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Before one color of the rainbow ends, another begins

ask me if i am a tree, please

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Victor Hugo's reincarnation

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June 4th, 2010

The Gift

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She leaned back on the wooden park bench, the seat slightly damp from the morning rain. Above her, the blue sky swamped her vision. Staring into the emptiness, a great bird crossed into her line of sight, a bald eagle soaring on the afternoon breeze. She watched it pass and noticed something gently falling from the bird's path. The drifting speck of black slowly grew in size as it approached the earth's surface. She wondered where whatever it was would land.
She reverted her focus to the back of her eyelids, resting her vision. Breathing deeper, trying to clear the thoughts from her head, a deeper wind blew out of the east. The small hairs on her arms fluttered gently, making her smile momentarily from the sensual feel of the air against warm skin. She opened her eyes as the breeze died and looked in her lap. A feather, speckled brown and white sat perfectly at rest in her lap.
She grabbed the stiff white stem and looked back to the heavens and only saw blue.  

April 24th, 2010

many happy returns

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Oh, Livejournal, I believe I may give you another try. My fingers ache for a place to express themselves...as my fingers are individuals with emotion and intelligence.  

October 8th, 2008

 In the spackled gaps of time, I force push pins through the darkness. The light subdued, after all these years, screams like a soul in flight from all that is cruel and dares to slip through the damage I make. None of it makes sense, after all.
Don't persuade me to see beyond the scars rising no higher than my knees. The pain is old, so familiar but old and I dance like a banshee through the mist of dreams. Don't go there they say - they who know nothing of the rumpled disarray. Who are they anyway, those people who tell me always, "Don't go" they say but nothing translates through my pig latin schemes and schizophrenic scenes. Dance away, sing in public, make those who linger drift away through the sheer force in my oddity, the sheer delight in the audacity of being me. Dare me, I dare you. No, don't walk away.
Go. Don't stay. I can't make up my mind anymore. There is light in the crack, just at the edge of the door. If I were waifish I could slip through and disappear only to reappear on the opposite side of everything that looks like what I left inside. Nothing changes and nothing is seamless. There are gaps in time where push pins break through but the light is weak and nothing more than a mimic of the starlight I remember once upon a time. The starlight of hillsides and misty summer nights, of breaking curfew and tasting the lips of someone I just met. But what does that mean now that I am here, funneling through yet another scare of my self-made mind, my whirling disguises. I look good, don't I, when the moment is just right, when the light hits me and I reflect just so and I see me there in a mirror from years ago.
But who is that staring back? Is it boy? Is it girl? Does it hurt inside where the truth lies? 
Oh god does it ever. I want to break free. Fuck this world and its insanity. I am nowhere. I am here. These places want to disappear, constantly. No place for me. No category. I want to fade like the gloaming light. Be beautiful, magical, fleeting and still. I want the swirling sights to steady now, steady boys. Girls are you ready. Now disappear. Disappear into the light. The dancing light that calms my head. The dancing light that fills me with a moment, a fleeting moment, a moment magical and beautiful and still. The dancing light fills me. Makes me whole. I could have been a dancer. I could have been. But now I stumble though two worlds with two left feet, with no idea what to call myself other than me. That could be good enough. For now it will do. For now I will continue to force push pins through and beneath the dribble of light filtering down just so, I will open my mouth and quench my thirst with the answers that escape through the holes made in time. Drink now. Drink. 

September 11th, 2008

Jenny On My Mind

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She's been on my mind a lot lately. Specifically, last night I spoke to her while battling the indifference of insomnia. She's been gone for over three years. Maybe it's this time of year. Maybe it's the way I looked up to her despite her hard edges, drug use and alcoholic tendencies. I loved Jenny more than I ever let on. She's been on my mind a lot lately.

Last night I whispered out to her through a conversation in my head. "Jenny, what am I supposed to do?" I asked.

She said, "First get up and go to the bathroom and then we will discuss this matter."

I got up, trudged down the stairs, gingerly stepping over dogs and piles of hurried moments, then did what I was directed to do. When finished, I ran back up the stairs in a hurry to get out of the cooling air and jumped into bed.  Jenny was still waiting in  my mind.

"So what should I do, Jenny?" I asked once again. "The dark is washing over me and I feel that old sense of despair settling in again."

She remained silent in my mind but I could of sworn I heard the steady rythym of her breath through my running thoughts. Is that what she wanted me to do? Breathe?

I turned on to my side as the cat jumped on the bed, stepping slowly up the silhouetted curve of my legs, my hips, my waist and until he settled on the bend of my ribcage. His heat seeped through the down comforter, creeping into my chest. My heart warmed and then slowed its flurrying beat. I stretched my arm, catlike under the pillow beneath my head. I placed the other hand beneath my cheek. Jenny began to speak.

"Be patient," she whispered, "all is well as life trods through shortening days and lengthening nights."

Mesmerized by her poetic appeal, I listened intently.

Jenny continued: "This is typical for you. I remember the slow graying that took over your life when I was alive. I remember the soft delicacy of your heart. I remember that you were always strong despite the bitter shape of betrayal your friendships took, . Stay strong. Don't succumb. I am waiting here for you but I can't tell you where here is. Your time will come, but not yet. You were given a shitty hand when you were born. You were never taught how to play the game. But you are strong and willing to learn. Watch and listen. Play hard. Life is an adventure. Make it one."

"Why did you have to go, Jenny? Why did you give up? You made me so mad, drinking and carrying on, the way you kept using drugs when the doctors gave you a second chance. I couldn't watch you anymore. You gave up. I saw you right before my very eyes. So bitter. So angry at everything shitty that life sent your way. Your hand wasn't so good either, was it?'

A quiet bubble of laughter waltzed back and forth to the surface of my thoughts. Jenny, chuckling, went on: "Yes, I did give up. Yes, I did see the disappointment in your eyes. But my pain was greater than I could ever explain to you. Your pain is dulling. Can't you feel that? Can't you feel the expectations finally lifting in your own mind, in your own life?"

"Jenny, I miss your understanding. No one gets me like you do; like you did. People expect me to be this confident, hard person but I'm not. You saw that in me but still accepted me. I can't compete in this world. My heart hurts. My heart has giant holes in it that nothing can fill. Not one person. Not one place. Not one adventure. How do I get past that? How do I stop the seeping that those holes in my heart permit? Anything painful permeates my life entirely. Anything hard weakens me entirely. But I keep going. I keep trying. I tell myself that I will prevail. But what does that mean? What is 'to prevail' in this world, specifically in my life?"

"You are already doing it. Can't you see that. Remember what Emerson wrote 'Success...To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have livedl This is to have succeeded.'"
 
By this point in the conversation,  I had grown stubborn in my sorrow. "But how does that pertain to me?'

"Let Emerson's words be your god. Then look at your life, everything around you, everything you have created whether you know it or not. Look at the people you know, the people you work with. Maybe not all of them, but some have bent for the better because of your grace. Look at your niece, nephew, just about every child you meet delights in your humor. Look at the house you currently live in. You and Krystal have transformed it from near death to pulsating with life. Look at the love you have given to the land. See the gardens growing all around the yard. Look at the professors who admired you. Look at the betrayals you have endured. Remember the breathlessness you feel every time you see beauty in anything, everything. Remember. Always remember. Keep these things in the fragile holes in your heart. I am always here. I love you but I had to go. But remember how much I smiled and laughed with you as we sat at the end of the bar together, as we sat on Airica's front porch together... watching, listening and talking."
 
"Jenny, don't go. Stay with me tonight. Stay close by."

"I am always here. But now you must go to sleep."

September 3rd, 2008

New Orleans

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Crazy? Maybe. But the only sane thing about this world are the moments of insanity that take us to places we never dreamed we'd see.

Let the countdown begin for the move of the decade. The first one took us to Ithaca. Let's see. Ithaca? How to describe it in words that could fulfill the needy quality of the inhabitants of this false-prophetic land?
I thought it would be phenomenol. 30% of them gay or lesbian. Enlightened beyond repair you say? Yes, that was a question that seeped from my fingertips. I wouldn't deny a thing that comes with such devine ease. I wouldn't deny the overly hypocritical stances taken by the leftist liberals to whom I often claim to belong.
Chip on my shoulder you say? You bet I resound without an ounce of denial. You bet I shout from a mountain top of clairity. It is possible to go too far left and come back right. I'm thinking the Lion King. I'm thinking of circles. Think about that, if you will, if for only a moment.

August 19th, 2008

       The young man walked into the small park office where I and two other park workers, Ron and Shelly sat talking endlessly about not much at all. The young man requested to be registered for his campsite. I looked away from Ron and Shelly and asked for the young man's last name before really looking at him. He gave his name to me. He said, "Summerville."

     The name was easy enough to find. All the names were alphabetically listed. I scrolled to the S section and there it was, Summerville. I clicked on the name of the man standing before me. 

     It was in that moment - the few seconds it took between clicking on his name and the computer reacting with the registration screen - that I saw the dead standing before me. 

    Ron, Shelly and I often discussed the endless stream of unusual people that visited the park. After all, Taughannock Falls is listed as one out of the top ten most romantic parks in the United States. But what could the dead find romantic about life?

    I glanced up at Summerville after the mouse in my hand finished it's rapid click. He was tan, bronze, summertime tan. My eyes glanced back at the computer screen, waiting for the prompt to begin the check-in process. Clouds had rolled over the sun's brilliance in the few moments Summerville had been in the office. The computer had grown sleepy under the dulling of the shadowed sun. 

    I looked back at Summerville. "Do you know your license plate number?" I asked.  It was then I saw what the bronze tan on Summerville's face had been hiding.

   His eyes were blue, but barely. Surrounding the blue was a blood red sea. It seemed that every blood vessel in the orb of his eye had exploded, bursting forth a churning sea of blood. Beneath his eyes, a dark shadow began to grow. At first, Summerville simply looked tired. At first I didn't mind the bloody sea and dark rings, the black and blue of sleeplessness that surrounded his eyes.

    Out of the corner of my left eye I saw the computer screen flicker and then jump to the registration screen. Gratefully, I looked away from the apparent exhaustion in and around Summerville's eyes. 

    "I need the names of everyone staying on the campsite with you." I told the tired Summerville. 

    He listed one more name: Mort DuLac.  

   Summerville proceeded to read me off Mort DuLac's license plate number from a scrap of paper in his hand. He and DuLac had no pets with them. I clicked "finish" on the computer screen and handed Summerville his camping permit. 

   "You're all set then." I said as I looked once again into Summerville's blood burst eyes.

   He stared back, hard and purposefully. The darkness surrounding his eyes began to rise like a moonless night. I tried to look away from the crimson tide that overwhelmed the white of his eyes. I couldn't. His stare wrapped my eyes in a boa-constrictor grip. I tried to blink...the blood and night drew me in, sucking the breath out of my lungs. Summerville's eyes began to sink deeper into his face. His skin drew tight over his cheeks and jaw bone. I swallowed the bitter taste that had settled on my tongue. 
   
    Summerville began to speak.

    "We've come for you. You won't know when it will happen, but we've come." As he said this, as I heard this, his lips never moved.

    I tried to open my mouth. I tried to ask him what he had just said but my lips wouldn't part to let any sound out. My eyes remained transfixed by the death standing before me. 

    Summerville turned and left the office. 

    I blinked and breathed again. I looked to Ron and Shelly who remained sitting in their chairs. I tried to ask them if they saw. I tried to ask them if they heard. 

    All that came out of my mouth was, "I don't know when, but the time is gonna come...."

November 24th, 2007

Frost

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A thin crust of ice lacquered the pond with fractured patterns this morning. Our youngest dog stumbled on to confusion as he pressed his nose down on the ice, searching for water and instead found the invisibility of a magical barrier. Silence ensues when the world is frozen and the grass whispers carols like a Christmas card covered in glitter. The swingset, usually childhood blue, sparkles and twinkles as if any minute Jack Frost himself will cry yippee as he dips and plunges and sails sky high on the wing of memory. Winter sidetracks me as I think of what it would be like to be just a twinkle on a forgotten swingset forever cemented to the ground. I would spend a lifetime observing and shivering in the cold, but just for a moment, for the time it takes a puff of my icy breathe to dissipate into thin air, I would remember what beauty looks like.

November 19th, 2007

Willy or Polyphemos

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Today, out on a country road, a mysterious one-eyed cat walked up to Krystal . He spent some time weaving in and out of her legs and subsequently rubbing, purring, and winking with his one eye...so maybe just closing his eyes...I mean eye. He then hopped into her truck, climbed in (or is it on?) her lap and head butted her all the way to our house. We are not certain if someone lost this cat or if he simply found his soul-mate in Krystal. Either or, we have adopted him until such time that his previous/negligent owner claims his Lord one-eyedness or until our Master Pippin finds him an unsuitable companion, in which case we will responsibly find him a loving and caring home. However, until that happens, we have a major dilemma on our hands. What the hell should we name him? These are the two choices: One-eyed Willy or Polyphemos.
If anyone has anything to say regarding this matter, please do so!

November 8th, 2007

Riley

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My nine year old dog, Riley was extremely ill the last three days. He was throwing up constantly; he couldn't even keep water down. And, to top that off, he had, well a river ran through him and out of both ends. To make matters worse, he had blood in his poop (no other way to say that) and basically hadn't moved off the floor or eaten in three days.
Tuesday night we rushed him to our country vet (the best vet in the world), the guy makes house calls and is fantastic. That is when we discovered the blood. Doc did a bunch of tests and shot up Riley with anti-nausea drugs, antibiotics and a de-wormer just in case. Our status as super poor had us submitting to the gods in prayer as we begged and pleaded that Riley be okay. Nevertheless, it looks like the old guy has pulled through. Last night he ate some food, has not thrown up in 24 hours, and he has actually attacked the puppy again during one of Keifer's gnawing on Riley's leg fits. I am glad I stayed home from school yesterday to be with Riley. I am officially a good mom. Take that shitty childhood!
Now it's Keifer's turn...time to get his furry balls removed. See you later round furry balls! We will miss you! He has no idea what is going to happen to him today.

November 2nd, 2007

Dragons

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A dream:
I am the dragon slayer. My armor shimmers in the flickering fire bursting forth from the dragons in my mind. Scaly and devouring everything in their path, they breathe fire, attempting to ignite the stupidity hiding in my mind's deepest caves. The battle never ceases. Always I am fatigued. Always I fight. Always I look for escape from the fire breathing dragons in my mind. I no longer wish to be the dragon slayer. Someone please usurp me. Someone put an end to the battle that persists for as long as I shall live.
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