I've locked my heart
I'll keep my feelings there.
I have stocked my heart
with icy, frigid air.
And I mean to care for no one
Because I'm through with love.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
nothing, gracious, vacant nothing
Is there a way to make the brain stop over thinking when it refuses to?
Can we make the mind flow yellow when it wants to default to blue?
For some it all stays on the level, while for others it delves too deep.
If only I could make it calm, then maybe I could get some sleep.
To have a blissful night of nothing would be a dream come true
But dreams of nothing, gracious, vacant nothing
Would make me nothing but a timid little shrew
Who knew so little of the world around her spinning madly fire like
Eyes so wide and full of wonder waiting for that painful spike
Right through that madly working brain that does not seem to ever stop
And then here comes reality forcing in like the butcher's enthusiastic chop
And nothing, gracious, vacant nothing is merely but a fantasy
But what a world would that be when one could dream of ecstasy
Then torment oneself with "what ifs?" "how comes" and "what was.."
And all the stupid other things that this mind seems to be filled abuzz
Please let the placid air surround me like it does so well for them
They seem to be happy there, living their ignorant little shams.
If only I could donate some, like long-haired vixens do
When cancer victims need their dignity, they will gladly take some in lieu
Donate thoughts aplenty just in time for the freakish holidays
They can take all my thoughts and make sense of them,
Turn them in to happy days.
Can we make the mind flow yellow when it wants to default to blue?
For some it all stays on the level, while for others it delves too deep.
If only I could make it calm, then maybe I could get some sleep.
To have a blissful night of nothing would be a dream come true
But dreams of nothing, gracious, vacant nothing
Would make me nothing but a timid little shrew
Who knew so little of the world around her spinning madly fire like
Eyes so wide and full of wonder waiting for that painful spike
Right through that madly working brain that does not seem to ever stop
And then here comes reality forcing in like the butcher's enthusiastic chop
And nothing, gracious, vacant nothing is merely but a fantasy
But what a world would that be when one could dream of ecstasy
Then torment oneself with "what ifs?" "how comes" and "what was.."
And all the stupid other things that this mind seems to be filled abuzz
Please let the placid air surround me like it does so well for them
They seem to be happy there, living their ignorant little shams.
If only I could donate some, like long-haired vixens do
When cancer victims need their dignity, they will gladly take some in lieu
Donate thoughts aplenty just in time for the freakish holidays
They can take all my thoughts and make sense of them,
Turn them in to happy days.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Song of Drifters
Song of Drifters
by Carl Abramowitz
sandwiched between laughter and solitude,
the insouciant follower of gregariousness,
slowly, slowly, slowly breaks open
lockjaw to speak like jettisoned debris from an agatha
christie runaway train...
quietly, we become the people we pretend to be,
pretending like it was some sort of fantasy game
and wielding delightful faucet-shaped smiles
we dance the dance of the sunset
the fusillade of our tears silenced by the deafness
of our hearts beating in syncopation
we promise no longer to be monochromatic, to be
clowns of one color because they, the institution,
placate adroitly the strenuousness of our dreams
flattening our tiny worlds we kept so secret
from our parents, and their parents,
to ancestors who no longer spell
their surname the same way we do
by Carl Abramowitz
sandwiched between laughter and solitude,
the insouciant follower of gregariousness,
slowly, slowly, slowly breaks open
lockjaw to speak like jettisoned debris from an agatha
christie runaway train...
quietly, we become the people we pretend to be,
pretending like it was some sort of fantasy game
and wielding delightful faucet-shaped smiles
we dance the dance of the sunset
the fusillade of our tears silenced by the deafness
of our hearts beating in syncopation
we promise no longer to be monochromatic, to be
clowns of one color because they, the institution,
placate adroitly the strenuousness of our dreams
flattening our tiny worlds we kept so secret
from our parents, and their parents,
to ancestors who no longer spell
their surname the same way we do
Thursday, November 19, 2009
new website, meditations
In a melancholy haze I removed my old website and decided I would never paint again. I know, I know, "artist" you think. Sad, melancholy, emo artist.
Someone had said something to me to absolutely crush my soul and spirit and I couldn't dream of embarrassing myself again the way I have been doing the entirety of my life. But, as my work in progress, after meditating and finding myself again, I am recreating website.
www.meggibbs.com
This seems to give away my pseudonym on this blog, so hopefully my 2 followers won't tell anyone it's me. Enjoy my mediocrity. They're going to have to deal with me anyways... and seriously, there are way worse artists out there than me.
When I run I meditate. Something about the "left, right, left, right" matra that goes into my head when the mp3 player dies that is akin to "om" that seems to clear my head and bring me to my destined path in life. "left, right, left, right" feet pound on pavement, treadmill, whatever. Thoughts enter my head so I run faster, harder, until the only thoughts are those relating to my immediate body. Pain. Soreness. Wimp. You can go faster than this. You are powerful... then the run is enjoyable.
They say that if you fake a smile while running, enduring pain, or lifting weights, etc. that the "smile" will trick your brain into thinking that you're doing something enjoyable. This sometimes works... either that or the absurdity of knowing I'm smiling or seeing my smiling face in a gym mirror makes me feel like Heath Ledger's joker. Creepy.
But funny. And so strength builds and i move on... and meditate. And my problems are solved at least temporarily until the endorphins wear off.
Someone had said something to me to absolutely crush my soul and spirit and I couldn't dream of embarrassing myself again the way I have been doing the entirety of my life. But, as my work in progress, after meditating and finding myself again, I am recreating website.
www.meggibbs.com
This seems to give away my pseudonym on this blog, so hopefully my 2 followers won't tell anyone it's me. Enjoy my mediocrity. They're going to have to deal with me anyways... and seriously, there are way worse artists out there than me.
When I run I meditate. Something about the "left, right, left, right" matra that goes into my head when the mp3 player dies that is akin to "om" that seems to clear my head and bring me to my destined path in life. "left, right, left, right" feet pound on pavement, treadmill, whatever. Thoughts enter my head so I run faster, harder, until the only thoughts are those relating to my immediate body. Pain. Soreness. Wimp. You can go faster than this. You are powerful... then the run is enjoyable.
They say that if you fake a smile while running, enduring pain, or lifting weights, etc. that the "smile" will trick your brain into thinking that you're doing something enjoyable. This sometimes works... either that or the absurdity of knowing I'm smiling or seeing my smiling face in a gym mirror makes me feel like Heath Ledger's joker. Creepy.
But funny. And so strength builds and i move on... and meditate. And my problems are solved at least temporarily until the endorphins wear off.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Together as one
I wrote a song WITH lyrics this time. The tune is easy, Am, E then progression at A to chorus.
F, D, G, repeat. Followed by E7, F then back to original progression with Am.
Lyrics go like this:
I hear the footsteps down the hallway
I turned to look but no one’s there
I hear the voices there behind me
But there was no one there.
And summer fog was thick as winter
No one around to see or hear
And in that summer the flowers wilted
I swallowed
my tears.
I swallowed all my tears
And in a crowd of a thousand people
Marching together for their cause
But in that crowd I’m a lost soul
I was never there.
And summer fog was thick as winter
No one around to see or hear
And in that summer the flowers wilted
I swallowed
my tears.
I swallowed all my tears.
I am my own best companion
She will always be with me
Hand in hand we went together
And we were free
So completely free.
And the summer fog was clearly lifted
The sun shone down from skies above
And not a single flower wilted
We were together
As one
Together we were one.
F, D, G, repeat. Followed by E7, F then back to original progression with Am.
Lyrics go like this:
I hear the footsteps down the hallway
I turned to look but no one’s there
I hear the voices there behind me
But there was no one there.
And summer fog was thick as winter
No one around to see or hear
And in that summer the flowers wilted
I swallowed
my tears.
I swallowed all my tears
And in a crowd of a thousand people
Marching together for their cause
But in that crowd I’m a lost soul
I was never there.
And summer fog was thick as winter
No one around to see or hear
And in that summer the flowers wilted
I swallowed
my tears.
I swallowed all my tears.
I am my own best companion
She will always be with me
Hand in hand we went together
And we were free
So completely free.
And the summer fog was clearly lifted
The sun shone down from skies above
And not a single flower wilted
We were together
As one
Together we were one.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Night wash
She's found it to be
That it echoes in ceaseless harmony
The music we hear each night
A faint whispering
Or perhaps it was a thundering
That caused her to see the light
Under a blanket of stars
There was an ocean of passing cars
Barefooted path she took to you
A green grass highway
And fleeting lights that would not stay
Only the scenery stays true
She hitched a stranger's ride
While the full moon's ebbing tide
Took the ocean far from shore
And then took it all in
Beauty washed away her sins
There was nothing she wanted more.
That it echoes in ceaseless harmony
The music we hear each night
A faint whispering
Or perhaps it was a thundering
That caused her to see the light
Under a blanket of stars
There was an ocean of passing cars
Barefooted path she took to you
A green grass highway
And fleeting lights that would not stay
Only the scenery stays true
She hitched a stranger's ride
While the full moon's ebbing tide
Took the ocean far from shore
And then took it all in
Beauty washed away her sins
There was nothing she wanted more.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I carry your heart with me
I carry your heart with me
(I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it
(Anywhere I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
want no world
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
~E.E. Cummings
(I carry it in my heart)
I am never without it
(Anywhere I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
want no world
(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;
which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
~E.E. Cummings
genuine
And we slip through another pleasure
And it's love and love forever
As long as it is effortless to do.
I told you my heroic tale
To admire or flip through
I said that it was genuine
But I never said it was true.
And it's love and love forever
As long as it is effortless to do.
I told you my heroic tale
To admire or flip through
I said that it was genuine
But I never said it was true.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
But I Had to Cut the Rope
The night is strangely quiet
When I cannot hear your voice
But I had to cut the rope
I didn't have a choice.
Perhaps it is unfair of me
To listen to you cry
But I had to cut the rope
I didn't have to tell you why.
Its not because I'm callous
Or selfish or so cruel
But I had to cut the rope
Because you played me like a fool.
I know you didn't mean to
The truth is hard for you to see
But I had to cut the rope
Because we were not meant to be.
I am searching for the answers
In my own familiar game
But I had to cut the rope
You did not feel the same.
Maybe I should have guessed
I likely should have known
But I had to cut the rope
And leave you there alone.
When I cannot hear your voice
But I had to cut the rope
I didn't have a choice.
Perhaps it is unfair of me
To listen to you cry
But I had to cut the rope
I didn't have to tell you why.
Its not because I'm callous
Or selfish or so cruel
But I had to cut the rope
Because you played me like a fool.
I know you didn't mean to
The truth is hard for you to see
But I had to cut the rope
Because we were not meant to be.
I am searching for the answers
In my own familiar game
But I had to cut the rope
You did not feel the same.
Maybe I should have guessed
I likely should have known
But I had to cut the rope
And leave you there alone.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Fig Tree
From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and off beat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but chosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as i sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and one by one, they plopped at the ground at my feet.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but chosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as i sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and one by one, they plopped at the ground at my feet.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
A case of you
Just before our love got lost you said
I am as constant as a northern star
And I said, constantly in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar
On the back of a carton coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
Oh I would still be on my feet
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid
I remember that time that you told me, you said
Love is touching souls
Surely you touched mine
Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed
Oh but you are in my blood you're my holy wine
You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
I am as constant as a northern star
And I said, constantly in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar
On the back of a carton coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
Oh I would still be on my feet
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid
I remember that time that you told me, you said
Love is touching souls
Surely you touched mine
Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed
Oh but you are in my blood you're my holy wine
You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
Monday, October 19, 2009
Night in the City Looks Pretty, Looks Pretty
Off to the land of no horizons
Where some go to follow their dreams
A place of new beginnings
Where all is seldom what it seems.
Off to the land of glittering lights
The city that never sleeps
Chinese takeout, pizza boxes
Line their kitchens in gorgeous heaps.
Off to the place to find myself
Where they only like to walk
A different change of pace from here
A different kind of talk.
What might one find in such a place
So far removed from here?
The mirror shows the same image
But might soon become crystal clear.
Where some go to follow their dreams
A place of new beginnings
Where all is seldom what it seems.
Off to the land of glittering lights
The city that never sleeps
Chinese takeout, pizza boxes
Line their kitchens in gorgeous heaps.
Off to the place to find myself
Where they only like to walk
A different change of pace from here
A different kind of talk.
What might one find in such a place
So far removed from here?
The mirror shows the same image
But might soon become crystal clear.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
People's Parties
All the people at this party
They've got a lot of style
They've got stamps of many countries
They've got passport smiles
Some are friendly
Some are cutting
Some are watching it from the wings
Some are standing in the centre
Giving to get something
Photo Beauty gets attention
Then her eye paint's running down
She's got a rose in her teeth
And a lampshade crown
One minute she's so happy
Then she's crying on someone's knee
Saying laughing and crying
You know it's the same release
I told you when I met you
I was crazy
Cry for us all Beauty
Cry for Eddie in the corner
Thinking he's nobody
And Jack behind his joker
And stone-cold Grace behind her fan
And me in my frightened silence
Thinking I don't understand
I feel like I'm sleeping
Can you wake me
You seem to have a broader sensibility
I'm just living on nerves and feelings
With a weak and a lazy mind
And coming to peoples parties
Fumbling deaf dumb and blind
I wish I had more sense of humor
Keeping the sadness at bay
Throwing the lightness on these things
Laughing it all away
- Joni Mitchell
They've got a lot of style
They've got stamps of many countries
They've got passport smiles
Some are friendly
Some are cutting
Some are watching it from the wings
Some are standing in the centre
Giving to get something
Photo Beauty gets attention
Then her eye paint's running down
She's got a rose in her teeth
And a lampshade crown
One minute she's so happy
Then she's crying on someone's knee
Saying laughing and crying
You know it's the same release
I told you when I met you
I was crazy
Cry for us all Beauty
Cry for Eddie in the corner
Thinking he's nobody
And Jack behind his joker
And stone-cold Grace behind her fan
And me in my frightened silence
Thinking I don't understand
I feel like I'm sleeping
Can you wake me
You seem to have a broader sensibility
I'm just living on nerves and feelings
With a weak and a lazy mind
And coming to peoples parties
Fumbling deaf dumb and blind
I wish I had more sense of humor
Keeping the sadness at bay
Throwing the lightness on these things
Laughing it all away
- Joni Mitchell
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Invincible running warrior woman
It seems to me that in order to be a truly successful runner, one must be at least a little masochistic. Sure, after x amount of miles, one gets the so called, "runner's high," which doesn't seem to really happen for me that much. Or maybe I'm just not as affected by it. But be that as it may, if the runner's high is merely a means to keep one from being in pain, then I suppose that by about mile 3 of every run, I get the runner's high.
This high cannot be compared to anything that one might get from a mind altering substance mind you. In fact, it kind of sucks by comparison.
However, that being said, I have had long runs and even run races to find that a blister on my heel would have broken open without my noticing. Blisters that pop and start bleeding, pooling in the back of my shoe without me taking any notice at all. Could this be because the runner's high keeps me from feeling pain? You know, honestly, probably not. I feel plenty of pain throughout my runs. Yet, I keep going.
I am stronger than this. I am powerful. I am the invincible gazelle and I can run from the lions forever!
Yes, I think it might be the mental high more than anything else that keeps me going. That feeling of power that one gets after a long run, or that feeling of invincibility that one gets after beating your best time on a short run.
And then there are the days like today, where I meet my goal of 5 miles and feel fine. A relatively simple goal by my normal standards, yet sometimes the humidity and heat of the swamp like climate, which I live gets the best of me. One gets overheated and then she fights the urge to vomit. Ahh, but sometimes puking is the only real way to alleviate that horrible nausea that comes with being overheated or taxing your cardiovascular system anaerobically. For me today, it was horrible yet divine at the same time.
Hell, I got more of a runner's high from vomiting afterward than from the run itself. Yet, I keep going. And going. Maybe it helps to remind me that I'm alive.
" I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am." ~ Sylvia Plath
This high cannot be compared to anything that one might get from a mind altering substance mind you. In fact, it kind of sucks by comparison.
However, that being said, I have had long runs and even run races to find that a blister on my heel would have broken open without my noticing. Blisters that pop and start bleeding, pooling in the back of my shoe without me taking any notice at all. Could this be because the runner's high keeps me from feeling pain? You know, honestly, probably not. I feel plenty of pain throughout my runs. Yet, I keep going.
I am stronger than this. I am powerful. I am the invincible gazelle and I can run from the lions forever!
Yes, I think it might be the mental high more than anything else that keeps me going. That feeling of power that one gets after a long run, or that feeling of invincibility that one gets after beating your best time on a short run.
And then there are the days like today, where I meet my goal of 5 miles and feel fine. A relatively simple goal by my normal standards, yet sometimes the humidity and heat of the swamp like climate, which I live gets the best of me. One gets overheated and then she fights the urge to vomit. Ahh, but sometimes puking is the only real way to alleviate that horrible nausea that comes with being overheated or taxing your cardiovascular system anaerobically. For me today, it was horrible yet divine at the same time.
Hell, I got more of a runner's high from vomiting afterward than from the run itself. Yet, I keep going. And going. Maybe it helps to remind me that I'm alive.
" I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am." ~ Sylvia Plath
Monday, October 12, 2009
Thanks
Hey thanks
For helping me to realize
That what I thought was connection
Were just tales and lies
Like a thief in the night
You stole away my heart
Behind your serpentine smile
You’ve made my longing your art.
So thanks
Because now I know I’m alone
Perhaps this is what you needed most
So your pain could be atoned.
But I am not such a fool
To fall for this silly game
For I can see right through you
And call you by your rightful name
And thanks
I’d rather be alone than pine
For the love that you tease me with,
Which will never, ever be mine.
For helping me to realize
That what I thought was connection
Were just tales and lies
Like a thief in the night
You stole away my heart
Behind your serpentine smile
You’ve made my longing your art.
So thanks
Because now I know I’m alone
Perhaps this is what you needed most
So your pain could be atoned.
But I am not such a fool
To fall for this silly game
For I can see right through you
And call you by your rightful name
And thanks
I’d rather be alone than pine
For the love that you tease me with,
Which will never, ever be mine.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Old things...
So I came across this book while moving that I started making in 2003, while I was still in art school. It is filled with poetry and drawings, and honestly, I had forgotten that I used to dabble in poetry further than haikus... they're not very good poems, but I still enjoy them. Below are a couple of my favorite excerpts from the book... the first sounds like something Shel Silverstein would have written on a bad day if he waited tables.
Dinner Rush
Salty film, body odor
You leave me with this each time
Tight shoulders, sore feet
Crusted food finger grime.
Each day I see you
A mask is worn to shield me from the truth
That I am only a robotic slave
"Would you like a table or a booth?
How 'bout some ketchup for your fucking fries,
Or maybe extra gravy?"
If the money wasn't so damn good,
This job would drive me crazy.
Feline Friend
You curiously move
Always searching
Continuously finding questions
Come sit by me and relax
You enjoy it most when you're ignored.
When you discover my feelings
Or uncover the answers
The attitude changes and you leave
Little sass.
Faithful friend.
Aloof companion.
Colored Powder
Shiny pieces of powder
Coat her wings like pixie dust
Fluttering arms in thin helium air
Weightless balloon
Effortless flight.
Higher and higher her body soars
By aid of colored powder
Catching Gaia's breath
Air gliding meadow love
Warm sunshine pollinator
Darkness' evil net will snatch her
And clean the dust from her wings
Put her in a jar
Forgetting to poke holes in the lid.
Suffocating freedom
Thick, chocking air.
No way out but to blame herself
Such a stupid butterfly
How long does she have until her sour air
Pollutes her lungs, her mind
Forever?
End it butterfly
So that maybe you'll return as a bumble bee.
Surely next time you will see that ominous net
And escape
From all this that dooms you.
Dinner Rush
Salty film, body odor
You leave me with this each time
Tight shoulders, sore feet
Crusted food finger grime.
Each day I see you
A mask is worn to shield me from the truth
That I am only a robotic slave
"Would you like a table or a booth?
How 'bout some ketchup for your fucking fries,
Or maybe extra gravy?"
If the money wasn't so damn good,
This job would drive me crazy.
Feline Friend
You curiously move
Always searching
Continuously finding questions
Come sit by me and relax
You enjoy it most when you're ignored.
When you discover my feelings
Or uncover the answers
The attitude changes and you leave
Little sass.
Faithful friend.
Aloof companion.
Colored Powder
Shiny pieces of powder
Coat her wings like pixie dust
Fluttering arms in thin helium air
Weightless balloon
Effortless flight.
Higher and higher her body soars
By aid of colored powder
Catching Gaia's breath
Air gliding meadow love
Warm sunshine pollinator
Darkness' evil net will snatch her
And clean the dust from her wings
Put her in a jar
Forgetting to poke holes in the lid.
Suffocating freedom
Thick, chocking air.
No way out but to blame herself
Such a stupid butterfly
How long does she have until her sour air
Pollutes her lungs, her mind
Forever?
End it butterfly
So that maybe you'll return as a bumble bee.
Surely next time you will see that ominous net
And escape
From all this that dooms you.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Good day
Ostentatious little one
Who wears the childish grin
I wonder what will happen
If we can begin again
A man when I once met you
Now a little boy
What was I initially
but another shiny new toy?
So full of hope and inspiration
You are now because of me
I have been your back door wife
I have been your giving tree
But what says she now
Oh neglected wife
Does this boy take care of you
Or should a man rule your life?
Find solace sister,
As they're all the same
They know not what they are
Its all one big parlor game.
Where people are puppets
Some like to wear masks
Others void as empty coffins
The machine accomplishes their tasks.
So now my boy-man
What am I to do?
Wait for you to grow into a tree
So that I might stay with you?
Leave me stale no more, boy.
That is not my way
You may meet me in my journey
Or to you I say, "good day."
Who wears the childish grin
I wonder what will happen
If we can begin again
A man when I once met you
Now a little boy
What was I initially
but another shiny new toy?
So full of hope and inspiration
You are now because of me
I have been your back door wife
I have been your giving tree
But what says she now
Oh neglected wife
Does this boy take care of you
Or should a man rule your life?
Find solace sister,
As they're all the same
They know not what they are
Its all one big parlor game.
Where people are puppets
Some like to wear masks
Others void as empty coffins
The machine accomplishes their tasks.
So now my boy-man
What am I to do?
Wait for you to grow into a tree
So that I might stay with you?
Leave me stale no more, boy.
That is not my way
You may meet me in my journey
Or to you I say, "good day."
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Quote of the day
Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves. ~Albert Einstein
Thursday, September 24, 2009
blister
There is a blood blister on my knuckle, and I can't seem to leave it alone. Fills with blood, then I squeeze it out, then the blood turns to clear plasma and I squeeze that out. Blood blister becomes flat, and in a matter of minutes its risen once again like that thing from out of the swamp. Only my knuckle is not a swamp. However, thus repeats the cycle. Blood bubble under the skin, squeeze it out until it turns clear, squeeze that out until it flattens and wait for it to rise.
For some odd reason this is making me think about life in general. I'm not really certain of the relation exactly, but it seems like we go through the motions of life in order to make it coincide with our views on happiness, only to have to pop that metaphorical blood blister over and over again. Perhaps I'm missing a lesson here... ahh yes. Leave it alone and let it heal. Can we do that in life?
For some odd reason this is making me think about life in general. I'm not really certain of the relation exactly, but it seems like we go through the motions of life in order to make it coincide with our views on happiness, only to have to pop that metaphorical blood blister over and over again. Perhaps I'm missing a lesson here... ahh yes. Leave it alone and let it heal. Can we do that in life?
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Common courtesy
Why do some people insist on holding the door open for others, yet if those having the door held open for them do not immediately say "thank you" or say it loudly enough, they get miffed?
Why do something nice for someone just to be acknowledged? Why not just be nice?
Had a woman about my age hold the door open for me this morning, and before I had a chance to say "thank you," she very rudely says "your welcome." I don't get it. Why even bother holding the door open at all?
Why do something nice for someone just to be acknowledged? Why not just be nice?
Had a woman about my age hold the door open for me this morning, and before I had a chance to say "thank you," she very rudely says "your welcome." I don't get it. Why even bother holding the door open at all?
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
early morning
Crack of thunder woke me up this morning at 4:00 am and intruded my dreams. In pitch black darkness, waited with my eyes closed to fall back asleep... but nothing. Just that familiar grasping of the invisible hand inside my chest each time I thought of the consequences of having my morning interrupted so early. I sat and waited for the second crack of thunder, at the very least if the weather was inconsiderate enough to wake me at four, at least it should have the decency of giving me a great thunderstorm to listen to.
No such luck. The room stayed quiet except for the faint murmurings of things I could hear while wearing earplugs. Underwater muffled sounds of a fan blowing and the sound of someone snoring far in the distance. After an hour of listening and feigning sleep, I decided to remove those foam cylinders from my ear cavities so I could scratch the inside of my ears and searched for a possible cat above my head. No such luck. It was decided that coffee should be made and I should stop torturing myself. This likely is a mistake, waking up, which I will probably discover some time mid afternoon, but one can only stay in bed for so long.
I tiptoe through a pitch black apartment, imagining that perhaps there is someone in the apartment watching me. I feel someone watching me, feel a presence there, somewhere... but I'm just scaring myself again. I imagine maybe its the ghost of my grandmother whose ashes I keep in a closet full of old Halloween costumes and large, rolled up charcoal drawings of nude figures on butcher paper. Perhaps it is her in the apartment. Walking to the kitchen, I stir the air and the paper towels whisper. This does not diminish the illusion that there is some unknown presence wandering around the dark morning with me. Like a child afraid of the dark, I switch on the oven light, as turning on the light has always been the only real way to get rid of the monsters hiding in the closet.
Coffee always seems to taste better in a coffee shop. I think there is something about being completely surrounded by the smells of coffee, the clinks and clanks and whizzing sounds of the espresso machine, bad indie folk in the background. Certain foods and beverages always seem to taste better if imbibed in the right atmosphere. Skim milk in my coffee this morning turns it an odd shade of gray, like the pallor of death. The taste is there, and the caffeine seems to do the trick, or does something anyways. I envy the cat who is able to fall asleep anywhere she pleases, curled up in the most impossible of places at any old time she chooses. If only sleep were so easy.
I think I'm more tired than I'm letting myself believe. The weather report is not showing any rain. I think that crack of thunder was part of a dream.
No such luck. The room stayed quiet except for the faint murmurings of things I could hear while wearing earplugs. Underwater muffled sounds of a fan blowing and the sound of someone snoring far in the distance. After an hour of listening and feigning sleep, I decided to remove those foam cylinders from my ear cavities so I could scratch the inside of my ears and searched for a possible cat above my head. No such luck. It was decided that coffee should be made and I should stop torturing myself. This likely is a mistake, waking up, which I will probably discover some time mid afternoon, but one can only stay in bed for so long.
I tiptoe through a pitch black apartment, imagining that perhaps there is someone in the apartment watching me. I feel someone watching me, feel a presence there, somewhere... but I'm just scaring myself again. I imagine maybe its the ghost of my grandmother whose ashes I keep in a closet full of old Halloween costumes and large, rolled up charcoal drawings of nude figures on butcher paper. Perhaps it is her in the apartment. Walking to the kitchen, I stir the air and the paper towels whisper. This does not diminish the illusion that there is some unknown presence wandering around the dark morning with me. Like a child afraid of the dark, I switch on the oven light, as turning on the light has always been the only real way to get rid of the monsters hiding in the closet.
Coffee always seems to taste better in a coffee shop. I think there is something about being completely surrounded by the smells of coffee, the clinks and clanks and whizzing sounds of the espresso machine, bad indie folk in the background. Certain foods and beverages always seem to taste better if imbibed in the right atmosphere. Skim milk in my coffee this morning turns it an odd shade of gray, like the pallor of death. The taste is there, and the caffeine seems to do the trick, or does something anyways. I envy the cat who is able to fall asleep anywhere she pleases, curled up in the most impossible of places at any old time she chooses. If only sleep were so easy.
I think I'm more tired than I'm letting myself believe. The weather report is not showing any rain. I think that crack of thunder was part of a dream.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
VI
If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives fly by.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's land.
If certain, when this life was out
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee.
That will not state its sting.
~Emily Dickinson
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives fly by.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's land.
If certain, when this life was out
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee.
That will not state its sting.
~Emily Dickinson
Monday, September 14, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Searchers
Some people do not have to search -
they find their niche early in life and rest there, seemingly contented and resigned.
They do not seem to ask much of life,
sometimes they do not seem to take it seriously.
At times I envy them,
but usually I do not understand them -
seldom do they understand me.
I am one of the searchers.
There are, I believe, millions of us.
We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life,
hoping to uncover its ultimate secret.
We continue to explore ourselves,
hoping to understand.
We like to walk along the beach -
we are drawn by the ocean,
taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty.
We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well.
Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter.
To share our sadness with the one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know -
unless it is to share our laughter.
We searchers are ambitious only for life itself,
for everything beautiful it can provide.
Most of all we want to love and be loved.
We want to live in a relationship that will not impede
our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls.
We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.
We are wanderers, dreamers and lovers,
lonely souls who dare ask of life everything good and
beautiful.
- - James Kavanaugh
they find their niche early in life and rest there, seemingly contented and resigned.
They do not seem to ask much of life,
sometimes they do not seem to take it seriously.
At times I envy them,
but usually I do not understand them -
seldom do they understand me.
I am one of the searchers.
There are, I believe, millions of us.
We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life,
hoping to uncover its ultimate secret.
We continue to explore ourselves,
hoping to understand.
We like to walk along the beach -
we are drawn by the ocean,
taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty.
We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well.
Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter.
To share our sadness with the one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know -
unless it is to share our laughter.
We searchers are ambitious only for life itself,
for everything beautiful it can provide.
Most of all we want to love and be loved.
We want to live in a relationship that will not impede
our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls.
We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.
We are wanderers, dreamers and lovers,
lonely souls who dare ask of life everything good and
beautiful.
- - James Kavanaugh
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Not a Haiku.
So why the push and pull my love?
What’s left for me to do
But sit and wait for you to leave
Me wondering of you.
The sky would fall upon my head
The rain would gather too
If you should hide away again
And leave me feeling blue.
What’s left for me to do
But sit and wait for you to leave
Me wondering of you.
The sky would fall upon my head
The rain would gather too
If you should hide away again
And leave me feeling blue.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Mad Girl's Love Song
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
~Sylvia Plath
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
~Sylvia Plath
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Threads
A silken thread lies scattered in a field of beige
Reminds me of sleeping with you.
Familiar fingers gently cling to it
Fragile hair.
Small part of that warm body
That holds my soul in my body at night
Keeps it from floating away.
Thousands of silken threads
Make a shiny fabric
That familiar fingers run through
To bring me comfort.
To give you pleasure.
Reflection smiles in an invisible mirror
Remind me of its pureness.
Leave threads behind, leave fingernails, clothing
They make me remember you.
Reminds me of sleeping with you.
Familiar fingers gently cling to it
Fragile hair.
Small part of that warm body
That holds my soul in my body at night
Keeps it from floating away.
Thousands of silken threads
Make a shiny fabric
That familiar fingers run through
To bring me comfort.
To give you pleasure.
Reflection smiles in an invisible mirror
Remind me of its pureness.
Leave threads behind, leave fingernails, clothing
They make me remember you.
flightless bird. carl request.
I was a quick wet boy, diving too deep for coins
All of your street light eyes wide on my plastic toys
Then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair
Stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere
Have I found you
Flightless bird, jealous, weeping or lost you, american mouth
Big pill looming
Now I'm a fat house cat
Nursing my sore blunt tongue
Watching the warm poison rats curl through the wide fence cracks
Pissing on magazine photos
Those fishing lures thrown in the cold
And clean blood of Christ mountain stream
Have I found you
Flightless bird, grounded, bleeding or lost you, american mouth
Big pill stuck going down
All of your street light eyes wide on my plastic toys
Then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair
Stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere
Have I found you
Flightless bird, jealous, weeping or lost you, american mouth
Big pill looming
Now I'm a fat house cat
Nursing my sore blunt tongue
Watching the warm poison rats curl through the wide fence cracks
Pissing on magazine photos
Those fishing lures thrown in the cold
And clean blood of Christ mountain stream
Have I found you
Flightless bird, grounded, bleeding or lost you, american mouth
Big pill stuck going down
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Films
Let us play movies in the heads of those without the gift of sight, and they shall live those movies...
Moving through them... and not let them know the illusion before them. Like what they do to us, we cannot see anything but a film.
Moving through them... and not let them know the illusion before them. Like what they do to us, we cannot see anything but a film.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
On children
1. Find wisdom in what
Comes easily to children.
They know more than us.
2. Let us play again.
Find ourselves in sand castles,
Our shelters once more.
Comes easily to children.
They know more than us.
2. Let us play again.
Find ourselves in sand castles,
Our shelters once more.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Stars and becoming
When I look at a star, am I becoming a part of that star? Or was I always a part of it?
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
On love
1. It’s not fair to ask
For another to trust you
When you can hurt them.
2. Hold me tenderly.
Your love keeps me from breaking
Into small pieces.
3. To be truly loved
Is the most gracious blessing
You have given me.
4. Longing to be whole
We seek for the other half
That makes us complete.
For another to trust you
When you can hurt them.
2. Hold me tenderly.
Your love keeps me from breaking
Into small pieces.
3. To be truly loved
Is the most gracious blessing
You have given me.
4. Longing to be whole
We seek for the other half
That makes us complete.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
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