Well I did it, and actually, I quite like it. I’ve been Facing the Book for a while now, blogging here and there, and Pinterest has been my bestie through thick and thin. But the Twitterverse has eluded me for some time. Fell into that “Oh don’t make me learn something new” category. I figure by the time I master it, there will be something new to tackle. Wish me luck! @scribbleglitch is where you can find me. I think it’s time to stalk YouTube videos…
I don’t believe that walking in the rain will cause you to catch a cold, but you can tell a storm is coming when the leaves turn over.
I used to think that Alaska was an island because it is always shown on a map as disconnected and floating.
A woman’s body is her own, unless she is wearing the wrong clothes.
Your dryer doesn’t eat the socks, the dog does.
I don’t believe in our government, or Monsanto, or big banks, but we do have to eat, pay taxes, and put our money somewhere.
Children shouldn’t spend all day playing video games. But when would I get my quiet time?
I believed a woman’s place was in the home, until I met my mother.
I don’t think ghosts are real, but does that then mean my loved ones in death didn’t go anywhere but in the ground?
I believe the world is flat and we need to shake things up once in a while.
I was once told that African American people have an extra ligament in their leg that makes them better sports players. I believed that for a long time.
Sex is bad, very, very bad, unless you like it, then it’s worse than bad.
Irregardless is a word, it just doesn’t mean what you think it does.
I thought my father knew everything, until he died from lung cancer in the middle of a bankruptcy and home foreclosure. He also smoked two packs a day for 50 years and investing his personal finances in a company he didn’t own, to try to keep it afloat.
Beware of strangers, until you get to know them, then keep them at arm’s length.
I believed in love, until my heart was broken. Now I know that love is just a lot of hard work.
Darwin was right. Or was he?
I was raised without faith, therefore I believed nothing, until I changed my mind.
We are all energy. We cannot be created or destroyed, but we can change.
Hot lemonade with whiskey and honey will cure almost anything.
I thought I was weak until within the space of three years I held the hand of my father, and then of my mother, while I fed them their full doses of morphine at exactly the prescribed interval until they took their last breaths.
Kindness fixes anything that a hot lemonade can’t.
head heavy-hung in restless rest
late night blue light filters my mind for me
glazed eyes tune the world outside
into others’ human lives
and their picture window plights
mothers imploring plead mercy
as they cry for blood-soaked children they fear
a discarded sacrificed feast
for hungry tyranny
ever breeds corpses and war
I hide my heart to keep my mind
in cold vigil I chase Sandman’s cover
wide awake in soul-breaking shame
my own apathy
creates dreams of self-reproach
For years this grainy photo has held a memory of you and me. A snapped shot as we walked across the open meadow, late morning, hand in hand. The wind had just begun to stir enough to set the trees to gossiping as you let go and I stepped out on my own. You remained within my reach though, I didn’t want to loosen my hold. As I grounded on earth, the soft blades bent beneath my chubby bare feet. Often your attentions were not for me, so I absorbed the moment, took in every part of it to covet in my heart. Together alone, we wandered. We talked about the wildflowers and of streams, and even the bees grew hushed and listened. The whispering Whitebark pine peeked in and out of shadow, back when the trees weren’t sick, and neither were we. A brilliant blue Steller’s Jay reminded us to slow our pace and gracefully took wing. The echo was magnificent as his call bounced around the quiet wooded plateau. The overwhelming scent of pine still speaks of home in my soul. Rocks pushed up through the grass, or the meadow grew around them, I don’t know which, but when I pressed my cheek against their rough faces they received me with delicious warmth. A different kind of heat came from getting this close to the sun, and when it kissed the top of my head and wrapped me, it converged with my skin like a father’s embrace. I missed it dearly when it became clouded but I didn’t thunder, didn’t want to spoil that day. There were always clouds in the Sierra. Their shifting shapes of vapor played among the granite peaks and traced the passes below that we would reluctantly follow home. We walked to escape the pressures of this human life, you and me, or more simply put, we just walked. In my mind I have always pictured this day with you alone. In reality, just the photo remains of an uncommitted memory.
just outside the have and hold
I’m taunted with a wicked grin
jangled keys for my release
my gaoler from within
fingers raw and clawing
heavy oak and iron door
slams fast across a tendered soul
bars entry evermore
streaking bloodstains gather here
mark days of no escape
numbered on cold stone-heart walls
your endured, repeated rape
you’ll earn your spurs on me today
no honor shall remain
for I have sentenced myself to
a dungeon of disdain
a treasonous confinement
for us I did commit
but this weeping plight troth prison
is a crime I’ll not admit
I’m not much of a DIY person, in fact, I freeze like a deer in headlights at the sight of power tools. Honestly, just the words electric and saw put together make my adrenaline start rushing. Directions for refinishing dressers and patterns for Roman Shades make me want to vomit from anxiety. And painting is something you always, always pay someone else to do. Home projects just aren’t my thing. I’m that “measure a hundred times and cut wrong” person you hear about in urban legends. But today, today was different. Today, I made my very own story board for the book I’m writing for about $20 (including pins)! I know it wasn’t refinishing a dresser, cutting wood, painting or making shades but I’m darn proud of myself. Sofa king proud you might say.
I have semi toyed with/committed to participating in NaNoWriMo but here I am, three days into November and I have nothing written…nothing! Such a slacker. I had a bit of a hairy weekend and that threw me all off my writing game for a couple of days but I’m back on track and, Hell, I’m going to commit right here and now. I will write a novel (albeit a poor novel) in thirty days and this board is going to help me do it! I seem to remember saying the same thing last year. I could really be productive if I could just get out of my own way…
I need you
strong and steady like wood and flame
enveloped in air.
Fast, and furious, and instant,
vapors touched off by a spark
or the strike of a match.
And sometimes we find ourselves
just settling down to keep it at an ember,
warm and slow after a long intense blaze.
We feed off of each other and it’s consuming.
As long as we are connected, united,
in some way put together,
we will always melt the insidious frost when it comes for us.
Promise me the fuel you are for me
will never exhaust.
Promise me you’ll never leave me alone
on a frigid night.
And I promise you,
I’ll always tickle you with tongues of flame,
spark you to believe the unbelievable,
achieve the unachievable,
And burn for something.
I promise to be that touch to kindling,
the catalyst for inferno,
and the ignition you can’t fire without.
I promise because
I need you
Escaping the tragedy of moral poverty,
I remove myself from humanity,
and run headlong into the ancient primal wood.
Slowing to breathe,
my mind begins to wander,
lost with my feet, like an uninhibited child.
The silence of the forest is only challenged
by the life that teems around me.
A scent of earth and trees seems to roll on,
forever filling me,
as I make my way down the path into my all alone.
I’ve carried with me a heavy, gnawing thirst
that begs to be purged.
Yielding, I bend to drink from purity
and savor the clarity of the quenching, conscious, stream.
I’m granted pause to continue on.
Freedom from darkness surrounds me,
and dappled in a sunlit shade of new growth,
I’m suddenly aware of sanctity.
The eye-stinging nature of beauty overcomes me,
and I’m prompted to fall to my knees and weep unrestrained,
I’ve found my way home.
After sleeping on it I have made a decision. I will import my poetry blog over to this site to condense the amount of back and forth I am doing managing two blogs. I have been in this a little over a month and I’m making mistakes as expected. I am never really good at going into an endeavor with a concrete plan (*sigh*), I kind of just feel my way around until I get it. This is no exception. All will be updated today and I will be ready to move forward as one writer! So excited!!