When I wear glasses I see stuff that's not there

glasses make halos
that pause, creep around corners
so feline and sleek




*am not waxing mystical, it's just my astigmatism*

random thought and haiku on a late Monday / early Tuesday

The fact that there is so much information out there at my fingertips (and also just beyond my reach) is one of my biggest comforts.

I miss having that
little 23 year old
upturn of the ass

I can no longer
eat ten large white marshmallows
without any guilt

But I do know that
my brain is growing firmer
and more taut with age

And I wouldn't trade
this belly dancer body
for one more western

Due Dilligence

If I'm going to rise up (while sitting) I'm going to have to start tomorrow. Those messages that have grown louder throughout the year, those messages saying "use it" and "write it down" won't be quiet - like some sort of p.s.d. for creative types. I go on and on about jumping into the deep end and taking chances. I also fully realize that I am quite the chickenshit (or have been up until now) in so many instances, and the time for fessing up and doing more than dipping my toes in the pool (however lukewarm) is NOW.

Xander said yesterday that "All babies start as circles", and I went on to explain how cells work in the simplest way I knew. Which is the only way I really know. He nodded his five-year-old baby chick head (it's the color of a baby chick) and looked at me with those borderline zealot eyes (his eyes are certainly intense for a five-year old) and I knew that he understood me. I could tell he knew that I understood him. I hope he always knows that.

So how to give due diligence to this amazing situation that I've been given? How to make this short spin so much more than an episode of True Life: I'm an Angsty Recovering Addict who Claims to Have All the Answers but Would Love to Just Sit Here and Look at Sephora All Day?

I'm not sure. But I know I'm supposed to start tomorrow. It's midnight, you know.

Once I stop praying
after I get the message
that all will be fine

I seem to click back
after leaving the dais
to my former state

of pacing the floor
and biting my wet knuckles
and doubting my voice

Should it end right now?
Can I strangle rhetoric?
I'm a pacifist.

Princesses

After a bit of an abbreviated story time this evening, I sit here (too late as usual, when am I going to stop caring that we're night owls?) silently dredging up the courage to complete the BIG PROJECT (on my end at least) and have decided to let a few small demons out to make room for the vacuum of productivity.

She was one of those women that seem have reached the end of their reincarnate journey. A fully evolutionized, free-of-neuroses goddess. I wagered that she had never envisioned (quite clearly) tossing infants out of windows after hours of crying or woken up next to many strangers covered in cigarette ash and vomit. She probably never spent a night in jail and never rolled her eyes at those she didn't find the least interesting or humorous (or both). She probably felt just fine when she didn't get her way (which wasn't often, things often go ones way when you've reached the end of your reincarnate journey) and never, ever ate anything with high fructose corn syrup. She had fully finished her education and was putting it to good use. She never let sorrow and pain fill her with a twisted pleasure that resembled a religion, and she never thought she was the least bit better than anyone else for liking Iggy and the Stooges over Beyonce. She probably never, never used too many q-tips in one day and ended up with the tip of one stuck in her ear, missing the first day of a very new and important job to have it removed at an Urgent Care Clinic.

I've met one other person almost just like her before. Cloyingly sweet and cute, so pretty you can't hate her or you'd have to spend time away from her presence, which would be unacceptable. I made up a nasty anecdote that this person didn't have any of the nastier bodily functions. No pee, no puke, no poop, no snot, no period, etc. She simply coughed up a tiny box, wrapped in gold leaf and her mother (we were teenagers together) put the tiny gold box into a beautiful shadow box, filled with thousands of other tiny gold boxes (she expelled one once a day, at 7:00 p.m., I said). It had become over the years a delicate but impressive art installation piece. Everyone loathed and adored her simultaneously. And everyone loved this catty anecdote and it's made its way literally all over the world, travelling farther as she encounters more and more people in her busy, productive life. Everyone throws their heads back and crows at that little chestnut, proclaiming, "It's perfect! I can't see her even sneezing!" I feel bad that I don't even feel bad about this loathsome venom that I'm still inclined to expel.

Of course I don't loathe people who are well-adjusted, calm, talented, and kind. They just remind me that sometimes I am none of those things. I am kind but honestly usually have ulterior motives. I am quite bright and am highly self-educated and well-read but I have never finished any sort of higher learning past high school - I view these princesses of poise and kindness in the vision that they NEVER have to use a thesaurus, or claw their brain to remember the true meaning of multi-syllabic words. They didn't fry their brain a skillet full of wine and pot like I did.

And with the "never throwing babies" thing - of course I don't throw babies out of windows...I am a loving mother but I get totally annoyed with Xander all the time, and instead of looking at it in a calm, general, psychoanalitic way I beat myself up about it. Instead of viewing it as the biological commonality it is (watch a mama bear for about five minutes and you'll see her shoulders droop and hear exasperated bear-sighs).

Another horrifying truth about me: I think everyone should love me, or worse be IN love with me and am pissed off when no obssession with me is reciprocated. Even if I am not in the least attracted to you, you MUST think I am the best thing since sliced bread or I will tremble and crumble like an aspen. I've met many like me, most of us I think are like me. When we see these alien creatures who are not, we either want to be near them to learn from them or to bask in their sweet calming positivity (those of us who want to learn from them might be further on their reincarnate journey, too) or we want to hiss and spit their way - they're not like us, they'll encroach on our muddy territory.

Genuinely sweet
no ulterior motives
not the least like me

Peek deep in the well
There are many new colors
And they keep blending

Every billboard, street sign, and craigslist missed connection has been a private message to her lately, and the overload of beauty and tragedy have made her shaky. She is also well aware that her journey has been egocentric lately (have you not guessed that she is the one writing this?).

muse

Her visit was brief
but she whispered new secrets
for me to write down

I shouldn't have been so hard on my muse tonight. She's being sweet after all.

evening musings

I solemnly swear,
I will not spend all evening
looking at craigslist

I wish all my gays
were here in this very room,
watching Top Model

Why so many flies
buzzing around our bedroom?
Amityville much?

If Heaven were here
I would reach across the gates
and pat your soft hands

The shame of learning
the number of syllables
is two and not three!

I have some new goals:

Start and keep up inspiration board

Write at least five new haikus daily

Compose two paragraphs of fiction weekly (or daily on weekends)

Work on synopsis

One page of journaling a day

Get to bed by midnight

Not so much facebook

Not so much apartment browsing on craigslist

Those are my goals, so...I don't have my glasses on tonight, must close this one. I'm squinting so deeply I'm growing crosseyed.



Oh, sweet library
brushing my hand down your spines
was an antidote


Should I shut up about it now? My longing for library work? Should I just keep pushing and pushing until our books fill a small fraction of library shelves? Should I give up my dream of returning to work in a library one day? FUCKING. NEVER.