Dissipate

(2 months... well, it's been worse before. Here's some lousy crap I wrote! Yay!)

Dissipate

I did not mean to make you

into something you are not.

Imagined improvements projected,

forced dematerialisation of truth.

It was unfair;

an abuse you suffered unknowingly...

As I formed you into an ideal,

falsely diminishing your inconvenient traits.

But my edification came in due time,

impossible to dismiss your ineptitudes,

pretending no longer...

Demolition. End.

I supposed there would be torment

once the picture shattered.

But there is only silence,

serenity more than torpor.

Still, I steal glances, wondering why

the absence of amity.

Yet I feel only peace.

Everything dissipates.

More vomit

IDK why I can't stop rhyming. Don't ask. Something good will appear here in this blog... EVENTUALLY???

Alone

Don’t postpone the unknown…
Better to atone right now.
In the zone my little drone,
oh I’m sorry, are you prone
to throw stones?
Your cover’s blown,
this glass house… postpone
your outrage you know I’m
right as rain … homegrown.
Shown and well known, no hiding.
I don’t condone your tone
of voice. Overblown and
unbeknownst… I cry. Bemoan
these tears goddamn!
I’ve outgrown this charade,
disown and dethrone you…
I’m on my own,
self-inflicted… alone.

Brain Vomit

Okay so first of all, sorry about the new layout/background/whatever, I got bored and I don't think I care much for this, but it'll do for now because I need to pack!!! Second, here is some serious word vomit. I, uhm, yeah I have no idea. Seriously, just vomited from my brain onto my word doc... it's reallllllly bad, but I feel like I need to post at least weekly or it'll end up being another month break or something. So here you go!

Plain Jane

Abstain from the pain;
oh plain Jane -
block the main shower of
your acid rain. I attain
a vein of pleasure from…
Insane … try to ascertain,
to explain, your disdain.
Wax and wane…
I entertain my main
idea- you are the bane..
my existence… strain to
contain this addiction to you,
and to remain inside my refrain.
Feign strong and obtain
calm away from this cocaine –
a chain draining.
Instead I retain, the
sustaining of pain.

Words Words Words

Yep... yehhhhp...

Words Words Words

Door slams and heart breaks…
walking away from you is the hardest
thing I must do.
Bitter agony tears at me,
heartsick is an understatement.
I’m trying to explain it to you.
Words falling everywhere, piling…
banks of descriptive nouns in the corner;
grief, remorse, affliction, desolation
swirl softly at your feet.
Kick at them trying to understand.
Love drifts by your shoulder,
trying to sweep upward towards your lips.
Bittersweet and kiss beat it down,
love falls… falls… runs away to hide.
Tears run backwards up my cheeks,
conceal themselves in my eyes.
“Get out, all of you!” –
they race out; the room a void.
For the first time,
words are inadequate.

The Scrap of Paper

I guess this is more descriptive prose than poetry... Sometimes that line blurs for me. =/ But anyway, here you go!

The Scrap of Paper

A scrap of paper blowing down the street,
she catches it in her mitten.
“Dear Victoria, I love-”
[you?]
Dismay, a lost love note!
Glancing up and down the abandoned street.
Hesitate.
The wind rips the paper away to tumble around the corner.
He steps on the scrap with his shoe.
Damn people littering, he mutters and stoops for it.
“Dear Victoria, I love-”
[another?]
He snorts, a break up letter;
crumples it up and tosses it vaguely at the dumpster.
It misses and rolls down the avenue,
stops at dirty bare feet.
“Dear Victoria, I love-”
[?]
“Look Mama, a letter!”
She reads it and sighs,
love and loss, seemingly inextricable.
She tosses it to the wind for fate and wipes a silent tear.

THREE??? NO WAY! YES WAY!

Mmmkay so a billion years (by which I mean about a month) ago, I asked people on Facebook for words. Here are the results. The first is courtesy: Casey, Jimmy, Sarah, Colin, Brent, Laurel, Rachel, and Seth. The second is courtesy: Rich, Mary Pat, Allison, and Seth. The first two are regarding the same situation from different frames of mind. Kinda weird? The third was Bob's word "home" and it got its whole, entire, own freaking poem. It is about a question I think everyone asks, but I am asking it more with Navy stuff going on. The last one even has structure... CRAZY! I think that is all for now. Per usual, I think they are terrible! Yay?

Get a Mirror, Honey
Jingle jingle my little belle,
it's nigh inconceivable-
your pusillanimous act!
You prove a near malevolent flibbertigibbet;
only you, my take-it-easy little failure.
So sincere until you... just...
fall apart at your pedantic seams.
Me 'scusi O Serendipity, but
you can leave this one.
She deserves nothing.

Tired of You
Your bulbous bouffant of an ego is
clashing with my tempestuous moods.
Your acclaimed prowess only serves
to fuel the flame of mockery.
You pause, trying to gauge a reaction -
UM.
I mean it facetiously.

Home
Tulips by the front porch, baking smells waft through the window.
Down the block a lawn mower stalls, starts... a baby laughs.
...
Cigarette butts line the stoop, the odour of garbage permeates all.
Midnight gunfire - no screams, back to bed... a man yells in Spanish.
...
A doorman holds the lobby door, the scent of expensive perfume is intoxicating.
Music drifts in from the balcony, song change... champagne flutes clink.
...
...
A bed awaits me patiently,
welcomes me home from my nights of revelries.
I sit in the tub with the shower on and wonder,
Where is home?

Tempestuous

I wanted it to be longer... like, between "I shiver" and "Looking out" I left several blank lines on the page. But... maybe a different time. I want to get this up to get the ball rolling on my writing again. Maybe I'll come back to it... Haha, if I had a dollar for every time I said that on a poem, I'd probably have as many dollars as poems.

Tempestuous
I try to explain the taste of kissing, but
my words fall on deaf ears and shatter at your feet.
I sought shelter in this desert of despair...
You were a mirage -- there is no oasis.
My broken umbrella provides no protection,
drenched in giant's tears I shiver.
Looking out over the barren landscape,
I stand alone on this windswept crag.

You've felt it...

This one I actually wanted to be this discordant because, you know, if you've felt it... it's pretty jarring. And if you haven't felt it, I'm sorry. The jarring incredible good pain... AH! Yeah.


Electric…

Your touch,
jump start my heart.
Dynamic charges sweep
my being – stirring.
Violent chords arrest
my pulse soars.
Contradictions flood
the drought…
Your hand delivers
icy fire.
The burn so intense…
frozen by the heat.
Overwhelming fervor,
seeking sweet release.
Don’t stop.

Behind the Glitter

Two of these lines are not mine. Thank you Cameron and Andrew for letting me use your words. That is one of the greatest gifts =)

Behind the Glitter

You look down... up... sideways,
avert your eyes from me.
A broken champagne flute --
bubbles everywhere.
My chorus girl, my gorgeous girl,
sad eyes burn through your impassive face.
Tangible silence fragile, words superfluous...
I can tell you everything I want with my fingertips.
Wrap you in my arms and
you will know it's okay.
But you turn from my non-words,
shrug and blink away pearlescence.
"It is fine".

2 bad = 1 good?

I decided to not be able to write today apparently, so I'm giving you two of them... quantity for quality LOL.

This first one is called a Diamante poem. 1, 2, 3, 4, 3, 2, 1 is pretty obvious but can you guess the rest of the structure? P.S. I suck at structured poems way more than free verse. Oh and I centered it for shape, but... my words in line three are long and my words in line 4 are short, so it doesn't make the diamond shape it should.

Love Lost, Lost Loves

Love
Blissful, beautiful
Adoring, needing, understanding
Hugs, kisses – tears, pain
Weeping, numbing, hiding
Agonizing, excruciating
Loss

This next one is the insanity that lives in my head. This is why you should be glad you are not psychic!

Truth and Lies

How do you do and to what do we owe the pleasure?
Hide a giggle at the formality… lies, lies, lies.
Liar, liar pants afire. See the blaze, let it blind you.
Say it like you mean it, say it ‘til you believe it,
a repeated chorus until it becomes the truth.
Vexatious? Don’t be ridiculous, I am fine!
Focus on the pretty, pretty picture,
ignore the peeling paint, cracks in the canvas.
You sir, speak as absurdly as pickleberries,
I am bleeding pearls and my eyes glitter with diamonds.

This poem is totally about cooking... cough cough

It was going to be longer but uhm, I got distracted. By, y'know, cooking. Ahem...


Cumin and Chili Powder

A dash here… a wild little pinch there
the aroma mingles and caresses.
Cinnamon sparks, teasing, popping…
hot peppers so fiery my eyes water;
this is no time for coherent thought.
Rich and earthy cumin wraps around me,
I tremble as it lingers.
Beads of perspiration cling to my skin,
I can feel them tracing their way down... down...
Focusing, I seek a hint of chili powder.
It is more than a hint and I cry out,
overwhelmed by the tingling sensation of heat.
The kitchen unbearably torrid, I retreat
and imagine the indulgence to come.

I'll write a better one in a bit

I have to go run errands but here's a weird one 'til I can squeeze something halfway decent from my brain. Ew gross, I just got this mental image of someone wringing an actual brain and words falling onto paper like droplets to make a poem. Say it with me now: ewwwwwwww.

Shut It Out

Daisies falling from the sky
land on all the grounded balloons.
Gusts of wind swirl around the glitter confetti
and a double rainbow spans the horizon.
Smells of baking waft across on a gentle breeze,
mingled with the salt spray from the ocean.
A birdsong momentarily drowns out
the gentle piano and cries of laughter.
I shut the window and draw the curtains,
shut it out and sit alone, in the dark.

Superficial vs Deep Felt Hurt

(idk... it sounded better in my head. Oh now are you really surprised I don't think it's that great? But at least I feel better having gotten some semblance on paper. This one might actually be worth editing)

Self Isolation

Busily locking the 16th deadbolt when
you knock. “I am your ally!”
I can barely hear you through the cement door.
“Let me in, I will help you hold the doors shut”.
I ponder this as I nail boards across the door –
tempted, I peer at you through the peephole and
you are so beautiful.
A fleeting thought of squeezing you inside…
my heart drops through the floor and
the walls seem to shrink around me.
Terror-stricken I pound furiously at the nails;
it is better this way, you see.
You are still yelling but I know…
you will give up eventually, and,
though crushed,
I will be safe and secure from the deepest pain;
alone in my emotional Fort Knox.

It's probably ALL WRONG

(haven't spoken French in forever, get over it)

La Neige

La neige…
Tu me massacres et
je saigne.
Mon coeur est
détruit…et quelques fragments
restent dans les flaques.
Mes larmes…
mon sang…
ils tachent
la neige.

Desired... for a little while

Desired... for a little while

Look at the pretty toy!
Shiny and new,
so fresh – captivating.
You obsess, the unfamiliar novelty
consumes your thoughts and dreams.
Such excitement, this is
the now, the au courant.
But you learn, your disenchantment grows.
Your plaything no longer intriguing…
restlessly, you discard it.
Searching for something new while
your devastated bauble decays.
Deterioration accelerates when
you get caught up with a new trifle.
Rejected, your toy fades –
unwanted.

Avoidance

Avoidance

Dodging bullets, deflecting
the violent chords of the violin.
Vague affections dismissed,
I abstain from the true
original sin and abnegate
this void.
Ice.
You instigate disaster,
aggravated by the
desertion of vivid feeling.
Averting my gaze from your outrage,
I am devoid of all –
obviating reaction, but still
you are offended.
Idiopathic insomnia persists,
my own little plague,
but cannot interfere with
emotional destitution.

Self Destruction

Self Detruction, made possible by you


Self belittling, reduced to
resentful ruins.
Obstinacy my onus,
the exodus is mine –
you cannot have it!
You have my bitter benison;
battered and nonexistent…
that is the kicker.
I kneel – negated by
the effective knife.
It is not neglect,
I handed you this opportunity
for better things, raffish fun.
I take no offense,
eradicating kisses.
Empty – my nostrum.

Accidental Friend

(Hmmm so... it was supposed to be 3 lines/abhor/6 lines/adore/3 lines but then that last stanza hit me like a punch in the face and demanded to be written and it screws up my format... not sure what to do with it. Does it sound ok?? Is an ellipse allowed to be its own line? Are there too many words that start with A? I don't know where this one came from but it needs help people!!)

Accidental Friend

Truculence from the first how-do you-do;
Affronted by your hot headed aplomb,
I demonstrate my staunch indifference.
[From abhor]
Compliments… ersatz says I,
Aforethoughts to discombobulate.
Confusing my picture perfect and neatly populated world.
Abeyance of tension – a fissure in my carapace,
I asseverate my ascetic shell,
And consider this sudden disarray.
[To adore]
You overcome my ardent resolve, descry my tenebrous mood,
and, silently implore.
An overwhelming amalgamation of emotion –
…
I kiss your head to a mumble:
Love you.

Snowflakes are pure companions

(just a quickie one based on the outside weather)

Snowflakes are pure companions

The snow outside is one butter knife and a half teaspoon deep.
The flakes swirl gently and I can almost hear them giggle –
they beckon for a playmate to come dance with them.
We twirl in the solitude, the magic of crisp silence and
I enjoy the company while it lasts.
Tonight all the leaves will be paper boats and chariots
to carry away my snowflake friends, leaving only drifts
and powdery memories of a dance that was.

Sign By the X

(Just when you thought it couldn't get worse... my writing became spectacularly bad)

Sign By the X

We belong to each other (Asterisk )
Ever since I met you (Footnote 1 )
I have been totally crazy about you (Disclaimer )

Asterisk – We do not belong to each other
Footnote 1 – February 2009
Disclaimer – Except when you are pretentious etc

You are my everything (Asterisk plus sign )
For as long as I have known you (Footnote 2 )
I think I have loved you (Disclaimer )

Asterisk plus sign – Well, you mean a lot to me
Footnote 2 – Approximately 8 months now
Disclaimer ...
No actually, this is true – I love you.

Giving into heartbreak was my worst decision

(blah blah blah blah blah. wtf. That is all. Oh and THANK YOU Snerky/Leanne for breathing some life into this poem that was only like a quarter formed in my mind.)

Giving into heartbreak was my worst decision

I will let you in on
my perhaps poor decision.
Not the falling, but the yielding.
And now, flashlight in hand,
I stand just inside the door.
The beam is off, I dare not
cast light into this dark.
My heart pounds so loudly,
I think the sound is why you turn.
My inhale catches, I hear
the break inside me before I feel.
I will let you in on
my positively poor decision.

Endless Abyss

(I needed to write... So I wrote. Badly lol, but I wrote nonetheless)

Endless Abyss

Lingering in the endless abyss...
Your absence so abstruse.
My lover, my lark.
This observation of nothing,
so lackluster -- ostentatiously empty.
Omit logical thinking, reasoning,
so extrinsic this onus.
My narcotic, my ne plus ultra.
Adoration in nuances,
affirmations of never and the
evasive eternal.
My darling, my doll,
left with ornate fantasies,
necessarily questioning the why
remain lingering in the endless abyss.

More unedited nonsense!

(Whee!)

Entry Level Devil

You're an entry level devil
trapped in the forceps of my mind.
Shuddering by the butterflies...
you raise my eyebrow,
Raggedy Ann of tragedies.
Fortunetellers dance to the tune of
laughing seniored teenagers.
Paper planes whiz through my halo,
blowing easily in the breezy.
Tempting me with your beauty,
you’re a rose beneath my nose…
wrapped up with poison ivy.

Feeling Senescent

(Yep, writing about life again. Nope, not edited. Hahaha.)


Feeling Senescent

Mellifluous time meandering towards future [noir].
Nescience turns to flummoxed, tumultuous fury --
fear, in fact, oblong and leading to feckless temerity.
This frisson is ephemeral; overtaken by the mephitic realisation:
purpose is not esoteric, there is no elucidation, ever.
We are toadies to our own narcissistic malingering;
vision obscured by etiolating tomes weighting us with
narrowly outré and martial views.
Overcome your reticence! Deny the taciturnity!
It is not time to plan your obsequies!
The past should foment, not hinder. Extol the opportunity --
Misbehave!

Failing Incandscence

(Needs work... like, what else is new?)

Failing Incandescence

Start with effervescent essence,
the cantering novices with
noble causes.
Illogicality of reality tampers
with the tempers and
naysayers contribute to the disenchantment
[a complex necessity]
Simple, easy adaptation to this
perpetual nighttime.
Resignation, apathy.
Torpid in this shadowy nimbus,
neglecting to notice the sacrilege
of a defeated soul.
Dying in the nadir,
alarming enlightenment.
Take my hand nameless comrade,
I entreat you to elevate.
Tether yourself to me and we are enabled,
escape this nightmare.
Empathy, sensuality of naked truths,
Swing, swing to empyrean.
Cupidity for happiness,
candid information reveals
indelible imperfections in life.
Agitated, no calamity just,
acquiescent teardrops.

Fill the gap (with crap) -- Imagery, duh

(hey it rhymes! I'm kidding. So I totally bombed my goal of writing at least once every three days. I blame work? I don't know, so here's the random thing I jotted down in the middle of the night with the idea that I might work on it and make it something half decent. That was two weeks ago and it remains as is, so maybe I just don't have time and maybe I'll do it later and maybe maybe maybe)

Dragons

The sky grows dark
I look up to see
Dragons circling overhead.
A chill just before --
CRACK
One has shot a flame on the horizon.
A terrible roar.
And again, the flame,
The roar.
But they are not angry, I think,
As I become soaked by
Their tears falling from the sky.

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.

Nonsensicality X 2

(I'm hoping that you'll read this title and that will help convey the point of the nonsensicality. No, I have no idea where the hell this poem came from. I mean, besides my head.)

Boy, it is your fault that I am not making sense

Stare into space,
long day, I am beat.
Beaten? Beat-ment, beatly.
I am beatlier than you.
You snerk at my maze of word play.
Bulletin! I am hinting at something,
aiming to paint a clear picture
what I want.
These paltry tries shred at my reality,
minty-fresh sanity is pulled from my gut
a sword catered just to me.
Deny the pain and it subsides,
peachy keen dontcha know?
I ran my fingers along your back,
I totally fruck.
Razors of excitement
exceeding a tolerable degree.

(this second one doesn't make any more sense. Possibly it makes less sense. Maybe I shouldn't write when I haven't been to sleep all night. Damned insomnia)

Keep Laughing

I keep laughing at the nonsense,
paint my toes with glitter and dance around my room.
The giant moon bubble rises in my watery sky,
victorious insomnia -- I pace on eggshells.
Does UPS deliver on Christmas eve eve?
Would be you be so kind to send me a rainbow?
Sew it to my quilt to stop the tossing turning.
You jostle my sanity, I frown at your presence,
but urge you stay. I will create you a niche
in my origami world.
Imagined animosity hurts,
I keep laughing at the nonsense.

A couple... really, dear readers, COME BACK

(I swear, promise, really really am going to try my best to start updating this sucker regularly again. Anyway, with that in mind I have TWO new poems, yay?, written with the same base start of simple word association. The first one, as you can see, is seasonal, and the second... I keep trying, somewhat desperately, to put some of the emotions of dance into words. I don't know why, I guess I just want to be able to share some of it with people who aren't dancers, but really, it's just not possible. This does not seem to stop me from trying, so the second one is my attempt to give you a little glance into the world of dance, and the relations that happen between fellow dancers. Thanks for reading m'dears)

I don't know how to roast chestnuts

The ballerina dog ornament wears a tutu
Her tiara sparkles, shimmers in the tree lights
You raise your champagne flute and toast to the
holiday season filled with laughter, playing
freezing cold in the snow,
snuggling up warm by the fire.
I don’t know how to roast chestnuts,
grilled cheese sandwiches anyone?


Backstage Nerves

Backstage feeling jittery, little tremors
the black curtains looming ominous.
You come up the staircase to tread in the rosin,
play with the props to distract the nerves.
Come over to stand with me by the warm lights,
I adjust your costume… nervous habit.
You double-check my hooks and eyes,
we are a good team. I rub your shoulders a bit before
I start stretching myself [again!]
You hold my hands as I circle my ankles,
and whisper a little inside joke.
I have to suppress a giggle, and
the sour taste of nerves dissipates.
I hear the five-note cue from the symphony
and give you a wink and a smile before I go onstage –
to flirt with the audience.
To dance.

Random Prose

(Have I mentioned that prose scenes just pop into my head and I don't know why or how? This is another one like that. Enjoy?)


I took a deep breath before I knocked on her door. I could hear the passionate orchestra music through the door -- the CD she always plays when she's sad. The door opened and I could see the pain in her expression. She said nothing. I swallowed.
"I'm sorry." Still she said nothing. "I didn't lie."
She shifted her weight slightly to lean into her left hip. Her movements were always so graceful, I felt lost in watching her.
"I know." Her voice broke through, brought me back to focus. I looked up, but she was looking past me, the sadness replaced to an empty expression.
"I just…" I trailed off. There was no need to explain, she already knew. "I need you." I decided to change my course, try to get her back.
She uncrossed her arms and played with her rings, but she did not change her gaze. Looking beyond me, maybe to someplace happier.
"I'm sorry."
"It's too late." Her voice was tired.
"If I could have another shot-"
"It's too late."
"If you'd take another chance-"
"It's too late." She closed her eyes, her hands were still.
"I will hold on, I will wait."
In one graceful movement she stood back, inside her apartment again. "It's too late." She closed the door.
I stood a long time, my fingertips resting gently on the doorknob. I wondered what she had seen when she looked past me. Maybe, if I could understand that, I could get her back.

Poem to lure back any readership I might have had!

(holy crap! It's been a whole month. I've probably lost all my readership. Let's see if I can snag back some readers with this really random poem that popped into my head and demanded to be written down.)

Recreation of You
I love you better in the dark.
You’re more beautiful
when I can’t see you.
I make you up in my mind and
you are so perfect.
I love you better in writing.
You’re less annoying
when I don’t have to listen to you.
I read your words at my leisure and
they are so perfect.
I love you better in solitude.
You’re more perfect
when you’re not around.
I invent a brand new person
with your face, but perfect.

Surrender to the [almighty] Music

(hmm yeah, so I wasn't sure how to refine this and keep a sense of it being very raw and harsh. Hence it's raw and harsh, but I'm not sure it is as such in the way I wanted it to be... Ah well, it's midterms, no time to edit it right now!!!)

Surrender to the [almighty] Music
Bass lines beat hard
                  [head rush]
My heart gives in
to their rhythms.
Dance!
screams the DJ and
I bow down to
this primordial idol.
The lights cast weird shadows
                  [delirium]
and I am transfixed.
These luminous patterns dictate--
I mimic them in my movements.
Dance!
screams the DJ and
I obey this
omnipotent music-maker.
Sweat gleams on my skin
                  [fervent ecstasy]
damp hair in my eyes, manifestations
Of the desperation in the dancing.
Dance!
screams the DJ and
I surrender myself to
this absolute power.

Haste makes waste

(and this poem is waste. Well okay, maybe if I actually spent time on it, it wouldn't totally suck, but, well, I didn't, and I don't know if I will. So this is a sample of the truly raw, unedited crap that comes out of my head. Enjoy...? Oh yeah, and I'm not sure if I like the title either, hahaha)

You were...

You were my colour
bringing the greys to life --
crimson roses and inky skies,
rich brown chocolate ice cream
rainbow sprinkles.
My tears fall, colourless,
onto the white tissues.
You were my lifeline
bringing vibrancy to life --
the rhythm of the beat in my heart,
the warmth inside my soul,
the chills down my spine.
I sit motionless on the couch,
even breath seems difficult, painful.
It is cold in this bleak existence,
no colour in my black and white world.

I write openings a lot

(I like to write the opening scenes for stories and then abandon them. This one, however, I actually do have ideas for development... we shall see...)


I was too strung up to sleep. I used to feel this way sometimes when I was a Freedom user. Coming off the high was always so jittery -- that's how it felt after your death. I paced the streets, flicking the lid on my lighter. Open, close, open, close, forming a counter beat to my footsteps. It was dark that night, more than usual, as though nature were also mourning your death. And the streets seemed emptier… but I noticed people were also avoiding me. They had heard about your death -- maybe they knew I was ready to kill, that they would die if they interfered with this particular nighttime walk. I had no planned route, no goal destination when I set out, but I hit the spots we used to frequent and then I finally ended up at your grave. It was good of your parents to give you a funeral. I know there was tension, but they both cried and your dad shook my hand, and your mum kissed me on the cheek and hugged me. She held me so tightly that it was painful, not physically, just emotionally. I know I tried to say something consoling, but all I could do was lamely hug her back. I wore a dress for your funeral, I hope you know that.

I sat at your grave for a long time. I traced your name over and over, refusing to cry. Touching your grave gave me a sense of calm, but taking away my hand I felt highly strung again. I gripped your headstone as though maybe if I squeezed it hard enough it would spur your rebirth. And then I knew. A wave of calm came over me and I knew exactly what I needed to do. I kissed the cold stone, it would be the last time.

Still lesser?

(so, last time I was all "I promise something better soon" but since the Master's application has claimed its stake on my life and soul until 1 oct, I haven't really written anything great. So here's this little prose piece, it's sort of... lame? I dunno, I was trying to convey something, but I don't think I did a very good job. I may try again some other time)

Pumpkin Guts

It was raining outside when I drove to the store. I picked out the perfect pumpkin -- small, it would definitely be sweet. I drove home and the music on the radio made me feel weird -- I couldn't tell if I was happy or sad. I plopped the pumpkin on the counter and cut a hexagon around the stem. Normally I would cut it in half, but this time I felt it would be more gratifying to leave the pumpkin whole. I glanced at the melon baller on the counter, but instead plunged my hand inside the pumpkin and began pulling out handfuls of pumpkin guts. The goopy, stringy texture it left on my hand gave me creepy chills. Handful upon handful, pretty soon I started to laugh. I pulled out more of the stringy stuff and began to cry as well. And I stood there, crying and laughing and pulling out handfuls of orange goop until I was out of tears and laughter and the pumpkin guts were all out. I was empty and so was my pumpkin. I went outside to sit in the rain -- the pie could wait.

Lesser works

(I'm afraid I've been really busy trying to get everything done for my grad school application and have thus not had a chance to write anything new, so for now I'm giving you a lesser prose chunk and a poem I wrote my French class that is very forced because I made it rhyme. Since I rarely even rhyme English poetry, it was an interesting exercise. Anyway, I promise to write something better soon)

Chance Encounter in the Supermarket
"You don't want that."
"Excuse me?" I turned around to see a man my age looking concerned. Concerned about what, I wondered. I failed to see how my choices in the produce section bore any impact on his life.
"That particular zucchini squash."
"Oh? And why is that exactly?"
"Because I picked a better one before you arrived."
I looked at him trying to derive some meaning from what he was saying.
"If you come over tonight, I'll show you how to make an amazing zucchini squash dish."
"Is this some sort of joke?" I couldn't tell if he was trying to make a really bad pick up or if perhaps he had just wandered away from his institution.
"It's not a joke. I need to practise, and I get tired of trying to rate my own food. Plus the professors like when we can turn in feedback pertaining to our outside work."
"Rate your own food?"
"Yeah. It's hard for me to judge my own dishes. I mean, I want to like them, because I made them. At the same time, I can pretty much always sit there and think of way I could have, would have, should have tweaked the recipe and pretty soon I convince myself that it was a terrible dish. My professors say this is not an uncommon phenomenon."
"Professors?" I was sort of feeling like a demented parrot.
"I'm going to a culinary arts school. I actually moved here just for that reason."
I understood what he was saying, and I was able to relate that I knew about our culinary arts school -- best in the nation -- but I kept up the parrot routine. "Just moved here?"
"Yep, maybe a month ago, if that."
"Wow." Sometimes I amaze myself with the degree of insight in my statements.

Printemps
Le printemps – une renaissance :
une fête des fleurs,
un mélange d’odeurs ;
la beauté en abondance.
Écoutez au rouge-gorge qui pépie,
son chanson, après le silence longue,
est sucré comme une mangue,
et il m’assoupie.
Les petites fleurs, vraiment précaires,
s’efforcent contre la neige,
le soleil aident et déneiges,
la nature extraordinaire.
Encore, la froideur des nuits,
nous couvrit comme un manteau,
mais cette saison d’amour nouveau,
elle brille, elle reluit.

La Conduite

(this was for my French lit class - the easy one - if you can't read it but would like to, please do not internet translate it. Just leave a comment and I'll post an English version.)

Je conduis dans le noir,
des flaques d’illumination,
des lampes s’alignent dans la rue.
Au milieu, dans l’obscurité
je t’imagine dans le siège
à côté de moi.
Nous conduisons en silence.
Dans la lumière
mes fantaisies se brisent –
je sais que je suis seule.

Ici, il n’y a que la confusion,
mes pensées tourbillonnent, agitées.

J’allume la radio,
le son de la basse secoue la voiture.
J’ai des élancements dans la tête,
le rythme de la chanson.
Je frappe le bouton
et il n’y a que le son de la pluie.
J’essaie de me rappeler ton visage,
je t’imagine avec un air tendre
Mais, ma vision subit une mutation
tu souris d’un air narquois.

Ici, il n’y a que la confusion,
Mes pensées tourbillonnent, agitées.

Je n’ai pas prêté l’attention,
J’ai presque tombé de la rue.
C’était capiteux,
Et je suis distraite de mes pensées [de toi].
Si je plongeais de la route,
Pleurerais-tu pour moi ?
Tu rends-tu compte que
t'avais tort ?
Saurais-tu que
tu me hantes pendant cette conduite ?

Ici, il n’y a que la confusion,
Mes pensées tourbillonnent, agitées.

Another Poetry and (very short) Prose

(So, the prose is actually longer, it's about 3 paragraphs, but I don't know that I like what I added. That's how my prose always are... I never know where to go next. I'd really like to do something with this other story where I have the opening, and a few random scenes that would follow (but not in order) but I have no actual plot, nor any idea where I want it to go. So anyway, here are a few sentences of a prose, and then a really random "poem" that I wrote)

Bikes

They rode around the estate on their bikes -- he with his wide-tire road bike and she with her street bike and basket on the handlebars. Occasionally, he would detour towards a tree to pluck a blossom and throw it in her basket. She laughed every time.

Helter Skelter

Helter skelter
your words swirl around me.
They float away from each other,
losing meaning with distance.
I debate grasping at them,
but there are so many of them,
and it might be a bit obvious…
I focus on your face, instead,
and hope your features will stay put
better than your words.
Close my eyes,
I cannot recall the details of you --
two eyes, one nose, one mouth
that seems to speak sans cesse.
If only you would actually SAY something.

Poetry and Prose in one posting!

(neither are exercises, I just wrote them, both are works in progress I think)

Grey Moods

Flat grey mists
crowd out the sun on my back
Manic depressive I thrive
on high highs and
the lowest lows
What to do with this in between…
this grey.

Tea at Her House

I failed a test once when I was in primary school. I remember walking home trying to figure out how I would tell my mother. I believe I said something to the effect of experiencing a need for revisionary practises. I thought it sounded pretty good, especially since I was six years old. But she saw right through me and I wasn't allowed any comics for two weeks. I was kind of feeling a similar apprehension as I walked up the steps to the house. As though I were about to be reviewed and found lacking -- failing. I rang the bell and could hear soft footsteps. She appeared in the doorway, her hair still damp, looking fresh in her sundress and no shoes. She smiled and opened the door to gesture me in. I wandered into the sun room and saw a pitcher of iced tea on the table.

"Please, sit, help yourself to a glass. I just need to put the fruit on a platter."
I sat and watched her move around the kitchen with a certain grace to her motions. She finally came back to the table with a platter of varying fruits.
"The mango and iced tea I think are a strange combination, but the strawberries seem to blend nicely with the taste."
"Mmm." I reached for a strawberry while she poured herself a glass of the tea. She sipped at it and watched me for a moment.
"So…"
"Yeah." I wanted to say something to help the conversation, but I never feel like I can quite get my brain together when I'm around her.
"I'm leaving tomorrow."
"Oh?" I chewed harder on my strawberry. Leaving?
"Yeah… for South America."
I began to choke. I'm pretty sure I swallowed strawberry into my lung. She sipped her tea and stared out the window.

The Dollar Bill

(sorry I haven't posted in quite a time, things have been kind of crazy in the real world. Anyway, I've actually started working on a real story, but then this scene sort of randomly popped into my head and it really doesn't fit in the story so I wrote it as its own little stand-alone scene)


The barista handed me my change without counting it back to me. I don't expect people to count back my change anymore -- they don't know how. I was shoving the dollar bill into my bag, no time to look for my wallet itself, when I noticed some cramped handwriting on one of the short edges. "Ce que je veux…" On the opposite short edge was "Ce que je veux dire…" I stopped short and the man behind me nearly ran into me.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" he shouted, nearly dumping his elaborate coffee drink all over me. I stepped out of his way and looked at the bill again. I wondered to myself how I had come to possess what was probably the sole piece of American currency upon which was written French words. I sipped at my green tea and then realised I was going to be late to meet him for lunch.

When I got to the restaurant, he was already seated. I strode past a busboy who glared at me. I don’t know why we had to meet at this restaurant -- the staff does not like me since I complained about the absence of tea on their menu. Still, I seated myself at the booth and looked at him.

"Hey."
"Hey."
"How are you?"
"Fine." Ce que je veux dire… "And you?"
"Great. I'm glad you're here."
I looked at him curiously. "Why wouldn't I have come?"
He seemed slightly unsure of himself. "Oh, I don't know. The last time we got together…" He trailed off.
"It's fine." Ce que je veux…
"Well, excellent." He sipped at his water. "We got a new department director at the University."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. It's me."
"How excellent! Congratulations!" He beamed at me, and I had to smile.

"I can take your order whenever you're ready." The waitress glared at my paper cup of tea.
"I'd like to build my own omelette: egg whites only with spinach and swiss cheese."
The waitress turned me. "And for you?"
Ce que je veux…
"I'd like an English muffin, dry, and the seasonal fruit bowl."
"Anything to drink?" I glared at the waitress and she went away.

We talked for a while, even after the food came. Small chatter between bites. I picked at my food like I always do and so he finished before I did. After a time he looked at me, "Well?"
"Well?"
"I don't know, I figured it should be your turn to talk."
Ce que je veux dire…
He looked at me strangely. "What are you thinking?"
"Of my ce."
He blinked a couple times. "Of what?"
I pulled out the dollar bill and slid it over to him. "And since I got it, all I can wonder is, what is my ce? What do I want? What do I want to say?"
"I see."
"Do you?"
"Well, I don't know… it's a dollar bill. Someone wrote on it. It's not a big deal."
"Look, I don't believe in fate, you know that. But someone wrote on American currency. In French. I speak French. The dollar bill came to me because I was meeting you and you chose a restaurant that doesn't serve tea. And even these weird circumstances that caused the bill to come to me don't really matter. What matters is that I read it, and I've stopped to think now, what IS the ce that I want? What is the ce that I want to say?"

The waitress came back just then and looked at me as though I were speaking another language. I suppose I was in a way. She left the check and went away. He pulled out a calculator to figure out tip. The conversation was over.

Ce que je veux…. Ce que je veux dire…

At the Café

(I'm working on a couple different poetry pieces right now, but they're not really anything I'd post, they need a bit more work. So I wrote a prose thingy. I gave myself guidelines, just like a writing exercise. Since I made them up, they may not seem as important but they included: use present tense, use "I" and "you" as the main characters, include the line "I wonder if it really matters", reference a song. Anyway, it's okay, I guess, not my best...)

I agree to meet you at that little café on the corner by the bookstore. I wear pants because I know you like it when I wear dresses. I am early, unusual, so I get a table and drum my fingers on my water glass while I wait. You enter, smiling, and I smile back, wondering if you can see the strain. I do not rise to hug you, but wait for you to sit down. The waitress brings our menus. You talk while you read and I stare at the menu, not paying attention to the words – written or spoken. Finally the waitress returns; you get an elaborate salad and I order a side of vegetables. How healthy we are. You continue talking and I try to nod at the right places. I’m listening, of course, but am thinking of other things. Deep Blue Something plays in the background and for a moment I fantasise that I am Audrey Hepburn and you will kiss me in the rain and we will save a cat. Our food arrives and you busy yourself with your salad. I chew thoughtfully on a piece of broccoli and then comment on what you had been saying. You look at me, with that intensity you always have, and then begin talking again. I start in on a baby carrot. It seems that my chewing is fruitless; I give up and swallow the remnants with a gulp of water. You are still talking when I am halfway through my vegetables and I ask for the check. I am not certain how you finished your salad between words, sentences, paragraphs. We part ways and as I walk to the car, I wonder if I’ll see you again. I wonder if it really matters.

Summer Storms

(this one wasn't an exercise. I just sort of wrote it at random. I haven't edited it at all, which is probably why it vaguely sucks lol)

Electrifying

The rain starts – a summer storm,
splotches slowly darken the asphalt.
I take off my shoes and give in:
dancing in the rain.
The street is hot and I imagine
I can hear the droplets sizzling.
My cotton dress clings –
transparent as the downpour increases.
The temperature drops and
the sky darkens.
I shiver and realise
it would be safer to leave.
Begin walking but am drawn in,
the thunder so engaging.
I let the water droplets stream down
my neck and back – electrifying.
Lightning in the sky, beautiful,
but I know I should start running.
I am absorbed in the
danger and beauty of the summer storm.