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