Sumptuous

(I feel like with Christmas just passed and having been to a beautiful wedding yesterday I should be writing something sweet and touching and very feel good, but those can be hard to write without sounding overly sappy. So that is in the works and this will have to tide over this blog for now as I attempt to keep my goal of posting at least every three days. Originally I had "insatiable appetite" and I can't decide if I like "voracious" better or not. So if you read this, please vote.)

Sumptuous

My hands tremble slightly as I grip the pen tighter.
Distracting – this infatuation. I am ravenous --
voracious appetite. I cannot quell my cravings.
Shower water flows over me; I luxuriate in the sensation,
momentarily free from my yen, but I remain cautious.
The hunger is potent – it will return.
Stirring my dinner and I cannot ignore the enticing silence.
Irreverent I sit, savoring the opulence of my fantasies.
Intriguing temptations meander through my mind.
I lie in bed, awaiting the delectable sweet salve of sleep.
Luscious ideas linger, torturous in their succulence.
Can I be saved from this depravity?
Perhaps I’ll simply indulge it.

Fondly Enraptured (working title)

(That last one was a bit...non cheery? So I tried writing a happier one inspired by something personal in my life and so of course it's not particularly good. But I'm just so damn... happy about it. And yes, like everything else I write, it needs work. Suggestions??)

Fondly Enraptured

I feign nonchalance when I suddenly realize,
you have set up a bivouac on my heart.
We banter casually, your every laugh
the sweetest guerdon –
leaving me insensate except to you.
I welcome this malediction
as I remember locking your gaze –
your eyes earning you a new sobriquet.
There can be such intricacy in emotions, so
I am not asking for something sempiternal.
Just you. Just now.

Xeriscaping the Emotional Gardens

(I don't know... blah. I wish I could take a class where the professor doesn't just try to turn you into him or herself, what's with that?)

Xeriscaping the Emotional Gardens

I smile at your frowzy hair, but you
look at me – gelid [judging?]
My heart beats faster as I wonder
what is my malfeasance?
Your laconic chatter pointedly leaves me
out of the conversation
and I ponder if I can redress our dissevered relation.
Your palaver morphing into Poe’s bells –
the tintinnabulation of the … No
more somber than that [knell]
My mental arguments lack cogency [otiose],
so I compose a valediction, embracing
a hubris that I do not have.
So enervated by self-doubts [inculcate my own deprecation]
I cannot utter a single word –
how ardently I crave our quondam amicability.
I look away – yield to your piercing gaze.

Dear Lover

Dear Lover

Dear Lover,
Your intimations that I have become subfusc are...
[nausea]
I am no naïf, your lofty fustian hits as hard as
simple iambic words of disapproval.
Am I imagining your miasma?
[dizziness]
Or have you tired so of my insecurities
I have made you into this caitiff.
Our amity gone – a mere patina.
[aching]
Surrounded by kitsch, I silently cry,
still finding you so infatuating.

Secrets

(I need to, like, take a class or something...)

Secrets

Pssst…
I have a secret
[dirty little]
While I smile and say please
and thank you very much
[hedonistic daydreams]
Answer the phone at work,
Cheery no problem
[want to scream -- stupid people]
Sing along with the car radio,
Wave in people trying to merge
[road rage, visions of rear ending them]
Listen to your day,
Nod at the right places
[shut up so I can have you]
What if anyone knew my
[dirty little]
Secrets?

Some prose too, while I'm at it

(what? I've felt very "write-y" lately)

The box in my lap shifted gently with the movement of the car. With the heater directing warm at my face, I was rather complacent in that twilight state of almost being asleep.

We crested a hill and saw another set of headlights coming toward us. The oncoming truck was driving down the middle of the road and swerved a little to get out of the way. John swerved lightly as well, but our little two-wheel drive did not recover as easily and we fishtailed a bit. A clung a little tighter to the box while John muttered something and tried to relax his white-knuckle grip on the wheel.

"You didn't tell me your sister lived out in the middle of nowhere," he said finally.

"I told you she lives on a mountain..." I knew John was stressed from the drive, but he was not going to lay the blame on me. "And that it was back roads to get to her house."

"People in Vail live in 6 million dollar homes with paved driveways and they live on a mountain."

I nestled back in my warm seat and opted not to reply to this rather illogical statement. If he had drawn conclusions that were wrong, that was still not my fault. Not to mention that I'd offered to drive, but no, what would John's misogynistic father say if he found out? The shame would be -

John's yelp pulled me out of my sleepy thoughts. My eyes snapped open and I caught a split second glimpse of the little Jeep careening around the curving road. I don't remember the actual impact, but rather the effort it took to get out of the car after airbag deployed and I was choking on the powder. Our car had spun and hit the mountainside several times but my door opened enough for me to drop into the snow. Cookie crumbs marked the snow -- the box in my lap had not survived the crash. I needed to find John and reassure him. He would blame himself, but it was clearly not his fault. I heaved to my feet and made my way around the car.

"John!" I hadn't realise how silent it was until I screamed. John lay in the snow, slowly turning it all a jarring shade of crimson.

"I- should have- listened to you, babe." He reached a hand to me and I knelt down to take it. "You better make sure the baby always wears a seat belt." He set a hand on my abdomen and I wondered how he knew, I wasn't even sure yet myself. He squeezed my hand, "I sure do love you."

"John I love you so much!" I screamed it at him, as though I were mad. He looked at me curiously, but then closed his eyes and laid his head down on the snow. I felt his grip go slack in my hand. I screamed again.

***

The blankets were soft against my cheek. I nuzzled them a little but they didn't smell quite right. Slowly I resumed conscious thought and opened one eye, then the other. The wall across from me was a mural of the beach. There was a medical quality stethoscope on the nightstand next to the bed. I was in my room but-

Then I remembered. The flash of lights. The Jeep. John. I sat up and looked around. Somehow I'd gotten to my sister's house. It was actually our childhood house and this was my old room. I swung my feet out of the bed and toyed with the stethoscope. I put one end to my stomach to see if I could hear a baby. Just silence, and a little gurgle of hunger. The door swung open.

"Oh you're awake! Good! What in the world are you doing?"

I lept from the bed and nearly knocked over Lee with my barreling hug. My sister is no wimp though and she was ready for it. She wrapped her arms around me and didn't let go when I suddenly started crying again. What a picture it must have been as I stood there half dressed, a stethoscope around my neck and bawled into my older sister's flannel shirt. When I was done I sat back down on the bed.

"We finally got worried and sent a search party. By party I mean me and Bobby and then Jack and Rusty. Rusty found you first of course, dogs always win these sorts of things and so she and Jack brought you back to the house." She paused. "Not much we could do for John but bring back his body and call the sheriff. The snow's picked up though and the sheriff won't be out for a few more days, so we sort of just have him out back."

"Okay." I didn't know what else to say. Then suddenly I realised something. "What about the Jeep?"

Lee frowned. "We're not sure actually. The tracks and slide marks and what have you all indicate it slid right off the side of the mountain, but Bobby was all over it trying to see down the mountain with his new binoculars and he didn't see anything."

"Curious..."

Did You Know?

(holy crap it's been a while since I posted. Sorry! Not that anyone reads this anyway, but whatever. Here is a poem I wrote just trying to get the old brain functioning again. I know it's not great, but it is what it is)

Did you know?

I drink Diet Coke for breakfast
Listen to punk love songs on my morning commute.
One of the two is making me ill, but
I still cry at the radio.
Did you know?
I count how many other white cars are on the road,
And who has bothered to wash off the winter grime.
I try to relax in the shower,
But can't stop the incessant thinking.
Did you know?
I spend all day on the phone,
I can solve almost anyone's problem.
Just not my own, so
I need your constant reassurances.
Did you know?
I stare at the clock, not for the time,
But to manipulate the numbers into mathematical equations.
I'm trying to find order in this world,
Sometimes you just seem so solid.
Did you know?
I am upset, when you are upset,
I fear I am the one who made you upset.
I wish I could be a shoulder for you,
But how could you know?
I never tell you.

Google

Okay maybe I'm not as up in arms as I thought. I intend to take down all entries on this blog and write to Google asking to expand on their TOS a bit more. It's not like I think they're going to abscond with my works, but the way they phrase it, I just feel a bit sketch about the whole thing. So I intend to contact them and ask them a few questions.

Anyway I'm entering a short story contest and once the deadline is past, I may post it. Supposedly I give up my posting rights if, in an apocalyptic event, I win. I can always take it down I guess. Here's a (very) short excerpt:

“These are the blueprints submitted originally-“ he gestured a few areas with his hand, “You can see how incredibly flawed they are.”
‘Well, no, actually, I can't. Which is why I don’t know why you brought me here. I know nothing about architecture.”
“No, but your school transcripts indicate that you studied –“
“How did you get my school transcripts?”
There was no mistaking the look that Mac gave me, informing me that some questions were better left unanswered.

This BLog will be closing

Dear Readers,

Not that I think you exist in abundance, but in case you have visited this blog and thought to yourself, "I think pop back on over there and see if any new insanity has appeared in the form of writing", I feel it only fair to announce the soon closing of this blog.

I have to make sure that I have everything on my hard drive as a doc before I go erasing it, but then I will be erasing all posts less this one. Why? you may ask yourself. Well, this clause in Google's Terms and Conditions was recently brought to my attention:

11.1 You retain copyright and any other rights you already hold in Content which you submit, post or display on or through, the Services. By submitting, posting or displaying the content you give Google a perpetual, irrevocable, worldwide, royalty-free, and non-exclusive licence to reproduce, adapt, modify, translate, publish, publicly perform, publicly display and distribute any Content which you submit, post or display on or through, the Services. This licence is for the sole purpose of enabling Google to display, distribute and promote the Services and may be revoked for certain Services as defined in the Additional Terms of those Services.

In other words, if any of my stuff was actually deemed "good" by someone, Google could take any of it, reproduce it, and I would get totally jacked. Can someone please explain to me how that is NOT scary and NOT big-brother-like? So spread the word, and please contact Google. Aren't they supposed to be the revolutionary, hip company of the future? If so, our future is looking a bit more dim every day. (and for those of you who are too lazy to type your own, I will be posting a few various form letter options tonight that you can send to Google and pretend you wrote them).

Hugs n kisses,
L

Love poems -- are they always lame?

Okay, okay, it's been almost a month. I'm sorry! I wasn't inspired. And I was busy. And I would try to write and nothing would come out. And now I've gone and written a love poem. Who does that? Of course, I don't mean everlasting deep-felt "rest of of my life" love, I mean those moments where you totally fall in love with someone, enjoy the sensation and then are pretty much over it. Or maybe you toy with it for a few weeks. Whatever, it's that moment, that rush, that's not really lust, but for which we have no good name.

Falling in Love

Love comes at
6:21 in the evening
                        [unexpected times]
when I accidentally look out the window
Love comes when
making a bank deposit
                        [unexpected places]
while engaging in
(too early in the morning)
small talk.
Love comes because
I am not paying attention
                        [unexpected moments]
and you alert me to your presence --
a gentle touch on the arm.
Love comes
unexpectedly.

Some more prose

(largely because writing poetry when hormonal (tmi sorry) is a very bad idea)

“Where are we going?”

“Shh they’ll hear you.”

“Who’ll hear me?”

“I swear to gods, if you don’t shut up, I’ll knock you out and drag you the rest of the way.”

I hadn’t asked for this. I was just a freaking waitress. No one had ever said, “Hey Celeste, would you like to be dragged on a surreal adventure and fight for your life?” I’m pretty sure I would have said no. Waitressing certainly wasn’t my ideal life and sometimes I piled on blankets instead of turning on the heat, but I got food at the café and I went to bed every night pretty sure I’d wake up the next morning. Now I was running down this damned corridor with some weirdo wondering what the hell had happened.

Drew banged on a door. “Whatever it takes,” he shouted. The door opened and he ushered me in.

“Whoa.” I can be pretty freaking eloquent sometimes.

We were inside what I guessed to be the basement of, well, some building but the people here had set it up completely military bunker style. Maps were strewn on tables, people hunched over them, groups of people were playing cards, a somewhat frazzled looking couple of people were running around dishing up random food. Drew walked directly a table where a couple men were looking over what appeared to be blueprints. The men looked up at him, glanced at me, turned back to Drew.

“Who the hell is she?” Bushy-beard man did not looked pleased at my presence and I stared at the floor.

“She’s um, well,” Drew looked at me. “It’s hard to explain, I think we need to talk in private.”

“Drew, we don’t have time for games,” spectacles man had a very educated sounding eloquence to his speech that somehow made him more intimidating than Bushy-beard.

“Good, I’m not playing any.”

“Let’s go to the back.” Spectacles looked at me. “Don’t touch anything. Please.”

I nodded and watched the three of them walk into a corner partitioned by a curtain. The fabric was heavy enough to muffle their actual words, but I could tell who was talking when and from the sound of it Bushy-beard was being stubborn, Spectacles was skeptical, and Drew was somewhat frustrated. Not that I knew what he was explaining, I just knew I was tired. I sat down on an upturned crate and rubbed my temples.

“Heya.”

I looked up and a young woman close to my age was staring down at me with a bowl and wooden spoon in hand.

“You want a bite to eat? Yeh look a mite hungry.”

“Oh, I’m uh, well, I guess I am.”

She pulled a mug from seemingly nowhere, spooned in a bit of the stew and handed it to me.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome. Where’d yeh come from then?”

“Drew brought me.”

“Drew? Where’d he find yeh?”

“I waitress at the Greasy Old Spoon.”

“Yeh waitressed yeh mean. Not no more. Sounds like an unappetizing place anyway. Eat the stew.”

I awkwardly half-drank half-ate some of the stew. “Wow!”

“Damn straight.” She started to walk off.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Annapurna. It means bestower of food in Sanskirt Yeh can call me Anna though.”

“Thanks Anna.”

She walked off. Just in time too, Drew emerged from the partition followed by a grumpy looking Bushy-beard and concerned looking Spectacles. He motioned to me and I went over to meet them by the table.

“Well,” Spectacles peered into my eyes in a sort of creepy psycho-analysis fashion. “We have some testing to do.”

“Uhm.” Again, I displayed my vast intelligence and mastery of the English language.

“Don’t worry, I don’t expect you know of what I speak.”

“Hey good, because I don’t.”

“Celeste!” Drew looked like he was about to die of embarrassment.

Spectacles actually smiled, “It’s alright. Walk with me will you Celeste?”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” He frowned slightly.

“I don’t know you. I just met Drew, I mean seriously? I showed up for my shift this morning – do you really think I dress like this for fun? – I’m serving Drew his breakfast number five, and the next thing I know, fire is falling from the freaking sky, Drew’s shouting something about ‘the one’ and then we’re running. The one what? The one freaking day the world ends? What is going on?”

“You.”

“I what?!”

“Are the One.”

“The one what? The one really confused waitress? Freaking a people, quit talking in code!”

“The one to… save us.”

“We don’t know for sure,” interjected Bushy-beard.

“Thank you Ondrej, I know that. But the signs are good.” Bushy-beard, Ondrej, looked unhappy.

“Rewind. Save who from what now?”

“The books tell of an end, but from the end comes a new beginning, and the One leads the way to that beginning.”

“What books?”

“The books. The ancient books.”

“Like prophecies?”

“Yes…” Spectacles hedged for a moment. “That just seems so clichéd. And really, the books are more like points of reference than exacting predictions. So the details can be-“

“Sketchy?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“But the books tell of the One, a woman, who possesses the ability to lead her people to a new beginning.”

“Okay, so two problems with that. One, I don’t have any abilities except I make a mean black coffee. Two, why do we need a new beginning? The world’s not that bad.” I thought Spectacles was going to choke. Ondrej turned pale at my words and Drew sighed audibly.

“Celeste,” Drew looked at my pointedly. “You said yourself you thought fire was falling from the sky.”

“Oh yeah. That.”

Spectacles sat me down on another crate and sat across from me. “Celeste, sometime before you were born, nations owned their own armies. There was still war, of course, and it was terrible, and some countries were in very bad shape. Some countries though weren’t quite so bad off. At least, certainly not in retrospect. Some countries were rich and people were happy, relatively speaking. But then the rich governments realized that they weren’t actually rich, it was all a façade of sorts. Not to mention that interfering in other countries’ business became both politically incorrect and necessary. You can see the problem there of course – a definite contradiction in terms. So the governments began privatizing the militaries. Armies were bought and sold like any sort of good. You can imagine though that, while okay at first, this soon led to very rich, very evil people being also very powerful.”

“Um, hey, that’s life.”

“That’s life as we know it, that’s life as you have always known it. But try to imagine that it wasn’t always that way. Try to imagine life without fear of suddenly having your door banged down and being dragged out of your house and informed it was no longer your house.”

“That only happens in big cities. That’s why I live in the freaking boonies. No one wants my little hole of a house.”

“Celeste, please stop being so argumentative,” Drew suddenly looked tired.

“She’s the one ain’t she?” Anna had reappeared from nowhere. “If she weren’t argumentative what good would she be?”

“Anna, no one has said she’s the one.” Spectacles spoke sharply. I wondered how Anna looked so nonplused.

“Oh Sul, yeh needn’t say nothin’ ‘t all to me.” Anna waved her wooden spoon at him. “Yeh can see it in her face. In her eyes. In her bein’. Yeh really think I can’t see it? Yeh’re a fool.” And off she went with an exasperated gesture of her spoon.

Spectacles looked tired again. I wondered if these people ever looked youthful and energetic. I guessed it must be exhausting to be trying to find someone to save the world.

“Anna’s right,” Drew finally said. “Anyone can see it.”

“We still have to test her.” Spectacles was firm in his decision.

“Uhm, test how exactly?”

“Sullivan will explain it in more detail tomorrow.” Drew took my hand. “I think maybe some rest is in order.” He looked pointedly at Sullivan who gestured us off with his glasses and rubbed his temples. I remembered doing the same thing just a moment earlier. I had a feeling that would be happening more and more as this whole endeavour progressed.

Terms of endearment

Have you ever wondered what it's like inside my mind? It's a scary place. And sometimes when I'm thinking about people and I let my mind go, absolutely nothing makes sense and my brain goes nuts with wordplay. By itself. Also, this is why I don't use pet names beyond "m'dear" and "m'darling". I'll shut up now and let you read whatever the heck this is that just came out rather stream of conscious. No joke, this is straight from brain to paper. Please don't call the men in white coats...

Terms of Endearment

I'd call you up my dear,
now that I'm awake
shaken by ache...
Shake 'n' bake?
I'm kidding, kiddo,
I just thought of you --
you crossed my mind
blindsided by a sign.
My words keep twisting sweetie,
I can't think…
need a drink, I'm on the brink.
I'm sorry darling,
in fact it's your fault,
this assault,
on my clear thinking.
I try to talk, cupcake,
but my slurred words
can't be heard.
It doesn't matter, honey bun,
bawl like a squall,
but I won't actually call
you, Baby.

1 month exactly

I have no excuses. Here, have a poem. Unedited as per usual.

Contradictory

Please go away
because I really want you here
Wanting is weakness
Proof in alliteration
Love is loss
You see? It always works.
Please don't touch me
because I really want you to hold me
Physicality is frightening
The rhythm of my adjectives
Terrible tactility.
Do not argue with my illogicality
because I want to be wrong

How did I get behind again?

I don't actually have anything today, I don't know, maybe my muse is on vacation. Here is a hysterically funny rhyming "rapping" comedian for your viewing pleasure until I get back in writing mode. Good thing I don't do this for a living!

http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/c4a43aff11

I got bored trying to write poetry

(so I wrote some random prose. No rhyme, no reason, just unfiltered brain to fingers)

“We were in the water. It was dark and I remember" [I remember!] the Christina Aguilera song pops into my head. Ugh. I was not a fighter at that moment. "I remember trying to swim, but it was so dark. I kept thinking how maybe if I drowned I’d be warm. I know I splashed about for a while longer, my head was getting very heavy and I couldn’t remember exactly which direction I was supposed to be swimming." [just keep swimming, just keep swimming] But I didn’t feel like Dory "and so I sort of paused. And that’s the end of the memory.”

“I see, and you don’t remember anything after that?”

“Well sure. I remember waking up in the hospital and I was totally freaked out. I remember ripping out the IVs and I guess one of them must have had me connected to a heart monitor because that flat lined. And I was confused, thinking that the flat line meant I was dying you know?”

“Mhmm. Do you know why you were, as you say, freaked out in the first place? When you woke up?”

“Well, hospitals kind of freak me out" [she’s a superfreak, superfreak] "in general. People… die in them.”

“Did you know someone who died in a hospital?”

“Hey doc, I gotta run" [and the bass keeps runnin’ runnin’ and runnin’ runnin’] "but we can keep revealing all my inner secrets next session okay? My insurance says I can have a few more.”

“That sounds fine.”

“Okay, sure thing doc, ciao.”

I had never been so glad to leave a session since the boating accident. I swear he doped the air vents or something. My brain felt like I was cracking out, turning my words into songs and the next thing I know I’m about to reveal that she died in her hospital with the doctor just watching. Damned doctors, they don’t really know what they’re doing I think. Or she wouldn’t have died.

I grabbed a bus to the grocery and picked up a giant steak, a loaf of bread, and some ice cream. The stock girl looked horrified by my cart so I threw in some frozen vegetables. My eating had really gone down the drain since her death. She didn’t cook so much as she magically put food together. I don’t think I ever actually saw her look in a cookbook, just threw stuff into pots and pans and we had dinner. No meat back in those days, I don’t enjoy it as much now, but I keep trying. The doc said eating meat again might help me move on. Mostly it just makes me nauseated.

I went to unlock the apartment door but it gave when I touched the door handle. I threw the bag to the side and reached for my gun. Damn! In the car. I grabbed the frozen steak, desperate times. I threw open the door and was all adrenaline ready to beat the crap out of whoever was in the place. I dropped the steak. I swayed. She turned around.

“A steak? Honey, I thought you were adapting to vegetarian meals.” She looked disappointed. “Well, that’s okay, I guess, well, I don’t know how to cook it, but if you really want it tonight you could just eat the vegetable dish as a side.”

Then I’m pretty sure I said something like, “Huh buh buh muh, wha?”

A second one today!

(for kicks I wrote a second one. I stole some lines from songs I was listening to on loop - haha - and then added a few of my own for giggles I guess, also to cement certain associations I was making. Anyway, it's not great, but shmeh. If you buy into biorhythms - I am undecided - I looked mine up and they are like shit right now, so I'm trying not to be too harsh on myself)

As if it makes a difference

You’re just as pretty as you can be –
I was getting myself into trouble.
You’ll miss me when I’m gone [maybe not]
Shut up shut up shut up
I fell for your lies [every time]
but I won’t let you trick me twice
Oh wait, you’re always right.
Learn to spell your accusations
[it’s not effective if you can’t spell the insult]
I won’t miss you [sorry]
because you just don’t matter anymore.

I have begun to pretend you never happened

(I have no real commentary on this. I think it sucks more than usual, so I might take the idea and some of the lines and reformat them. Or stick them into an exercise. I should get back to doing exercises, I think my poems were getting better there for a while...)

I have begun to pretend you never happened

It’s par for the course you know,
losing people because
I fuck things up I guess.
Sit in my messy room
no energy to clean, I
stare off into a distant land,
only I can see it.
Everything is perfect
in this imaginary land, and
I have begun to pretend
you never happened.

Maybe I should practise more

(here's a quick one. I'm trying to say something which inevitably makes my poems suck more. I don't know if that makes sense, but anyway. Here's a random one that's not very good and that I may actually edit one of these days...)

My clout is a print I pass around

Absurd affectations, I police my face.
Acting on the stage, wondering
who is the director?
I burn all my bridges to puzzle you –
my absurd affectations.
Bitterly cold with overcast skies,
but still too bright. I put on sunglasses
while I mince my words.
I smile with my teeth, button my coat.
My clout is a print I pass around:
strong and happy with pinstriped suit pants
and a form fitting t-shirt.
Absurd affectations,
You believe my amiability.