A thought consumed her.

A thought consumed her.
One notion, a feeling.
Pure, unshakable.
A determined desire of curiosity
into the deepest recesses of another.
Beauty lied on the surface, ensnaring,
yet the desire burrowed deeper,
crawling in her skin.
Electric, unexplainable pulse.
She feared combustion from speech,
making this notion a reality.
To utter it would be criminal,
but to lock it away
would turn it ugly.
A most vile form
of feeling turned obsession.
All-consuming, imagined reality of the
unattainable.
Unknown eternal silence
is a slow death
remedied only by an end,
the murder of that thought,
that notion which consumed her.
Writing a plan
to demise what she held dear,
embodiments of an arrow, sharp.
She clasped it into her capture's hands.
To give up her thought,
a remarkable weapon,
for the slaughter of its pure joy
by its own hand,
was inconceivable.
Her capture smiled,
shooting the arrow
straight up.
Leave it to fate,
or better known wisdom,
gravity.
She knew,
but still held tight
to one last shard of her thought
as the arrow came down
upon her head.

Records, Country, and Cooking

Bonjour to all you out there who don't read this blog.
Right now I'm listening to that wonderful woman, Kitty Wells. Her haunting voice and the chipper steel guitar make a good combo when telling your husband you don't love him anymore. I feel bad, but set it to happy music and it becomes a country hit.

I bought some 45s the other day at a record store in downtown kent. I was so thrilled that the store was alphabetized, so everything was easy to find, but because of that, everything was really expensive. I 33 was 10-15 bucks. Most 45s were $2-4. But I forked over the dough for Procol Harum's Whiter Shade of Pale, which I had been searching for forever with no luck. Also, I sought out Slim Whitman's I remember You, just for kicks. they had it so i grabbed it. They song is nice, but also makes me laugh. I first heard it while watching House of 1000 Corpses. Rob Zombie artfully set the discovery of a bloody woman in chains and the consequent shooting of 2 men to the song. It was really great. Not that I like people dying, but it was so unrealistic, you can't help but laugh.

Recently I have also taken back the hobby of Appalachia and bluegrass. I was looking through some cookbooks I have, and let me say I cannot wait to have a kitchen to make so many yummy things. Maybe when I do, I'll pull a Julie & Julia and document all my cooking trials.

And as a side note, I wish I could be as spunky as Loretta Lynn. Maybe I'll work on that next ha.

Untitled

Acrid throat rises to high pitched screams
rapid fire anger- why?
indignant militant shout- who?
With their salt-coated organs
eroding from red-faced bullshit
crackling in spontaneous combustion
when the falsely painted word-picture of We
passes through the mind-less-ness
encompassing Them.

October Night

Out in the fog; lost in an endless time continuum. Sitting there on the cold concrete steps, watching the moon, they feel the presence of the world itself. Scott Joplin plays on in the distance. Happy rag music plays on slicing through the silence of the night.

“So where did it all happen Lou? That place you worked at, where is it?” asked the young man in the tattered grey suit.

“Ah, is up a block or so on the right,” answered Lou with a worn and tired voice, “Tha old saloon idn’t far from here. Id was renovated after tha fire, and had been brought back some, but not quite ta like it was back in its glory days. Yea, tha was the place to be. Warm rich lager served around the poker table. Laughs and good times was all we was in the business of makin’.”

Coldness seeps through the air of this bone chilling night as the two continue to sit. A tall, black lamppost casts an eerie light through the fog. Like a light trying to break through; a light muted by an overpowering presence. The young man took a deep breath and sighed heavy.

“So why didn’t they rehire you when the place reopened?” he asked. Sounds of leaves rustling in the trees surround the lampposts; a gentle loving breeze touches each leaf with a guiding push.

“I can’t tell ya in the slightest,” breathed Lou. “All I figure is that I’m a-getting’ too old for that bartending and such. They want them youthful lads like yourself at the bar and them beautiful women up on the stage. Thas the business they’re pushin’ now.”

Footsteps and laughter can be heard in the distance. The young man contemplates the woes of the old man, wondering if he too will one day end up on the streets, without a niche, forgotten and dumped for something more appealing. A loud clang startles him from his thoughts.

“It’s probably just the drunks at the saloon,” comments Lou, “No one ever comes out of there sober, not even the flies on the walls.”

They draw back into silence, as the heavy night air closes in.

“Well,” says the young man, “what says you and me go out for a drink, eh? We’ll find us another, better saloon to patronize…One with less bullshit and more beer.”

Smiling to himself, Lou agrees, slowly rising from the cold steps, into the warmth and comfort of his new found companion.

“It’s real nice havin’ you here Billy,” said Lou, “You’ve got a heart of gold, just like your old man did.”

And with that, the pair walked on into the night, while somewhere near or far, Billy’s father smiled down on them as he watched his best friend and his son walking down that desolate street on a cold October night.

Differences

“I wish you peace
When the cold winds blow
Warmed by the fire’s glow
Wish you comfort in the lonely times
Arms to hold you when you ache inside”

That song plays from a worn wooden radio as birds chirp softly in trees.
Cool breeze touches everything, nature sways calmly.
Husbandandwife sit on a rickety porch – in a not so distant space—
Talking about their children, their horrendous bills, the happy times they’ve shared, and what they will have for dinner. (chickenandgravy?)

“Wish you hope when things are going bad
Kind words when times are sad
Wish you shelter from the rain and wind
Coolin’ waters let the fevers end”

That song plays from a broken down record player salvaged from the heaping garbage mounds in a far off land.
A present! for the distraught mother of five who(got new socks at 10 but nothing more. Ever.) She could barely scrap necessities for her half dying children.
She listens, sings along, watches her miracle baby boy play with his tiny toes-
smiling and cooing(unaware of the heartache and dismay.)

“I wish you peace, when times are hard
A light to guide you through the dark
And when storms are high and your dreams are low,
Wish you the strength to let love grow.”

Husbandandwife go inside their home.
He sits down to the Tube. (football) She goes to the kitchen. (wash dishes)
Existing in a symbiotic relationship - not much out of the ordinary-
filled with lovehatesadnessjoy. She feeling more on the inbetween.
They watched their children grow big, move away, marry (grandchildren)
and now settle in for yet another quiet evening. (lackluster existence)

Motherandson lay down to sleep.
Silence and Mother prays for her children,
(may they grow up to know a better life. Please.)
She lies there in the shivering night- her baby breathes gently; his soft, warm skin nestled against her own. (thanks God for all his blessings)


"Wish You Peace" by the Eagles

Childhood

Fluttering past strands of jade
Butterfly s-a-i-l-s up floats
d
o
w
n
Lovingly kisses dew drops in the morning sun(shine)

Camaraderie is fresh within young hearts
Jumpthroughpuddles
splish!
splash!
Cashew colored hair whips wildly around smiling faces

Day closes, fun drifts – good-bye-
Mother makes lasagna
sleeeepinesss descends heavily as

Rain r-a-m-b-l-e-s on a tin roof
beating as I watch the crescent moon
wade among a plethora of vivacious stars

Wet drops f a l l below,
smacking the warm cement on
a sultry August night

Sandwich

This poem used to look like a sandwich...stupid blog...

Life is like a sandwich.
Sometimes you eat the sandwich,
And sometimes the sandwich eats you.
Multifaceted like the juicy red and crisp
Green is life, yet the layers seem less
Distinguishable than that of a sandwich.

Sometimes sandwiches become soggy,
Weighed down by tomato tears. Defenses
On supposed impermeable layers have failed.
The Brie is left to mold, the meat to go sour,
Donning the repugnant smell of
Something gone a rye.
But even the vilest creation could satisfy the mouth of a hungry pig waiting on a free meal.
The cycle of life is evident, in that
Pigs eat sandwiches, and we eat pigs on
Our sandwiches. Life can still be a cruel joke,
Even when refrigerated properly. Life can become
Complicated when we cross contaminate society’s raw
Pig juices with our own soft, bread like brains. We can forget
To wash our cutting boards each day, and start anew.

But just as in life, one true sandwich does not exist.
Mary on a grilled cheese just doesn’t seem
To satisfy one’s thirst for divine knowledge or
Everlasting life. Maybe a miracle of turning
Bread to stone can be preformed with the
Aid of a microwave, thus proving that
The invisible forces do exist.

Thoughts

Self-defiled
Hopelessmass
Ripped-apart
Drowning
Accumualtionof
Nothing
Always
Forever

Truth is masked by a false reality
Smiling genuinely acrid lies
Smoldering a scorched path

Fat
Old
Mean
Smart
talented...
(ReLaTiViTy)

Someone is always...
Fatter
Older
Meaner
smarter
And more talented.

Step out into the cool lucid dark night. Whispers of wind flow through the blue tinted shadows lying between you and the universe. All encompassing quiet, biting cold touches an icy hand to your tear stained face. Through great loss and deprivation we move on. We become better or worse from things out of our control. We are shaped by death, life, love, loss, pain, pleasure... Under the opalescent light of a moon half hidden by white clouds, thinking of what could have been, dreams crushed, they melt slowing into the stark lifeless night. A childhood painted beautifully but never more present that the wisps of smoke from a burning flame. Painted smiles, but real pain. Quiet, magical adventures, escape to a world beyond the expressibility of words. Sunlight brought magical real smiles to the tear stricken child standing alone in a desolate forest. Bright day surrounded by the resurrected plant life, painted dead, but really alive.

Time makes me cry
Death makes me wonder
Love makes me smile
Trust makes me nervous

I broke the trust of someone I love dearly. I know now that I can’t be trusted. I’ve learned how much it hurts to lose the trust of someone who you were close to. Something just dies, and no matter how much you are sorry, you can’t ever take it back.

Time heals everything, but solves nothing, changes everything, yet is a constant reminder of the past. It’s been 7 months and I still haven’t stopped crying. It’s been 15 years and she still hasn’t stopped crying. We’ve turned in on ourselves, and have never fully moved on. We’ve gone insane but never fully realized that we can let go. Forget, but how could you ever forget someone who meant so much to you. Death is irrevocable final… leaving is not. It lacks the closure of death, and therefore is worse because it’s like an open festering wound. Death is hard, but I find life to be equally difficult.

Happiness =
Babies
Sunlight on morning dew
The smell of rain
Cream soda
Hugs
Rainbows
Roses

Raindrops

Raindrops fall, cyclical, ever present.
Drops of pearlescent sunshine,
glistening morning dew.
Saturated earth,
smelling sweet and heavy,
fresh, alive.
Finding itself in a particular moment,
trapped in space,
known only to those there to catch a glimpse.
Early morning rises
as bright golden arms
reach through nothing
to bring into being
a certain something glorious
beyond the comprehension.
Infinitesimal as that which is existence,
slowly shattered by time,
putting all things to a place,
and all things to an end.
Slowly as the outpouring skies cease tears,
colorful, majestic comes a smile to its lips.
All is at peace as small wings flutter,
reanimated is the life which flows through all.
That pulsing force
reminding each day
of something indescribable,
wonderful,
joyous,
pure.

Human Stupidity

Human stupidity never ceases to amaze me. Often times I wonder whether these people are a joke or if they take themselves seriously. It’s very difficult sometimes to find the patience and understanding to deal with these absentminded, often moronic people on a daily basis. But as Cary said in Since You Asked, “we’re the problem. It’s us, not them.” And when I read that I was immensely angered. How dare you tell me that I’m nuts for being annoyed at people’s stupidity. But then I thought about it and reasoned the point made. Coming from all different backgrounds and lifestyles, we aren’t all taught the same things. We each have a different pattern or train of thought that leads us all to different conclusions. And Cary made the point that even if we were taught the same things, whose to say that we would all conform and follow suit with what was taught?

I think if everyone walked around with a sign explaining how they came to any particular conclusion life would be a lot easier. But I suppose you can’t get upset about things you have no control over. If someone wants to go slow on the freeway, the only thing you can do is be in control of yourself. However, many times I think what we want to do is control others. We want everyone to think like us, to do things our way, and I guess that is nuts. You can’t control others, unless you’re an evil dictator like Hitler or something. He did a pretty job, but in a way he still didn’t succeed. People went along with his plan out of fear, but in their minds they were free to disagree. But it’s weird if you think about it… we all want to control each other and at the same time we are all crazy for thinking about controlling each other. And for what, so we can go faster on the freeway or not have to wait in line? I think that’s a ton of energy wasted on stupidity.

I think we do need to just relax and have some patience. I’m sure there’s a lot we can learn from each other if we just take the time. Like Cary said, “If we could just stop having rules about other people, we’d be closer to enlightenment.” But alas, we are all in the same boat of wanting to theoretically load each other up with bullets, so I guess we will just keep passing the ammunition, and hopefully try to make some progress. I think the meditation would help everyone in their endeavor for peace and enlightenment.