That's what I have at the moment--a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces are still being carved out before coming together. I have two outlines for it, and I've been writing on index cards to keep it from staling out.
I think writing this book will be perhaps the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. And it's not because I don't know what to write--as long as I don't think too hard about it, I have that part down. It's because of how the story will affect me, and eventually my readers, on the emotional level.
I can only tell you that the book has a beginning and an end, and involves some heavy things. It's already tough enough for me to write it because I know what's going to happen. But if I don't write it, it will continue to float indefinitely in my head.
I don't know if it's normal to be emotionally affected by a story you're writing. I like to think it is, because in order to affect your readers, the story has to affect you, too...right? After all, writers are readers...
I think it poses a good challenge for me. Every story written embodies some aspect of its writer that needs to be uncovered--hopes, fears, aspirations and such. I think that's where my emotion is coming from, and I suspect that it will become more of a challenge for me as time passes. But it's a good thing, because perhaps I can come to grips with some of the stuffed emotions and hidden trepidations I've had over the years.
For a long time I've been afraid of writing down my ideas like this, because a lot of the time, I (or someone else) felt like they made no sense. I'm finding that by writing it down, I'm clearing my head a bit, and I'm not so worried about certain things.
I hope to get at least half of the first draft done by Christmas--yeah, I'm feeling pretty ambitious--and having "index-card excerpts" ought to make it a little easier. If by then I can outperform my expectations, that would be awesome.
I think this is an exciting time, because I'm at a point where I'm finding out that I'm more than I think I am. I'm proving that to myself every day. Writing has helped me to reconnect with Airen...the real Airen.
I'll be so happy when I finally finish this book. It's well worth the emotional shift.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Why I regret seeing "Taken," and why pimp jokes aren't really funny to me.
Yes, fam, that's right--I went on YouTube Monday morning and watched the movie...all 11 parts of it.
It was a pretty good movie and I must say, I was surprised. The majority of the movie involved fighting. I know that Liam Neeson was the star of the movie, but since the movie centered around his character's daughter being put on the auction block, I felt that there should have been more about her experience. I think we should have seen the movie from the daughter's point of view as well as the father's, and I mean everything--from the kidnapping to the drop-off points, even to the girls being drugged up and "test-driven." Perhaps it would have been too much for the super-squeamish (like me? <_<;), but it would have made for a grittier movie and a more interesting story.
Without all that, though, I still regret seeing the movie. The whole issue of human trafficking makes me sad; that being said, I wish I had never seen the movie.
The reason I saw it was because I was planning to write a novel or short story involving something of this nature, and I got curious. I thought that seeing "Taken" would perhaps serve as a unique form of "research" (not exactly real research, because I know that the movie's storyline is pure fiction, but my story would have been fiction, anyway, so...).
Now that I have seen it, I can't get it out of my head. I keep thinking of the girls--handcuffed to bedposts, sweaty, high on what might be rohypnol (sp?), half-clothed, waiting to be raped again. I remember a girl from one scene making a "come hither" gesture to Liam Neeson's character (whose name I don't remember).* It bothers me because I knew that once that drug wore off, she woudn't remember shit. I keep thinking: How many innocent young women and children (and men) worldwide, at this very moment, are lying trapped in an underground brothel somewhere, with God-knows-what in their system, making that same "come hither" gesture to some strange john, not knowing what the hell they're doing? How many young women have gone from being honor students to being harem concubines? How many of these girls are crying right now, disconsolate and alone, knowing they'll never see their friends and loved ones again?...(I'm about to cry just writing this!)
This is why I don't laugh all that much at pimp jokes. I know someone is reading this right now and is like, "Yeah, right!" Well, you have my word--if I've ever laughed at a pimp joke in the past, it won't happen again...not after thinking about all this. (And yes, even Dave Chapelle's line about the Count from "Sesame Street" seems kind of disturbing to me.)
Before anyone says anything, I know that not all women who are prostitutes are forced or manipulated into it. I know that sometimes it's out of desperation for money. But I know that most women, in their right minds, wouldn't want this for themselves, knowing the danger it brings. And I'll bet that most of the women choosing to work the streets aren't working under a pimp.
To me, the word "pimp" has become synonymous with human trafficking and manipulative boyfriends. It brings to mind some poor, frightened young woman who would rather be in her own warm bed but is instead either out in the cold on a street corner turning tricks, or in some seedy motel being beaten and gang-raped, or in someone's forclosed home, locked in a cage, waiting to be picked up along with the rest of the "merchandise."
So no, I won't laugh when some comedian makes jokes about a pimp saying, "Bitch, where's my money?" Chances are, right now, there's some innocent woman or child hearing those same words, awaiting the first blow to the face, praying that today isn't their last day.
If I'm dampering anyone's day, I apologize. But this is important, and I think it's something we all need to think about. No it hasn't happened to us or anyone we know, and thank God for that. But it's happening to someone's son, someone's daughter...someone's child. And while none of us can do anything about it individually, we should at least take these victims into consideration and keep them in our prayers...and think twice before we laugh at something...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* I know that there are some who haven't seen the movie yet, so I apologize if I spoiled it for you. I just needed to make a point.
It was a pretty good movie and I must say, I was surprised. The majority of the movie involved fighting. I know that Liam Neeson was the star of the movie, but since the movie centered around his character's daughter being put on the auction block, I felt that there should have been more about her experience. I think we should have seen the movie from the daughter's point of view as well as the father's, and I mean everything--from the kidnapping to the drop-off points, even to the girls being drugged up and "test-driven." Perhaps it would have been too much for the super-squeamish (like me? <_<;), but it would have made for a grittier movie and a more interesting story.
Without all that, though, I still regret seeing the movie. The whole issue of human trafficking makes me sad; that being said, I wish I had never seen the movie.
The reason I saw it was because I was planning to write a novel or short story involving something of this nature, and I got curious. I thought that seeing "Taken" would perhaps serve as a unique form of "research" (not exactly real research, because I know that the movie's storyline is pure fiction, but my story would have been fiction, anyway, so...).
Now that I have seen it, I can't get it out of my head. I keep thinking of the girls--handcuffed to bedposts, sweaty, high on what might be rohypnol (sp?), half-clothed, waiting to be raped again. I remember a girl from one scene making a "come hither" gesture to Liam Neeson's character (whose name I don't remember).* It bothers me because I knew that once that drug wore off, she woudn't remember shit. I keep thinking: How many innocent young women and children (and men) worldwide, at this very moment, are lying trapped in an underground brothel somewhere, with God-knows-what in their system, making that same "come hither" gesture to some strange john, not knowing what the hell they're doing? How many young women have gone from being honor students to being harem concubines? How many of these girls are crying right now, disconsolate and alone, knowing they'll never see their friends and loved ones again?...(I'm about to cry just writing this!)
*****
This is why I don't laugh all that much at pimp jokes. I know someone is reading this right now and is like, "Yeah, right!" Well, you have my word--if I've ever laughed at a pimp joke in the past, it won't happen again...not after thinking about all this. (And yes, even Dave Chapelle's line about the Count from "Sesame Street" seems kind of disturbing to me.)
Before anyone says anything, I know that not all women who are prostitutes are forced or manipulated into it. I know that sometimes it's out of desperation for money. But I know that most women, in their right minds, wouldn't want this for themselves, knowing the danger it brings. And I'll bet that most of the women choosing to work the streets aren't working under a pimp.
To me, the word "pimp" has become synonymous with human trafficking and manipulative boyfriends. It brings to mind some poor, frightened young woman who would rather be in her own warm bed but is instead either out in the cold on a street corner turning tricks, or in some seedy motel being beaten and gang-raped, or in someone's forclosed home, locked in a cage, waiting to be picked up along with the rest of the "merchandise."
So no, I won't laugh when some comedian makes jokes about a pimp saying, "Bitch, where's my money?" Chances are, right now, there's some innocent woman or child hearing those same words, awaiting the first blow to the face, praying that today isn't their last day.
If I'm dampering anyone's day, I apologize. But this is important, and I think it's something we all need to think about. No it hasn't happened to us or anyone we know, and thank God for that. But it's happening to someone's son, someone's daughter...someone's child. And while none of us can do anything about it individually, we should at least take these victims into consideration and keep them in our prayers...and think twice before we laugh at something...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* I know that there are some who haven't seen the movie yet, so I apologize if I spoiled it for you. I just needed to make a point.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
It amazes me sometimes, where my mind leads...
Last night (or actually this morning, since work for me didn't start until after midnight), A particular song by Smashing Pumpkins was playing in my head...
This kind of became my theme for the entire sort because of the crazy sort we were having--everything was delayed because of the tornado warning, which pushed the sort back by a full hour, so we had to work overtime.
I thought it was awesome. Lately I've had to stagger in to work because of attendance issues (my first semester at U of L has been getting to me), meaning my checks will be pretty short for a while; the overtime will give me a little extra money next week. Don't get me wrong--there's nothing good about a tornado ripping through the city. That's terrible. But I still saw the resulting overtime as a blessing. I had been praying for overtime because I knew my checks would be short, and I guess in a strange way, it was answered.
Anyway, I digress...
I kept playing the song over and over all night, and I thought about it--about how I'll put it on my iPod as soon as I get one, and how if my life had a soundtrack, this would make the cut.
Somewhere down the line, I thought about the album it was on (Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness) and the year it came out--1995. Then I think about 1995, and you'd think seventh or eighth grade would pop up, right? Not for Airen, it doesn't! Of all things, I think: Oh, 1995...by that time Jaycee Dugard was 15, had been held captive for four years, and had a one-year-old daughter by a man who made her barter for a $200 cat...which is how she got pregnant...*
After this, I began to think of that whole story, and how it must feel to be 14 and give birth under medieval conditions because you have no choice. Then I began to think of other things related. And on and on...
[I'm obsessed by that story, I know. But who wouldn't be? Think about it--here is someone who had her whole life taken from her by some sicko and his wife (who's either in serious denial or as sick as her husband is), and at 31, she has two teenage daughters to raise, and she has to play catch-up with the rest of the world because of them (the sickos)! It's enough to make one explode! Literally! KABOOM!!!]
Why am I bringing this up, and at this hour? First of all, because I'm hyped up on caffeine, and secondly, this sort of thing happens all the time--I'm at work, or walking around campus between classes, or just sitting at home, and obsessive things just bubble up--and it could be anything--from the whole Jaycee story to God and religion, to (especially lately) the abortion debate, to human trafficking (another depressing favorite), to what I watched on television the other night about whatever or whoever. Nothing's off limits. My mind doesn't shut up.
Being cerebral seems to be one of my stronger traits. And I don't think it's necessarily a problem--so long as you don't run a marathon with it...which I do all the time. Yes, I admit--I think way too much, about way too much.
I guess in defense of that, all I can say is that I'm a sensitive person, and I tend to put too much emotion into things, and there's a whole lot that bothers me. There's a whole lot about "out there" that I can't stand. And I get frustrated that I can't just talk to someone about it without boiling over about it. Furthermore, it upsets me that I can't do anything about it...at least not alone.
Sometimes I wonder what that says about me...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
*This is my personal theory behind her elder daughter's conception. My reason comes from an article I had read on CNN's website about a journal she kept during her captivity (and I'm surprised she was even allowed to keep a journal). In an entry she wrote when she was 13, she talked about how the Garridos went out and bought her a cat for $200. And whaddya know--that same year, she got pregnant. I don't know about you, but I'm putting two and two together here. Think about it--why would "Phil and Nancy" make it a point to tell her that the cat cost $200 if it was just a gift? Why would they tell her that if they didn't want something in return for it?...
This kind of became my theme for the entire sort because of the crazy sort we were having--everything was delayed because of the tornado warning, which pushed the sort back by a full hour, so we had to work overtime.
I thought it was awesome. Lately I've had to stagger in to work because of attendance issues (my first semester at U of L has been getting to me), meaning my checks will be pretty short for a while; the overtime will give me a little extra money next week. Don't get me wrong--there's nothing good about a tornado ripping through the city. That's terrible. But I still saw the resulting overtime as a blessing. I had been praying for overtime because I knew my checks would be short, and I guess in a strange way, it was answered.
Anyway, I digress...
I kept playing the song over and over all night, and I thought about it--about how I'll put it on my iPod as soon as I get one, and how if my life had a soundtrack, this would make the cut.
Somewhere down the line, I thought about the album it was on (Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness) and the year it came out--1995. Then I think about 1995, and you'd think seventh or eighth grade would pop up, right? Not for Airen, it doesn't! Of all things, I think: Oh, 1995...by that time Jaycee Dugard was 15, had been held captive for four years, and had a one-year-old daughter by a man who made her barter for a $200 cat...which is how she got pregnant...*
After this, I began to think of that whole story, and how it must feel to be 14 and give birth under medieval conditions because you have no choice. Then I began to think of other things related. And on and on...
[I'm obsessed by that story, I know. But who wouldn't be? Think about it--here is someone who had her whole life taken from her by some sicko and his wife (who's either in serious denial or as sick as her husband is), and at 31, she has two teenage daughters to raise, and she has to play catch-up with the rest of the world because of them (the sickos)! It's enough to make one explode! Literally! KABOOM!!!]
Why am I bringing this up, and at this hour? First of all, because I'm hyped up on caffeine, and secondly, this sort of thing happens all the time--I'm at work, or walking around campus between classes, or just sitting at home, and obsessive things just bubble up--and it could be anything--from the whole Jaycee story to God and religion, to (especially lately) the abortion debate, to human trafficking (another depressing favorite), to what I watched on television the other night about whatever or whoever. Nothing's off limits. My mind doesn't shut up.
Being cerebral seems to be one of my stronger traits. And I don't think it's necessarily a problem--so long as you don't run a marathon with it...which I do all the time. Yes, I admit--I think way too much, about way too much.
I guess in defense of that, all I can say is that I'm a sensitive person, and I tend to put too much emotion into things, and there's a whole lot that bothers me. There's a whole lot about "out there" that I can't stand. And I get frustrated that I can't just talk to someone about it without boiling over about it. Furthermore, it upsets me that I can't do anything about it...at least not alone.
Sometimes I wonder what that says about me...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
*This is my personal theory behind her elder daughter's conception. My reason comes from an article I had read on CNN's website about a journal she kept during her captivity (and I'm surprised she was even allowed to keep a journal). In an entry she wrote when she was 13, she talked about how the Garridos went out and bought her a cat for $200. And whaddya know--that same year, she got pregnant. I don't know about you, but I'm putting two and two together here. Think about it--why would "Phil and Nancy" make it a point to tell her that the cat cost $200 if it was just a gift? Why would they tell her that if they didn't want something in return for it?...
Friday, March 18, 2011
Heart on lockdown?...
I've claimed this status before and it didn't work out.
Well I'm through with a certain "human bean" after three years--I'm forcing myself this time. He made me mad. If my heart goes "on lockdown," so to speak, then he's the straw that broke the camel's back.
Mr. Blue Eyes is 30 going on 21--and he likes to give cold shoulders and silent treatments. Then when you ask him about it, he likes to pretend he doesn't know what you talking about. He's as manipulative as a woman. He makes me sick.
I'd be lying if I didn't feel terrible about this--if I wasn't still in love with the guy in some vague shape or form (who can resist those eyes?), but because I don't want to end up with a soft skull from beating it against the wall (and because my family might plan an intervention if it gets worse, LOL), I'm going to force myself to keep from talking to this jerk.
May God bless him, and may he find what he's looking for (although I don't give a shit since it ain't me), but keep in mind that karma goes six billion ways, and it shall come his way as well as mine, and he shall experience unrequited love like mine, and while he won't remember the so-called "crazy fat black bitch in my video class" (which I'm sure is what he meant when he told me I was "awesome"), he shall, like her, feel the full force of the sadness that comes with being tortured with deafening silence. I won't witness it, but I know the day will come. I was wrong, yes. But so was he, and we all know it, people.
Am I shutting out all others on his behalf? Well that depends--on both of us. I know I'll keep my mouth shut (or else I'll smack it!). But could he still be so cruel as parade a mock girlfriend around me--or worse, walk around with a pregnant female friend and pretend the baby's his? I don't completely put anything past him. If he hates me enough he'll do anything, I'm certain. At this point I honestly think he'd do something like sic a girlfriend on me or try to provoke me into saying something inappropriate. I think he would.
Perhaps that last line was a tad extreme. But like I said, if you dislike someone strongly enough...
Well I'm through with a certain "human bean" after three years--I'm forcing myself this time. He made me mad. If my heart goes "on lockdown," so to speak, then he's the straw that broke the camel's back.
Mr. Blue Eyes is 30 going on 21--and he likes to give cold shoulders and silent treatments. Then when you ask him about it, he likes to pretend he doesn't know what you talking about. He's as manipulative as a woman. He makes me sick.
I'd be lying if I didn't feel terrible about this--if I wasn't still in love with the guy in some vague shape or form (who can resist those eyes?), but because I don't want to end up with a soft skull from beating it against the wall (and because my family might plan an intervention if it gets worse, LOL), I'm going to force myself to keep from talking to this jerk.
May God bless him, and may he find what he's looking for (although I don't give a shit since it ain't me), but keep in mind that karma goes six billion ways, and it shall come his way as well as mine, and he shall experience unrequited love like mine, and while he won't remember the so-called "crazy fat black bitch in my video class" (which I'm sure is what he meant when he told me I was "awesome"), he shall, like her, feel the full force of the sadness that comes with being tortured with deafening silence. I won't witness it, but I know the day will come. I was wrong, yes. But so was he, and we all know it, people.
Am I shutting out all others on his behalf? Well that depends--on both of us. I know I'll keep my mouth shut (or else I'll smack it!). But could he still be so cruel as parade a mock girlfriend around me--or worse, walk around with a pregnant female friend and pretend the baby's his? I don't completely put anything past him. If he hates me enough he'll do anything, I'm certain. At this point I honestly think he'd do something like sic a girlfriend on me or try to provoke me into saying something inappropriate. I think he would.
Perhaps that last line was a tad extreme. But like I said, if you dislike someone strongly enough...
Monday, February 21, 2011
So I guess I'm on this poetry kick...
...And now I'm writing poems at random for some damn reason...LOL. I guess it's because I'm studying poetry in English class and suddenly got inspired?...
It's okay though. It's kind of therapeutic to me. And it gives me a chance to use my writing talents when I can't think of a story or how to continue with a book. Who knows?--maybe it will help me with my book. (I am still working on it but lately I've been sidetracked by, um...things. So it's coming to me, just not on paper.)
It's funny, too, because up to now, I had always thought my poetry sucked. I could never figure out how to structure it--I figured there was a certain way a poem had to look. After actually reading some poetry--and liking it!--I'm realizing that there's really no definite way to write a poem. You just write it! I always believed that poetry comes from the heart...and it would stand to reason that the way it's written should come from that same place. :)
To date I've written six poems, in different styles. Two of these may become part of an invisioned (not quite planned, lest this all be just a phase) series.
I do have a few poems I would like to share with everyone here. The others--and anything that follows--will be published momentarily, once I've created a new blog for all my poetry.
The first is about a recent newsmaker; the second is about a love interest (if you'd dare call it that; I have my reasons for calling it that); and the third is about a fear I've had for years.
Just so we're clear, much of the first poem is based mainly on what I've heard from the news and on my own personal speculation.
By the way, these are not definites, so if you have any suggestions or how I could make these better, please let me know...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Persephone and Hades
I pick flowers one morning in my valley
As I walk on to begin another day.
I have never known any pain,
Under the umbrella of my mother’s love.
Diem perdidi! My days are lost
To rusted metal and screeching wheels;
I shall never know the world again
For I have left my dear Olympus.
You have dragged me far below the Earth
And locked me away with your dead;
You have retaught me the concept of love,
And built for me a dungeon of sheets.
Three years pass; I know the cost of a cat
And in exchange I pay with pain—
Three-fourths of the year, incapacitated!
My days of youth and joy have now died.
Four more years—the brooding season returns.
My belly swells again from you.
By now I beg to be free—
But alas, slapped silent! So I write it down.
You keep me “home,” feeding me books
And a pantry of sour arils;
I again see light, two-thirds of the year,
But all is not the same.
You claim yourself divinity
And tell me to worship sex;
My girls have become your altar boys
And I, your temple prostitute.
Has the cold heart of Hades become aflame?
Have you finally seen the face of God?
You have now shed your devilish mask
And released me from your shadows.
For eighteen years I forgot the Sun
But in her place found two brilliant lights;
They shall shine on and join the stars
In my long-lost Olympian sky.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Le Garçon
Those eyes, those soulful eyes!
Their illumination beckons.
They seduce me, pulling me in your direction
With their silent, sultry song,
Clouding my thoughts, haunting my dreams,
Caressing the essence of my very soul.
Your face, your rich dark hair, your swagger,
Even your tattered hippie clothes—
Everything about you makes my heart dance.
I see your personality; I hear your voice.
These things make me quiver.
For a moment, you become a god.
How I long to be your goddess,
That we may build a temple together.
But you consort with your maidens,
And you drink your wine,
And you fool around in your lightning clouds
And you leave me to die among the accursed mortals!
Your silence is a deafening torture;
My ears have bled three years nonstop.
Around you, all I hear is dust.
I blame myself, for loving you.
All I ever did was love you.
Perhaps I stifled your air?...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Apiphobia
Every summer, the trees have thorns.
The grass and flowers and bushes have thorns.
The brick-wall buildings, the warm concrete,
That mud puddle by the construction site—
All these things have thorns.
A bottle of soda left out to bake
May have a thorn or two.
I think I’ve even seen a few
Protruding from a chicken bone
Peeking out of a garbage can.
A thorn here, a thorn there.
Thousands of them float around in the air!
On the window, on the wall—
There’s even thorns inside.
I’ve got nowhere to hide!
Every place is a potential prick;
Even the soft clouds above have thorns.
Even the invisible stars of day!
Everything, everyone, everywhere—
All I see are thorns.
It's okay though. It's kind of therapeutic to me. And it gives me a chance to use my writing talents when I can't think of a story or how to continue with a book. Who knows?--maybe it will help me with my book. (I am still working on it but lately I've been sidetracked by, um...things. So it's coming to me, just not on paper.)
It's funny, too, because up to now, I had always thought my poetry sucked. I could never figure out how to structure it--I figured there was a certain way a poem had to look. After actually reading some poetry--and liking it!--I'm realizing that there's really no definite way to write a poem. You just write it! I always believed that poetry comes from the heart...and it would stand to reason that the way it's written should come from that same place. :)
To date I've written six poems, in different styles. Two of these may become part of an invisioned (not quite planned, lest this all be just a phase) series.
I do have a few poems I would like to share with everyone here. The others--and anything that follows--will be published momentarily, once I've created a new blog for all my poetry.
The first is about a recent newsmaker; the second is about a love interest (if you'd dare call it that; I have my reasons for calling it that); and the third is about a fear I've had for years.
Just so we're clear, much of the first poem is based mainly on what I've heard from the news and on my own personal speculation.
By the way, these are not definites, so if you have any suggestions or how I could make these better, please let me know...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Persephone and Hades
I pick flowers one morning in my valley
As I walk on to begin another day.
I have never known any pain,
Under the umbrella of my mother’s love.
Diem perdidi! My days are lost
To rusted metal and screeching wheels;
I shall never know the world again
For I have left my dear Olympus.
You have dragged me far below the Earth
And locked me away with your dead;
You have retaught me the concept of love,
And built for me a dungeon of sheets.
Three years pass; I know the cost of a cat
And in exchange I pay with pain—
Three-fourths of the year, incapacitated!
My days of youth and joy have now died.
Four more years—the brooding season returns.
My belly swells again from you.
By now I beg to be free—
But alas, slapped silent! So I write it down.
You keep me “home,” feeding me books
And a pantry of sour arils;
I again see light, two-thirds of the year,
But all is not the same.
You claim yourself divinity
And tell me to worship sex;
My girls have become your altar boys
And I, your temple prostitute.
Has the cold heart of Hades become aflame?
Have you finally seen the face of God?
You have now shed your devilish mask
And released me from your shadows.
For eighteen years I forgot the Sun
But in her place found two brilliant lights;
They shall shine on and join the stars
In my long-lost Olympian sky.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Le Garçon
Those eyes, those soulful eyes!
Their illumination beckons.
They seduce me, pulling me in your direction
With their silent, sultry song,
Clouding my thoughts, haunting my dreams,
Caressing the essence of my very soul.
Your face, your rich dark hair, your swagger,
Even your tattered hippie clothes—
Everything about you makes my heart dance.
I see your personality; I hear your voice.
These things make me quiver.
For a moment, you become a god.
How I long to be your goddess,
That we may build a temple together.
But you consort with your maidens,
And you drink your wine,
And you fool around in your lightning clouds
And you leave me to die among the accursed mortals!
Your silence is a deafening torture;
My ears have bled three years nonstop.
Around you, all I hear is dust.
I blame myself, for loving you.
All I ever did was love you.
Perhaps I stifled your air?...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Apiphobia
Every summer, the trees have thorns.
The grass and flowers and bushes have thorns.
The brick-wall buildings, the warm concrete,
That mud puddle by the construction site—
All these things have thorns.
A bottle of soda left out to bake
May have a thorn or two.
I think I’ve even seen a few
Protruding from a chicken bone
Peeking out of a garbage can.
A thorn here, a thorn there.
Thousands of them float around in the air!
On the window, on the wall—
There’s even thorns inside.
I’ve got nowhere to hide!
Every place is a potential prick;
Even the soft clouds above have thorns.
Even the invisible stars of day!
Everything, everyone, everywhere—
All I see are thorns.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
So what are my resolutions?...
Yes, my resolutions.
I don't make any in January, like most people. I'd rather wait until my birthday. That's when my new year starts.
Usually I try to go a little deeper with mine--I steer clear of things like weight loss and finding love. Too many people resolve to do those things, plus for me, resolutions like that seem to be too on-the-surface and are often broken in a short period of time. I always try to make mine a bit more spiritual, more emotional, more personal. And I tend to base them on past mistakes I've made.
My resolutions from last year included being more open and honest (mainly with myself) about my feelings; accepting every aspect of myself, good and bad; not imposing on others; and seeing things from a brighter perspective. As I had pointed out in an earlier post (I believe it was this past summer or fall), I haven't exactly kept all my resolutions. For instance, I didn't look at the bright side of everything, and a lot of times I wasn't all that loving--in fact I was very sensitive and judgmental (e.g., Alicia, Swizz, Mashonda). Also I let emotion govern much of my thinking, which has always been a major shortcoming of mine.
I do plan on carrying at least some of these resolutions into this year. I don't know yet how many I'll have this year, but I still want to go along the same lines as the past couple of years, and I want to make them more practical--for example, I know I need to manage my time better, so I can add that to the list.
I usually have my resolutions typed up and ready to go by my birthday, but this year I'm behind, mainly because of being stressed about classes, in addition to work and errands. (This may be where time management comes in.) I'm hoping that I can have something before next week.
I also made a list of things I want to accomplish or experience before I turn 30--maybe this way, I'll really have something to do this year. Some stuff will be just...stuff. Others will be more personal, and very private. And I want some of these to serve a deeper purpose, too. Hopefully this will help me to actually live, not just exist as a functional being.
(Of course, I'm always open to ideas, so if anyone has some...)
Like anyone, I'm always looking to be better than before. And as long as I do what I'm supposed to do and actually follow through with these goals I've set, I'll make it. I don't expect to keep each and every resolution--that's part of the learning process. But I can keep pushing myself...and this year I want to push harder.
I don't make any in January, like most people. I'd rather wait until my birthday. That's when my new year starts.
Usually I try to go a little deeper with mine--I steer clear of things like weight loss and finding love. Too many people resolve to do those things, plus for me, resolutions like that seem to be too on-the-surface and are often broken in a short period of time. I always try to make mine a bit more spiritual, more emotional, more personal. And I tend to base them on past mistakes I've made.
My resolutions from last year included being more open and honest (mainly with myself) about my feelings; accepting every aspect of myself, good and bad; not imposing on others; and seeing things from a brighter perspective. As I had pointed out in an earlier post (I believe it was this past summer or fall), I haven't exactly kept all my resolutions. For instance, I didn't look at the bright side of everything, and a lot of times I wasn't all that loving--in fact I was very sensitive and judgmental (e.g., Alicia, Swizz, Mashonda). Also I let emotion govern much of my thinking, which has always been a major shortcoming of mine.
I do plan on carrying at least some of these resolutions into this year. I don't know yet how many I'll have this year, but I still want to go along the same lines as the past couple of years, and I want to make them more practical--for example, I know I need to manage my time better, so I can add that to the list.
I usually have my resolutions typed up and ready to go by my birthday, but this year I'm behind, mainly because of being stressed about classes, in addition to work and errands. (This may be where time management comes in.) I'm hoping that I can have something before next week.
I also made a list of things I want to accomplish or experience before I turn 30--maybe this way, I'll really have something to do this year. Some stuff will be just...stuff. Others will be more personal, and very private. And I want some of these to serve a deeper purpose, too. Hopefully this will help me to actually live, not just exist as a functional being.
(Of course, I'm always open to ideas, so if anyone has some...)
Like anyone, I'm always looking to be better than before. And as long as I do what I'm supposed to do and actually follow through with these goals I've set, I'll make it. I don't expect to keep each and every resolution--that's part of the learning process. But I can keep pushing myself...and this year I want to push harder.
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