if you’ve been wondering why i’ve been a little scarce lately, have been working on building a website. it is almost finished, just needs a few more things.
but have set up a blog for the pastor and the church, and wanted to share that and she is new to blogging and if you could be supportive, would be really great!
thanks so much ….
will reblog her first blog here, and hope you visit.
on the page i designed, used a black-and-white motif with banner photos in black and white to blend well with the Methodist red. so tones of grey and red. added some stylized grey brick accent. sort of proud that i was able to do some of the more complex coding for the embed projects.
can click on the picture to go to the site.
and the church blog is at: http://centenaryunitedmethodist.wordpress.com
visit and follow …. show some support. thanks so much.
is that to be tested
is to be mapped
creating custom built cage
the hell of always manipulated
puppets and strings come to mind
the thought of how many
how many purposes
as we dance the chessboard
when fear grips my gut
it is over this:
of not really free
no, not at all
when i get up in the night
silence so strong
that even thoughts hush
the electric net of migraine
turning me inside out
that ending hits me;
no elated win or ride
but to be caught
pinned by someone
something that hates
that wants to see suffering
that wanted to work its evil
like a solar wind
sometimes the apex is closer
so i struggle not to panic
that i am not here for a reason
none of us are
happenstance and guile;
– i remember lighter days
and don’t regret the path of kings
a spiral wants to tell you a million things about me
caught by whispers of days gone by
talk and envy
so spread dreams on the table…
me, me! the thought that some
might understand brings weariness to tears
didn’t want friendship or love
just a little decency minus the hate
doesn’t matter anymore
on this downhill slope
can’t be hurt by barbs
thee and me
sail the sea
there are better things to do
and i’m better for it
laugh way deep inside
when my mind tastes inescapable wit
hang me true
the break of day
part of how
the stars can leave
divided by a tense
and knowing galaxy
in purpose few
the sun will rise
to kiss the morning dew
and some will see
some will hold the course
while you and me
fly into less, and worse
bring me joy
such happiness abounds
for all is more than touch
derived through sound
i’ll greet the day
stomach every slight
for stardust caged
and broken through the night
so my children finally
for the first time since she was a baby
want them to be there for each other
family is important
it’s not that i don’t understand
the fear of me
but that’s ok
you pay with distance
that way any crazy passed on has to be
and i’m betting it’s not
only as far as smart can drive you nuts
when rest of the world is slow
to see the differences
take the time to listen to
the birds and the wind
the taste of days as you
pray they find their own peace
pray that you yourself can stand
the posture of alone
the dying breed
the part of yourself
that you didn’t pass along
is it a kiss to the wind?
yes and no
more like a sigh
that will never leave
more like holding every thought inward
on a tested smile
what faith is built
on nothing less
than man’s desire for righteousness?
there is no honor in design
if not embraced with truth, divine.
i have been down a time or two,
and found my paths far and few;
never was i less afraid
than when i waited one more day.
and took all hope,
all love inspired–
walked the disappearing wire:
for every silence ever heard,
for every dream that waxed absurd!
for every drop to worried knees,
for every each and one of these…
to give your all is what you must,
find such strength from dawn ’til dusk.
within whatever shades of stone
a heart is hardy –finds rock homes;
my faith is nothing less
than worn refrains
with hopes confessed
to each and every day, worlds move
in every little way–
every complex play …
the next improves.
don’t ask me why i settled here,
but time that flies build moments lost to fear;
and when the skies are cold and forever clear
–the heart will beat a harder, naked beat.
the mind will find its distance
and the soul will find its feet
ever and anon,
ever that goes wrong;
full right completes.
paths are paths
and road is not a purpose, this is true,
but as i wait to welcome you,
will find the answers dusty on a shelf
…right where they were.
what is the limit?
the down and the depths–
they can go so low …
you wonder extensions,
night is not far;
grip of icy teeth
on a heart too lost.
so very lost,
though sun never sets
a dime a dozen,
i was brought into this world.
will leave … carved,
brought to be
only because survival held;
and you cared.
new Croxxed episode ……….yesterday was feeling sick and didn’t get one made. oops! in the future might do reruns on a bad day. i seriously woke up thinking yesterday was Wednesday, and that i was missing a meeting at church. then after deciding i felt too bad to go to the meeting, realized it was Thursday anyway. that’s the kind of week i’m having …
thing about being online, and seeing others post their lives to places like facebook — suddenly being obviously insecure is not a bad thing. or rather, you realize have lots of company.
like the young mother, who puts up pictures of her children narrated by a childlike voice of incomprehension. as if the photos are a way to prove that these kids are real. motherhood can be painful, and many of us go through it half out of it or not there. granted much of that is due to a lack of sleep.
there are the aging bachelors, either once married or not. doing everything they can to appear cool, while not wanting to admit that being online too much and having no life is supremely UN-cool.
there are those of us who are analysts. being online is like a superb voyeurism of the mind, and we study reactions which then create a type of statistic regarding human traits. then depending on how those numbers flow, one can decide on either having a happy or a sad cyber-week.
it helps in life to believe those around you are doing ok.
there are the infrequent online visitors, who are demonstrating that they now have found nothing else to do. sort of like soul-sucking, they don’t show up when they are in a good mood.
and you know, i love them all. all the weirdos of these online communities. we talk with our hearts, more or less. and there’s nowhere to hide behind a pixel. you kind of are what you are.
it’s a good place for me because i don’t think fast — i think thorough. so i have time to decide on wording, that you don’t get in “real life.” and you don’t have to notice the ones talking over your head or purposely excluding you from a conversation. you don’t have to pretend you are not being hurt by the very obvious slights. we like to say “children are cruel” but people are people and they are CRUEL. not sure why. or maybe there is a particular joy in being mean to ME.
haven’t quite figured it out yet. if i do, will let you know. in the meantime — i like it here. kinda feels like home.
am giving Croxxed its own blog-site. can visit it here:
please feel free to sign up for the email delivery. will be creating new posts for morning view, Tuesday thru Friday.
had to take the digital pen out for a spin ….
from where you are
where you want to be
dreams laid flat
upon reasoned increment
don’t confuse with the details
floating above every comparison
and removed …steps are often taken
boundaries a thing of torture
torture a thing of desire
beyond every known and unknown
we sharpen lines
that take us home
hung some old paintings a little differently…. looks really nice in the space. wish i had thought of doing this with them sooner. back hurting a bit tonight, sorting through storage items and trying to reduce my pile of unpacked boxes.
still congested and coughing some, but at least feel better today. always helps when a storm finally rains, something about the change in the atmosphere. i sleep better…. like they say:
the old man is snoring
bumped his head
on the foot of the bed
and couldn’t get up in the morning…
never thought i’d be the ‘old man ‘…. and now am thinking if it’s commentary on 69 ‘s! lol! terrible.
i guess part of me has decided to hang some paintings and actually move in to the new place. still feel like i’m lacking confidence, and worried about getting too settled anywhere now. but sometimes you roll the dice…. try to see things in a new light. might not be able to teach a dog new tricks, but we live and learn…. because tricks are for kids! haha….. maybe i’ve had too much cold medicine : )
i’ll tell you what love did for me;
it taught me that others don’t see me
as i see myself…
it taught me that i am weak, that
wanting to be loved is much different
than hoping for passion. love showed
me that being stupid was not an excuse
for longing, that time will swallow us all.
love gave me an acceptance of others that
they never deserved, had me smile graciously
for every knife that found its mark in my back.
love was something often given, and seldom returned;
taking advantage of kindness–so i become a beggar
at the door, starved for the smallest drams of affection.
love gave me no shield, no place to carry my pride;
wanting only a body, men consistently shallow. love
was my mirage, covering the reality that i was nothing more
than another woman to use.
love fed me false hope, and i fed it a million tears.
you want to know what love did for me? it created a
blur of memory, stamped scenes as necessary. love
told me i was better off hoping for compassion, rather than
fashioning a bolder awareness of self.
have i been in love? eh. god knows i gave everything,
everything! the most men gave me
are two children… and reason to think twice;
love was what i wanted–now i don’t know.
something about being young and foolish…
it needs the young part,
while age can only court being wise.
you know you stand tall
and you keep standing! doesn’t
take a genius
to hold every fort…
and forget the worst of it.
you don’t fall again, because the
heart is attached to living.
been trying to think, because we used to not be so fragile. i remember playing with click clacks and no one had a problem with them. even my little sister could work them … was not a big deal. but then something happened.
within just 1/2 a generation, about 7 years — there came upon our society this huge protective attitude. instead of cement, rubber mats were placed under outdoor play equipment. do you remember when it was normal for a kid to break at least one bone growing up? i always felt like there was something wrong with me, since i didn’t break a single bone.
so what changed? what happened to “if you hit yourself with that it’s your own darn fault!” how did it become, “children should not be allowed to play with click clacks!” why was the last of the baby-boomer generation allowed to do just about anything they wanted, short of killing themselves. but after that– we have a protective thing going that is laughable?
never wore a helmet riding bikes — and it didn’t matter. the few times i took a spill, knew enough to not go down head-first. lol…. after nearly drowning a time or two, you learned to stay out of the deep end of the pool. cuts and scrapes got plenty of bactine, and stubbed toes were part of growing up. highchairs didn’t have straps, and riding in a car was not like prepping for the Indie 500. parents didn’t belt kids in more, they taught them how to duck and roll.
so what happened? medical insurance, lawsuits … the tango these two played like a giant milking machine on the American public? something like that. i was wondering about the whole dr. spock thing but read one article placing everything from STD’s to high crime rates at the door of that book, and seemed so ridiculous that didn’t even want to go there.
and seems it is not so much “protecting” children as it is dumbing them down. or assuming kids are more breakable, assuming they are stupid enough to hurt themselves with a pair of click clacks. but did the kids themselves become dumber? and we have the question of TV, and what part does that play? is there/was there more of a trance-like effect that left children less aware and more likely to hurt themselves?
eh …. part of the survival of any organism is to maintain a certain level of reactive-state. and what’s with the kids and this high-pitched screaming you hear everywhere? i don’t remember that at all in the past. but everywhere you go now, and it’s not because they are hurt or anything else, is just this giant scream for the sole purpose of seeing how loud they can be. and it’s mostly girls i see doing this. not many boys. that one has me puzzled.
so i guess the main question is, how did the kids of our country become too stupid for click clacks? what sort of turn in the road created these huge differences in such a short time? it’s not like cars hadn’t been around for decades. it’s not like bicycles hadn’t been around for even longer. it’s not like nutrition is that much worse — in many ways it’s much better.
don’t think i’m going to find an answer, short of a conspiracy theory. such as stating that our drinking water is spiked with a drug that makes the populace more compliant, but more likely to hurt themselves. kinda sad when the crazy approach is the most logical explanation. lol ….
the whole over-protection and paranoia is like a one-way shunt that has no way out. just deeper and deeper into seeing life as this extremely fragile thing. and the ironic thing is that the higher income brackets are going to see more of that, while the lower income is closer to normal childhoods. but the higher income gets the better nutrition, while the lower is hooked on soda pop and ding dongs.
and while we have courts and lawsuits, there is not much of a chance for returning to the good ol’ days. the generations to come are stuck in this guarded childhood that places no responsibility on the child for protecting themselves. i think it panics those of us who were not raised that way, because we see it as getting entire populations of ninnies. wimps. people afraid of their own shadow. brave isn’t valued anymore. it’s seen as a problematic social trait.
i’m not sure what that does in the long run. because now we have thrill seekers and bucket lists. adults trying to re-capture a childhood. when maybe all they needed was a pair of click-clacks? that and a good book to read when the day is through.
mister can you spare a dime?
to spare a penny in a pig,
the storage of the nuts
away … away!
they find us keyed
for every lock that
spares the seed.
and when the day is done,
hard work then gathered
sun to sun,
a treasure might still find you home.
waiting for a life, begun,
let anger throw the pig a bone;
break the pork upon your knee,
all for coins to set them free.
then scattered on the winds of trade,
worried futures spin their days.
i’ll mark the smiles waiting there;
a child’s surprise–
for hers was whole upon her death,
mine left me emptied, pained
in solid state as loss was gained,
for banks can only mock the grind …
hey mister, do you have a dime?
i didn’t believe in the evil of man.
how i grew up–
evil was like the loch ness monster,
like big foot,
like getting rich
because you wished on a star
… it didn’t exist.
if a person was bad they felt bad about
if they did something to hurt someone else, it
was a mistake or sign of desperation.
then i was alone with a wall for company,
realities hitting my head like gigantic bumble bees.
if my soul had knees, i fell to them — sight opened
on how deeply the human mind can hate; on how far
into evil designs will play.
then the begging God continually for forgiveness made sense,
the hope to not be dealt the same cards
you yourself were handing out left and right.
part of me died that day — staring at the wall;
considering notes and points of evil. part of me
realized that when worst fears come true, there is
another waiting. i saw every reality at once,
knew that if man discovered eternity in life
– he would use that to eternally
harm another man. another human. but it was
the groups of many
focused on pinching the few or the one.
i saw the real applications of medicine and i feared for myself for the first time.
evil became less of a question in my mind, but a deepening fact. when
you see that done to yourself, an eternity of
pain simply because hope left redemption fighting
a little harder …
it’s like staring at forever in a changing portrait of evil, expanding
despair to each extent of
understanding. there becomes a natural downturn to your mouth,
a hardness. it is a secret within,
where everything once was open; a consideration
that is only as wide as your own struggling intellect, a secret never shared.
never passed along. everyone will guess what is behind
your eyes, but no one will find your vision.
because you know evil.
man only dreams of heaven because he created hell.
i am so sick … is a wonder. only someone of my durable construction could survive this degree of coughing. i’m sure if there were geese nearby, they would rise in fright at the sound.
and not a dry cough, no. after 3 days of coughing AND sneezing, am back to just coughing. should take cough medicine, but failed to pick some up. though pretty sure it doesn’t work on whatever THIS is. all that new-fangled fight-mucus stuff? nothing, might as well be chewing tic tacs.
so i’m somehow managing to still do dishes and clean the fish tank. if can get laundry done to day, that will be the miracle of miracles. necessity is the mother of more necessity. (how it works when a woman’s work is never done).
wanted to do a ‘think’ piece last night on the subject of playing the victim. seems a convenient role i fall in and out of at will. at any given time, my life carries various degrees of victim-comfort. that excuse of all excuses … where the blame rests so completely on others that you yourself are almost nowhere in the picture.
now, after the degree of therapy i’ve been subjected-to in my life (see the victim pattern?) ……. it’s a wonder that i don’t blame more for the travesty that is ME> mitochondrial energy. the development of matter into action — or what matters should have a beat and rhythm you can move-to.
silliness aside, it really is amazing how full and deeply we depend on the victim-complex. every strong political rally-point is based on SHARING a victim viewpoint or common persecutor. “these aliens are taking your jobs” “you will pay more taxes” “you are an awful American who creates war and kills babies” ……… so the perception is we are hated, penniless, and without opportunity — all at no fault of the main character in this play: yourself.
driving any populace deeper into victim perceptions is a well-played psychological strategy. would be a fool to say that it’s not. for one thing, the greater points of awareness upon the part of the tool, creates an elevated sense of ego – in balance to the ever-increasing list of others to blame. keep in mind, i am describing this from the inside. because if anybody ever used victim-perception to make life a little smoother– IT WAS ME!
the thing about the brief moments that one recognized the fallacy of a constant projection of oneself as victim …. is that it frees possibility and movement. you pull in all those tentacles of established perceptual construct, and all of a sudden you are mobile! each decision, each action need only fit necessity to itself, not so much as groove with every consistently persecuted theme.
in so many ways, the status of victim-building is what draws one friend to another. similarities of perceptions, in off-putting blame. and if we off-put THAT blame, could consider how child-hood prepares us for dodging the blame-bullet. there is something about not wanting to get in trouble. about “whatever you do, don’t get the big person angry.”
then those degrees of engendered fear create the depth to the stepping stones of the pyramid you later build, for how deeply one should be the victim. or maybe it’s more like the steps into the hole that become home for every rooted degree of persecution.
mostly, it becomes this sort of training-weight that you can drop. decide that for now, you are not a victim; that you are in charge of your own fate and what falls to you today is something you made and did yourself. depending on the nature of inner justice, that could lighten your burden or make it heavier. guilt is a very strange thing.
(and this is where “let go and let God” comes in — dropping the determination viewpoint for maintaining the assignment of victim-perceptual grounding points.)
i think so many of us carry measures of guilt for not being good enough. the whole working to please that parental influence. it’s why we all cringe, when presented with the ten year old who is finishing up his senior year in college. where is the childhood? at least we had a childhood.
the balance of freedom and rebellion to the ever-present call of a role, a position, a part you are supposed to play. only to fulfill the bigger dreams of bigger men? probably. very often we don’t do what is best for our own inner world and own inner peace. life becomes a series of tests … a matter of always preparing for the worst and always looking outward.
always looking for those places to tie the blame, so that the inside can mold and shape its type of victim. sad thing is, those shapes might be familiar and comforting to others. they know where you are coming-from. the similarity is testament to the ‘rightness’ of ones own oddly-growing store of righteous indignation.
so in conclusion, i don’t really think it is possible to stop seeing oneself as a victim. you can describe the trap all you want, won’t make you less stuck-in-it. but if just for a few seconds, can envision life without running under the weight of assigned blame ……………. it’s a nice alteration.
to remember that the individual has so much potential for self-instruction. you have to tailor life to fit you. if you nip and tuck yourself to fit into a life — 9 times out of 10 it’s going to be one that revolves on always being the victim.
“why me?” yep. the moping head. the kicking of a can. move every happiness down the road a bit. make sure persecution is in plain view, so others know of your handicap.
have you ever worked with a handicap in bowling? it’s an odd feeling … like the potential for improvement is reduced. never felt like my score was elevated. more like i was out of the game altogether.
for the effort of the trees;
winds giving what they will,
mountains stare in mute authority.
my shadow a timid reflection
of winter sun
no more….no more!
only give so much of yourself
shutting every door.
well-rounded justification finds its familiar spot,
somewhere between countless graves
on the edge of nowhere, i
for what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger….
these different roads;
these many times i see her always as she was — no longer afraid,
no longer a part of the remembering.
i might be able to go to church tomorrow
i don’t know, as much snot as is coming out of me today?
i’m out of soup, will have to go to the store
if you can go to the store, you can go to church
spread the love?
this is kind of a scary one
went right to the lungs
if i have to go to emergency
just to get anti-biotics
yea but not my fault the system is so screwed up
maybe gargle salt water?
i hate salt water
remember how used to dump half of it
straight in the toilet?
grandma pushed warm saltwater on us
seemed always had bronchitis
would admonish us to shut up and stop coughing
me and my little sister
you learn about control
i had a lot of reasons for loving life anyway
remember the beach?
soon as you had a car you grew fins
peddling the ocean
everybody hates the sand
you carry it home in
i am not a device
the sun shines
tomorrow it will not
you haven’t coughed for an hour now
how about that?
this is impossible
you never could get being sick down
for one thing i don’t ask for help
no it’s that you don’t want help
shall we sing a chorus of “all by myself?”
you know i hate staying in bed
need a more comfortable couch
a dining set, too
want more furniture to move?
maybe won’t have to for awhile
yea that’s what you thought the last time
well just stay in bed
watch reruns of game of thrones
i hate my life…
no not really…i just miss the beach
remember wanting more
sick is bad for anyone
i was never anyone
saw it all
saw them all
do you think things will work this time?
they already are….
god hates me
no, the world is run by the devil
does it matter?
i thought not
you see the pattern?
i’ve known it since i was 2 years old
she always disliked determination
yea but didn’t matter at the end
sometimes one reach is enough…
just don’t let go
she didn’t like dad
and saw all achievement in black and white
black and white dollar signs!
who was the teacher
who the student
she hated that i could hold more
that she did…
sick is the only time you call for your mom
gone so long, now
43 years is enough
part of me cries every day
yes, yes it does
the other part knows life goes on
kicking and screaming, but yea
one day into the next
you made a difference?
i am the difference
stand on the line that divides me from the other me
do you worry about them making your own writing as proof of insanity? that was funny so i buried them in words
like 2000 blogs now?
never played subtle
insanity is an absolute
i think opinion of me hit rock bottom awhile ago
no where to go but up?
we are blobs
that makes more sense
don’t give me another reason
she hated that i held more
she hated that you were not sad enough
i keep a different layer of ground over my sorrow
it erases everything
just can’t grow hatred
have to let it go right away
they don’t understand not hating something
they don’t understand a lot
too much brains
don’t tell me i can’t fly!
no that was sister
i eyeballed the roof, calculated odds
and pretended the 5 year old of me was afraid
so much pretend
….so very very much
what is real?
real is understanding craven to the ba-zillion depths
eyes on you?
sad was something portable
you don’t give up
giving up not an option
struggle means life holds
but she didn’t really like you….
it only hurts a little
i was there to heal her
once upon a time
they think the traps have snapped closed
yea because not even their formula
i know the minds
don’t talk much on the whole thing
let them walk away
they never understood how right you were
i kept it hidden
they don’t know
the one song playing over and over
drowning out all imperfections
tides of reality shifted
made into a different shape of sand and stone
they said he was a rock
then made rock and roll…
yes a clever one was here
but we beat it?
oh yes long ago
why do you think you paid
to the victor goes the ca-thunking
i was an angel once
oh saw that too
laughed so many times
they don’t know how many wrong moves
they made in the name of following intelligence
don’t know how far i calculated
every spurned existence
but for now you’re sick
it’s all there
let them fear
i only fixed the clock
i gave in because pity leaves me here
watching each delivered outcome
it has been brought full round
you have no idea
i was a conscript
you were a bleeding idiot
someone had to…
we only fixed the clock
well someone had to show
that ‘best’ does not apply
have been thinking about social interaction. on the big bang episode, where Sheldon is trying to make “new friends” — Lenard says, “take an interest in THEIR lives.” of course Sheldon answers, “that’s insane on the face of it.” but when you think about it, the process of making — and more importantly keeping friends — gets more complicated as we age.
so i was like, ok what makes me happy in responses and actions by others? and the biggest thing that came up, was being appreciated. no matter how that shows up. even with the click on a “like” button. there is something to having your work or effort acknowledged.
does the entire social world boil down to compliments? to an extent. we all know how too much in those areas only leads to any statement ringing hollow. like it’s more of a conditioning or mannerism on the part of the person being effusive with praise. when you think about it, though — finding a source of inspiration often springs forth from appreciation.
the applause. the hope to be pleasing to others. insecurity and all that manifests, within the need for inclusion and acceptance. yet within the path of the artist, the pursuit is often counter to a general acceptance. we want originality, a strum of the guitar or a stroke of the pen that is new or diverse.
if applause were the only goal, many of us know the paths. that is the sad truth. you don’t watch and observe without taking into account what works and what doesn’t. so then becomes a balance, between what is true for oneself in thought and deed, and what is considered acceptable by others. or to fine tune it — what becomes considered “exceptional” by others.
as time moves forward, those paths narrow. too many good writers. too many brave artists. it can be daunting … the first step to any project is to “see” it; to know you can do it. the wider the scope of your own appreciation, the farther away those possibilities lie. Penny says, “i don’t know, Sheldon — have you ever tried, you know — being pleasant?”
to be pleasant and pleasing. yet so often, stark reality is hardly pleasant. and to live to always please is no life. there is something beyond the trappings and roles we all fall into. reduced into places on the ladder of life, the clicks and different groups that determine the outlook each person has, even on themselves.
i have been a loner. many see themselves in a similar light. where dependency on the whole holds only disappointment, and some part of yourself finds more inner strengths to tackle life in a way that doesn’t cause a loss of dignity. as children, or even adults — the process involves an independence when it comes to occupying the mind. searching for understandings, the loner experiences many many others — not just the few that one might find in a single social situation.
in reaching out, trying to “take an interest in THEIR lives,” the key is an appreciation of all contributions. it’s very easy to be critical and to fester anger when seems that you yourself are appreciated so very little. but thing is, part of talking positively to yourself is to not forget to give yourself a few kudos in the end. survival is no small thing — especially if survived it with a heart; kindness.
some might measure themselves in how many friends they have, or how many close friends. you watch and listen; my grandmother had her Christmas list that got shorter every year, as friends died off. by the time she was 100 years old, she had very few left. would talk to me about how that was the hardest thing, growing older. so often survival means leaving others behind. even if you didn’t start out a loner, you just might end one. so why not fine-tune the skills while you’re younger, work to minimize those degrees of loss?
i guess everyone has to decide for themselves … mostly i don’t think it hurts to let those in your life know how much you appreciate them. not for only what they do, but for who they are. which is often something really really wonderful. like the leaf hanging onto the tree, stubborn. we all have an edge, veins, and a life — remembered.
today — tomorrow: it all runs together. life is too short. happy Halloween? oh, well — just another night handing out candy. :)
thank you for who you are. for all you do. for trying, for working hard — for keeping hope safe. somewhere between the horizon and every vision of perfection; thanks so much for NOT following the mold, for being you. inside and out, every day a person who knows how to smile — and mean it. thank you for deciding reality is something to be shared, even if the vision seems far, far away. thank you for every small kindness. thank you for being good, and decent, and real. thank you for just holding on …. life isn’t easy. but somehow you make it better. mainly i look at those who share parts of themselves and i wish them so, so very much. joy, happiness. knowledge that there is a reality and accomplishment for simply reaching out. more than a star. a brightness that will never fade. not in this life — certainly not in the next.
driven by the bells
tension grows and wraps on itself
so i remind my inner coward
that the worst i can do
that any effort
even if only known to me
is a step
a different kind of completion
pain dogs these later years
i look at the sky
say, “why me? “
would be surprised if they did
clouds screaming “we hate you! “
so day holds to its hope
the drip of a faucet
the click of a clock
the bite down on determination
really doesn’t take that much
to be a nothing
i think of how the world must be run by the devil
but evidence suggests tampering
at the very least
it doesn’t hurt
they lied to us again?
new doesn’t cover it
should you eat something to make life better
see a certain way….
eh…. in the end it’s the person who understands duty
that sleeps soundly
while pain makes its own requirement
to wake the dead
and life is a bowl dreams
oh so tight!
to chest where heart beats
never needing forgiveness
for imports of blinding pulse
desire is its own answer:
remember what is left behind
usually shows up around the next corner
hop skip and a jump
from where you fell to your knees
wanting nothing more than enough
kindness to feed
that lonely tear
look at me!
goals are not perfection
but you know i knew
driven by the bells of anxiety
he makes fun of haunted
haunting (towers and torture)
but it’s not a future
that’s on display
driven by the bells…
every conscript promises better.
most only want a lasting fault
to be genuine (let the cracks show)
you decided i was lying when i said it hurts
because easier to believe
that strength is the last thing any darkness delivers
i wasn’t anyone’s plaything
but i watched
as silence in every mind grows
original if only for its
level of desperation
always wanted it more
only for the contrast
of when i walk away
dreams are plans
plans are a waste of time
i remember hating the feel of the slime
cutting the top wrong so it would fall through
the smell of newspaper soaked with pumpkin juice
accidentally cutting the teeth and having to fit them back in with toothpicks
hating the face because it never came out how you want it to
never enough room
markers not marking on wet skin
candles always getting blown out by the wind
sad faces growing hairy patches of mold after the holiday is over
candy wrappers scattered
plastic masks suffocating
construction paper witches and bowls of candy corn
dreams left on a front porch
a child’s voice
pleading “trick or treat”
oh i never knew
what to prove
sounding the alarm
for the time is right
take a bite
into the dusty stars
i never was
one to complain
but voice overt concerns
yet now i find
the bitter truth
is sweet if you can learn …
that every day
just spins around
and every light
falls to the ground
don’t ask me where it goes….
but some day soon
by sky and moon
the silence finds its sound
i always hoped
one and all
into the night
the dreams will drift
and jack will take his fall
while jill is just
but time …. it proves us all!
so let me strum
a little peace (the dance the drums are good)
from out of this cruel mind
…. that captures me
i never knew
what to prove
sounding the alarm
but somehow time
has found us, dear
to fill the dusty stars …
take a bite
the night is only dark
when skies are bright
language fits to the people
not the people to the language
and to self
often we talk to others
but are really speaking to ourselves
i suppose that third type could be called dissection
the process of measurement
but it is the ratio of these three
that define a language
and the language maps the whole of the people
english has a high ratio of dissection
in that to communicate with someone of a different language
….. they might speak english words but do not understand the whole of a message
because they are processing the words under a command or cajole understanding
those accustomed to cajole a little
more patient with the finesse of dissection
though higher ratios of cajole indicate a people that thrive on deception
more than birth
more than policy…
language and local communication determines the set mood of the individual
there is a reason it was determined to not teach a second language until teen years
the ratio…. if disrupted, then disrupts the communication channels from parent to child.
but if that channel is strong, individual confidence grows
to the extent of a free acting member,
many times we think those who are closed
simply keep their dissection silent
but when language mode… when known terms exist in mostly command and cajole….. self talk will exist in a command structure
the basis of negotiation
some manage all policy through cajole
so i see these as the problematic nature
of varied languages
passed from parent to child more surely
than any genetic
to every tune that lifts
i dance, removed
brought on by saddest memories
dark and sweetly stirred
the spin was one forgotten
to every tune with smiles inside
i dance, removed
a spark upon the envelope
a splice of bitter tongue
forgotten words, the simpleton
mumbled as step
twist and turn
no shame in honest energy…
i dance, removed
in some ways there is an envy of the vagabond who owns nothing. non-ownership can often be perceived as freedom, the actual and true definition of freedom. for to own something is to be charged with taking care of that something. but to have nothing is to delight more in action, than in ownership.
“he who dies with the most toys wins.” it’s funny because it’s true. and how much that is owned fluctuates according to how much those around you own. the game of one-upsmanship that leads eventually to an undisputed growth of possessions for the individual.
“the grass is always greener.” if something is not yours, it has an added attraction. even noted as one of the 10 sins, wanting what you don’t own is a part of the human experience. it comes with the perceptional process of contrast and compare; how we size ourselves up against our peers.
yet that is where much unhappiness comes-from, to constantly have in mind the differences between oneself and others. within the great game of win or lose, ownership is the divining rod for that particular reality. but is it reality?
does ownership have anything to do with what and who you are as a person? think back on the vagabond who owns nothing, and is free in action as well as desire. admirable person? or someone you would not like to meet in a back alley?
“nothing left to lose…” yet some of the kindest people are those who own very little. and conversely, those who own much are often ill-tempered and dismissive. the average person looks for the average balance…even so, a great many own so much that their items become a living part of a well-guarded ego.
then there is the puzzle, that if you were to give everything away–if everybody gave everything away, then where would it all go? we reach a saturation level, and more and more simply becomes refuse. less items are fixed, it becomes an antiquated notion to repair anything.
then that which is kept, is almost the perfect shell of our lives; a demonstration of individuality in these dressings of possessions. many owned things are tools, implements that assist a task or daily living. yet even these take on a degree of persona or statement regarding self.
almost all are more concerned on how well a car appears, over how it functions. think on expense for a bare bones vehicle, how different it would be! if focus was on performance, less airpollution and less malfunctions. but slap on a coat of paint and it becomes all about if the color “matches” your personality.
yet there is some freedom within a car and the open road. a choice of direction. wherever you go in a car, the car is there. a thing owned; a responsibility. then of course the car fills up with stuff, and houses fill up with stuff. we might like the IDEA of minimalist living, but the reality is that for a house to be a home, it has to feel lived-in.
some like to take things far into ownership parameters, stating that you own yourself. you own your body, and the mind or spirit somehow holds the title: the first thing you have to take care-of is yourself. i don’t know if that’s true. i think we own the moment, and the moment owns decisions. the body just comes along for the ride.
i think freedom is something you find within joy itself, and often owning something is a joy. it ties into purpose, the construct of needing to be needed. independence is such a prized thing, a part of growing up. but to be needed is the part of growing into reality where what you own is not as important as what everyone can share.
they say there is a tipping point, where you don’t own it, it owns you. all that speaks of personal power, and abilities to disregard the latent effects of ownership; the mothering of a baby. connections that somehow lash us to what we own.
yet actions are truly the greatest possessions of any lifetime. he who dies with the most toys wins? maybe. depends on what you call winning. friendship doesn’t require wealth.
smile hides the infinite
a broader thought for every jest
to hold close
a borrowed reality
we all need something on the front
where is your thought?
mine settles on sorrow
more these days than not
choices desire a fresh coat of explanations
the forgiven man obeys fear
i decided to remember only the distance
well this is sweet, and i really should type something
have you ever noticed that crazy things happen the minute you start feeling more sane?
sometimes i wonder about how i should manage things
how i should live
because of course how you’ve gotten by for x-many years
is not good enough
we thrive on unhappiness
goading ourselves to find something new
i wonder what it’s like to be completely content;
to soak in reality
never churning stardust to butter
other sides of other bread
so many times, if ask myself what i want
my self answers “nothing.”
honestly i have never put much stock
in yearning and wishing
feeding desire always seemed such a pitiful waste of time
(what is money? i never knew…)
you are where you be
apex of grace
one thing in mind;
as design whispers, the next moment is yours
because flowers bloom, die
and become something different when passed into memory
it’s not like being blind
it’s like seeing is something you were born to hold
something beyond criticism
for a price of a wicked dream
we fly sparks and complications as far as demand takes
drift……….. battle the wind
numbers are an interesting thing
you think about it
names for a quantity
subdivisions of plenty
marks of progression
but there are the twelve houses of the heavens
man simply braces himself
into divided splinters
of methodized understanding
cells of maximum and minimum import
when there are no such thing as numbers…
numbers do not exist
they are the definition of abstract
the build of conceptual
numbers are only themselves
a manufactured thing has no mystery…
only breathing truly exists;
taking time to smile
see quaint objectives in those gone before,
to number the stars of heaven
each moment lived
a divide of knowledge
bracing the heart of man
don’t tell me that amounts will matter–
it is enough to know
that no one is alone
it starts from deep inside
for all it’s worth
spark of real
a day unlike any other
i love the newness in your eyes
despite how much you’ve suffered
it’s all the same
distance where all time grows strong
and never knows each game
i love you still
as much as worlds can hold
the better side of politics
even angels get their fill
when darkness folds
closed the seed
other starts on other days
i rinse the cup
and set it on the shelf
sigh for every lost one
as life itself is shamed
for next and
it was not me… but i would not complain
for all the emptiness
we’ll be lucky if we don’t blow up this week
things coming to a head
korea — some scary stuff
syria pakistan afghanistan
did you know the christians were marching?
marching in protest of getting blown up
the US government has been put on pause
we don’t know how long
but it might be a good idea to hit mute
and you can get insured
and have a doctor
and get flattened by a truck tomorrow
then it would be the end of the world
it is for each of us, you know
the end of all
within the end of one
we’ll be lucky if we don’t blow up this week
i am serious
some bad signs
make peace with the maker
i’m going to think about what i forgot
and why i should remember
decide on a different path
smile inside a little more
remember who i am;
the eye of calm
at the center of my own distilled view
it’s really bad
i am finding my feet
we’re going to get blown up this week
best to pretend it doesn’t matter
fall into routine
fall in love
fall on grace
fall fall fall
find wings somewhere as reality turns
heaven somewhere to the left of tomorrow
and to the right of where God never stands
is like this–there is not much to be said for the group that first told me that jesus died for my sins. in any school, one can expect clicks to develop among the students. in the lutheran school, these divisions also extended to the teachers and faculty. all conformed itself to the pecking order.
if a student’s parents were higher in church circles, then the teachers would defer to that student. and conversely, if parents were not involved in the church or considered of lower class–then the student was treated with disdain and often harsh punishment.
i saw all this.
we were singing jesus loves the little children, and that was a good thing because there wasn’t a whole lot of love coming from anywhere else.
as an adult, when i consider the types that adhere to christian faith, it does not leave me warm and hopeful inside. rather than seeing religion as a point to bring people together, i see it as illogical justifications to remain divided.
there are those who suffer indignity for the sake of inclusion, and those who rule the pecking order and are guaranteed forgiveness. there are those who try to be like jesus, and those who have a very long journey before they find any humility.
what is perfect? my dead ex-husband was far from a good man. but he did introduce me to one thing: the word “try.” you don’t know until you try. try harder. at least you tried. don’t be angry, i’m trying.
that wasn’t a part of my life until then. in fact, i recall my grandmother saying many times, “don’t try, do it!” there was no room for error. and no forgiveness for failure. the one thing that few realize is that their goal isn’t perfection, it’s conformity. what you believe as ‘perfect’ is actually conformed eventuality. yet the way to be perfect is to be perfectly yourself.
mostly i’ve tried to balance these facets of my life. if i don’t require someone to die for me, then in turn do not have to suffer indignity at the hands of the self-righteous. many years ago, i prayed at the alter and said “that’s ok, jesus, i’ll pay for my own sins.” never seemed a fair deal, God or no.
and since our own judicial system does not trade penalties–letting one person do prison terms for another–it becomes a matter of modern thought, education, and understanding. off-putting burdens to another is simply not correct. and i know–am well aware of the theological arguments. heck, i probably created half of them.
doesn’t matter. i ran the logistics in my own head at one point; it doesn’t work. and frankly, those who rise in the church pecking orders, are pretty cutthroat business folk. it is not the artists or the meek –those whom jesus stated were supposed to inherit the earth. no. that is what you tell the meek to keep them where they are. extremely common philosophy among impoverished nations. in fact you can distill many eastern sayings into that one nutshell.
is life about helping others? in order to have others to help, there must be those who have less. the self-fulfilling prophecy to beat all self-fulfilling prophecies. a dance of give and take. the haves and have-nots.
does your need to be giving outweigh another’s need for self-sufficiency? comes down to the family paradigm, and the infusion of roles. parents give to their children while children learn to be self-sufficient. dependency. lord it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way.
the widening of difference; you are this or that. we only have two hands. most of us are relieved when have to consider only two sides within debates. the polar nature of a gravitated existence.
but we’re all different, each to their own path. so there are as many sides as there are people. and you will know we are christians by our love. but it’s really by our laws, by what governs. reality is a precious thing. i don’t trust those who believe themselves kind when a great majority of their thought is founded on disdain.
so i really don’t know about the story of jesus and whatever truth it holds. i just know that in the computer world, you would look at the function and call it buggy.
has started to rain.
is it the child in me?
recalls commands for silence,
rewards for still;
hoping no movement
equates to delivery
i like when the world is a little blurry;
when rain is only a sound,
the background whisper
to better thoughts
on better days.
it hurts no less
than what grinds;
pulls the body to a halt
give me the rain
you worthless piece of something
the sound of excuse
is soaked in timeless divides
don’t mind me i never counted
on your deliverance
give me the rain…
drops of insincerity
a darkness to my own thoughts
sounds of stillness
in bartered remonstrance
on guaranteed tomorrows
Where countered ends in sight
Are ends designed
How often did I stir?
Remove the slightest bend
Complete each hope through innocence
As dark would dawn pretend
And as this keen remorse
Retains worry for its guide
Cruel to warm intension
Standing tall for strength and birth
Worthy is a nightmare
Gleaning purpose in each stride
Oh how the Earth!
Oh where is such grand agency
For truth complies
To suffer wrong;
Hearts –they die of gravity
they merge to matter– strong
And all I am and be
shall drink of knowledge
Never once remarking
How our sky bleeds rain
You are full starlight–
(bold of breath)
By which the stars are named
And so these rivers move
Time it tells
Through dams of faith
Shall find us watching….
Beware the shores!
Oh more oh more
Never doubt that here I am, here I stand
well those of you who have followed over the years, know i usually don’t do the awards thing. mostly because i live with a great deal of internet paranoia, that sees trackers in any image or meme. in fact, even for this one i copied the image and recompressed it with a graphics program. just part of knowing what computers will do — or knowing what people won’t do!
and don’t mean any offense! just understand the great underbelly of the internet, of which most users are not aware. a one-pixel .gif is enough to track, they call them webbugs. so anyway, i usually avoid the promos. try to say i’m too busy and that sort of thing.
but i was touched by michael chaney’s compliments of my work….maybe i’m in a vulnerable spot and needed the ego boost. but i’m flattered to be thought-of, and of course michael’s own writing is pretty darn outstanding.
so firstly 7 things about me:
1. i wear a size 10 in men’s shoes — most women’s shoes don’t fit, though that didn’t stop me from squeezing big feet into heels during those young, impressionable years..
2. i like the feel of the air in a rainstorm … the headaches usually disappear completely. i read recently that there are certain changes caused by the electricity from large thunderstorms. i’m a believer.
3. i think i would absolutely die if i didn’t write every day.
4. went to a private Lutheran school through 8th grade, and worked hard at being a mediocre student. there was probably not a single report card that didn’t state “capable of improvement.”
5. i was always uncoordinated, and picked last for any team sport. the ironic thing about that is that i’m very competitive and not half bad at volleyball, tennis or racquetball. or at least i was way back when before age and bad knees!
6. i learned how to drive on the Malibu coast highway. will never forget the look on my instructor’s face when i nearly took us for a dunk in the ocean. those curves are wicked!
7. and i don’t mind being called crazy…what bothers me is that the categories are so dang unoriginal. i want to belong to the mental illness that involves a pathological need to drink straight from the milk carton. and maybe something that involves running for a bus even though you know it won’t stop. i want to be defective because i learned to tie my shoelaces too young, and never once cried over how big my feet are. i don’t want to be crazy because my personality doesn’t match up to universal expectations. life is too short to let yourself be bored by what you have become. there is nothing wrong with fitting-in, but if you already stand out in a crowd, might as well make a go of it. when comes down to it–when push comes to shove–the one person you’re always going to go home with ….is you.
a psychiatrist complaining about you gaining weight is like a person hitting you who complains you have bruises.
are you exercising–walking?
i don’t have a car. i walked here. i walk every day.
i have coffee in the mornings and one meal at night.
you should have three meals.
i should eat MORE?
and then the trick of course is to remain calm, cool, and collected. (or you get charted as being fat AND antagonistic) they should have a bar next to the office, with a sign that says “freaks get half price on tuesdays.” i don’t hate my life, i hate others controlling it. where is the responsibility?
have seen patients helplessly obese, given charts and handouts on exercise and diet. it’s perverse, like some sort of mad experiment by sadistic characters. like they must be bored, sitting around avoiding every mirror in sight; rubbing their hands together in glee over the newest medication –guaranteed to plump up even the stubbornly thin.
i’m old school
don’t usher them outside–i squish spiders
if someone yells at me
i yell back
i don’t ask children to do something
i tell them
when i go to church
i bow my head
when i ride the bus
i stare out the windows
if someone sneezes
i say bless you
if i pass close to another shopper
i say excuse me
i don’t throw trash on the ground
and i only pick up pennies
that are heads up
always tip the waitress or waiter
and i smile at strangers
waiting for them to smile back
i don’t slam the front door
and i say thank you to
those who give gifts, even if it’s
only their time
the old school
i try not to make excuses
i take responsibility
and look for opportunities to help others
and i clean up my own mess
i say a prayer now and then
i worry about plans for the future
and dance when no one is looking
i squish spiders…..
I suppose the biggest problem is they feel superior to you. The man guarding the floor can be at a fourth grade reading level, yet in his mind–his pea sized brain–he ranks higher than any and all mental patients.
In fact, it’s not a coincidence that the ones who flock to these jobs have inferiority issues–that and of course required degrees of sadism. And the shrinks! All doctors pretend that giving a name to something means they understand an ailment. This is particularly true of psychiatrists. Armed with a diagnosis, will think they know you better than you know yourself. Everything you do is a manifestation of illness. It’s really quite frustrating.
What impressed me was that the floor was wood, covered with several thick layers of wax. Mr. Clippity-clop, I called him. In a pair of black Crocks, would go up and down the hallway–clip clop. If you stopped him to engage in conversation, the first thing he would say is “My lawyer is coming, you bet. I’m suing this place.” Then he would return to clopping up and down the hallway.
There was also a short swarthy man, who didn’t know any English. Fingernails painted black, he, too, would march up and down the hall, sometimes tossing an apple up into the air and catching it. Then there was Roger, striking an occasional martial arts pose while mumbling the Lord’s prayer. The big guy was fond of me, and an actual crazy person–someone who would likely be locked up his entire life. Far from stupid, but he knew they had his number.
The windows of my room looked out onto a parking lot–five floors up. The one wall was all window, and enough to give anyone constant vertigo. I slept with my back to the room, curled into a ball. The plastic pillow they issued was stuck to my face, wet with tears.
when i see prosperity
or the crazy lengths of
i imagine how it looks
through eyes of starvation
the pain of working hard to barely live
a point of shame
you know they used to make thick castle walls
hold court in refinement
while children begged in the streets
how i see tomorrow
success an avenue of guilt
fads and fashion and smug repose
i am not wise enough to withstand
hold accusation steady
do not tempt me to hate you;
it is not jealousy but anger at your stupidity
to only worry about the front
when you forget i see your insides
i know what kind of desperation lives in those climbs
i know how far unhappiness curdles your spirit
the child i was
wants to see relaxation bloom around your eyes
with no requirement to please
to not always have to “be” for someone else
as you did for her …so many years…
not knowing who you are
we don’t say ‘thank random events’
i couldn’t tell you
the degrees of mystification
they are supposed to be adults
these parental stands
so i feel sorry for the past
multiplied levels of fear
are we open-eyed?
what is knowledge if it doesn’t bring you peace
what is superiority for those affixed to absolution
how does the peach escape the rain
forever meshed within soil
the root of all matter
it is not teaching, has never been
it is the thirst for answers
belief in yourself above any redemption
rainbows and consequence
what happens when someone asks the impossible of you?
our real world contains kindness…
that’s all i ever needed
brighter goals (within abilities for nice)
have you seen my hands?
they have always been larger
but exponentially sound
i’m sorry if i come off as arrogant
it’s the one piece of those beginnings
to encircle anger
grown by the masters of intent
(their specialty was always deceit)
actions cannot be stirred by hatred only
thank God for differences
thank god for stark bands of relief
and thank Completion for random play–for the sound
of front and back
for the drop of a shoe
thank heavens i can see into the deepest soul
trade a smile for the growth of tears
for each time those bastards hurt you
our assumptions of idiocy
are too often made by idiots
humility is a prize?
more like shelter
driven to be upside down
when the rain has passed