This just in...

Wild Western Woman

2008-05-19T00:46:00.002-05:00

Well, so be it.
Here I am. online again... FINALLY.
She loves me.
Soon, I will seek comfort in words.

oops.

2008-02-11T16:04:00.000-06:00

Well. It has been awhile...
New year. And then some- new city. Same as the old.
I wonder- wonder wonder, if I can say what it is I need to say..
I wonder if I need to at all.
Until.

A less "intense" approach

2006-12-06T22:23:00.000-06:00

Well.Should I toss the last shred morsel of pride I’ve to my name; call, or just close up shop. And bid ye farewell..

Why can't I find my instruction manual!

hypothetically..

2006-12-05T16:26:00.000-06:00

Today I hate you..
Hate that I love you,
At all.
Today I hate that I am naïve.
Stupid.
For having believed you.
Having listened to you say..

Those two sick words
Trust me.
Lie #1

Lie #2
I am not like the others.

How stupid.
I wonder right now, if this was your way to prove just how young I am.

It has proved just how single you have been.
Have you played like this your whole life?
Or saved it for me?
Special like.
Today I hate you.
and your silent disrespect.

23 - Above all else, guard your heart, for it affects everything you do.

2006-06-03T04:03:00.000-05:00

Sold - To the older gentleman, with keen interest in my painting.
Mine.
Thank you.

Sometimes being noticed- is musing enough.
***
Emergency!
She need’s I.D. that would be 6 years past.
A death is approaching.
A woman to admire.
She made it all look so simple.
And never failed to understand.
Else try.
The count down started.
And still no ID.
***
Stumbling nervously.
Having never considered this side of things.
Misunderstood.
Words tangled on the tip of my tongue tugging loose
Erratically.
***
I have not what it takes
To hurt you,
this way.
For if it was I- a coward would not have been allowed

In hindsight.
Of course.

Simply eccentric-
My only defence.
I beg from you pardons-
For I meant nothing of the sort.
Believe me-
Please.
.

One drop of inspiration to contribute to ...

2006-05-18T10:27:00.000-05:00

Well.
Rain washes all away, less the buttered paws of ones loves.
Today in a foggy bliss I am recognizing pain, and love, and relaxation, dead lines, and responsibility.

What shall i do.. what shall I do.

You see a friend of mine is hosting an event.

The event.

I am so proud of her.
And I wish to contribute.
The event:
ONE DROP OF WATER,
put on by:
RADIANT FACE PRODUCTIONS.

will be held on May 27th, 2006,
at the Varley Art Gallery on Main street in
Unionville.

I wish to contribute more than just an appearance.
I wish to paint.

But alias…
Like many
I still have a logical realistic amount of time in which to procrastinate.
Damn.
What to do.
Staring at blank canvas.
Perhaps ill toss some paint at it to stimulate the minds…
Meh, until then..
If you are interested you can see
http://www.stephenlewisfoundation.org/
news_event_item.cfm?event=920&year=2006&month=5
(It wont allow me to make a link so cut and paste it...)
To learn more about the Steven Lewis foundation, or email me about info regarding tickets.

Peace.

2006-03-29T17:42:00.000-06:00

Did you know Nutella® does not melt. Who knew.

ring ring

2006-01-11T23:14:00.000-06:00

I called my mother today.
And Yesterday.
A big deal.
Always been a little weird. Always a little off.
Wondered what her deal was.
unhappy? insecure?
Possibilities.
My father was a pretty good hitch. Loyal. Very Loyal.
She had things when I was a child that I depended on..
Like knowing that place where the sun stained her throat Always.
That the lines there, I saw emerging from her youth. They were mine too.
I called my mother today, and yesterday.
She changed her number.

Again.

G.B.D.C.

2005-12-17T09:54:00.000-06:00

The hint of these new tears are sharp.
I try to choke them back.
But it's useless.
I am useless against them.
They are beating me with ease.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

2005-12-17T09:53:00.001-06:00

My cat Cello, tells me to make a break for it. Slowly. Cautiously. Get out. Take the girl with us- but not the dog.

more to come

2005-12-17T09:53:00.000-06:00

So here you have it.
A change in space.
Pace.
A place to be.
In me.

X is for....

2005-11-02T17:26:00.000-06:00

The first mention in literature of XXX for kisses at the bottom of a letter was in 1901, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. The X itself is very old.

The custom goes back to the early Christian era, when a cross mark or "X" was the same as a sworn oath. The cross referred to the cross of Calvary and the first letter of the Greek word for Christ, Xristos.

Even as little as a hundred and fifty years ago, not many people could read or write. The "X" at the bottom of a document took the place of a signature. They would kiss the "X" as a crucifix or bible was kissed to emphasize the importance of the mark. It was this practice that lead to the "X" representing a kiss.

There isn't much known about the beginnings of the "O". It is a North American custom. The "O" represents the arms in a circle around another person. Arms crossed in front of you do not mean the "X" as a hug! The "O" is the hug.

In "The Joys of Yiddish" by Leo Rosten, it is noted that illiterate immigrants (or those who did not know Roman-English letters) would generally sign entry forms with an "X" but Jews preferred an "O" to avoid making something that looked like a cross. Also, shopkeepers and salesmen would similarly sign receipts with a circle. Could this be the origin of the "O"?

in other news...it appears in the middle of a word and represents...What. you tell me...

2005-10-12T21:57:00.000-05:00

what if love is like a dog
If you fear it.
It fears you

must sleep.

2005-10-12T19:19:00.000-05:00

Some people spend their lives begging for some sort of commitment with out actual deep connections with people. Superficial love if you may. See what they want to see. Love what they want to love, try and change what they cannot love, and beg you not to leave.
Other people connect to you. See you. Accept you for you. And love you. But cannot afford to make commitments.

In my place of employment I meet all sorts of characters. Mostly because
A) it’s new and
B) 2) I’m out of my house, my mind.
C) It’s a people person job…

I enjoy my job. So far.
If they would only get my name right.

The people I could do without. A certain Wendy has “taken me under her wing” She travels. She has worked there for some time.
She try’s to find things to talk to me about. “Where are you from” “How old are you.” She’s funny. Not the sort of funny I can share with her.
She is young. Living at a hostel. So she says. She is engaged, or was, and her ring was a Harley. But she is giving it back. Her boots are burgundy and pointed.
I hate pointed toes.
She, at lunch break, said to me.. I’ll meet you there, look, up there at the tables.
Eventually I made my way there, to eat my lunch.
Hid in the back.. “oh,. There you are… I didn’t think you would come up here. Why are you hiding?”
“I don’t actually like most people. I like to sit back and observe. “
She replies with
“yeah people are fuc*ed.”
“Yeah.”
“So why did you bring your lunch.”….
Eating in peace was not an option.
Here in the eating area at the Yankee corral, I learn that H.R is everywhere, and again the department you fear.
What is with that?

I miss my love. I miss my love.

Here at the Office I have access to the Internet. I could write to anyone I wanted with risk of prompt dismissal. I gauge the risk..
Not yet I settle on. Not quite yet.

I notice people. I stare. I’ve noticed I do this. I am searching, for what I don’t know. But I constantly justify it with - I am an artist.
And I find myself looking at people, of all nationalities, a novelty I’ve yet to become bored with. People are fascinating- when distant. When silent.

There is a woman at work, that when in the company of any single person she will become them. A Jamaican woman walks in, and she is thick with accent. A French one, the same so on and so forth.. Quite well I must admit.
I wonder if I do this. I know I have southern intonation. But I am not from the South.

Sometimes I don’t even know where I am from. It’s been so long since I’ve been back.
I’m craving home. Barbie/mom..
I want so badly to just pack up, love cat dog, belongings and go.
Go
Go.
The comforts of being in a space where you can be.
Here I am a little lost, new city- new schedule, new people.. new.. new new..
My love unable to just be.
Becoming distant with self in fear of possibilities.

I am biting my tongue/ holding my breath. It’s just PMS. It has to be.
I’m begging it to be.
I should sleep.
I should also note.. I have not really slept in a while. I am exhausted. Terribly.
Until~

Thanks Givin

2005-10-08T16:41:00.000-05:00

Wanting so badly to understand what it is i feel about Holidays.
Hallmark. Ughh.
I am thankful.
For so much. On a regular baisis.
So why take time off of living to dedicate thanks.
is it real? Is it thankful. Meaningful.
Doubtful.
Pass the stuffing.
Thanks.
More later when less "what ever this is"

~Officially~

Answer me this

2005-10-03T13:57:00.000-05:00

what is love asking of you when it cuts itself free- begging you not to let go. ?

2005-10-03T10:39:00.000-05:00

Without guilt she is lounging around- doing some much necessary laundry. Relaxing in the mind, with exception to wondering where the rest of my belonging are, how she will obtain them.
“Our” house smells funny. An odd smell- not the sort that would breed the possibility of finding dead things -Lets hope anyway.
But that of …. On second thought - don’t really want to know…
let’s not go there.
Nonetheless- she is stuck with a necessary laundry schedule. Never had a laundry schedule before. Even while working with enough money to do laundry for a living- she chose to work in her favorites. Eat with Suave/caution. A slob at heart.
And here now, thank goodness a laundry machine and dryer..
So the last time was Friday morning. Woke with no job. The day went as so, a fair bit of prayer, A little phone tag. Some blogging, some more phone tag, some prayer, some cleaning (not too much) a shower then Blammo- A job interview scheduled- an adventure completely guided by grace..
She had no clue how to get to Said interview.. She got prettied up after a quasi emotional-conversation/chat with S.
A little disoriented she heads off into the sun. blinded with hope. She goes to one bus stop and realized what a street car is. Walks to the Street car station located directly in the middle of the road.
WHAT!!!??
So with traffic zooming both behind and in front of her waiting for a trolley.
It’s amazing how little respect she gets when she asks “how much”
It’s amazing to be in a city where asking is not a good thing.
She’s learning the Subways Plural. More than one. And here the transit works around the clock.

I was at the subway after my interview, {that was much like a game of cards. And stated so,} I was buying a Snapple. Looking around thinking I’m going to buy a lot of muffins here. He leans over and says- hey- you know what TTC stands for right. And I’m silent- um…
he leans in and say’s.. Take The Car. Ha.
Would have if I could have.

None the less after playing cards, and “The Woman” fallowing protocol. I got the job. I was told I got the job before I even left the office. Nice.
Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.

One down.

I am happy. I am being presented many a lesson.
This I know. I feel.
Until
For i will.
I always do.
~Oficially

Chocolate Milk Sampling Representatives - Dairy Farmers of Canada

2005-09-30T09:00:00.000-05:00

So here we have it
I am learning that when I have little or no sleep, my hands hurt.
They ache, maybe it is the season change- the hands and the lethargy.. .

Lethargy. Strange concept. Especially for those who know me.

Over all for the most part I am terribly Hyper active.. I say terribly because no one seems to appreciate hyperactivity unless they are paying you for physical labor...
I’m what one could call light switch hyper..
I am equally as hyper as I am relaxed. And can go from hyper to chill much like a switch of the light…
Nonetheless I can usually control it- years of dealing with the rest of the world NOT having A.D.H.D.
Which comes in veryyyyy handy when other people aren’t willing to “go the extra mile” Or when you need to impress someone “ or when things just need to get done”
But here is the catch..
When I, say for example, need to get the dishes done. Love doing dishes.. Hands relaxing warm water.. No pain.. Personal time.. Immediate satisfaction.. But say I’m tired- I need to sort of pull out the hyper. And when you open the door to hyper,, like an unorganized closet of obsolete sports utensils-it all comes tumbling out… All of it.
Now just like a sugar high… Inevitably one burns out. Hopefully not in the middle of the dishes that turned into the washing of the counters that turned into the wiping of the closets, the walls, the bathroom.. The mowing of the lawn.. That dog needs walking/playing the kids need supper.. Wait a mini.. I don’t have children… who’s…
WHAT!!

I can choose to turn it off- usually depending on where I am in said “high” but like the light—when its out its out.. and I’m suddenly chill- and there is not a chance I’m doing anything without bitchin* about it. Not a chance at all.

With hyperactivity, for me, came optimism. Now there are a few ways too look at optimism. I chose to consciously make optimism a part of my life. I think I went a little over board, meh?!
Optimism is fancy, nice, positive manipulation.
It is. I’m manipulating myself into believing this is not so bad.
It’s not sooo bad, The cat wakes up at 4 AM and demands affection, which sets the dog off into thinking at 5 AM that its definitely time to get up and walk..
Or that the room is 10 ft by 10 ft and we can totally make it work: one 140 pd dog, 2 adults and a cat. No closet... I can make it work. I know!, Ill get creative.. And I did. You should see what I did with 2 old futon frames…and rope.

Last night I learned that S is envious of my unemployment.
Strange.
I thought unemployment was bad. Very bad.
Nevertheless I understand.
On that note, I believe this said unemployment is coming to an end. THANK GOODNESS! I’m bored outta my skull.. I need to do something.. These walls are not nearly entertaining enough, the dog stinks naturally, and when im home this often I smell like the dog, and rendered unaware, until while grocery shopping, people move away, and comfortably ask- is that your dog outside?
Yeah- why"
Curious"..

Come on give me a job,Please!
Personally I love working for call centers.
Inbound.
I am not a sales person.
At all.
Not even a little.
But I do think talking to a variety of characters-guaranteed to not be the same as any one else-is a way too much fun- hilarious job.
Usually pays well perfect for a ball of hyperactivity and I’m good at it.
Almost too good at it.
( comment here for interview times..Im loyal-dedicated and a fast learn....)
I may have an interview for what looks like it will be a night time position, (usually means you work your ass off to be the best. Not ask for anything, show up on time, and provide World-class customer care ™. When time comes for an evaluation, and you are perfect- they will ask you what you would like to be rewarded with… I would like the day shift please".. Your wish is my command'..
Like Putty.)
{Longest brackets ever !- Next to letters from S)

Assuming I get the interview, and assuming that the garlic we’ve eaten for the last few days hasn’t permanently tainted my breath**-I'll be a fair bit happier im sure, with much more entertaining stories to share(

**It’s psychological- if we eat eccentric foods rich in flavor and vowels, were not poor and lazy.) {Correction. I. If I eat…. }
On that note.. I’m tired, and my hands hurt. I think I will justify having a nap with, the job I’m applying for is a midnight shift, and the woman that called me called in the evening. I want to be alert.
And that’s this morning. Until.
Over and out.
~Ofically.

Why do non-smokers smoke or are smokers becoming victim to fad and not smoking.

2005-09-28T08:29:00.000-05:00

I’ve picked up the nasty habit.
Of not being a non smoker- or a smoker.
I don’t think about smoking when in the company of non smokers- and hate it when in the company of smokers.
I don’t “stress out” and run to buy a pack at the slightest bit of uncertainty.
I don’t do “Drugs” ( that sentence seems wrong-) So I don’t
A) need to use tobacco to dilute anything
or
2) Justify cigarettes as the lesser of evils

I don’t drink. Don’t like it. So I’m not left as one of those I only smoke when I drinker’s

I am not promiscuous. So I’m not found needing a cigarette after terrible sex with a stranger simply because it is what they do in the movies and on some levels it silently states it was as good for me as it was so don’t ask.. Dilute yourself into thinking I “needed it” – it was “that good”.

I find myself wanting a smoke when I paint. Carelessly sitting in the ashtray burning away (novel and poetic when cigarettes were $2.50 CDN a pack.) Or in my hand bouncing around- smoke carefully caressing ideas.
Again rather dramatic…and expensive.

I long for a smoke when alone. Maybe its my rebellion.
As if I don’t know it stinks and can be spotted via nose on clothing for weeks… I know it can/ could and would kill me. I know I cannot justify buying them.
They taste bad. And no one cool does it any more.
It’s a high school rebellion, a youth fascination. An oral fixation.
It is not as though I even go outside to smoke. I smoke inside or rather burn them in the ashtray or in my hand and allow the disgusting odor to penetrate to permeate everything I own…..
Then I am stuck doing laundry.
Again.

Why do we. Do what we do.

2005-09-28T08:18:00.000-05:00

Why we blog.
I think we all have a secret we want to share.
We all tell the things we “shouldn’t” to an audience in our minds, journals, sketchbooks, soundboards, canvas..
Here we actually have the audience.
Its not as intimidating.
I don’t have to picture you’s naked. ( And I don’t)
I don’t have to appeal to any single one of you..
But if I want comments- ill hope someone out there understands…
And I will check my spelling.
Incantations of sorts- hoping you will be mesmerized by rhythm- By promise of another word/sentence/paragraph/post…
Feel free to comment.
I thrive on it.
But do not leave me with such simple vague nothings.
Do not leave me with Cute
Or nice.
For my words are neither.
They have blood/pounding pulse that keeps me alive
A comment is also an invitation...
We review our entries.. See if anyone...
ohhh lookie... their name is.. i wonder if..
Cute:)
damn.
Maybe this person cannot write.. maybe they didnt have time...
so you click away anyway.. click on them to see who they are.
A pitch gone wrong.
Cute.
~Until

~

2005-09-27T23:32:00.000-05:00

It is funny how one can read a post, a blog and apply it to them selves.
(cause if we blog we like attention- and feel some what proud of what we have strung together)
Perhaps its the way I write..
I include you.
And you.
And
you too..
but sometimes I write about distant memories or losses, or ways that have crept into the sidelines of today.
Even shadows of yesterday
or highlights of tomorrow...
but this does
( paradox- always)
go to you.

Today I feel the eternal struggle that insists I am human/angel/lover/paradox/simple/emotional/speaker/listener.

I am learning the lessons I thought I had so thoroughly learned.
Again I take the test again I take the test again.

I wish you would write.
I mean.
You are a writer.
I fell in love with your words.
Not that I am not in love.
But also in longing.
For a passion slash fire only you posess.
( so many- you little arson you)

I have learned I love you.
I rethink.
I learned just how much i love you
And i thought I understood.
As though my age or my experience or lack there of, had somehow made me superhuman.

I know you love me.
Another realization.
YOU love me
This is what my heart knows.
What my brain thinks/prepares for is:
I fear you tell me what I want to hear.
As though you fear hurting me.

I wish for you to be.
Truthful.
To you.
To him.
I wish for you a good sleep.

I am off to paint and repaint and repaint..
Do you ever have something to say but you have no words/voice...
something to paint
but you are sooooooooooooooooo back logged you do not know where to start...
I need more canvas.
More paint.
My brushes.. oh dear..

I wonder when my medium will find me.

Good night to you.
Love. X
~ Ofically

Lessons learned Babble-riffic

2005-09-27T09:20:00.000-05:00

If I were to split myself off into two- right this moment.
I would be forced to put everything that is me, into two bottles.
Well one would be a bottle- a glass bottle.
The glass would be old and full of bubbles with a green-like tinge to it. It would be tall and slender and would possess everything that was not held within the confines of the cardboard box, taped together, and painted over like an office box recycled slash reused in a child’s room to hold toys and miscellaneous objects causing clutter when not away.

I would be forced to face all of my fears. Forced to be as mean or as honest as I can / have to be.
I would be forced to say that I think ************************

I would need to acknowledge I am too old to play these games, and have been too reckless with my heart, that I am selfish, and undeserving. That I am to "be Wise" to carefully consider what i am "doing".

I would be bound to organize all that flow thru my head. Would certainly deal with my parents or lack there of.
Absolutely consider my dealings with the human race, and whether or not I’ve totally “missed the boat” when it comes to Love thy neighbor.
I would definitely choose “one Side or the other” when it came to all my gray areas. Would be forced to. I suppose I would /slash/ could eagerly for I am human. And we all know how difficult humans make things….
Pry this all apart to attempt to understand what is me then to place everything back on the shelf ....Carry on Carry on…
Thank goodness I cannot split myself off in two.

Barbie- my adopted mother and I were speaking on the phone last night. This woman I admire and love with such fierceness that the love for adventure, and hope for love has somehow, although at times been a shallow pulse, continued to beat.
She amongst many other things has saved me.
While on the phone, she asks me totally straight voiced if – I am surprised by my life. Now this woman knows. She knows everything I have told her, rarely forgetting a thing, and she know what I have not told her.
She knows.
She just always knows.
I am always surprised. Not at the happenings, but at the multitude of emotions that go with it. I’m always dismayed at just how much (un) said issues hurt/impact.
I say Hurt slash Impact because I do not believe in victims.
I believe I hurt myself.
When specifically going against Aslan. Aslan as I’ve stated before, I know gives me a basic “lo-down” all the time. He tells me what, who, where, sometimes I’ve even blessed with why and when.
Nonetheless.
I’m learning to listen to him. I’m learning to trust.
You see, it’s always been a catch ( for me ) If I listen then I, as an analytical thinker, would never know what to trust, having not listened, I’ve had something to hold onto.
But not whishing to allow arrogance to grow within me… I know now he purrs in my peripheral.
Enough “proof” in my mind he speaks.
To little ole me.
I think I’m tired of the consequence.
I think I’m just tired.

After speaking with Barbie I’ve learned again just how much I need my supports. Just how tough I really am.
Not so much.
I miss her. I miss the prairies. I miss the panoramic sunsets.
I miss the winters that have always been.
The same.
The summers that have always been
The same.

I’ve learned that as much as I can sense, see and accept change.
It isn’t something I seek any longer.
I no longer strive to swim upstream.
I go with the flow-
Sideways maybe but with the currant that Aslan guides.

~Until~

ə-SI/LəM

2005-09-26T19:30:00.000-05:00

A·SY·LUM

ə-SI/LəM

1.An institution for the care of those who are ill or in need.
2. A place for safety; refuge.
3. Protection granted by a government to a political fugitive from another country.
[ GK asulum Sanctuary ]

Paradox

2005-09-26T19:14:00.000-05:00

When one loves paradox.
One must learn to love a broken heart.

Ange,Angie, Angel, Angela

2005-09-24T22:44:00.000-05:00

So here I am...
In my partners- Brothers-wife’s families house.
A euchre tournament..
Need more be said.
Not only am I incredibly nervous. Uncomfortable. Overheated.Over-dressed. The freak in the corner.. (Literally) My crotch is for ever being sought by a Soccer ball headed giant poodle names Becham, who just for the record, would do just about anything to hump me until the sun rose.
I’m slowly introduced to people. People I haven’t met.People i have met in the past.. And out of no where I’m introduced by my Partner by a name not my own.
I’m led into the crawl-space in my mind- as all the clutter of people around me are carried off into other rooms due to a table switch..
I am led to this place, where i am forced to acknowledge.
As much as I know.
For as much as i can believe this person is who God has set out for me to learn somthing from. I must also acknowledge- that we don't know each other.
Not completely.
I heard that if your thinking of settling down with someone.
If your planning on spendig your entire life with someone.... There is really nothing wrong with spending a few years making sure you can tolerate them.
Making certain they are who you think they are.
I believe this is wise.
I believe these words.

I live in Toronto now.
A very new revolution. Very new. I’m a mid city bumpkin.. Actually quite country. And comfortable.
I’m trying my hand at working for Starbucks.
-When one cannot afford the addiction.. Become the addiction.
I really want to be able to chill out.. relax have a job that i can tolerate.. that means nothing and food slash rent at the same time.
Anyway.. I’m applying, and job interviewing.. And learning about City Transit.
I’m standing at a bus stop.
I’m watching a man who literally is making cigarettes appear out of no where, lighter, lift shirt up. Inhale-shake and cross legs- while standing.. Another man shirt tied at his waist like an 80's hooker comes up grabs the smoke mumbling- incompressible. and poof all over again.... smoke out of no where. Lighter, inhale.. lift shirt....
A man making eyes at me.. ( me fearing eye contact) is too "macho"and storms forward pit bul-like toward the chain smoker.. he startles.. dances out of his way... and lights another smoke.

I’m on the bus.. dropping cash- the bus driver is no help.. wont even look at me.. until he does..
then he is all smiles and too nice..
Shivers run thru my spine.
I’m at the subway..
DIRTY DIRTY DIRTY
I cannot even begin to explain anything else..
I am taken back to a place where my sister and i were taking the LRT ( light Rail Transit)A cleaner sort of transportation ( I’m an Albertan ) And a man came on board. Now we were in a bit of a rush.. this was the first time that her and I were actually taking part in a school function.
We had managed to not participate(appropriately )in any for the entire 4 years..
We were going to Prom.-ish.

Back to the "man"

He dicided to HI-jack the LRT.
Hi-Jack.
An above ground Subway.
As though it could go farther than the tracks.
needless to say...
We were late.
An honest excuse.
needless to say...
No one believed us.
So real time :
Im waiting on this subway car.. lovers leaning over me..
And suddenly i think i hear the words Royal York... Strain to hear..buslte to get out from behind lovers...and blamo im there
Im on the ground again and not in the ground and im off to the interview.
I wonder if ill get it
I wonder if I was too happy, to formal,to informal, i wonder. i wonder.
But for now, im at a tourniment. And desperate to "check" the dog. My dog, in the car, not the soccorball determined to mate with me.
And i must be polite.. for here comes... ...Whats their name again...
~until

A summer to remember, a month to remember a week to remember a day to forget.

2005-09-21T18:11:00.000-05:00

A wonderfully strange day.

I have strayed form a blog that has done me nooooooo good- well not much.

And back to one that is well, we'll settle on "better".

~I have included as much as I could salvage from said blog~

Today i am reminded of fall- the swift arrival of winter is just around the corner.

At 5 am this morning- the crisp air testing my nose, and naked shoulders, forcing me to crumpily seek warmth in an angel laying next to me. Winter announcing itself in cold toes, and radiators.. Perfect easels in summer and coffee warmers in winter.

I am considering socks. actually considering socks. This is not cool.

Although Ive been fantasizing of winter for some time now.

I am actually considering socks….

I have written about a "family" I had lived with. A family, which will remain nameless. That I have since moved on from.

I am learning that I am quite eager to accept people into my life. If they have troubles, baggage, addictions bad tempers and are over all F*cked. – Oh mental illness is also a real catch apparently- Especially the ones who do nothing about it, or everything about it and wash it down with a Dubie and a beer.

All of this of course "mentioned" to me in the beginning, my arrogant-ish- save the worldly-attitude, disregarding or justifying for some unclear probably selfish motive. - How dare you judge- Leave it be- Your experience is not mine- But I see something good in this person.. blah blah the justification continues…

Only to be shamefully reminded that Aslan did in fact tell me ahead of time, allow me to see what I "was getting into" and I of course did not heed his warning.

Now certainly, with pride I will accept my consequence, and gracefully watch the material possessions "no longer matter".

Or also equally appropriate- be stolen/destroyed.
So back to the "point".
This said family.-I feel for them. Them who have no idea what it is like to be read to. No idea what it is like to be heard, or what silence outside of being grounded or left home alone. No clue what it feels to be a child that hears no violence, sees no booze. A simple ignorance in not know what drugs are, what they smell like.. to know how it feels to not wake up at 6 years old, with a smokers cough...

I feel for them.
I found myself not "seeing" this.. Seeing it, but focusing so much on making things better.. Encouraging to smoking outside. Finding other things to do than drink/ or inhale. Read, play, talk… TALK! Such a novel Idea!

I gave up the drink a long time ago, and lost interest in the party scene before my movie began.

Said family though I was weird but funny. And kind. I suppose I was.

None the less.

When I felt Aslan. And heard him whisper possibilities, and second chances a lesson to learn from the wise. I took it. And said family was unimpressed.

It still hurts.

A little too close is the gash to my heart. I am left spinning from swords crashing around me just close enough to maybe clip my wings.
Humbled.

I dream in circus freaks.

2005-09-21T17:19:00.000-05:00

I dream in circus freaks.

Whites-blacks-reds.
Big crooked teeth.
Straight jackets.
Maniacal laughter.
Honesty.
Pride.
Integrity.

The big tent encompassing a family of non-belong’ers. Of the ones never picked to catch or throw. The ones left on the side lines to marinate in their uniqueness. The ones who stopped caring what people thought, and realized people don't think when people can not see.

The invisible crew- Less nothing else to occupy the minds of the Bullies.

The clique that never gave in return to those less fortunate. There were none less fortunate.
What people do not understand is this.

When all you have is Ms.Fortune.
You best know how to turn a buck and eat.
Else you'll have none.

Royal City

2005-09-21T16:51:00.000-05:00

I am reminded of a time that I took refuge on the roof tops of other peoples houses.  On other peoples buildings. 
To sit and escape the two dimensional plane or reality that has been taken for granted by so many. To sit nestled in the heavenly celestial palace, that one only regards while faced with death, to write, read, make and create. To Be.
Watching people not notice two legs dangling high above society. 
I remember thinking, 
“so this is how people get the courage to jump.” 
Above the city so full of life and.... Justice?  Just like the magazines show. 
Laughing, drinking, this you too can see when you grab a magazine in  the library,
If you keep your eyes closed on the walk down. If you look into the picture and see what they have presented to you, yes, this is what it looks like.

But if you just look past the focus, just to the right, behind the obsessively happy and obviously high (class) drunk you will see her dealer, or the child who was given their fix, to present her with her’s.

You will see the oceanic pain that this city strives on. You will see all the business men and women fancied up in masks and leather gear covering, not to much up. heading down to the local torture chambers to relieve their daily stress’ from another hard day of keeping their eyes closed.

You will see the children walking the streets at night, all night, looking for a safe place to sleep. You will see the men at the hostels sitting round back smoking a joint with the police, the same police that will arrest you for Loitering, while you were waiting out front the hostel for the doors to open so wouldn’t have to sleep outside, stone cold sober. And when morning rolls in and you hope they have forgotten about you. You learn, that no charges were laid. In fact no paper work was done at all. they just wanted to empty your pockets. And have a little fun. And that $5 that you had, is gone. Your dignity is gone and the roaches you picked up from round back the hostel , Yeah they are gone too. And your left in the not-quite-blinding-enough sunlight to see the line-ups at all the local churches where signs are hung:

‘If we feed them they wont rob us.’ & ‘Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.’

You see the prostitutes taking long hauls off of cigarettes while eyeing you up and down with make-up caked cheek-bones and racoon blood-shot eyes telling you they,

“ Had Hard Harry, the hardest Judge in this entire city last night. Tried not to pay.”

and your left wondering where he got that name from, last you heard he was a tough judge.....Around the corner you see a man resembling Jesus, someone must of told him so too, wearing nothing but a bed-sheet preaching ‘bout heaven and hell and

“oh ‘The Upper Room’ is serving hot soup today at noon, but you gotta get there at 10 or there’ll be none for you.”

And you get into the church after having your bags seized at the door, “wouldn’t want you to steal our stale doughnuts now,”

and you are presented with a gelatinous warm grey blob and a doughnut, to sit in the once white concrete Sunday school room to eat,

“quickly now, you only got 5 minutes, this ain’t no Royal Inn.”

And your shuffled out in single file towards the back, your bag shoved in your hand, trying to figure out what is missing this time.

Toward the Upper Room, you see way-too skinny dogs, eating scraps of stale- mouldy bread scraped with the last from the bowl of “soup” there owners had. Around the back thru the fence, and......

“sorry your too late there no more meal tickets, but your welcome to help yourself to a loaf of bread.”

You walk the blocks back to the beautiful city you read about in the magazine, keeping your eyes open the whole time and you see.

You see the cop hit that man. You’ve seen it before and you’ll see it again. You see the undersize under weight not much older than a toddler asking little old ladies for

“money to eat, Please”.

You see the little old ladies lift their purses and swing, shouting out to the mothers,

“how dare you send your children out to do your dirty work”

But there are no mothers capable of hearing, slumped over themselves.

Fathers ‘doing time’ for having sold dope to some bad cop, and known not enough to keep his eyes and mouth tightly closed.

“Hey at least he’s alive” Some would say, and you remember what one night in jail was like and you think to yourself

“too bad. He’d be better off.”

You walk back to the city where everyone keeps their eyes tightly closed, unless you walk to close to them, or talk to them.

and you climb back up on the roof tops of other peoples houses. On other peoples buildings. To sit and escape the two dimensional plane or reality that has been taken for granted by so many. Watching all the drug deals going on, watching all the prostitutes going in and getting tossed out of cars. Men and women rushing about with their eyes closed.

This city sits on the end of a needle. The only city year round that wears long sleeves. And no one questions the tracks.

This beautiful city named after the Queen, have the Queen a side we don’t know about. Come to think of it have you ever seen the queen in a short-sleeve shirt.

R.E.T.L.I.F.

1994-01-01T15:11:00.000-06:00

Words push thru metal bars behind mesh screens-beyond bullet proof glass.
Like blood pressing thru the pours of ones skin.
One by one to inspire only one-eighth of me.
Watching inspiration filter thru the windows
Like beads of sweat.
waiting to be soaked up.

2005-09-08 20:20:00; Sauve she seeps into stereo.

1990-12-12T14:12:00.000-06:00

Today I stayed in bed until my smile carried me up and out. Today one William Shakespeare made even more sense. Today I stood up for myself. Today I felt loved. Today I loved. Today I provided sustenance. Today I laughed with children. Today I found strength in Spirit. Today I remembered. Today I daydreamed. Today I rejoiced.

Also- Today I finally received a new "WritePad" My word for puter. I am torn between allowing happiness and faith in this small thin Notebook flow fully.. For I’ve poured my heart out and wrote it all, wallowed in tracking it as it all began..
And it went where all the left socks go.

And so it is borne: Anastasia.
Meaning resurrection.

Something about plugging in. A concept owned by my generation. A generation conceived of human and left for machine.
An umbilical cord linking one to expression, knowledge, and communication.
A machine. A womb.
A place to hide.
Behind.
In front.
Beside.
Gargoyle-like perched atop the monitor teasing – testing; My Muse presses on.
Begging me to tell my secrets.

I am living with a family. A family that has no idea of the reading world. I have started reading C.S. Lewis’ The Loin the witch and the wardrobe.
So far the 6 year old likes the “Sheep guy” and wants a fur coat. And the 11 year old cannot stop laughing at me cause I am reading out loud. Oh and she hates it. And she knew she would hate it even before chapter 1.

The one who is 11 asks me later what a conscience is.
Hmmmmmmmmmm.. Somehow I don’t think that saying the part of the superego in psychoanalysis that judges the ethical nature of one's actions and thoughts and then transmits such determinations to the ego for consideration. (Thank you Dictionary.com) Is going to "sink in".
And so I settle on; a place you go in your mind, when you need to decide on something. To see what you know of good and bad.
She is satisfied with this. And proceeds to molest the dog causing a big commotion, which sets off the 6 year old into thinking she is hungry again, and demands a jelly bean.
Yep.
Children.
Or as a good friend of mine would say.. EEP CHILDREN.!
I think she is on to something.

I’m being pegged with questions as we speak. The umbilical cord becoming thin unable to focus I shall return…
~Offically