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Drums, Pa, United States
My heart is on my sleeve and my soul is on paper. Please be kind to those around you, we are all glass.

The richness of sybolism

The richness of sybolism
Telling my story with no words

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Chia guts?

I would like to say people keep me from reaching my potential but that would be a cheesy cop out. Obviously I am my largest obstacle but I do know there are many people who have helped build the mountains around me. I am ridiculously fearful and I never realized that. I am afraid my thoughts, words, actions, reactions, writings, mistakes, hairdos, clothes, homemaking skills, choice of antidepressant, the way I order beer on draft and calling the cable company for help will cause someone to judge me. It isn't really the judging part I am afraid of because usually if given the opportunity I can defend my logic pretty well. To me it's very sound, or maybe the answer would be cause I said so... either way just give me the chance to explain. Honestly I think if I could download my thoughts into some motherboard psyche zip drive I think all would be cool. The problem really is the fact that people judge with a smile, they lie. They tell you it's great or they say the polite thing and then bash you behind your back. I don't have thick skin by any means but discussion is where it's at man, lets talk about it, really TALK about it. I don't want to be friends with fake people, I want genuine, as ugly as genuine can be, by virtue it's beautiful.
Anyway, this is why my writings sit in a stack all over my house and in my mini pocket recorder and why the loveliest, most amazing creations remain on my pillow during dreams and why my guitar sits dusty, sad that it's owner is a freakin coward.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

How my heart and hand got screwed by the seasons

You made my heart that in turn convinced my hand (another claim of yours) pick up the supple, young, green, full of life leaf (you, again). Leaf representative of the newness and frangrance of promise. You created it all, how can it be anything but the most lovely kind, storybook ending?
It seems like an ensemble directed by the same person. It’s just supposed to flow into beauty, no conscious mind, just gutteral glee. Without regard, being naive to an ugly fault.
The seasons did actually find a way to change around my sun drenched upturned face, my pink toes dancing in the earth. Happiness and oblivion turn slowly into a pathetic shade of left behind in a longer grayer day. An awkward girl dressed inappropriately for the winter, dull face no longer lifted to the bright sun in hope.
Now, now she stares to the cold cement in shame hopes no one sees whats in her eyes, her heart, her hand. The leaf she held onto, held onto so tightly to protect, to transfer every bit of energy from it to her palm. To memorize every cell. The seasons passed without her notice or permission. Now, leave the impatient cold without permission defiantly attempts to free itself. It wants to blow away, as far away, in as many pieces as it can in the winter wind. In its simple natural act of moving on with the season it does not realize the brokenness left behind. The broken heart and body look toward the heavens. How could you create this perfect love for me, put it right in my hand, make it fit so right for a season, just a season? We were supposed to be pressed into a fossil together, how could you? Then down on the betraying hand. How could you hold such a beautiful leaf? How could the seasons be so unfair? Why bring such beauty and let it escape our tight grip as brown dust? And all of us together hate when people say “when you love something, you let it go” B*llSh$$!

Miss Tranguch taught me about this in high school biology

Validity vs. accuracy. You know what made me think about this? Seriously people this is how my brain works. i was in the shower and tossed 2 empty containers out over the curtain in the general direction of the garbage can hoping i didn't leave the toilet seat open :) so i actually end up getting both in the sink right next to each other. this is validity. i didn't intend on getting them in the sink b/c that is not where they belong, however my shot was consistent albeit wrong. if i would have gotten them both into the garbage i would have had accuracy and validity. so, true to pattern, i am thinking heavily in the shower about how this can be applied to life..any area really. sometimes we try so hard to aim for the right thing and we have consistency but we hit the wrong target over and over. this really is not helpful b/c after so many times we think we are actually hitting our target just b/c things end up in the same place time and time again. my compass is broken. i have a movable target to suite my bad accuracy. this is not helpful, in fact its very destructive. now, i recognize and am trying to rely on the real compass and think about what i should do and what is right until my own compass gets back from the shop.

Little me

I was watching some old 8mm movies my parents had taken when I was a toddler. I was so moved by this. First it is so sad to see people who are no longer here. There they were, breathing and waving and opening Christmas presents, drinking beer and dressing in crazy long black socks with shorts. But you know what? They were there, they were themselves. Second, I find that as families get older they spend less time together and I don't know why but I miss that, I mourn the missed opportunities for continuation of legacy. Third. There are people in the movies who were part of my life, my family...they were laughing and happy and carefree dancing in sprinklers and making faces for the camera. Now I don't know where they are, yet they slept in my house and called me sister for a short time.Fourth. I saw my little self and cried. She was sweet and contemplative, quiet, eager to please, calm, thoughtful and tenacious. I want to tell her to do and more importantly NOT do so many things. I want to tell her to stay that way, to be herself and be super ok with that. I want to hold her and infuse the sad knowledge of regret into her bones so she will never forget to think about consequences. Fifth. I love my family and have
found the value of tradition in it's true sense and the meaning of love...people doing the very best they can for each other.

What a good little cellular membrane you are!

Our bodies are amazingly intricate and so perfectly made to work even at the most basic cellular level. The body is built from the cell and the cell has always intrigued me, until now just because I am a biology dork.
Today I thought of it in a new way. One of my soulmates and I were talking about how we wish we could be soft when we need to be and hard when times call for it but we find ourselves leaning more 1 way than the other and not being particularly fair about it. Sometimes we get so hurt that we harden in every area and other times we are too soft for our own good and let people take advantage.
If only our hearts and souls and minds could be as smart as the tiny cells that they are made of. Cells are selectively permeable. This means they know instantly what they should let in and let out depending on how the substance will serve or harm. They do this millions of times a day without us having any knowledge of it. The cell wall is the bouncer, nothing gets in without a purpose and nothing gets out without permission....likewise when something becomes toxic the cell expelles it. No nonsense. So if we could just get ourselves trained to be the same with what we allow to flow in and out of us, no compromises and no questions ....we would be hot!I am tired of others negativity becoming my own, tired of letting the blackness of their souls leech into mine. I am me, I am happy, life is good and i am glad i payed attention in 8th grade biology.

Filter Be Gone

Filter be gone.
I hate my filter. No, not on a cigarette. The one that makes it ever so hard to express myself, my true self to others.As a writer there are 2 things that stifle me and keep my 100 paces behind where i should be. No, grammar is NOT one of them :) The first is my complete lack of motivation. My discipline is severely lacking. The other is the fact that the juiciest, most honest, most profound and personally satisfying things are usually not appropriate to write. I have so much inside me that no one knows, that i feel no one would understand or would question the origin when i just want it to be....just be, on the page a work of its own with no need for further explanation.The ideas and feelings that cause me the most angst, the most frustration, love, intense gratification and horrible sadness are not things i feel i can write without retribution. This saddens me. If i choose to think of myself as an artist and truly act as one i would not care of this detail and would create in spite of such fear. I become angry at myself that i cannot yet overcome this. I am not sure if its an issue of always being the good girl and some of these things may lead people to think otherwise or if i feel too weak to defend my own work. Either way it is weak and pathetic to me. I want to write, I want this stuff out of my head, i want my thoughts to be discussion at dinner tables, emails, blogs and anywhere else you care to talk...even if its in disagreement. This is what makes the world a cool place. Please, oh please.....someone get me a set of chia cajones i can grow for Christmas and the understanding of the people i care about so they would be able to know what i want to say is just that and to let it be...just be.


Sadie, Asa, Owen-
Why do you play hide and seek NOW?
I beg of you to save it for later when prospect will lead me to discover you!
For surely you are confused and space has clouded your judgment, sending your journey on a painfully long detour.
As I spill tears and hope from a shaky hand, I once again pray your names will be brought to fruition in Sivan.
So they say....
eyes like pools of water
so I say....
eyes like black holes, without escape.
Beautifully lacking sense, regret or boundary.
And so it is-
escape not desired, not allowed in this vacuum
where time and vows don't exist.
Regret will remain as the dust settles in the years to come
after the wind if inhibition brought you staring from above
and left me
with no choice.