with you -
a rope with knots is fun for play
at least until I'm through.
Senseless though you think I am
The truth is deeply there -
the saddest part about this sham
is that you're unaware.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
An oldie, but a goodie
Oh the travesty of age
and the corresponding rage
that rises up inside
as your hips 'come ever wide -
you cannot help but find,
that you have lost your mind
(memory is faulty
and your speech becomes quite halty)
and lines deep in your face
(impossible t'erase)
mar your youthful look,
(you're caught upon the hook)
death is pulling upon you
it shows in all you do
he reels you in quite slow
but the aging, it does show
The incessant decay
that happens every day
Will haunt you all your life
and like the sharpest knife
will take your life away
so be upset you may
but really you should just
enjoy your sagging bust
enjoy and don't despair
the losing of your hair
love your wrinkly skin
and the fact that you aren't thin
because a corpse will be
not half as much pretty
so deal with it my dear
i know that you can't hear
but death comes for us all
so smile, wait for his call.
and the corresponding rage
that rises up inside
as your hips 'come ever wide -
you cannot help but find,
that you have lost your mind
(memory is faulty
and your speech becomes quite halty)
and lines deep in your face
(impossible t'erase)
mar your youthful look,
(you're caught upon the hook)
death is pulling upon you
it shows in all you do
he reels you in quite slow
but the aging, it does show
The incessant decay
that happens every day
Will haunt you all your life
and like the sharpest knife
will take your life away
so be upset you may
but really you should just
enjoy your sagging bust
enjoy and don't despair
the losing of your hair
love your wrinkly skin
and the fact that you aren't thin
because a corpse will be
not half as much pretty
so deal with it my dear
i know that you can't hear
but death comes for us all
so smile, wait for his call.
Friday, September 10, 2010
How to Change Your Life
1. Stop buying things that are new. Also, buy quality things to last.
2. Never (this will take practice) do anything unkind, directly, or indirectly, to others. Go out of your way to be considerate and nice.
3. Stop buying things that produce garbage or contribute to landfill.
4. Take 5 minutes out of every day to sit, breathe, and think.
5. Make a point of looking at nature, whether it's a leaf or a mountain.
6. Experience uncomfortable situations and accept them for what they are.
7. But also realize that you're free to leave all and any situations you choose to.
8. Eat foods that your body will recognize. (Hint: your body does not know what the fuck a Doritto is. Eat fruits, veges, dairy, and protein. Even just one vegetable a day can make a difference.)
9. Be the light in someone's day. Get creative about it.
Ask yourself what you'd be doing if you could do anything you wanted.
10. Do that.
2. Never (this will take practice) do anything unkind, directly, or indirectly, to others. Go out of your way to be considerate and nice.
3. Stop buying things that produce garbage or contribute to landfill.
4. Take 5 minutes out of every day to sit, breathe, and think.
5. Make a point of looking at nature, whether it's a leaf or a mountain.
6. Experience uncomfortable situations and accept them for what they are.
7. But also realize that you're free to leave all and any situations you choose to.
8. Eat foods that your body will recognize. (Hint: your body does not know what the fuck a Doritto is. Eat fruits, veges, dairy, and protein. Even just one vegetable a day can make a difference.)
9. Be the light in someone's day. Get creative about it.
Ask yourself what you'd be doing if you could do anything you wanted.
10. Do that.
Ode to Pelops
- In voice of an unknown, ancient Grecian male speaker
I saw you, one day, in the Baths,
And hoped that we would soon cross paths.
Dear Aphrodite1 made it be –
One day you quite bumped into me.
(I sacrificed2 a goat for her,
In thanks for making my heart stir.)
Pelops3 was this young man’s name,
And deep into my life he came.
Most days, we two, spent side by side –
But by the rules4, we did abide.
I had consent, I had his love;
Never did I push or shove.
My love for him, I did not hide,
To know him was a source of pride.
His golden hair and ivory shoulder5,
For him, I would move any boulder.
For his sweet lips I’d go so far
As to fight a minotaur6.
I would cross the Aegean Sea7,
To have my Pelops near to me.
He is a Ganymede8 to me,
No greater beauty could I see.
Great Demeter9, I love her too,
For she did eat a part of you.
Pelops, son of Tantalus10,
I love how you and I is “us”.
My Pelops, dearest one to me!
My favourite, he will always be.
If, before I did, he died,
A thousand tears I would have cried.
My love, he must always be alive!
Or rivers I would cross – all five. 11
A katabasis12 would occur,
For I would make things as they were.
I’d battle Cerberus13 for you,
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do.
From Hades14 I would bring you back
To Earth, despite a sure attack,
From the mighty gods above,
Who don’t always understand love.
I’ll love you ‘till the end of days,
And when I’m gone, still you, they’ll praise.
A God, to me, you’ve always been,
Great things for you I have foreseen:
At Olympia, your shrine15,
You are with those that are divine.
An island, it will have your name,
“Peloponnesus16” will have fame.
The Olympic Games17 one day,
In your honour, they will play.
Admittedly, they play for Zeus,
But I know there are many truths.
They’ll play for you as well as he,
Games founded by your brilliancy.
I’ll worship you for all my life,
And although I have a wife18,
No love could match my love for you,
Devoted to thee in all that I do,
I will give you all my heart,
In hopes that we shall never part.
For a life without my dear Pelops,
Is to me a life that stops.
Citations
1. Aphrodite – Goddess of love, sex, and beauty. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/a/aphrodite.html)
2. Sacrifices – Offerings to the gods. (Pg. 6, Ancient Greek Religion)
3. Pelops – A beautiful man, son of Tantalus and grandson of Zeus. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html, Pg. 426 Sexuality in Ancient Greece)
4. Rules – As shown by the following excerpts, it is important that the speaker had Pelops’ consent as well as love, and that he never used force. It is also relevant that the speaker was proud of the relationship.
“…it was considered a violation of duty by the man, if he did not draw one younger to him, and a disgrace to the boy if he was not honoured by the friendship of a man.” – (418, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)
“…intentional violation of his body… at that time was an offence punishable by banishment and confiscation of property” (438, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)
“…the state expected that every man should choose a youth as his favourite, and, further, while a boy was blamed if he failed to find an older friend and lover…” (439, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)
5. Ivory Shoulder – When the chopped up Pelops was restored by the Gods to his original form, they replaced his shoulder with ivory because Demeter had eaten it. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html)
6. Minotaur – A monster with the head and tail of a bull, but the body of a man. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/m/minotaur.html)
7. Aegean Sea – Between Greece and Asian Minor. (http://encarta.msn.com/encnet/refpages/RefArticle.aspx?refid=761553371)
8. Ganymede – Standard of beauty: if someone is “…even more beautiful than Ganymede,” they are incredibly beautiful, as well as coveted by Zeus. (466, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)
9. Demeter – Demeter inadvertently ate Pelops’ shoulder in a stew made by Tantalus. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html) (191, Ancient Greek Religion)
10. Tantalus – Father of Pelops. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/t/tantalus.html)
11. There five rivers in Hades, separating Hades from the outside world – Acheron - the river of woe; Cocytus - the river of lamentation; Phlegethon - the river of fire; Lethe - the river of forgetfulness; Styx - the river of hate. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/s/styx_river.html)
12. Katabasis – Epic hero’s excursion into the underworld. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katabasis#Trip_into_the_underworld)
13. Cerberus – A three-headed dog that guards the entrance to Hades. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/c/cerberus.html)
14. Hades – The Underworld or “Hell” of Greek Religion. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/h/hades.html)
15. Shrine at Olympia – There is a “…large heroon of Pelops inside Zeus’ sanctuary.” (Pg. 47 Ancient Greek Religion)
16. Peloponnesus – “Pelops subdued the area of Greece which became known as the Peloponnesus.” (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html)
17. The Olympic Games - “…the famous Olympic Games may have been originally held in honour of the hero Pelops.” (Pg. 47 Ancient Greek Religion) (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/o/olympic_games.html)
18. Wife – Greek men, although they often took male lovers, generally still had wives.
Note: While this poem is not in traditional Greek format, (which does not rhyme) (http://ancienthistory.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ/Ya&sdn=ancienthistory&cdn=education&tm=9&f=10&tt=14&bt=0&bts=0&zu=http%3A//www.aoidoi.org/articles/meter/intro.php) I thought it would be more interesting and fun to write a rhyming poem. Also, while many of my citations are found to have come from various sources, much of my knowledge was first introduced to me in CLST 333, but I didn’t know exactly how to cite that.
I saw you, one day, in the Baths,
And hoped that we would soon cross paths.
Dear Aphrodite1 made it be –
One day you quite bumped into me.
(I sacrificed2 a goat for her,
In thanks for making my heart stir.)
Pelops3 was this young man’s name,
And deep into my life he came.
Most days, we two, spent side by side –
But by the rules4, we did abide.
I had consent, I had his love;
Never did I push or shove.
My love for him, I did not hide,
To know him was a source of pride.
His golden hair and ivory shoulder5,
For him, I would move any boulder.
For his sweet lips I’d go so far
As to fight a minotaur6.
I would cross the Aegean Sea7,
To have my Pelops near to me.
He is a Ganymede8 to me,
No greater beauty could I see.
Great Demeter9, I love her too,
For she did eat a part of you.
Pelops, son of Tantalus10,
I love how you and I is “us”.
My Pelops, dearest one to me!
My favourite, he will always be.
If, before I did, he died,
A thousand tears I would have cried.
My love, he must always be alive!
Or rivers I would cross – all five. 11
A katabasis12 would occur,
For I would make things as they were.
I’d battle Cerberus13 for you,
There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do.
From Hades14 I would bring you back
To Earth, despite a sure attack,
From the mighty gods above,
Who don’t always understand love.
I’ll love you ‘till the end of days,
And when I’m gone, still you, they’ll praise.
A God, to me, you’ve always been,
Great things for you I have foreseen:
At Olympia, your shrine15,
You are with those that are divine.
An island, it will have your name,
“Peloponnesus16” will have fame.
The Olympic Games17 one day,
In your honour, they will play.
Admittedly, they play for Zeus,
But I know there are many truths.
They’ll play for you as well as he,
Games founded by your brilliancy.
I’ll worship you for all my life,
And although I have a wife18,
No love could match my love for you,
Devoted to thee in all that I do,
I will give you all my heart,
In hopes that we shall never part.
For a life without my dear Pelops,
Is to me a life that stops.
Citations
1. Aphrodite – Goddess of love, sex, and beauty. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/a/aphrodite.html)
2. Sacrifices – Offerings to the gods. (Pg. 6, Ancient Greek Religion)
3. Pelops – A beautiful man, son of Tantalus and grandson of Zeus. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html, Pg. 426 Sexuality in Ancient Greece)
4. Rules – As shown by the following excerpts, it is important that the speaker had Pelops’ consent as well as love, and that he never used force. It is also relevant that the speaker was proud of the relationship.
“…it was considered a violation of duty by the man, if he did not draw one younger to him, and a disgrace to the boy if he was not honoured by the friendship of a man.” – (418, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)
“…intentional violation of his body… at that time was an offence punishable by banishment and confiscation of property” (438, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)
“…the state expected that every man should choose a youth as his favourite, and, further, while a boy was blamed if he failed to find an older friend and lover…” (439, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)
5. Ivory Shoulder – When the chopped up Pelops was restored by the Gods to his original form, they replaced his shoulder with ivory because Demeter had eaten it. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html)
6. Minotaur – A monster with the head and tail of a bull, but the body of a man. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/m/minotaur.html)
7. Aegean Sea – Between Greece and Asian Minor. (http://encarta.msn.com/encnet/refpages/RefArticle.aspx?refid=761553371)
8. Ganymede – Standard of beauty: if someone is “…even more beautiful than Ganymede,” they are incredibly beautiful, as well as coveted by Zeus. (466, Sexual Life in Ancient Greece)
9. Demeter – Demeter inadvertently ate Pelops’ shoulder in a stew made by Tantalus. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html) (191, Ancient Greek Religion)
10. Tantalus – Father of Pelops. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/t/tantalus.html)
11. There five rivers in Hades, separating Hades from the outside world – Acheron - the river of woe; Cocytus - the river of lamentation; Phlegethon - the river of fire; Lethe - the river of forgetfulness; Styx - the river of hate. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/s/styx_river.html)
12. Katabasis – Epic hero’s excursion into the underworld. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katabasis#Trip_into_the_underworld)
13. Cerberus – A three-headed dog that guards the entrance to Hades. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/c/cerberus.html)
14. Hades – The Underworld or “Hell” of Greek Religion. (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/h/hades.html)
15. Shrine at Olympia – There is a “…large heroon of Pelops inside Zeus’ sanctuary.” (Pg. 47 Ancient Greek Religion)
16. Peloponnesus – “Pelops subdued the area of Greece which became known as the Peloponnesus.” (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/p/pelops.html)
17. The Olympic Games - “…the famous Olympic Games may have been originally held in honour of the hero Pelops.” (Pg. 47 Ancient Greek Religion) (http://www.pantheon.org/articles/o/olympic_games.html)
18. Wife – Greek men, although they often took male lovers, generally still had wives.
Note: While this poem is not in traditional Greek format, (which does not rhyme) (http://ancienthistory.about.com/gi/dynamic/offsite.htm?zi=1/XJ/Ya&sdn=ancienthistory&cdn=education&tm=9&f=10&tt=14&bt=0&bts=0&zu=http%3A//www.aoidoi.org/articles/meter/intro.php) I thought it would be more interesting and fun to write a rhyming poem. Also, while many of my citations are found to have come from various sources, much of my knowledge was first introduced to me in CLST 333, but I didn’t know exactly how to cite that.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
hominy hominy HUM
if only ewe new
what eye would surely dew
if i could sea true
/then we wood bee fare/
i halve to be boulder
butt i knead two bee dun.
what eye would surely dew
if i could sea true
/then we wood bee fare/
i halve to be boulder
butt i knead two bee dun.
Value vs. Worth vs. Cost
Shoving handfuls of paper bills into your pockets you yelled at me to hurry up. Scrambling in my room, picking things up and putting them down again drowning in indecision, unable to decide what I truly needed - I hated you for making me rush. Do I bring the stuffed elephant from my mother or the rugby trophy from 2003? Maybe just my toothbrush. It's hard to decide what's truly important when your life gets turned upside down.
You were a ball of fire, perspiring and running around destroying everything you touched in your hurry. Your speed made me want to stop, slow down, as though you were sucking your velocity out of me and thus rendering me absolutely completely stationary.
I didn't want to leave. I didn't care. But you dragged me out, despite my pleas and tears you dragged me as gently as you could (but forcefully) and took me into the beat-up van you bought from Mr. Thindley down the road. I sat in the passenger seat (you buckled me up) bawling into my hands as you got in front of the wheel and eased the ugly vehicle onto the road.
Three hours later I was silent. Not numb but buzzing and still. My mouth was dry and there was no point to words anyways. The mental inventory in my head (things I could've, should've, would've taken) was driving me absolutely crazy. Clutching the side of the car gave me the illusion that I was holding on to something, that I had kept something after all.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I couldn't leave, you know I couldn't. You tried to make it work, to help us to a new life, but you were so blind - the money never mattered to me like it did to you. Going 150 down the highway I glanced at you briefly before swiftly unbuckling, wrenching the door open, and vaulting myself out of the van.
It's funny how often we lose sight of what's important.
You were a ball of fire, perspiring and running around destroying everything you touched in your hurry. Your speed made me want to stop, slow down, as though you were sucking your velocity out of me and thus rendering me absolutely completely stationary.
I didn't want to leave. I didn't care. But you dragged me out, despite my pleas and tears you dragged me as gently as you could (but forcefully) and took me into the beat-up van you bought from Mr. Thindley down the road. I sat in the passenger seat (you buckled me up) bawling into my hands as you got in front of the wheel and eased the ugly vehicle onto the road.
Three hours later I was silent. Not numb but buzzing and still. My mouth was dry and there was no point to words anyways. The mental inventory in my head (things I could've, should've, would've taken) was driving me absolutely crazy. Clutching the side of the car gave me the illusion that I was holding on to something, that I had kept something after all.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I couldn't leave, you know I couldn't. You tried to make it work, to help us to a new life, but you were so blind - the money never mattered to me like it did to you. Going 150 down the highway I glanced at you briefly before swiftly unbuckling, wrenching the door open, and vaulting myself out of the van.
It's funny how often we lose sight of what's important.
Monday, September 6, 2010
A Summary of Deaths in Hamlet
**SPOILER ALERT**
Hamlet Senior, in his ear,
Is poisoned by his brother dear.
Hamlet aims to kill himself,
But puts his dagger on the shelf.
Ophelia finds her heart so sick
That she must drown her sorrows quick.
Polonius hides - but to be found,
And he dies too, with little sound.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
An unseen death those two did earn.
And good ol’ Gertie drinks the drink
That makes her never have to think.
Laertes seems to get the point,
His sister’s fate and his is joint.
Claudius is stabbed upfront,
(the sword, though used, is not yet blunt).
And Hamlet, from both sword and drink,
Into the world of death does sink.
And so we see the games they play,
A player’s life not always gay,
Bound to die night after night,
Each night to stab and feel contrite.
And will it end, Act 5 scene 2?
Or does the onus fall on you?
Will you fight against the hate,
Or let it grow, perpetuate?
Take an eyeball for an eye?
Make a liar always die?
One death, it often births some more,
So if you wish your soul to soar,
Give up your vengeance and your pain,
And let your mercy be your gain.
Hamlet Senior, in his ear,
Is poisoned by his brother dear.
Hamlet aims to kill himself,
But puts his dagger on the shelf.
Ophelia finds her heart so sick
That she must drown her sorrows quick.
Polonius hides - but to be found,
And he dies too, with little sound.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
An unseen death those two did earn.
And good ol’ Gertie drinks the drink
That makes her never have to think.
Laertes seems to get the point,
His sister’s fate and his is joint.
Claudius is stabbed upfront,
(the sword, though used, is not yet blunt).
And Hamlet, from both sword and drink,
Into the world of death does sink.
And so we see the games they play,
A player’s life not always gay,
Bound to die night after night,
Each night to stab and feel contrite.
And will it end, Act 5 scene 2?
Or does the onus fall on you?
Will you fight against the hate,
Or let it grow, perpetuate?
Take an eyeball for an eye?
Make a liar always die?
One death, it often births some more,
So if you wish your soul to soar,
Give up your vengeance and your pain,
And let your mercy be your gain.
Quotidian Vernacular
Id.
Spackle.
Phlegm. Quixotic.
Stewardesses. Diaphragm.
Scintillate. Akimbo. Askew. Conglomerate.
Flummoxed. Congeal. Exacerbate. Panacea. Impermeable.
Basin. Vivifying. Churlish. Pharmakos. Ajar.
Arboreal. Copulate. Cipher. Abhorrence.
Incessant. Buoyant. Myopia.
Schadenfreude. Agog.
Glib. Brevity.
Awl.
Spackle.
Phlegm. Quixotic.
Stewardesses. Diaphragm.
Scintillate. Akimbo. Askew. Conglomerate.
Flummoxed. Congeal. Exacerbate. Panacea. Impermeable.
Basin. Vivifying. Churlish. Pharmakos. Ajar.
Arboreal. Copulate. Cipher. Abhorrence.
Incessant. Buoyant. Myopia.
Schadenfreude. Agog.
Glib. Brevity.
Awl.
Facile
it's hard to know, what is real
(so much of life can feel surreal)
and sometimes when you're feeling lost
you do forget there is a cost
to living blindly and alone
avoiding people on the phone
staying deep inside your room
enjoying darkness doom and gloom
being happy in your cave
having money that you save
your company is only you
your bestest friend is yourself too
the world is wrong and so you hide
pretending that you're on the ride
of your life it's super fun
but somehow you're the only one
that sees life this way.
you don't play the stupid games
have no desire to learn the names
of people, places all out there
you'd much rather stay aware
of you, your room and your thoughts
like plants inside their little pots
you want to grow but well contained
your happiness is clearly feigned
open up and break the pot
let the soil disperse and rot
explore connect and be with us
see a show and take the bus
or maybe dream and then wake up
get in touch and fill your cup
fill it with words and faces too
one person is just much too few
eat and sleep and dream some more
but do it with your friends next door
shut them out if you dare
but truly you should be aware
this is your shot to see the world
contained in people then unfurled
discover explore experience
tear down your well-constructed fence
and let yourself be touched by some.
(so much of life can feel surreal)
and sometimes when you're feeling lost
you do forget there is a cost
to living blindly and alone
avoiding people on the phone
staying deep inside your room
enjoying darkness doom and gloom
being happy in your cave
having money that you save
your company is only you
your bestest friend is yourself too
the world is wrong and so you hide
pretending that you're on the ride
of your life it's super fun
but somehow you're the only one
that sees life this way.
you don't play the stupid games
have no desire to learn the names
of people, places all out there
you'd much rather stay aware
of you, your room and your thoughts
like plants inside their little pots
you want to grow but well contained
your happiness is clearly feigned
open up and break the pot
let the soil disperse and rot
explore connect and be with us
see a show and take the bus
or maybe dream and then wake up
get in touch and fill your cup
fill it with words and faces too
one person is just much too few
eat and sleep and dream some more
but do it with your friends next door
shut them out if you dare
but truly you should be aware
this is your shot to see the world
contained in people then unfurled
discover explore experience
tear down your well-constructed fence
and let yourself be touched by some.
Untitled
If all’s fair in love and war,
How can my wretched heart be sore?
My mind is numb, holds but one thought,
I think of him – the love he wrought.
I close my eyes and see you near,
I open and you disappear.
Inaudible words, invisible touch,
My love for him’s become too much.
Rejection is the ultimate curse,
Seeing you just makes it worse.
My heart is heavy and filled with grief,
Our love affair was much too brief.
Console me now, I wish you would,
Do things only a love could.
Make this madness go away,
I fear the love is here to stay.
With plastic smiles, disguise the pain,
Make him think you’re truly sane.
Sequester my desire, oh please,
I’m begging you; I’m on my knees.
Free me from your death-like grip,
I’m not some slave that you can whip.
Inflicted pain, you are so cruel,
I’ve turned myself into the fool.
I want to feel but don’t know how,
Untimely death seems welcome now.
I need to feel the pain of lust,
Destroy my body now – I must.
I clench my teeth, shed crimson tears,
I scream inside but no one hears.
The cuts run deep, I hardly feel,
I close my eyes, pretend you’re real.
I’m broken, like a china doll,
My heart, my soul, you took it all.
How can my wretched heart be sore?
My mind is numb, holds but one thought,
I think of him – the love he wrought.
I close my eyes and see you near,
I open and you disappear.
Inaudible words, invisible touch,
My love for him’s become too much.
Rejection is the ultimate curse,
Seeing you just makes it worse.
My heart is heavy and filled with grief,
Our love affair was much too brief.
Console me now, I wish you would,
Do things only a love could.
Make this madness go away,
I fear the love is here to stay.
With plastic smiles, disguise the pain,
Make him think you’re truly sane.
Sequester my desire, oh please,
I’m begging you; I’m on my knees.
Free me from your death-like grip,
I’m not some slave that you can whip.
Inflicted pain, you are so cruel,
I’ve turned myself into the fool.
I want to feel but don’t know how,
Untimely death seems welcome now.
I need to feel the pain of lust,
Destroy my body now – I must.
I clench my teeth, shed crimson tears,
I scream inside but no one hears.
The cuts run deep, I hardly feel,
I close my eyes, pretend you’re real.
I’m broken, like a china doll,
My heart, my soul, you took it all.
EARTH
The place on which humanity stands,
We can hold it, in our hands.
We clutch at strands of grass that’s green,
And wonder at concrete we’ve seen.
Styrofoam and plastic too,
Their purpose - to corrupt our view.
And surely you don’t have a care,
About the quality of air?
Convenience defines our days,
But it will add to our sky’s haze.
So many can collect for war,
But what about a cause that’s more?
Forgo “to-go” and save our land,
It’s time to lend a helping hand.
Ride a bike, reject your car,
You know that place is not so far.
Relieve our planet of it’s pain,
Reduce, reuse, recycle – again!
We can hold it, in our hands.
We clutch at strands of grass that’s green,
And wonder at concrete we’ve seen.
Styrofoam and plastic too,
Their purpose - to corrupt our view.
And surely you don’t have a care,
About the quality of air?
Convenience defines our days,
But it will add to our sky’s haze.
So many can collect for war,
But what about a cause that’s more?
Forgo “to-go” and save our land,
It’s time to lend a helping hand.
Ride a bike, reject your car,
You know that place is not so far.
Relieve our planet of it’s pain,
Reduce, reuse, recycle – again!
Love Letter (over)
The Church of Scientology and Turkish Gynecology don't have that much in common, it's true.
But like you (and me), they ring with slightly similar bells.
I hear an echo of one in the chime of the other.
You're a new word. And like words you say over and over (and over and over and over) they start to sound funny. They lose meaning or transform. You're like that too - a word in my mouth that I've heard so many times that the original meaning is gone - transformed - and I'm not quite sure what's left... but it's something different than I've known.
Touching you is playing an instrument that doesn't exist, my fingers somehow knowing which notes to play. Before you life was a cappella.
Bells ring in my head and my vernacular is ever complicated with the absence of definitions. On you I learn new chords and harmonize with the symphony of familiarity produced in my mind.
I guess what I'm trying to say, is that you're the reason rain is grand.
But like you (and me), they ring with slightly similar bells.
I hear an echo of one in the chime of the other.
You're a new word. And like words you say over and over (and over and over and over) they start to sound funny. They lose meaning or transform. You're like that too - a word in my mouth that I've heard so many times that the original meaning is gone - transformed - and I'm not quite sure what's left... but it's something different than I've known.
Touching you is playing an instrument that doesn't exist, my fingers somehow knowing which notes to play. Before you life was a cappella.
Bells ring in my head and my vernacular is ever complicated with the absence of definitions. On you I learn new chords and harmonize with the symphony of familiarity produced in my mind.
I guess what I'm trying to say, is that you're the reason rain is grand.
Fill in the blanks
Women As Trees
1) make a home (give birth to a house)
2) leaky
3) named after men
4) easily exploited; raw for the taking, people ask “How can I use it? What can I get out of it?”
5) trees and women are essential for colonization
1) make a home (give birth to a house)
2) leaky
3) named after men
4) easily exploited; raw for the taking, people ask “How can I use it? What can I get out of it?”
5) trees and women are essential for colonization
Please keep your hands and arms inside the box.
Life.
And so it goes. I find it interesting that I’ve somehow got it into my head that if I can find the perfect mug, my life will be a little bit better. Or infinitely better. It sort of depends on how perfect the mug really is. And why do I need a mug at all, you might wonder? I don’t even drink coffee. Tea though, I do drink tea. Anyways, I need a mug because it is more sustainable, and owning such a thing would not only make me feel like I’m on O.K. terms with the planet, I would look like a tree-hugger earth-lover. And mugs just keep the contents warmer longer. I should clarify, what I need is a “to-go” mug. This means it would have a lid. With a suitable drinking contraption area thing. And a handle. A handle would be ideal. Then, this cannot be any old handled to-go mug. It must be steel, because plastic may or may not one day kill me (#7 plastic, beware of it) and steel is sturdier and superior to plastic… but not as pretty. My cup must also say something about me, and because steel is not especially attractive in its normal state, it would be my greatest hope that the manufacturer would have punched it up a little by tinting it pink or giving it an emblem of some sort.
If I were to own this mug, my life would be greatly improved. But I don’t think it exists. (But searching for it, continuously, obsessively, does give my life a little more purpose to it.)
Hygiene.
Ever go into a public bathroom and wonder to yourself which stall has been the least used? I am horribly unable to “hover” above the toilet seat – thus, I am obviously in search of the seat least contaminated by human bum germs. I walk into the public restroom, and analyze the stalls: front, middle – always a poor choice. It is the easy access stall probably most used for purposes of expediency/dire need. I also think that the very end stalls, on the left or the right, are greatly used as well, for the simple reason that people like me that are concerned with over-used stalls would probably aim for the supposedly least used stall (hence, the furthest away, hardest to get to). This means that the stalls in between the middle stall(s) and the end stall(s) are probably (hopefully) the least used because of the aforementioned reasons.
This suggests that there are no people as obsessively identical in my thought-processes, and that they do not aim for the middle-left or middle-right stalls. Sadly, I eventually come to the conclusion that in large public places thousands of people will use the stalls in their entirety, and there is really no safe way to avoid bum-germs. So I wipe the seat with toilet paper and assuage my fears that way.
Compliments.
Maybe I over-think things, or maybe I’m just really insightful. I haven’t figured that out yet. Regardless, I hate complimenting people. Well actually, I love complimenting people. When I’m at work serving fifty billion nice customers all I want to do is compliment every single one of them. But if I were to do that, if I were to mention to each individual their greatest attribute, feature, or quality – it would lose its weight as a great event. It would be, “Oh. The girl that compliments everyone just paid me a compliment.” The individual would not feel as special, and I would not feel as satisfied.
There are more problems with compliments. There is the chance that they will not take you seriously. To the man who was washing the walls at the hotel, I said (in my head), “You’re doing a really good job with that!” I wished to tell him that in order to encourage him, or make him hate his job less. Because really, how much fun could it be to wash the walls? I myself have had to wash walls, and it sucks. I wanted to sympathize with him. But probably he would’ve taken the comment as facetious and hated me for it. So I refrain.
There’s also the worry that your compliment will not be fully accepted. A friend shows me a work of art and I tell them it’s beautiful, wonderful, inspired! But since I’m their friend and not an impartial stranger, there is no way my compliment will really sink in unless I find a unique and meaningful way of expressing it. This puts a lot of pressure on me. Similar to the pressure one suffers with while trying to express gratitude after receiving a thoughtful gift. With gift-giving, it’s all about the reaction.
I don’t give compliments anymore.
Technology.
I hate my phone. And facebook. And the TV. I hate all technology because it takes me further and further away from the real-life wonders that we could experience if we weren’t too wrapped up in our gameboy, our ipod, our PVR. But I’m addicted. I have to check my e-mail, just in case a professor, a love-interest, or something else equally important shows up.
And I bet you do too.
And so it goes. I find it interesting that I’ve somehow got it into my head that if I can find the perfect mug, my life will be a little bit better. Or infinitely better. It sort of depends on how perfect the mug really is. And why do I need a mug at all, you might wonder? I don’t even drink coffee. Tea though, I do drink tea. Anyways, I need a mug because it is more sustainable, and owning such a thing would not only make me feel like I’m on O.K. terms with the planet, I would look like a tree-hugger earth-lover. And mugs just keep the contents warmer longer. I should clarify, what I need is a “to-go” mug. This means it would have a lid. With a suitable drinking contraption area thing. And a handle. A handle would be ideal. Then, this cannot be any old handled to-go mug. It must be steel, because plastic may or may not one day kill me (#7 plastic, beware of it) and steel is sturdier and superior to plastic… but not as pretty. My cup must also say something about me, and because steel is not especially attractive in its normal state, it would be my greatest hope that the manufacturer would have punched it up a little by tinting it pink or giving it an emblem of some sort.
If I were to own this mug, my life would be greatly improved. But I don’t think it exists. (But searching for it, continuously, obsessively, does give my life a little more purpose to it.)
Hygiene.
Ever go into a public bathroom and wonder to yourself which stall has been the least used? I am horribly unable to “hover” above the toilet seat – thus, I am obviously in search of the seat least contaminated by human bum germs. I walk into the public restroom, and analyze the stalls: front, middle – always a poor choice. It is the easy access stall probably most used for purposes of expediency/dire need. I also think that the very end stalls, on the left or the right, are greatly used as well, for the simple reason that people like me that are concerned with over-used stalls would probably aim for the supposedly least used stall (hence, the furthest away, hardest to get to). This means that the stalls in between the middle stall(s) and the end stall(s) are probably (hopefully) the least used because of the aforementioned reasons.
This suggests that there are no people as obsessively identical in my thought-processes, and that they do not aim for the middle-left or middle-right stalls. Sadly, I eventually come to the conclusion that in large public places thousands of people will use the stalls in their entirety, and there is really no safe way to avoid bum-germs. So I wipe the seat with toilet paper and assuage my fears that way.
Compliments.
Maybe I over-think things, or maybe I’m just really insightful. I haven’t figured that out yet. Regardless, I hate complimenting people. Well actually, I love complimenting people. When I’m at work serving fifty billion nice customers all I want to do is compliment every single one of them. But if I were to do that, if I were to mention to each individual their greatest attribute, feature, or quality – it would lose its weight as a great event. It would be, “Oh. The girl that compliments everyone just paid me a compliment.” The individual would not feel as special, and I would not feel as satisfied.
There are more problems with compliments. There is the chance that they will not take you seriously. To the man who was washing the walls at the hotel, I said (in my head), “You’re doing a really good job with that!” I wished to tell him that in order to encourage him, or make him hate his job less. Because really, how much fun could it be to wash the walls? I myself have had to wash walls, and it sucks. I wanted to sympathize with him. But probably he would’ve taken the comment as facetious and hated me for it. So I refrain.
There’s also the worry that your compliment will not be fully accepted. A friend shows me a work of art and I tell them it’s beautiful, wonderful, inspired! But since I’m their friend and not an impartial stranger, there is no way my compliment will really sink in unless I find a unique and meaningful way of expressing it. This puts a lot of pressure on me. Similar to the pressure one suffers with while trying to express gratitude after receiving a thoughtful gift. With gift-giving, it’s all about the reaction.
I don’t give compliments anymore.
Technology.
I hate my phone. And facebook. And the TV. I hate all technology because it takes me further and further away from the real-life wonders that we could experience if we weren’t too wrapped up in our gameboy, our ipod, our PVR. But I’m addicted. I have to check my e-mail, just in case a professor, a love-interest, or something else equally important shows up.
And I bet you do too.
Nineteen
Have you been, nine-teen?
Have you felt the liquor drop
Deep into you and then stop?
Have you diced away your life
Caring not for kids or wife?
Have you been with older men
No longer destined for the pen?
I have not, for I’m eighteen,
These places I have never been.
Nor will I.
Have you felt the liquor drop
Deep into you and then stop?
Have you diced away your life
Caring not for kids or wife?
Have you been with older men
No longer destined for the pen?
I have not, for I’m eighteen,
These places I have never been.
Nor will I.
ODE TO THAO THAO
Thao, she was a girl of fire,
The object of all boys’ desire.
She loved all things and liked to hollah,
She knew the value of a dollah.
(Despite what her dear mom will say,
Thao knew how to save mun-ay.)
Thao loved all her roomies quite,
And hugged them all with fearsome might.
Although she loved Alexis most,
Catherine does make better toast.
Oh life in 13A was grand,
And Thao would lend a helping hand,
With dishes and bowls, forks and knives.
The girls having the time of their lives:
Watching movies and making posters,
(Drinks were never placed on coasters.)
13A is where it’s at,
And Thao herself is one cool cat.
Without her 13A is naught,
With her 13A is HAWT!
The object of all boys’ desire.
She loved all things and liked to hollah,
She knew the value of a dollah.
(Despite what her dear mom will say,
Thao knew how to save mun-ay.)
Thao loved all her roomies quite,
And hugged them all with fearsome might.
Although she loved Alexis most,
Catherine does make better toast.
Oh life in 13A was grand,
And Thao would lend a helping hand,
With dishes and bowls, forks and knives.
The girls having the time of their lives:
Watching movies and making posters,
(Drinks were never placed on coasters.)
13A is where it’s at,
And Thao herself is one cool cat.
Without her 13A is naught,
With her 13A is HAWT!
The Love Triangle Between Two Squares and an Hourglass
There is mathy formula that struggles to define,
The way my heart is twain and isn’t truly mine.
A triangle, the experts say, has three vertices,
And I am like some honey, attracting many bees.
Two bees I have attracted, it is one bee too much,
One is gently stroking, the other is fierce touch.
A heart is not a triangle, it only has one point,
To one too many boys, my tender heart is joint.
My heart is 33.3, 1/3 is but my own,
I cannot bear to leave one boy - my love for two has grown.
Christopher, a sweet sweet boy is such a joy to see,
Someday, somehow, perhaps his wife I’d be.
Although, I fear, he is too dear, obsessed he has become,
His neediness surrounds me, I dread meeting his mum.
Jason is a different sort, but to me much the same,
Sometimes it seems we differ just by gender and by name.
He laughs – and me, I hear it, resound within my soul,
His scent is overwhelming, to inhale him is my goal.
A triangle is not a heart, my organs are all wrong,
My brain it seems, is also strange, but also very strong.
I strive to guarantee a place within my heart for one,
But hanging out with two hot boys is actually more fun.
Perhaps one day I shall divine which boy I do prefer,
But until November 1st this conundrum I defer.
The way my heart is twain and isn’t truly mine.
A triangle, the experts say, has three vertices,
And I am like some honey, attracting many bees.
Two bees I have attracted, it is one bee too much,
One is gently stroking, the other is fierce touch.
A heart is not a triangle, it only has one point,
To one too many boys, my tender heart is joint.
My heart is 33.3, 1/3 is but my own,
I cannot bear to leave one boy - my love for two has grown.
Christopher, a sweet sweet boy is such a joy to see,
Someday, somehow, perhaps his wife I’d be.
Although, I fear, he is too dear, obsessed he has become,
His neediness surrounds me, I dread meeting his mum.
Jason is a different sort, but to me much the same,
Sometimes it seems we differ just by gender and by name.
He laughs – and me, I hear it, resound within my soul,
His scent is overwhelming, to inhale him is my goal.
A triangle is not a heart, my organs are all wrong,
My brain it seems, is also strange, but also very strong.
I strive to guarantee a place within my heart for one,
But hanging out with two hot boys is actually more fun.
Perhaps one day I shall divine which boy I do prefer,
But until November 1st this conundrum I defer.
It was a little bit odd
It was a little bit odd, the way they met. Emily was a cashier at the Safeway, and David was a regular customer. She could tell that he was a bachelor by the food that he bought: honey roasted peanuts, bacon, milk, eggs, and a few fruits and vegetables. Not enough for two people to exist on, much less a whole family. She was surprised he hadn’t settled down; judging by his salt-and-peppered hair he’d had plenty of time to look for a mate.
Since the first day she had served him Emily put more effort into her look. She now fixed her hair with a few sparkly pins, and made sure to wear ALL of her makeup – not just lipstick and mascara. She wasn’t exactly a spring chicken, but she was still young enough to turn a few heads.
Gradually, a connection between the two was made. It’s hard to make conversation with someone you don’t know when you only have a few minutes. Luckily, the attraction between Emily and David was mutual, and when two people work together towards an end, it’s really not so hard after all.
After three weeks David finally asked her out.
“I don’t eat out much, but I heard of a good place down the street.”
“Really? What’s it called?”
“O’Malley’s Pizzeria, an Italian restaurant… any chance you’d like to go with me after work?”
And it was simple as that. David and Emily soon became a pair, and they regaled their coupled friends with their quaint story of meeting and subsequent flirtation.
One year later, David and Emily were shopping in the grocery store she used to work at. Because David was a lawyer, when Emily moved in with him there was no need for her to keep her job. She kept house instead. He came home every day to a nice hot meal and a kiss from his middle-aged girlfriend. Things were going well.
As they were shopping in her old grocery store, approaching the candy aisle, David turned to Emily and got down on one knee.
“Emmy, I wanted to do this the place that we met. Hon, you’re a helluva girl and I won’t let you get away from me. Would you do me the honour of being mine?”
Emily twittered with excitement, her thin blonde pony tail bouncing up and down as she acquiesced to his request. They were married just three months later.
Instead of a honeymoon, they re-did David’s kitchen. White “egg-shell” coloured walls, with a marble island and fantastic lighting, new knives, new appliances, a great place to cook. Well worth the money. A great way to start their new life together.
Shortly after their marriage, Emily was musing about how lucky she was to have snatched up David, and why on earth hadn’t anyone else have been so clever? David got a strange look in his eye, and took Emily’s hand.
“Em, I didn’t want to tell you this straight-aways, but I’m actually a widower. I was married 8 years ago, and Lil passed on… oh, 6 years ago. I didn’t want our life together to be about her and my past, I wanted it to be about us. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner!”
Emily was a little shocked to have this information revealed to her so late in the game, but attempted to take it in stride. It was obviously a tough subject for David to talk about, she really couldn’t blame him for not wanting to bring it up.
Things went on as usual, “Em and Dave” as they were known to their friends, were a loving couple with lots of money. Things were good. Being only 34 and 36 respectively, the idea of children came up from time to time. Emily was desperate to be a mother, and David was only a little reluctant to become a dad.
After a careful look at their assets, and a check-up of their overall health, they decided that they would become parents after all. This happy decision prompted another surprise for Emily.
One night at dinner David brought up the subject of children. Emily’s face glowed as she prattled on about how many they would have, names, the colour of their rooms – David smiled and listened patiently until he interjected with a story:
“Em, you know I love you. But I also cared a great deal for Lily. Her and I, like you and I, had big plans for children. We wanted a boy, Thomas, and a girl, Samantha. Unfortunately, it was found that Lil wasn’t as fertile as we might’ve hoped. We tried in vitro a few times, and it hadn’t really worked out. When she got sick with the cancer, she told me that she hoped that some day I would still have her children – we had many of her eggs frozen, you see. So Em, I’m hoping that you’d consider being implanted with her eggs.”
Emily was shocked. Her husband was a lawyer, a tennis player, a fairly regular guy. What he was suggesting to her was ridiculous! For a few moments, she was struck dumb with speechlessness. David calmly gave her time to mull it over.
“David… you can’t be serious…”
He steadfastly assured her that he was very serious, and had already spoken to the appropriate doctors about the procedure. Emily stood there, and with her eyes wide she saw herself becoming nothing but a vessel for a woman she had never met. A container for the offspring he had always wanted.
Since the first day she had served him Emily put more effort into her look. She now fixed her hair with a few sparkly pins, and made sure to wear ALL of her makeup – not just lipstick and mascara. She wasn’t exactly a spring chicken, but she was still young enough to turn a few heads.
Gradually, a connection between the two was made. It’s hard to make conversation with someone you don’t know when you only have a few minutes. Luckily, the attraction between Emily and David was mutual, and when two people work together towards an end, it’s really not so hard after all.
After three weeks David finally asked her out.
“I don’t eat out much, but I heard of a good place down the street.”
“Really? What’s it called?”
“O’Malley’s Pizzeria, an Italian restaurant… any chance you’d like to go with me after work?”
And it was simple as that. David and Emily soon became a pair, and they regaled their coupled friends with their quaint story of meeting and subsequent flirtation.
One year later, David and Emily were shopping in the grocery store she used to work at. Because David was a lawyer, when Emily moved in with him there was no need for her to keep her job. She kept house instead. He came home every day to a nice hot meal and a kiss from his middle-aged girlfriend. Things were going well.
As they were shopping in her old grocery store, approaching the candy aisle, David turned to Emily and got down on one knee.
“Emmy, I wanted to do this the place that we met. Hon, you’re a helluva girl and I won’t let you get away from me. Would you do me the honour of being mine?”
Emily twittered with excitement, her thin blonde pony tail bouncing up and down as she acquiesced to his request. They were married just three months later.
Instead of a honeymoon, they re-did David’s kitchen. White “egg-shell” coloured walls, with a marble island and fantastic lighting, new knives, new appliances, a great place to cook. Well worth the money. A great way to start their new life together.
Shortly after their marriage, Emily was musing about how lucky she was to have snatched up David, and why on earth hadn’t anyone else have been so clever? David got a strange look in his eye, and took Emily’s hand.
“Em, I didn’t want to tell you this straight-aways, but I’m actually a widower. I was married 8 years ago, and Lil passed on… oh, 6 years ago. I didn’t want our life together to be about her and my past, I wanted it to be about us. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner!”
Emily was a little shocked to have this information revealed to her so late in the game, but attempted to take it in stride. It was obviously a tough subject for David to talk about, she really couldn’t blame him for not wanting to bring it up.
Things went on as usual, “Em and Dave” as they were known to their friends, were a loving couple with lots of money. Things were good. Being only 34 and 36 respectively, the idea of children came up from time to time. Emily was desperate to be a mother, and David was only a little reluctant to become a dad.
After a careful look at their assets, and a check-up of their overall health, they decided that they would become parents after all. This happy decision prompted another surprise for Emily.
One night at dinner David brought up the subject of children. Emily’s face glowed as she prattled on about how many they would have, names, the colour of their rooms – David smiled and listened patiently until he interjected with a story:
“Em, you know I love you. But I also cared a great deal for Lily. Her and I, like you and I, had big plans for children. We wanted a boy, Thomas, and a girl, Samantha. Unfortunately, it was found that Lil wasn’t as fertile as we might’ve hoped. We tried in vitro a few times, and it hadn’t really worked out. When she got sick with the cancer, she told me that she hoped that some day I would still have her children – we had many of her eggs frozen, you see. So Em, I’m hoping that you’d consider being implanted with her eggs.”
Emily was shocked. Her husband was a lawyer, a tennis player, a fairly regular guy. What he was suggesting to her was ridiculous! For a few moments, she was struck dumb with speechlessness. David calmly gave her time to mull it over.
“David… you can’t be serious…”
He steadfastly assured her that he was very serious, and had already spoken to the appropriate doctors about the procedure. Emily stood there, and with her eyes wide she saw herself becoming nothing but a vessel for a woman she had never met. A container for the offspring he had always wanted.
The Second Coming
Just as God once sent his son to earth in order to aid mankind, Mother Nature, too, sent her child. Her daughter, Diana, was an ethereal yet natural beauty. Her golden hair was a mass of glossy waves that appeared to be suspended in mid-air they were so voluminous and curly. Her tan skin was freckled, and at the bottom of her gossamer gown peeked bare feet.
Her mother had bestowed upon her the gift of basic knowledge; because of this she was able to recognize many things that she had never encountered before, such as umbrellas or libraries. Her wisdom and goodness manifested itself as a sort of… intuitive generosity. While walking down a decrepit street in New Ark she came across a myriad of children – all ages, in varying states of disarray. The smallest stuck out their hands in the classic beggar’s gesture, while the older formed the words “Spare change, miss?” with practiced ease.
She knelt down to peer at them, eye to eye, as the hem of her dress met the garbage and filth around her. Seeing the earnest faces of these starving children deeply touched her, and she opened her arms wide until coins started pouring out of her sleeves. Coinage of all types skipped out of her sleeve onto the street, the children shrieking with joy and clamoring all about the new-found wealth. The smallest were pushed to the outside, unintentionally; but this carelessness was remedied as the older children brought piles of the fortune to the feet and laps of the little ones.
Her heart warmed as she heard the children squeal and thank her. It was not the gratitude that she most enjoyed – it was the thought of a warm dinner finding place in their protruding malnourished bellies. She was startled then, when a man came up behind her and rigorously grabbed her arm.
“What are you DOING?” he growled at her.
The sinewy man was dressed in a fine silk suit, entirely black. It served as a stark contrast to his albino skin. His hair, free of pigment and a few inches past his shoulders, was frightening and bluntly cut. His red eyes looked as though they would jump out of his head if they could, but some indescribable force was somehow locking them in. His appearance so disarmingly unusual had prevented Diana from responding.
“I said… WHAT are you doing? Where did you get that money?” he asked her again, in a more agitated state. “I gave it to the children, because they are hungry. I helped them.” Her reply was simply, and to her, conclusive and obvious. She was patient with the angry man.
“NO! You have not helped those children, you have single-handedly DESTROYED the economy! You have given no thought to the ramifications of your actions, you have underhandedly attempted to ruin me! You wretch, you witch-sorceress, I will make you pay!”
And so he held fast to her arm and summoned his driver to collect him. He and the hostage went into the car – Diana rather peacefully acquiescing to his rather absurd capture of herself. While her powers were great, they were limited – she could only use them for the aid of others. Thus, she calmly stayed next to this mad mad little man because she saw little reason – or opportunity - to do otherwise.
They had driven to the edge of the city, the very outskirts of civilization. They approached a large building with a long gravel driveway, strangely situated at the mouth of a great woodland. Up towards the house they went, the man not saying a single word to her.
As the car approached the house, the man finally ordered “OUT” to which Diana readily obeyed. He took her into the house, up the stairs, and finally flung her into an empty room slamming and locking the door behind her. “You shall rot in here, I can’t have you out and muddling about! That’ll teach you to mess with things you don’t understand!”
Bemused, Diana sat in the little room for a few moments before standing up and going to the barred window. She wondered why her mother hadn’t given her enough information to understand such a strange man and his actions. Some time passed and she could see a sliver of moon in the sky.
Weary of her confinement, frustrated at the prospect of being eternally trapped, the daughter of Mother Nature began to weep. Her tears fell to the hard cement floor, making a barely discernable sound that only the smallest of creatures could have heard.
While Diana was unable to help herself, the earth and its clever inhabitants were not beyond aiding their fair sister. When the creatures of the world heard her other-worldly tears fall, they devised a scheme to rescue her. Hundreds upon hundreds of termites rushed to the building in which she was imprisoned, and scurried up the wall towards her window. Unable to eat through the window’s bars, they instead attacked the wall, using their astounding multitude as an efficient force.
Soon the window fell out of the wall. Wish a crash it reached the ground, and Diana rushed to look out. He face still tear-streaked she soon heard the rush of many little wings approach her. A throng of butterflies in orange and black splendor rushed towards her. Their little feet grasped her delicate gown and with the cumulative strength of their number the little Lepidoptera managed to lift their dear sister out of her confinement down to the ground below. With haste she thanked both the butterflies and the termites, then ran towards the forest directly behind the house.
She could hear footsteps behind her, and prayed that she would maintain speed despite the rawness of her naked feet. Reaching the woods, it was only moments until she felt a toad underneath each foot, as well as a crow grabbing hold to each shoulder of her dress. In this way she increased her speed in a ridiculous but rather functional manner.
Mr. Charleston was not a man to be eluded. As the distance between himself and his prey lengthened, he ceased running and drew out an arrow to fit his bow. Grabbing his lighter from his pocket, he lit the end of the arrow and proceeded to release it into the air, in the sure and unfortunate direction of Diana.
Diana, unaware of her transformation from fleeing woman to targeted prey, was stunned by the sudden piercing that penetrated her left side. Falling forwards, off of the toads, out of the crow’s clutches, she hit the ground with hardly a sound. The fire that had engulfed the arrow now burned at her heart, and as Mr. Charleston slowly walked up to her he could remove the arrow with ease.
In doing so, her shish-ka-bobbed heart was plucked out and remained on the arrow like a large charred marshmallow. As her body somewhat repaired itself, Diana was able to turn and rise. Mr. Charleston was able to see the fire in her eyes fade and smolder and it was then that he knew he could offer her a job at his bank. After garnering her acceptance, he marched off back towards his house while the girl slowly trailed behind.
Her mother had bestowed upon her the gift of basic knowledge; because of this she was able to recognize many things that she had never encountered before, such as umbrellas or libraries. Her wisdom and goodness manifested itself as a sort of… intuitive generosity. While walking down a decrepit street in New Ark she came across a myriad of children – all ages, in varying states of disarray. The smallest stuck out their hands in the classic beggar’s gesture, while the older formed the words “Spare change, miss?” with practiced ease.
She knelt down to peer at them, eye to eye, as the hem of her dress met the garbage and filth around her. Seeing the earnest faces of these starving children deeply touched her, and she opened her arms wide until coins started pouring out of her sleeves. Coinage of all types skipped out of her sleeve onto the street, the children shrieking with joy and clamoring all about the new-found wealth. The smallest were pushed to the outside, unintentionally; but this carelessness was remedied as the older children brought piles of the fortune to the feet and laps of the little ones.
Her heart warmed as she heard the children squeal and thank her. It was not the gratitude that she most enjoyed – it was the thought of a warm dinner finding place in their protruding malnourished bellies. She was startled then, when a man came up behind her and rigorously grabbed her arm.
“What are you DOING?” he growled at her.
The sinewy man was dressed in a fine silk suit, entirely black. It served as a stark contrast to his albino skin. His hair, free of pigment and a few inches past his shoulders, was frightening and bluntly cut. His red eyes looked as though they would jump out of his head if they could, but some indescribable force was somehow locking them in. His appearance so disarmingly unusual had prevented Diana from responding.
“I said… WHAT are you doing? Where did you get that money?” he asked her again, in a more agitated state. “I gave it to the children, because they are hungry. I helped them.” Her reply was simply, and to her, conclusive and obvious. She was patient with the angry man.
“NO! You have not helped those children, you have single-handedly DESTROYED the economy! You have given no thought to the ramifications of your actions, you have underhandedly attempted to ruin me! You wretch, you witch-sorceress, I will make you pay!”
And so he held fast to her arm and summoned his driver to collect him. He and the hostage went into the car – Diana rather peacefully acquiescing to his rather absurd capture of herself. While her powers were great, they were limited – she could only use them for the aid of others. Thus, she calmly stayed next to this mad mad little man because she saw little reason – or opportunity - to do otherwise.
They had driven to the edge of the city, the very outskirts of civilization. They approached a large building with a long gravel driveway, strangely situated at the mouth of a great woodland. Up towards the house they went, the man not saying a single word to her.
As the car approached the house, the man finally ordered “OUT” to which Diana readily obeyed. He took her into the house, up the stairs, and finally flung her into an empty room slamming and locking the door behind her. “You shall rot in here, I can’t have you out and muddling about! That’ll teach you to mess with things you don’t understand!”
Bemused, Diana sat in the little room for a few moments before standing up and going to the barred window. She wondered why her mother hadn’t given her enough information to understand such a strange man and his actions. Some time passed and she could see a sliver of moon in the sky.
Weary of her confinement, frustrated at the prospect of being eternally trapped, the daughter of Mother Nature began to weep. Her tears fell to the hard cement floor, making a barely discernable sound that only the smallest of creatures could have heard.
While Diana was unable to help herself, the earth and its clever inhabitants were not beyond aiding their fair sister. When the creatures of the world heard her other-worldly tears fall, they devised a scheme to rescue her. Hundreds upon hundreds of termites rushed to the building in which she was imprisoned, and scurried up the wall towards her window. Unable to eat through the window’s bars, they instead attacked the wall, using their astounding multitude as an efficient force.
Soon the window fell out of the wall. Wish a crash it reached the ground, and Diana rushed to look out. He face still tear-streaked she soon heard the rush of many little wings approach her. A throng of butterflies in orange and black splendor rushed towards her. Their little feet grasped her delicate gown and with the cumulative strength of their number the little Lepidoptera managed to lift their dear sister out of her confinement down to the ground below. With haste she thanked both the butterflies and the termites, then ran towards the forest directly behind the house.
She could hear footsteps behind her, and prayed that she would maintain speed despite the rawness of her naked feet. Reaching the woods, it was only moments until she felt a toad underneath each foot, as well as a crow grabbing hold to each shoulder of her dress. In this way she increased her speed in a ridiculous but rather functional manner.
Mr. Charleston was not a man to be eluded. As the distance between himself and his prey lengthened, he ceased running and drew out an arrow to fit his bow. Grabbing his lighter from his pocket, he lit the end of the arrow and proceeded to release it into the air, in the sure and unfortunate direction of Diana.
Diana, unaware of her transformation from fleeing woman to targeted prey, was stunned by the sudden piercing that penetrated her left side. Falling forwards, off of the toads, out of the crow’s clutches, she hit the ground with hardly a sound. The fire that had engulfed the arrow now burned at her heart, and as Mr. Charleston slowly walked up to her he could remove the arrow with ease.
In doing so, her shish-ka-bobbed heart was plucked out and remained on the arrow like a large charred marshmallow. As her body somewhat repaired itself, Diana was able to turn and rise. Mr. Charleston was able to see the fire in her eyes fade and smolder and it was then that he knew he could offer her a job at his bank. After garnering her acceptance, he marched off back towards his house while the girl slowly trailed behind.
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