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

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

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.

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.

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."

Chicken skin

Mottled chicken skin
Appears on my legs when cold
I am always cold.

Iodine

Iodine burns most
Of all the disinfectants
Savor the small hurt.

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

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?

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?

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.

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

Johnny

He was iconic
A dancer and gentleman
We will remember

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lvcqt_4NOds

"A committee is a cul-de-sac down which ideas are lured and then quietly strangled." --Sir Barnett Cocks