Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Excerpt: Pieces From the 1st draft.

Skipping through time like train tracks, marking my way backwards, I come across a memory. A depot of thought, a crossroad three paces ahead, I arrived not knowing I'd leave on a completely different track. The moment I stepped off that train my foot touched serendipity and the epiphany would come later, on the back of retelling the moment, but at that moment, I was clueless to it all...

I can't even fathom what I told him about my travels. I suspect I explained I was a student, heading back to the hometown to help out with my little brother. I probably bantered about writing, as my focus was creative writing classes that semester. Even in that moment, there would be guises layered to distract the seer from ever really seeing me, the truth safely tucked into suppression, my ego proudly grinning the illusions slipping off my magical tongue. He'd never know that I was a changeling switching my skin right before his eyes. First, I slip into neutral, becoming the solid form in the moving canvass. This was the only time my two worlds sloughed off my body and I was completely free. School, my landscape of muddled self and my family life, the noose snug around my nape, did not exist. He'd never know that it was this moment I felt completely safe and though I was supposed to be marking my own checklist to my future, I really just wanted to figure out what the hell was going on.

By the time I stepped off the train in my home town after saluting Ant* with a hug, I felt I knew something of this man while I was safely tucked away in the rhetoric of lies. Can't help but to notice that I was lying in both my worlds about the other. Can't help but see that Ant* played a huge rule in saving me one last time from my worlds crashing around me and swallowing me hole. More importantly, he saved me from myself...
(untitled autobiographical 9/23/09)
Know the final product will be completely different.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

sketchbook: obscura on crinkled pages

Shoulda Coulda Woulda
Smile coils on my face, this day almost done; I am ready to keep looking forward while listening to that internal dialogue smirking at the things I still need to learn. Life, that rag bastard of collected history, constantly surprising me, has sent me wandering once again in my cocky wonder-lust for understanding. Sigh. I thought by now I’d have a grasp on what this life is SUPPOSED to be. I am starting to realize its best to watch out for those very words – SUPPOSED TO BE.

Stalker Nightmare (written 4/3/07)
It’s too late. I don’t want to know. She stares me down, ushering me with her hand in a frantic wave to come closer. I don’t, so she steps closer pressing her hand against my shoulder pushing her face close to my ear. I step backwards a little as she whispers her secret against her fingers pursed hugging my arm now and it’s too late. I am an innocent bystander to her need to share her secret love for me. Of course, she expects me to respond, have advice, comfort…I have none, except to keep me out of this loop. I am okay with simply not playing telephone. My heart feels bored by these inane human conditions of secrets and lies. It is not unique and is overplayed. In a world learning to forgive itself of its irreverent behavior in the name of impulsive exoneration, I find myself yearning for that rare seed, a heart that can beat & still know integrity. It’s not that I haven’t been there; ready to forego thought for the high. I’ve done it more then I should remember. Somewhere though, I learned to draw a line with self-love and action, replacing addiction for self-love. I sowed myself a new skin that heals old scars, and I forgave myself. Once forgiveness happens, everything changes! Suddenly, I hunger for a new kind of love I have never experienced before and that old impulse now yearn for the sweetest rarest bud of all, authenticity with love. It’s too late. She hates me now, with fevered conviction. I didn’t acquiesce to the same sentiment and just as powerful her love was for me, so is her hate. And now she plans to woo me regardless. To show me I am hers. It’s getting worse. I like her even less. Love impossibility. Though I admit once, I would have skipped out on reality and accepted this and pretended it was love.

I peel back layers of writing. I write and then I forget what I write until I come back to it with fresh eyes. Horrible things aren’t so bad anymore and I realized it was just the sentiment behind it that sucked! Someday, I think to certain pieces, I will share you. Never, I curse at certain pieces, will you see the light of day. And then, because I do heart the underdog, I let them live anyway. I hope that after I have forgotten them and come back to review them, they might get their chance yet.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Communicable Waltz

The sky holds blue today after a constant flow of grey holding in the humidity of these two seasons dancing. Summer sways hand to hand with Autumn, their love affair burns a lovely shade of happy today, their mingling perfumes the air with a soft musk, intoxicating everything! Faces around me shine, unaware that the sunny day has something to do with it, this self included in this communicable infection of joy.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

The Eastside

still my favorite view from my porch steps.

How to give love

I wake up to my day with love in my ear and
stretch into my presence with coffee blessing taste buds.
My smile brings smiles to others faces and my
heart beats with respect and integrity before impulsive response.
And as I breathe slow breaths daily, I
give myself the space to slow down my thoughts, reminding myself
you must be treated exactly how I want to be treated.
'Love to self first' is my mantra & receving love the counter beat.

Monday, September 14, 2009


Thoughts shoot like sling shots in my direction. Revelations turning into resolutions, decisions to be made. I cannot rely on supposed to or understanding. Dialogue gets lost in the vernacular of the soul anyway. Feelings gravitate towards old corners where I fell to my knees while screaming as loud as I could to stop! Sigh & chuckle, memory. That was when I died. Even in my last breath, I fought to have my voice. Resurrection at the hand of determination, I bet Jesus would’ve applauded my moxy. I resuscitated my words a distance away, subconscious’ plan seeded years kinda knew this was how I’d survive. At some point I turned the running into running feet circling a jogger’s path and thought I was done escaping something. There are days when I think checking out is easier then staying present. Quick deaths over slow ones. But then it is the soul here speaking up. My soul. I don’t know why it always seems to be in contradiction with something. Familial heritage I suppose. My soul knows. My soul understands. My soul isn’t playing with impulsive rules anyway. My soul has always whispered truth in times of lies and contradictions. I am beginning to listen and not fight to slip into the molds of reinvented histories. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I take out the debate in the vernacular and begin to realize what is
m ssing.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

un momento, por favor

The leaves turn to their rusty colors quick this season. Fall slid her foot in the door before she has even left her calling card.

~Working on a thought and decided to search for loose threads to pick up and sow into the hem I'm making. Heh. I remembered once, somewhere I wrote about Autumn's grace and came acrossed these. I suppose I'm sharing again with the reader because I miss them.  Also, here is something to chew on until I get this hem finished. :)

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


Learning the alphabet of this living, I've become my own teacher, scribbling my rhyme.  Life is not rudimentary, but its beauty lives in the elementary transactions of cause and effect.  Slipping letters together, forming the talisman that helps me to fly. This is my craft. A childless witch, I birth this journey on my broomstick circling the night sky. When you see the halo around the moon, know that is the necklace holding my alphabet.