Focus

Eyes straight ahead, leaning into my foe,
I edge up to my goals, fist to fist, toe to toe.

No crowd screaming, nor ache of blow
will sway my focus, because I know,

in life's ring, no rematch can regain what I loose.
I'm as weak as I allow, and as strong as I choose.

Distractions come - I slip left, slip right,
but I'm through with corners, now I fight.


I may not post as often for a while. I've got to kick my own tail into gear and get caught up on everything I've let slip away within the past year or so.

You know how, in the movies, when someone's been drugged/possessed/hypnotized and suddenly they come out of it they start to look around and remember who they are? That's how I feel just very recently. Is it the sun? Is it an end to seasonal depression mixed with some sort of hormonal confusion? I look back and see the past few months through a crazy-haze, wondering why I couldn't break through it and just be me. It felt like being drugged, and that isn't far from the truth. I suppose when our brain chemistry goes out of whack (be it of it's own accord or by chemical influence) it's always going to feel like a bad trip.

The sun is shining. I want to bounce around to Greenday, go camping, play at the forestry, take road-trips... I want to relax and enjoy life. I want to roll down a hillside like we did as kids. I want to hang out on the beach with my sister, watching the girls (Tori and Stazi) play in the water. I want to spread my arms and spin.

Next winter, I'm setting up one of those timer-set full-spectrum lights in my bedroom. I'm going to get exersize regularly and never get so nuts again.

A huge thank you to those of my friends who stuck with me while I whined and fussed.

I want to take a road trip and stay in a hotel, just to jump on the beds.
I want to travel under a fake name, something totally absurd.

My name is Ivanna.... Ivanna eetalott. Vere are de steaks and cheesecake? Zis iz my friend, Gimi Coco. Please bring her your finest double-death-by chocolate. :P

Run Baby Run :) This is Tori running through Dad's woods. I love running through the woods.  

This is the spill-over. That nearest "Island" looks kinda like a ship to me. (still on Dad's land) ...daddy's Walden 

This is known as "Power-line Hill". It was REALLY fun to 4-wheel down, but it is now off-limits to 4-wheelers. It gets pretty steep down there after that first set of poles you see here. Still out at Dad's. I don't know why I didn't take any shots of the spring and creek. 

This is the swimmin' hole up yonder at my Pa's land. (Daddy's place) The shot is taken from the dock. 

A member of the local militia camp was caught trying to go awol and was bludgened - ok, not really... this was after one of the airsoft games. This is Bryan killing Danny. :P 

Quick update

My arms are stiff and tired - hard to type. Boxing class was fun last night. It's more complicated that I knew (awesome). My footwork sucks so far, but it was my first day. I also suck at the seed bag (but again, first day). The focus ball thing, for training with a moving target, I did pretty well on. Of course I always liked heavy bags. If I forget to keep my body turned correctly the dude jabs me in the belly.
fun fun fun!

I overdid the tanning bed. Instead of pasty-white, I am now quite red. My face is ok, though. I cover my face most of the time I'm in there so I don't end up looking a billion years old.

I made some beet soup last night and it's tasty. Lotsa big hunks of beef in it, too. I lika da beef. :D

I have no clean laundry, have not paid my bills or balanced my checkbook, need to clean my home, have to write a story (about 15 pages? I forgot - have to check syllabus), have a research project and essays due, and really need to get some sleep before I keel over. I'm also behind at work. I could SO just fall asleep right now. I could sleep through an air-raid right now. Oh, mean world... just let me SLEEP!!!! If I had the time, I bet I could even sleep now.

Good news: I get to see Sin City with a few of the guys, Friday. Yippee! I get my babies Saturday (my neices). Sunday I'll be busy trying to catch up on my out-of-control life. :P

Death of a Poet

I met the ghost of you today
in your words,
and in your echo
shown on damp but glowing faces.

It seems presumptuous to intrude
and blessed to witness
the fingerprints of your life
in the ideas, inspiration,
and memories you left behind.

I'm embarrassed to dare speak
of whom I know nothing
but I regret only that I met
just the shadow of you
after the light had passed.

Still, it's evident to me
you did fulfill the dreams
of a writer we both admire
who's aspiration was simply
to "cease not 'till death".

I was asked to read Guinness at the Review release party but, before I read, I heard so much about a certain writing professor who had just passed away that I was so moved by the things he wrote and what people said about him. I scrawled the poem above on a knapkin in a couple minutes before my reading. I read Guinness, then I read the poem above. I was afraid that it had been too presumptious of me to speak of someone they all loved so much, and whom I had never met, but he sounded like someone who would want to have that sort of affect on people. I shyly ran off after the reading was over, but I met the editor in my favorite pub the other night and she said everyone loved the poem and had been talking about it ever since.
I felt so honored to know that my little poem meant something to the people who loved this man, that I figured maybe I should post it. I wish I had a link to his poetry to show you. I think we all would have liked him.

I can only hope that, after I'm gone, strangers will be moved to write by hearing my words.

My genius neice again. She's 11 now, still working on her first novel (it takes a while when you have trees to climb and video games to play). She may be addicted to computer games and, yes, she draws little mini comic-books... but she's still an outdoorsy girl. Trust me... just try and get the tree-sap out of her hair and you'll know. Isn't she adorable? 

random thoughts

Solid soil
is a fool's illusion.
Slipping, shifting,
fusion and dissolution;
the earth beneath my feet
churns, turns,
and slips away.
By quick sand’s
heavy hand
I‘ve come to understand
why they say
“Nothing gold can stay”.
My Tara is me.
I will build and sow;
my words will grow.
I will be the land
that feeds and supports,
even as I hang
upon the vacant ether.


A hungry waif, I peer through amber glowing windows at hearth-lit faces. So many know home. So many have known nothing else. I smile, glad they have never known life as a satelite loose of its orbit. I feel warmed, knowing some humanity still lives in close-knit connection. What a gift, to have shelter. What a blessing, to know that if you vanished, you'd be missed.

I will wrap my weary, weathered arms around my precious gifts, my lovely genius neices. I will pray they never understand me. I hope they never have the background to know what it is like to see the sweet ties of humanity only as a wishful voyeur, only through windows at other worlds. If they need a Tara, I will be there.

If Wishes were hairs, I'd be a wookiee

I went ahead and did the wishlist thing on my profile, just for the fun of it. So, if anyone feels like buying me that $1,200.00 set of Kanzashi, I'll take a picture of them in my hair and send it to you. :P Ha ha Obviously, I just did it for fun, although I may go back and get those books when I have the $. I will get an obi eventually, though. I want one that looks good with my vintage blue kimono. My golden-color silk kimono with embroidery is more for lounging around the house. It isn't even long enough. My Happi coat and Haori are just for display. Perhaps when I go to Japan (however long saving up may take) I can check out the consignment shops.
I do want some mulato peppers for authentic mole sauce, but I'll put that off. In the mexican-food section of the bigger grocery stores, you can sometimes find jarred "Mole" sauce, but it's a fake. It's made only with ancho chiles, most of the time. Mole should have mulato, ancho, and pasillo chiles in it (plus some very fine cacao). Mmmm... tengo mucho hambre, ahora. Necesito comer! Pero, no lo quiero esto ensalada. Yo quiero algo dulce. Speaking of food, I'd kill for some good tiramisu, right now. That stuff is so awesome. Hey Brandi, if you feel like going to Italy again, can I stay in your room in exchange for my bodygaurd services again? I promise not to loose my passport this time. :P The food there is just so insanely good. Of course, I'm still paying off the debt from my meals and airfare. :(

Now listening to: Galactic
album: We love 'em tonight
Now should be: working - I'm SO behind. I'd best hop to before I end up even more seriously screwed. How do I let myself get so distracted?

The haunted drawing. My professor called this one frightening, but it wasn't haunted until this picture. No, it isn't really haunted, but it looks like it with that other picture appearing within it. The painting across the room is reflecting in the glass, along with lots of light and such. The drawing is calledthe cave. It is of the corner of my bathtub, the sanctuary where I can let my shadows out. (No good military brat cries anywhere but the shower, you know) It was drawn to show the darkness I let loose there by my use of layer upon layer upon layer of french pastel and charcoal. 

another Tioga Falls Hiking Trip

Yet another shot of that train bridge we like to stroll on at Tioga Falls. See the phone poles way, way down there? It's pretty high up. I like the slight curve in the bridge - makes for neat photos.

Here Kyle is shooting up the creek at the Falls. 

Further up the creek you can see the falls in the distance, thus the name "Tioga Falls" (duh). Pretty, eh? 

That's Bryan at the left and Danny further up the right.  

Pretty falls. :) You can almost here it rushing, gurgling, flowing, trickling... hey! Where you going, bloggers? What do you mean Pee-break? 

Bryan is approaching the falls, here. You can climb to the top of the falls, but we didn't this particular day. 

Wata-wata everywhere! Eat your heart out, Tantalus. So refreshing! 

All new meaning to the term shower-curtain. It's great to stand under this on a hot sumer day. 

Kyle shoots the falls while I shoot back through a curtain of sparkling water. 

This drawing of mine was accepted into the IUS Student Show and won an award. It's just an extreme-perspective "bug's eye view" of my good friend playing x-box. The title is "Play". I hate titling artwork because I feel visual art should speak for itself. If it needs a title, it wasn't done effectively. But, it does make for easier reference, doesn't it?

Planet

Ebbing,
tidal-crashing,
stirred this way
and that
between the tug
of moon, wind,
gravity and the spin
of the rock beneath.
My mentality is often
coursing, thrashing,
rolling like waves.
Neurchemical and hormonal
sea-storms
toss my psyche,
pull at my mind.
But, the brain observes,
documents,
analyzes,
analyses… analyses…
Formulates rules and concepts.
It builds and honors.
It loves
the chaotic circling orbs around,
swimming in this
mystifying ether.
Somewhere in me
is a core of stone.
It cannot be broken.
This iron spine
would protect
my solar-system
with will immortal.
Muscle shifts
like tectonic plates
over a solid frame,
weight-bearing, steadfast.
-All fired and set
by the heat
of my churning,
burning,
magma soul.

Citizen Cope

So.... I went to see Cope in concert last night. Good show, overall. It started rather late so I was kicking myself for not having brought in a book. Reading a book in a bar may seem a bit odd, but then it wouldn't be the first time I did it. Warning: This review has more strays off topic than actual relavent info.

Opening act: Abdel Wright
This guy was popular the minute he spoke. Everybody loves a Jamaican accent. He sported a Che Guevera shirt, as well. Tangent: I wrote a song about Ernesto once, but I lost it. Good thing, really.... I can't write songs. Book reccomendation of the day- Companero (about the life of Guevera). Ok, tangent over :) I really enjoyed his music. The lyrics were thought-provoking without trying too hard. It all felt sincere/real/honest. The songs were broken up with enough interesting changes to not be too predictable. A lot of reggae-type-tunes are very redundant and predictable, but there was some movements or shifts in the styles throughout his songs that I really liked. I enjoyed the songs and loved his performance of them.

The audience at Headliners is always pretty receptive to new artists. Part of this has to do with being a venue vavored by WFPK listeners. In fact, they mentioned FPK and the crowd cheered, me especially. The lady behind me asked if I was from Louisville, which I basically am. When I said yes, she asked how I knew about FPK, then. "Because I'm a nerd" I answered. She said "How do you define nerd?" and I said "Well, I find physics books exciting. I read comic books, watch sci-fi movies, and read books at parties". "Yep, you're a nerd" she said.

Anyway... so with a strong FPK crowd, you get an audience that judges music by its own intrinsic value, not by how many times it's been force-fed to them by popular radio. --hmm... I could write a whole article about that and some stories that relate, but I digress (as usual).
Abdel's guitar went silent after a couple songs. Bad cable or water spilt in something. The man kept singing. He sang without accompanyment and the crowd cheered him on. He has a voice that is well worth listening to, with or without the distraction of instruments. He put energy and charisma into it, not letting the circumstances throw him a bit. I'm sure that everyone there will be pushing his cd on all their friends, as will I. I had Jim play Abdel's CD at the local Coffee shop today. I think he liked it, though the guy was much better live. He really sang his heart out once the guitar went dead. I may burn myself a copy and give Jim the original CD so he can tell his patrons about it.

The headliner at headliners: Cope
He took so long to show up that I wanted to storm backstage, grab him by the ear and say "Get your butt out there, Clarence. You're being rude!". Shame on you, Cope! But I'd waited far too long to get kicked out then. When he did get up on stage, he gave us a terrific show. I can't imagine having my artwork thrust in front of such a crowd under all those blinding lights, and my artforms do not require performing on the spot. (Well, except singing, but that's easy. I don't write songs or play anything). I really enjoyed it. I still don't understand why everyone always screams for the song Hurricane Waters. It is a nice song, but I like pretty much every other song he's done better.

The show was terrific. The band was great. I didn't scream "bass solo" as loud as usual, though. It was a laid-back show. I wasn't going to get some Wooten/Claypool/Martin/Flea bass experience. If he'd busted out into some Pastorius or (as I would want) some sort of super-funk jam, the mellow show-goers would have mutinied. Somehow, much of the intimacy of a one-man accoustic gig was still there, no doubt because of Cope's sincere, warm, relaxed, personal-sounding vocals and the approachable style of the music. But, the band definately had some strength and kicked the energy up a few levels from the accoustic gig I saw in December. They were terrific. I took my hat off at one point (it's wool, so it was getting stuffy) and the drummer signaled me to toss it, so I did. He wore it for the rest of the set. Unfortunately, I think it looked much cooler on him than on me.

My friend, Ghost, was with me and I beleive he had a good time as well, and bars are not even his element. But, it was just a great show and we were fortunate enough to be right up by the stage. Some nice looking chick was hittin' on him too. You should-a got her number, Ghost! Ehh... Can't blame ya. I'd never go out with a stranger from a bar either.

This "review" is no doubt sloppy, so I may come back and edit it. Right now, though, I have to run. I have 20 minutes to clean up and get ready for a friend's wedding - yikes!

oh, and in other news of the day: Brandi is trying to talk me into joining her boxing class. Oh, such temptation! This isn't one of those kick-boxing for exersize deals. It's serious training in actual boxing. The rest of the class is all-male, but there are some professional boxers there who are women. I want to join up so very badly, but it's $150, plus training 3 days a week. I desperately need the exersize to help me sleep. Plus, the tension release would be great. Brings back memories of taking turns slugging the heavy bag and drinking Guinness back when I lived with Brandi. It'd suck to get my nose broken or something, though. I may not care much about clothes, make-up, and prissy $#!t, but I'm still a chick and have some vanity. I can imagine explaining to a date that my ugly busted-up face was a result of a boxing match. :) Then again, I'd probably be so exited about boxing I'd wear my gloves to dinner with my little black dress. :P ta he he he

I avoid
pretentious speakers,
writers who conspire
to tout lofty lines,
artists who substitute
affected showmanship
for talent
and sprinkle conversations
with the word
“juxtaposed” for effect.
I avoid extravagant imagery.
I abstain from elaborate
linguistic acrobatics.
I want to reduce the art of words
to something living, breathing,
human… tangible.
If the egos of authors
peer down sharp noses
at my humble distillations of truth
then I extend them pity
for their incapacity to see
the beauty of expressions
as delicate as an exhalation.
My goal remains,
my reverence resolute, for phrases
as simple and pure
as oxygen.

There is sort of a joke in this one. I denounce the snooty world of literary accomplishment for their pretentiousness, but (by looking down on them) I show an ego above the pretentious ones, albeit an ego that is more a certainty in the value of simple things. Kind of an irony thing... get it? No? Nevermind, who asked you. :)

Watch-stand

Watching the watch-less
nightstand standing
by my empty bed.
It spills over with clutter,
books, glasses, and chocolate boxes.
The silent face of your watch
once marked this plain ledge
like a bookmark,
a mental note to return;
to find your place, and the girl
who’s heart is an open book.
But, the story wasn’t looking like
a happily ever after.
Now, this night-stand standing
watch-less watches
me as I sleep alone.

I love my friends like family.
They iluminate my little universe.
I try to see my family as friends,
not taking their time or company
for granted.
Beyond these gifts,
what earthly thing can matter?

too tired, sleepy, achey, cold to write today, but doin' alright 'ceptin' this dern fever.
Hope ya'll are doin' well in blog land.

Truth and Poetry

My love of poetry
stems from love of truth
and of simplicity.
But shrinking twists,
distillation alters,
and in my potent drops
of thoughts, emotions,
and self- exposition
I tainted truth – like an image
warped and bloated
under too much magnification.
You cannot judge my feelings
by brief phrases scrawled
to relieve pressure on my brain.
You cannot know how
my eyes see someone
by my attempts at revealing
the strains on my own psyche.
If we can judge a place
by post card,
You live on low-rolling hills
carpeted with dense blue-green
and spotted with charging
thoroughbreds.
I live on a cornfield
surrounded by giant caves.
To judge me by poetry,
I have stars in my eyes
think my friends are Gods,
and am morose and melancholy
all of the time.
But, in truth, I laugh.
In life, I see the textures
the details, the ins and outs…
When I sing praises
for something beautiful
I do not imagine it is perfect.
To see the beauty of anything
you must first observe its faults.
Its strengths and flaws together
make a beauty in truth.
And it is my love of true things
that moves me to poetry.

With guiding glimmer now cloud-concealed,
and destiny having bid me pass on,
the anchor has torn free, the compass is lost,
shores recoil, and the sun withholds the dawn.

Softly, a beckoning sound drifts from far aft;
perhaps a port... perhaps a siren's song.

Maybe I should follow, or just idly drift
either way I sail blindly without star or sun.

walking oxymoron

A heart wrapped up in the heavens
My mind somewhere among the clouds
flesh smoldering, ablaze with desire
Soul smothered in melancholy’s shroud

Never neglect your hellos.
Embrace every moment
with those you love.
Family pass away.
Friends move or simply disappear.
Husbands wake up one day
as another person,
one who cannot understand
why the former person loved you.
Appreciate every second
in the company of friends,
never letting a hello slip away,
because there is rarely a chance
for goodbyes
before the vanishing.

Disjointed contradictions
juxtaposed across
the thin line of time.
What was had ceased,
what future I awaited
was not in wait for me.
In the present,
time has folded over
to envelope me
like collapsing waves,
turning me in crossed currents.
No longer sure
which way is up
where is forward or back,
which way to solid land,
I am adrift.
Do I simply ride
currents as they carry me?
Or should I cup my hands
against the confusion,
stroke against incongruity
and kick, thrash, struggle
till things make sense?

No matter how full
the present,
with dreams and darkness
enough to burst the seams,

no matter how tightly bound
the future is,
with commitment
to hopes, to fate, or heart's resolve,

history never relinquishes
it's hold.

Me? Go a day without posting? NEVER!

So, here you go:

Blah blah blah blah




That's all I have to say about that. :P

A guy once sized up my sister based on her clothing, thinking she was too wild just because she wore a black leather biker jacket back then. Oh, she showed him... she made him pay for that one, alright. She married him.

The moral of the story? As my sister put it "Don't you say shit to me, I'll marry your ass!".

My sister cracks me up.

Sanctuary

Steam rolls
across my eyes,
kissing away the echos
of too much seen.
Flavor, strong and smooth,
warms my tongue,
dismissing the bitterness
of the past 30 years,
quieting the cravings
for sweeter things.
Robust, rich, soothing…
I like my coffee very strong,
perhaps subtly sweet;
hot enough to warm me
but gently so.
I could fall into
this mysterious pool
of dark umber-sienna,
and be swept off in its
deep flowing promise.
The world beyond
the cup at my lips,
warming these hands
that embrace it,
can simply wash on past.

too much to say

Some days I have very little to say, and I can spew out crappy poems by the dozen.
Some days I have so much to say ...such important things to say... and that is why I can post nothing.

To a friend who asked.... yes, my wicked mind is contagious. Keep your's cool though, you aren't even 30 yet and the hormones multiply exponentially at 30 for us chicks - it's insane. In fact, I think I need to get a pool-boy. I don't need a pool, just a pool-boy. I need a vent before I drive my friends crazy with my neurotic/insomniac craziness.
(I'm so awful, and I used to be so sweet - I need a hormonectomy, seriously)

I am so broke, I have to raid my laundry quarters to buy my Ultimate Iron Man. I have $0 to last me from now until next check (on the 25th). I probably should have waited to send my insurance check in, instead of risking the zero-balance, but driving without insurance for so long makes me nervous. I'd like to be legal. I'm excited that I'll have insurance soon! Look at me, I'm legal! :)

Smile

Smile, laugh, curtsey…
Play and pray
that William James
and Sylvan Tomkins
were right.
Dance little doll.
Become by being.
Learn the role
by playing it.

My joy when with good friends is entirely genuine. I may whine like mad in my blog, but when I'm with my most beloved friends I am happy as can be. Still, there are other times I feel for Pagliacci...
Vesti La Guibba.

Mosh

Writhing,
shaking,
leaping masses…
We are united.
We are released.
We are ignited,
incited, liberated.
Human waves
crash against me.
I am a part
of this stirring,
raging sea.
Jumping,
unbound,
I fall and never
touch the ground.
A dozen arms
catch me,
lift me,
and again
we bounce,
rage
swell.
A tidal pit,
a sea of humanity…

foreground to distant: Brandi, Me, Bryan, and Danny. Kyle shot the pic. Did I mention I love hiking? These are the greatest people to hike with, too. :) 

I like climbing stuff too. Fun fun fun :) 

Same place. That's me. I love to hike. :) 

Tioga Falls again, beautiful place to hike. Kyle took this shot. 

How many hands
graze me in passing?
How many paws
find excuse to land
under guise
of guiding me aside,
or under ruse
of friendly greeting?
It’s as if the air
is as thick with hands
as it is with smoke.
The smoke clings to me,
pushes into my lungs,
while the hands take away,
stealing me in portions,
like a hundred passers-by
casually taking
one striped peppermint each
from a community dish.
No one takes it all,
just a little taste per person,
never knowing or caring
what, with group effort,
they will empty.

Cling

Make me tangible,
Anchored.
Give me a minute
to not keep watch
over my own shoulder.
Let me believe
that I could not
simply blow away,
unnoticed,
unmissed.
Let me be
woman or child,
not warrior,
not survivor.
Forgive me for
my reluctance
to let go
when embraced.
Let me pretend
I'm worth
holding on to.

Funny, funny man

My neice asked "What's Excalibur?"
My brother-in-law answered "That's the famous sword that Jesus used to kill Hitler"

I went to pick up my sister for something. She was getting ready for us to leave, but also talking about new things she had bought. She asked her hubby to do something and he did. Then she told him to go get her new top so she could show me. He dutifully goes for the blouse, walks back in with it on the hanger while my sissy tells me about it. Then she reaches for it (while sitting on the couch) so she can show me something on it, but she couldn't quite reach it. Her hubby does not step closer to hand it to her. She said "Can't you just take one more step so I can reach it?" and he answered "My leash doesn't reach that far"

Last night we went to see my neice in her school play. There was a donation box to help pay for the show, which my brother-in-law slipped something into. After the kiddos were scooped off to bed, my sister asked me to go to Richos with her (sure!), so she starts patting her hubby's pockets down for money. He says "What do you think you're doing?"
"Looking for my money" she said
"I put your money in the donation box" he said.
"Oh yeah? Well, then, I put your sex in the donation box" she retorts.
"Must have been a very small box" he said.

now, off the subject.... my neice was adorable in the play/show. Afterwards she was telling me how hot the drummer was (oh dear). My sister and I both told Tori "Stay away from musicians!!". Then Sissy says "You know what they say about musicians don't you?" Tori looks at us, obviously not caring, and we said to her in unison "They keep them in the pit for a reason!". Tori is 11, though, so I'm sure she really takes our opinions to heart, especially since, instead of sitting quietly like most parents, we were laughing and doing the hand-jive in our seats when the kids did it. We were also discussing taking over the gig, having theatre in our blood. Stazi (my younger neice) was busy sushing people behind us.

I love my family. They are the greatest.

Twist, curl
unravel…
Am I spinning,
flowing,
burning, glowing?
Skin flushed,
eyes smoldering,
fetters blown away
like weightless dust…
What magic is it
that could lift woman
to spirit?
From trapped soul
to breathing flesh?
To trust…
To be ignited…
To find sanctuary enough
to let woman revel
In the divine, radiant role
of muse and temptress.
To be made an
impious inferno
and a religion
in one.

These online tests...

...never have options that fit me. It's always something like "do you want a man who is sexy, or successful, or bends to your will, or loyal, or blah blah blah..."
I like a smartass who can see the joke in anything, is not afraid to be serious, is honest and straightforward, intelligent, passionate, etc... I never see that option on these tests.
All tests that ask "what is your favorite fruit" never seem to offer raspberries as an answer. that is my favorite, raspberries. Blueberries are also nice.
Favorite type of music: mine is funk/punk/jazz/blues/sca/songwritery/metal/classical/musicals. I like a compelation CD that goes right from Black Sabbath to the musical Chess, to Queen, to Greenday, to Pink Floyd, to Mozart.
Theme song of my life??? Hurm..... How about "she's fucking crazy" by guns and roses? kidding. I like Superhero, by Ani DeFranco. Ball and Chain by Janis Joplin might be more appropriate. Nobody's on Nobody's side, from Chess, is one I should probably listen to more often, because I forget that fact too easily.
I once (years ago) went to hear some local guys play and they covered the song "don't give me no lines and keep your hands to yourself" and when that song started, a whole big bunch of people, some of whom didn't even know eachother, all pointed at me. That was really, really weird. Hey, I was just trying to be a good girl back then.
Another problem with these quizzes, they always assume your moral standards and sexual intensity go hand in hand. One measured how "horny" you were with questions about how many people you'd done this or that with. I didn't even take that quiz. A) it was stupid and B) amount of restraint shown doesn't necisarily define how much you're holding back.
I never see the personality option of being shy and passionate, which I find extremely ironic because the two tend to go hand in hand.
anyway... enough about that. Time for a lunch-time nap. :)

What random object am I? It says I'm a Fork

You are special, unique... and shiny.... but you just don't know it. Many admire you for your outward appearance, but you haven't truly expressed all of the great stuff inside of you. You have the potential to do great things and help others, and this will help you in the future. When you hold a grudge at someone, however, this can be dangerous. Despite your calmness that most people perceive about you, you keep a lot of feelings bottled up inside that one day can make you explode and stab something. Instead of resorting to that, you can just say, "Go Fork Yourself!"Most compatible with: Knife, and Sock.

Try this quiz yourself

My favorite...

Musical instruments (in order): Human voice, stand-up bass, any other bass, drums, cello
Classical composer: Mozart (us ADD folk gotta stick together... we understand eachother :)
Ice Cream flavors: Chocolate fudge brownie, new york super fudge chunk, or just chocolate with amaretto on top
Colors: Green and various warm, deep, rich, nature-colors -I despise pink, and don't care for most bright colors. Rooms painted white make me very anxious. I like amber-colored light in a room. I mostly wear black, but also wear grey or brown a lot. My sheets are black - so soothing for sleep.
Memory: anything involving Tori
Job: I loved working at the flower shop, mostly becuase I loved the people so much, including my boss. I would love to work in chemical-free landscaping. I like physical labor and like being outdoors.
Smells: the air in the woods (smells like good, clean dirt - ha ha), Amber Romance Perfume (which is why I wear it), coffee beans, fresh rosemary, Cilantro, cologne, etc...
Shake flavor: I'm a chocolate malt gal
fru-fru coffee drink: Iced latte with two to four extra shots of espresso (4-6 total), a drip of sugar-free hazelnut syrup (not a full dose), and no whipped cream or anything. Mmmm... yummy. I also like plain espresso (unsweetened, untainted, pure and perfect), or a nice cup of regular Gevalia.
Favorite people: My family, obviously, because they are just so awesome; Brandi for being the greatest chick ever; Kyle and the whole southend group for giving me what I never had before and for showing me comics, taking me hiking, feeding me fudge-pops, and letting me feel like I belong somewhere for a change; Lisa and Ray for all the year's they've put up with me; all you guys in email and blog land; a few people I never see anymore (due to death, drifting, or excomunication)... this might be a bad idea, what if I leave someone important out?
Things to spend $ on: Victoria's Secret, Books, dinners out, gifts, more books, decorating stuff, japanese stuff, cooking stuff, plants (back when I had a garden) etc... (I don't spend much these days, though... gotta get car insurance and groceries)
Way to spend a weekend: doing anything with Brandi and/or the guys and spending time with Tori. More specifically, I like to do really wild, exciting things... like eat pizza, rent movies, hike, watch anything funny on TV, and even watch the guys play Halo2. I'm such a party animal. Now and then, I like to go out and dance, and stuff. I admit to enjoying karaoke too. Of course the ultimate in a perfect weekend is undeniably the ROAD TRIP!!! :) One of my favorite things, though, is something I never did until the past year... go to the comic shop with the guys. I know, I know.... I'm a nerd, but I like being a nerd. :D
Reoccuring dreams (not counting the private ones): Flying, the dreams where I sing in a band that does various funk,punk,rock,blues,sca covers (cheesy, I know), ones about making graphic novels with the guys, the ones where I learn martial arts from my cousin, Kirpa, in Japan (she teaches in a dojo in or just outside of Tokyo, apparently), etc...
Name for a dog: Fencepost (Ray's idea).
I've had dogs named Guinnes, Killian, and Runt. I only had Runt for a couple weeks. She was dying when found and I nursed her with a little bottle every 2-3 hours (daytime at work and nighttime-no sleep) but her kidneys must have already been too damaged when I got her. When she died, I cried so hard I screamed, literally, repeatedly. The last half hour of her life was so painful for her that I was packing up to take her to dads and shoot her (which would have killed me). But she finally stopped crying and gave up. I cried harder than when mom died. She was so little, but I couldn't protect her.
Music to dance to alone in my apartment: Parliament Funkadelic, J-5, Pulp Fiction Soundtrack, and Tom Waits. I hop around a lot in the shower to System of a Down, but I don't think that counts as dancing... it's more like a one person mosh pit.

I'm an idiot

I haven't concentrated today. I have 5 more fricking files to do and it's after 7. I hate me right now. I'll have to go home to turn the soup pot off, then come back here.
I wanted to go to the tanning bed (the light helps my head), do homework, clean up my apt, dunno... have a life, maybe? But no... I'm stuck here like a dork. My head is killing me. I stare at this screen far too much.
Ok, enough blogging. Gotta concentrate.

now listening to: Jurrasic 5

Richo-ville

A town may be
a great place to visit.
But if I become less of me
when I am there,
perhaps it is better
to stay clear.
I would not have
my pride
spirited away.
I dare not visit cities
with all-you-can-eat
echanted dinners.
After all,
what if my soul is pure
but my instincts are piggish?

--You would have to have seen Spirited Away to get this, most likely. If you haven't seen the movie, shame on you. Go rent it right now.

MMW

My favorite band in the universe is coming to Cincinnati. Well, Tom Waits would tie with these guys in my book, actually, but he doesnt' tour from what I understand.

MMW - they're Jazz (kinda fusionish, very groove oriented, with a healthy dose of funk)
I had to adjust to the keyboards, but love them now. Mostly, though, I am all about Bass and - man, that's some serious bass. The drums are nuts. I love em.

The tickets are just $20. I'm going. I'd go if I had to go by myself, but I hope to get some people to go with me. Ghost will probably go, right ghost? Although I wouldn't let you go without me(j/k). You already saw Wooten (so jealous). Hey, Random Danny, you going???

Fridge

Rahx gave me the idea for this one. What is in your fridge?

Mine:
Water in a filter-pitcher, whole milk (usually get 2%), organic eggs, butter (never margarine), juice (no sugar added), Sushi rolls I made last night, Leftover Jasmine rice, leftover stir fry, feta cheese, Gouda, Brocolli, a big bunchof cilantro, four draft bottles of Guinness, and a HUGE pot of soup. I make a different soup each week and live off of it. This week is a chicken-based soup with a little bit of tiny shrimps, bok choy, green onion, shiitake and crimini mushrooms, Nori seaweed, etc...

Oh yeah, and a fridge-pack of Mug root beer. I don't drink sodas, but I keep them there for the guys. I also keep breyers vanilla bean ice cream in the freezer (which I don't eat) in case my neice or one of the guys wants a root-beer float. I also have deer meat and whatever other game daddy donates to my freezer. (what a great daddy :) He has some salmon for me to pick up next I see him. Yum.

YHWY

I've failed you
in more ways
than I can keep track of.
I rarely read
your letters these days.
I rarely call,
though you left a line open.
But, when I'm alone
on your big blue rock,
you still
send me the sun.

Politics -a repost

I have never gotten involved in politics. But, I listen to people make little political references and am ashamed to hear them mistaking generalizing-jokes and propaganda catch-phrases for philosophy or reason. Conservatives write off the opinion of a liberal because he is a liberal. Likewise, a liberal rolls his eyes at the view of a conservative.

I sat at my dining room table a few months back and listened to my 11-year old niece talk for some time (parents: try it, you might learn something). After a lengthy dissertation on the evolution of ancient Egyptian religious icons and how each varying incarnation of the same gods reflected the social and economic climate at the time, somehow she got onto the topic of politics. She was talking about how aggravating it was that kids her age simply hated various figureheads of political movements and such, and how they evaluated presidential candidates and political speakers entirely by their parents reaction to them, rather than thinking for themselves. She complained that if they were democrat, they avidly insisted any republican was a fool, but if you asked them why they had no better reason than that they were republican. The same would be true for the republican assessment of a democrat, of course. She said they don’t even know why they are republican or democrat.

What could I tell her? That most children her age haven’t begun to build their own set of beliefs yet, but are still just adopting what is fed to them? Perhaps that is true, but not entirely, as it contains some insinuation that people will mature in their ability to evaluate thoughts and opinions. It has been my experience that most people never do.

I hate politics and I hate to talk about politics, but I find myself with the desire to better educate myself on the subject just so I know the details with which to slap general reason across the faces of people sleep-walking in their comfortable, ignorant haze.
I can respect a wide variety of highly contrasting opinions if they are founded in some reason, but clinging to team colors as if they are valid ideologies disgusts me. Substituting partisan bias for thought is to shove away from the table of understanding. If you want not understanding, as it tastes too much like brussle sprouts to your twinkie-loving tongue, then do not presume to denounce other’s thoughts. Do not spout off at all if, instead of perspective, you can offer only a regurgitation of pre-processed fast-food philosophy.

Defiance

(another repost from the old greymatter)

I toe a line
in the rubble at my feet,
remnants of a life I built,
a life since razed by man's fear and vanity.
The smoke long settled,
my wounds mended,
with iron eyes I taunt you, life.
You've killed many of my loved ones,
took my children, born and unborn;
made my own loves betray me...
You've scarred my body deeply,
battered my mind with heavy blows.
So what.
I laugh at you.
Give me your best shot.
These strong legs will not give way.
This metal spine will bear your blows.
These hands will build.
These arms will defy you.
Look into my steely eyes
and know I will not be beaten.

Shy and gutsy?

I have stood nose to nose with the biggest, scariest factory bully and told him off - just hoping he would hit me so I could hit back. I have danced on bars a couple times. I plan on going to Japan by myself and the idea sounds like a great adventure. But, sometimes the shyness comes out with a vengeance.

I went into the Comic Book store in New Albany today. I've been wanting to go for a long time, but was shy about going in alone. Silly, eh? Well, it's unfamiliar territory and I'm not super-knowledgable about comics. I walked in and they all turned and stared at me (whole bunch of people at the counter) but they all ignored me, pretty much. No one asked ifI needed help or anything. It's a really small place, so it's weird... like you're practically in these people's laps and they pretend you aren't there. I felt like I was intruding. I wanted to run away, literally, right out the door. But, I looked around and didn't find what I wanted. I was about to give up and leave, never to return, when he actually did ask what I wanted. I told him I was looking for the new Ultimate Ironman (written by Orson Scott Card, author of Ender's Game). They were sold out, but he promised to save me a copy when he gets more in Wedesday. I was hot, shakey, and nervous already because my initial fe minutes in there was so uncomfortable. I asked about X-23, also sold out. He gave me a big Previews catalog and was very nice. I'll go back Wednesday.

I just think it's odd that I can be so daring at times, and so shy other times. I once drove through a gang fight because I was offended that they thought I should wait while they engaged in such utter idiocy in the middle of the road. I am more shy around people I expect would share interests with me, too. I suppose because what they think might actually matter to me a little. Just like, I often have no problem trying something new in front of people if I expect to suck at it (yes, that's what I said. Odd, eh?) But if I feel it is something I should be good at, then I'm more nervous, because if I fail at something I should be good at, then I loose a bit of myself.

I went to climb one of those fake rock walls once. That is totally up my alley. I LOVE to climb stuff. Never take me to a party in a barn. I'll be in the rafters before you can say "Where's the punch?". But, this particular day I was so anemic I could barely stand up. I have a real hang-up with ever being perceived as weak, so feeling like lifting my arms is so daunting a task that I might cry if I have to do it twice, well... that is a humiliation I find hard to bear. But, I tried to climb anyway. I was so weak I felt like breathing was wearing me out, but I tried to climb. I got up a little bit and my arms felt numb - just like your foot feels when it falls asleep, they felt just like that. I tried to concentrate on keeping my fingers gripped but I could barely tell where they were. Everything went black except a fuzzy center-point in my vision that I was fighting to keep open. Of course, everything sounded like I was hearing it through a tube. I told the dude holding my rope that I had to come down. The ninny started arguing with me.
"You're doing fine, just reach up-"
"No, It isn't about the climbing, I'm about to faint" concentrate...don't pass out
"Just reach for the-"
"I have to come down now or I will fall down. I'm anemic. I'm about to pass out"
The idiot wanted to argue with me, but he finally accepted and let me down. If he hadn't right that second, I would have just pushed off from the wall and come down the hard way - let him deal with the rope burns, I didn't care. Through years of self-training, I've learned to fight that fainting thing, but it is not easy and you can only do it for so long, unless you find a place to sit down and mellow.
Anyways... I was just crushed. Failing at something I know should come easily for me just scrambles my pride. Plus, feeling like some weak frail thing pisses me off like you wouldn't beleive. Anyway... enough rambling for today. :)

I'm amazed at my own type-o's sometimes. But, I don't think you can edit comments, and I haven't time to get to careful re reading everything. If it weren't for the content, i'd have my neice read through and edit and pay her a few bucks. ha ha.

What is this brand I bear
mark I wear
I swear
I must be tagged,
Bagged, and marketed
Like a plastic doll
Well, fuck it all
Tired of being used,
hated; Fated to be relegated,
Slated for disposable status
What am I?
Marble to your Pygmalion?
Sculpi without formation?
Are you the God who’d
Cure me of my self?
Discard the wealth
Of who I am, all I am
To make anew
Your angelou?
Your precious Barbie?
Your perky stephord dream?
I could scream
But you took my voice
My choice
And replaced it
with your expectations,
now my patience is gone
along with hope, faith, youth
it’s no use
my face is a mask,
a label, a purple triangle,
a yellow star
you use to categorize me
chastise me
for not becoming
your bubbly, athletic antithesis
of me
of the real me
the thinking, dreaming, breathing me
heaving with sensuality and thought
I will not
Apologize for being real.
We all have flaws
I have my share,
But my whole self
is not an error
to be revamped
and cheerfully stamped
"new and improved"
or to be supplied
on your demand.

It kinda goes no where, but oh well. I wrote this about a year ago, I guess. Just found it in word. I probably wrote it around the same time I wrote "Brides by design".

Audience

The book is shut before I speak. I see it in half your faces.
Woman, am I your competition?
Have you judged the ease of my life with a quick measure of my hips?
You, intellectual, do I look too young and sweet to volley theories with you?
Would you dismiss my voice before it sounded?
I am a blonde – am I a bimbo?
Or is it reading Feynman that stirs my pulse?
I am not obese – so have my days been easy?
Or have I been used and never loved?
Or can you guess I was the ugly one in high school -
The one you would have taunted and teased?
My hair is long, my eyes softly blue – am I a romantic?
Or do I spew my primal rage against a heavy bag
Slugging deep into the leather and sawdust
Until the rafters of the barn shake with my bottomless fury.
May body has taken it’s blows and given me a few of it’s own.
My body scars and bleeds and reels in its toxic confusion,
showing more age inside than your grey-haired grandma.
My mind is a constant chaotic explosion of thought, curiosity, epiphany and vision.
My heart a blackened, beaten thing that still would gather its charred remains-
Still turn itself over and find a soft spot to offer up without reserve.
I offer my words, an open book.
But you stop at the cover I didn’t design.
You will see the illusions, the projections of your own eyes.
I hope you like what you see,
Because it reflects only you;
No one sees me.

(I was thinking about writing something I could read aloud, but instead I could only think of why I hate to read aloud - hate my words to be filtered through people's image of me. So... that's where this came from)

Ghostly Decline (drift)

Do I mourn you now,
or in encriments,
with each bit of you
you take away
and each teasing hope
that you might change direction
away from this ghostly decline?
Do not drift.
Do not fade
in a silent slippery shift.
No slamming doors,
please, but even more;
no back window escapes
letting bitter winds seep in
through panes left agape.
See yourself; face me.
Give me the mercy
of a goodbye
so I know how
to shut the door behind you;
So your absence
does not haunt me.

(I went digging through old word files and found this buried)

A bit of education

All right… this is a little bit of an off-topic for my blog, but something I read made me decide the world just has to be educated. Info:
No matter how loud she is leading up to it, from what I’ve read (and from experience), most women, when truly experiencing the o-word, do not make much sound during the big o-moment. Nothing is consistent about the wonderful O, (just like mom’s lasagna, different every time, but ALWAYS good). Still, during a real o-moment, it is normally all a woman can do just to breathe, because it is that intense. If she gets quiet, and the breathing is weird… lucky her! If she builds up to a big show, well don’t knock it ‘cause she’s still enjoying it, but it may not be the big O. If she can breathe enough to yell, she may be faking. I stress MAY, because (like I said) it is different for different women and it is different every time.
Now, since I said this, I have to add more info. NEVER tell a woman you don’t think she had one. It is insulting and will make her too insecure to enjoy it the next time. If you dare compare one woman’s reaction to another you’ve been with, you deserve to be flogged (unless you’re into being flogged, in which case – FREAK!). Also, there are hormonal fluctuations and various things that affect when a woman can or can’t get to the O, so don’t think it’s all about you and what you do.

Joy

Contentment is
more blissful
than elation.
Serenity,
to me, is rapture.
Show me a fine circle
and a reason to laugh,
and I will show you
the meaning of life.

Broke

A voice from long ago
softly resonates
as time takes another loop.
But these ears
do not hear things
the same way anymore.
These eyes are too tired
to look to you.
My hopeful gaze is spent.
I’ve given my heart away
until disheartened.
I have nothing left to give.
I’ve offered myself
in gifts, tied up with hope
with devotion, with love.
What balance remains
is tangled up
in uncashed checks,
non-negotiable,
non-transferable.
My hands would give
but my heart is bankrupt.

"I stare into the cup, blowing on it gently and letting the steam curl around my face. The smell is seductive, it’s hot breath kisses my face and strokes my forehead. This is a safe kind of joy; the love of the bean. No danger here except maybe dehydration and a stained smile. My care, my attention, the time I take to grind the beans and filter the water… it’s appreciated and it is paid back to me in taste and aroma. It can’t judge me unworthy and run from the cup. It rushes for my lips with the gentlest tilt of the cup. It never betrays me. It only burns me if I’m careless with it, and I deserve it then." -found that in my computer. Don't remember when I wrote it. Sometime last year.

Listening to: Tito and Tarantula. I almost slipped in A Perfect Circle, but I've banned that CD from myself for a while for the same reason I can't own a Nine Inch Nails CD... makes me VERY dangerous... ;)

I feel really ill. Migraine, my belly aches, etc.... couldn't eat. Had to stop by my ex's place to pick mail up. The anxiety is always enough to make me quite ill.

Dizzy Spell

Whispers echo;
spin through my head
like crossing winds.
The room goes dark
eyelids surrender
to gravity.
My body turns to water
swept off in currents;
waves driven
by my racing pulse.
Weak, weightless,
mind swimming;
thoughts slip away,
cannot form words,
only feel…
falling.

How did I become
One of those women
prefacing stories with lines like
“back when I was with
my second husband”?
When did I get an office
with a door, with suits,
with a desk clock
that makes forest sounds?
How did I, a writer and artist
who wanted to teach phsyics,
end up working with lawyers?
How did I, the ugly girl
no one would talk to,
end up on the cover
of 2004’s Louisville Bride?
I’m still the shy girl
shuffling my feet behind the curtain.
I’m still the day-dreamer
playing super-hero in my head.
I’m still the little girl crying
alone on the playground
wondering why all the other kids
hate her and call her names.
Time plays odd tricks.
Life’s backdrop morphs and fluctuates.
Time paints my face with changing masks
that I never see, and no one else
will see past.
But underneath the masks,
I’ve become no one else… just me.

Hair

It’s the sheet I hide behind
like a tattered security blanket,
The stems and stalks of a jungle
I peer through at my prey,
The lure I dangle, design and set
To draw you into my trap,
The smoke I conjure spells with
When I drag it across your skin,
The thinking rope I twist through my fingers
In some zen-style meditation,
The dead-weight I chop away when angry
So I can face the world head on,
The fountain that sprouts and spills
Flowing over my shoulders once again,
The cloud that flows out around me
When I dip my head under water,
My crown, though I have no glory,
Just a muddy head full of dishwater-blonde.

(I wrote this about a year ago. It's pretty mediocre, but I wanted to post something.)

Made Of

(forget sugar and spice)

Honey and habaneros,
full of fire and of mist;
moving like water
on the rocks with a twist.
Nice, with enough wicked
to make your toes curl
-what woman is made of,
'cause I'm no little girl.

Mozart

Were you here,
I would lay my hands
upon your cheeks,
lean my forehead
against yours,
eyes shut…
Like a mother to a child,
in hopes of taking
your torment from you;
Like a disciple seeking
contact with the divine;
Like a friend saying,
without need for words,
that I understand;
Like a child against
the door of a magic toy shop,
hoping to hear the gears
that churn out
such wondrous gifts.

Perhaps it is miraculous that God can turn dust into a living, breathing man. To me, it is a hundred times more miraculous that God can twist minerals into mortal greymatter that can exhale such inspiration... My God... where does this come from? The first movement of Symphony No. 25 in G minor... a neurological explotion. Seranade for winds? ...like seeing your child dance carelessly for an hour on the hardwood floors of the Irish Rover's upstairs room. Mass in C minor.... total braingasm. I'm humbled. I'm inspired. awe... total awe.

I went to see Taylor Mali tonight. He had me laughing so hard it hurt, so hard I wanted him to stop becuase I couldn't breathe. It was great.
He hit on plenty of subjects I related to. He did the same for others. I could tell by how they turned to their friends with a nudge or a gesture. I smiled. I finally decided against teaching for a living, but I still tend to relate to teachers (he taught 8th grade, apparently).
The wig poem made me want to write about seeing my mom's wig on the couch, like a severed head... awkward as a long silence on a first date. It made her head hot, so she'd often just lay it there. I thought about the times I took that symbal of impending death and put it on my head, doing my best mom imitation, teasing some life into her face.
The proofreading poem was SO me. If I had friends there, I would have nudged and gestured too. Instead I just laughed. I always laugh. I may not have anyone to nudge, but I can always laugh.
He was great. I bought his CD. Shouldn't have. I needed that $10, but oh well.
Check him out, everyone. Great poet.

Weird Science

I read this article a week or a few weeks ago. I thought it was facinating, but a bit of an odd subject to discuss online so even I, in all my infinate blurtiness, kept that one to myself. But, on second thought... nah... to weird to keep to myself.

Most of you know I love science and love Scientific American like a 19 year old boy loves his playboy. especially the phsysics articles.

Ok - here's a weird fact for you.... darn, now I have to say the word. Ok, that's stuff... the "underpants navy" (funny name, I like that one) aka "baby batter" aka "sperm soup" is just full of all these hormones that can actually be absorbed by the woman during sex. As if "afterglow" isn't enough, these hormones (which through tests have been proven to show up in the woman's bloodstream shortly afterwards) work like anti-depressants.
So yes, guys... you can make her high. Pat yourselves on the back and be really proud of this great "service" you can provide for your honey. Of course, she can't absorb it if you're using protection and if it isn't THE one, you need to be using protection. Still, the fact is fascinating, isn't it? Learn somethin' new every day.

Should I start an additional blog? An educational one? Explain why most men think that women's fake orgasms are the real ones, and think the real ones are fake? (You silly men)
Nah... that's too much for a blog.
I'll stick to lame poetry and boring ramblings. oh yes, and I know... the fact that I can say the silly euphamisms but I can't say the technical terms for anything sexual, yes I know that's weird. But, I'm a weird gal.

Listening to: Free for all, Ted Nugent. before that was J-5.

I have read quite a bit of philosophy, beleive it or not. Of course, dont' ask me to recall which theory went with which philosopher. As far as I'm concerned, Calvin and Hobbes make better cartoons than theorists. As for what philosophies I suscribe to... at 15, I grabbed hold of Whitmans' goal to "cease not till death", I thought that was a good one, but my favorite (as I've said before) is still "happiness comes in small doses" - Dennis Leary. Well, we all know that I just love a dark-humored sarcastic smartass. The line is just so true.

Here I am, morose little me at work, and I let my hair down... It smells like Amber Romance from Victoria's Secret - that fancy conditioner I bought some time back. Mmm.... happiness is a good smell. That smell makes me happy. :) Not quite malt-fudge-pop happy, but pretty happy. :D

Now, if I just had some good chocolate, I'd be practically buzzin. -I'm so easy to please it's crazy.

Odd isn't it? I admit to a predisposition towards depression (especially in the absense of sunlight, and hang-out time, etc...) but there is probably no woman in america who can be made happy more easily. What a loon I am. :P
Now... planning the next happiness buzz... When does that Ultimate Ironman series written by Orson Scott Card come out? Is that really happening or did I dream that? Orson Scott Card is my hero. :)

listening to: the song that just ended was one night in bankok, now Korn-word up is starting. (one of my hodgepodge cd's)

Don't mind me :)

Manic depression
Etched in my brain
But I’m really alright
Just slightly insane.
I’ve got my chocolate
(which I’m allergic to)
I have blogs to see,
Things to do…
I keep it together
Most of the time
Until pms knocks me
Over that thin line.
Then death sounds good
For about a week
But I do keep breathing
I just act like a freak.
Don’t mind me
I’m just a little worn out
From 30 years of crap
Not worth writing about.
Sometimes life just
Knocks me to my knees
It is, after all,
One hell of a tease.
Joy sets in
for a year or two
Until it suddenly
Tires of you.
Happiness materializes
In the faces of friends
Long enough to break you
When you’re alone again.
And so it goes…
no big deal at all;
I still laugh, still write,
Still get up, still fall.

Note to a Dear Friend

Being a word-gluton,
I reread our emails.
In one sentence,
I throw blunt truths
In your face –
Sugar free
and plain as a kick in the pants.
In the next I sing your praises,
because those are truths too.
Count on me, my dear, to take
what you least want to hear
and plaster it in front of your nose.
Often times, it’s your favorite
self-depreciating mantras
I’d smack from your hand
the same as I would a cigarette
if you were allergic to nicotine.
Sometimes I remind you I love you.
You’re my brother, friend,
and I adore you, with good reason.
At least you know
that when it’s my voice
singing your praises
then who you are
requires no sugar-coating.
I’m your blunt-girl, chronically honest.
At my most candid,
without an ounce of flattery,
and maybe even knowing your faults
better than anyone,
I can see your considerable worth.
So, you’d best see it too,
before I have to kick your butt.
;)

瞳を読む

あなたの言葉は立ち去ってゆく
私が言葉を思いつくたびに
その言葉は　美しい響きで　私の耳に届きはしない
瞳は　多くを物語る
あるいは　読み違えているのかしら？
あなたの話す言葉を　私が理解できると思う時に

(Reading Walls, as translated by Shinano Sato )

First thing Dad taught me
sometime before preschool:
"Life isn't fair"

Outsider

I am a muttered taboo
midst a lovely ceremony,
Dead air in the middle
of the current top 40,
The unwelcome rain
on sunny picnics…
a nuisance when around,
but easily forgotten
and never missed.

Another now-report

listening to: The Sex Pistols
Eating: Pistachios (wishing it was chocolate grenache or cheescake... or both)
Feeling: Tense.... very tense. (yes, that's a code word again... I seriously think my brain will explode if I keep going like this) I aint had my cookies in many, many months and I am a cookie addict. If I had a rooftop, I'd just stand on it and scream. What a waste of my peak years.
Trying: to work... not concentrating.
Wishing: I was in a mosh pit turning this pent-up emotion into nice, innocent rage.
Thinking: too much, as always.
playing with: a bouncy stuffed bird
Missing: My "friends" (...if a transient outsider can really have friends)
Also feeling: Sleepy. I bought a bunch of sleeping stuff last night. Didn't work. I am immune to that stuff. My insomnia is stronger than modern medicine.
Wearing: my favorite brown hat (the one in the pic with the bass), tan cords, etc...
craving: Well, we all know the #1 answer, but also craving the sushi rolls my sister makes. Sissy makes the tastiest sushi-rolls.
Hating: Circumstances that bind stars into their crossing paths, as well as whatever it is in me that has made own my path a tortuous meandering sashay over the coals of stupidity.
Would just about die for: No, not that... actually, I was thinking of sleep, but a special kind of sleep... a sheltered kind of sleep... someplace warm and safe and happy.
I Live for: the day that death no longer sounds appealing. I also live for fun days with friends, time with my precious neice, and good food... and chocolate :) Hey, it's the simple things.
Because my favorite philosopher says: "Happiness comes in small doses" Maybe you don't consider Dennis Leary a philosopher, but as Tori used to say "You don't evey know!"
I'm about to: get back to work
tonight I plan on: soaking in lavendar/magnesium bath salts, taking lots of sleep-aids, and if that doesn't work, I'll punch myself in the jaw and knock myself out. I MUST SLEEP!
:)
And you guys?

Majority Rule

“Sanity is not statistical”,
truth not just belief,
but mankind cowers against itself
when the combine bears its teeth.

Note: The first line is a quote from George orwell's 1984.

Texture

Wrap me, layered,
in tweed and corduroy;
texture to breathe life
into a grey Formica world.
Even the secrets
Victoria supplies me
are plaid.
My brain is patchwork,
a hodgepodge,
an eclectic selection
of what my eyes
have gleaned of art,
books, earth and darkness-
what my hands have known
of skin, of ice, of locust trees,
what my spine has felt
of weight, of work, of sweat.
Grooves and weaves
for the holes in my life,
stitches for the gapes.
No silk can drape over
my coarse, thread-bare,
and haggard soul;
no satin capture the grain
of all that my mind contains.
Wrap me in rough and toothy cloth
so, by contrast,
I can somehow believe
that my skin is still soft
and I am not entirely without
some innocent newness.

Strength

(written a year ago)

If I put a marker on my back,
Pressed two layers deep, (Japanese "Kennin")
For Fortitude, strength, resilience…
Would it flow up my vertebrae
And permeate my flesh?
Could it remind me, center me,
Unify my soul?
I need iron in my veins,
Steel in my bones,
An adamantine will.
I would not feel pain
Or fear my mortality.
Lord, grant me fortitude,
Health, and self-control.
I want a powerful body.
I want a bionic soul.

Senryu

抱負

I seek a quiet soul-
A mind that chooses wisely,
a heart that obeys.

Coffee Cat

(Did you guys miss this one?) :P

I’m a really hyper kitty
I’m a very jumpy cat
I lapped up a pot of coffee
And I’m hallucinating rats
So I pounce on every shadow
And bounce off of all the walls
I climbed up here on the curtains
And I fear that I might
- - *thunk!*

Ravenous

Prowling felonious feline
slinks on slips of shadow,
creeps upon night’s mist,
stalking,
tipsy on the taste
of her slick and hungry teeth.

Carbide

(another older one reposted)

Slinking spirit
drapes languid
over a toothy mind.
The shadow of a villain
drifting within
the confines
of code, of honor…
Fighting for truth
but lusting to clash
against daunting darkness
for the opportunity
it affords
to unsheathe
steely claws.
Only for good
can my evil
come out to play.

Poetry

I once thought poetry
to be a cop-out,
succumbing to
my crippled attention-span;
a pastime for women
with flowers on the brain.
But, the words come
of their own accord.
My hands, compulsive,
carve off excess.
I do not build stories.
I sculpt poems,
“an art of subtraction”,
compelled to disinter
distilled truths
in a muddied world.

Reading Walls

Your words evade,
when words come,
though, rarely do they grace my ears.
Eyes say volumes,
or do mine misread
when I think I see yours speaking?

(same poem in Japanese)

spoken word, as it reads

Oh man.... READ THIS POEM I love it. This dude is great. I hope to see him perform tomorrow.

This is me.

1) Yes, I’m crazy. Being a sane person in a sea of blind humanity will drive anyone nuts.
2) Yes, I say too much. I say it all. 100% truth. Try it.
3) Yes, I’m manic depressive, and yet I do a better job of laughing at life than 90% of the world. –what’s that say about the “normal” people, eh?
4) yes, I am the horniest woman ever. Judge me if you like, but I control it better than many women with less drive than I have, so perhaps that says something worth respecting. At least if I had the right man, he’d be happy and healthy (LOTS of exercise).
5) I am an idiot when it comes to reading hints. Why? because I don’t play games. If you have anything worth saying, you’ll spit it out. If it aint worth you sayin’, it aint worth me guessin.
6) P.C. my ass. If you can’t laugh at yourself, don’t worry… I’ll do it for you. I don’t have my fun at others’ expenses, but I have no respect for pretense or self-importance. We are all funny. Some people just want to be offended and they can kiss my lilly-white derriere.
7) compassion, honesty, laughter… try them
8) A man once in my life told me that “bubbly” was better than “introspective and sincere”. That is one trait trade-off I will never make. If anyone thinks I should make that trade, refer to the last few words of item 6.
9) I believe children should be seen and heard.
10) I’m not beautiful and I’m not super-healthy, but I have a radiant (albeit ragged) soul.
11) I don’t retain impressive trivia well; I excel more at analytical thinking. Fools may respect me less for this, but at least it shows I value learning for the sake of understanding, not for the sake of showing off. I’m driven by true curiosity, not ego.
12) I love my friends. They can take their time loving me back because they’re worth it.
13) I love my family. I have the coolest father to walk the earth, a genius sister, brilliant nieces, great brother in law, an awesome aunt I haven’t seen in a while, etc…
14) I am not a feminist. I’m an equalist. Most feminists are sexist pigs. Most are looking for excuses for pseudo-righteous indignation. I do indeed have a problem with the way I am treated sometimes because of being a woman, but this would be better remedied by showing the world we are all people, not by re-writing bibles with female gods or by dogging men.
15) I admit, I do dog men. I crack jokes on male mentality all the time. I really need to ease up on that. But, in all fairness, I’m the first to laugh at blonde jokes. And when my cousin said “Hey, I support women’s lib… ‘cause I believe in helping the weaker sex.” I laughed my tail off. Yes, it’s sexist, but it’s just a joke and a frickin funny one.
16) I am a nerd. I am proud to be a nerd. All the coolest people I know are also nerds. I may even be growing in nerdiness, since I did not discover the great joy of comic books until the past year. Grow, people… embrace your nerdhood.

Remembering Belgium

Years ago
young, dreaming
I wrote poetry for
a handsome man.
I was fascinated.
He was witty, charismatic,
talented, sweet, silly…
I described
his brown eyes
with my best naive prose.
That was years before
my strength fell and,
without sense, I tumbled
into a night long awaited
and finally whispered
the “L” word to him,
whispered, chanted,
shouted the word
and his name.
In the morning I said it
once more.
He looked at me and said
“it isn’t like that with us”
and I cried as I left.
So now, when I look back
On the men I’ve “loved” before,
I see him as one of the few I trust.
Oh, he’s a scoundrel, no doubt.
I know it.
But a scoundrel who gave me
what few men ever did.
Honesty.
For that I see him as a friend,
though we rarely speak.
And when he hands me my Guinness
With a heart on top
I think,“what a sweet little scoundrel”.

Space

Seeing you about to cry
I reach to comfort you
and you jerk away.
My girl, I know it too well…
isolating yourself, knowing
that accepting compassion
will loose the tears.
How did you learn so young
to abuse yourself with shame
at the thought of wet eyes?
And you say I just don’t get it.
but I do… I get it, I had it,
we gave it to you.
I want to take it, now,
off your tiny shoulders.
But, I can’t force you
to give yourself a break.
I slow a bit, and let you walk
your own pace, in your own space.
Wanting to shelter you,
I let go a little.
When you’re ready again
you’ll come lean on me.
I’ll hold you for hours
as I have before and,
without too many words,
you’ll know you can always
depend on me
for shelter or for space.
I’d hold back volcanoes,
floods, earthquakes,
to give you the time you need,
though they are easier restrained
than this instinct that demands
that I hold and protect you
when you’re on the verge
of tears.

Read this poem.

You must click this link and read this poem. It's terrific.

If you cling to the way
our family is
you will cry in the shower
smile for the public
and burn in your personal hell.
If you follow my path
and force out your rages
onto churning, wailing pages
you will feel your soul blown away
by the chill careless winds.
Balance, child.
Balance.
Keep your reserve,
It will protect you.
But dare to speak in safety,
talk to those who care.

Happy

The strains life can produce, plus PMS and manic depression, can make for some downer-posts, so opologies for that. I had a terrific day yesterday, though. I saw the guys, although mostly just a brief "see ya" send off as they went into the woods to play. Then, Danny, Ghost, my niece and I went hiking. That was terrific. So good to spend time with my girl and Ghost and Danny are great hiking buddies. Once I use up this roll of film and find the $ to get it developed, I'll post a pic of Tori in a tree or something. We hiked quite a bit, checked out the ponds and the spring, etc...
That mile-long brown hair of hers is beautiful, but she lets it go wild while she plays outside and you cannot brush it out. We spent quite a while sitting inside brushing her hair yesterday. I had to force her to let me brush it - she was fighting me on that. She was afraid it'd hurt, but she knows better. Aunt kaka knows how to fight through the tangles without hurting. We ran out of time before we got through half of the tangles, though. She had evergreen tree-sap all through her tresses from climbing at home that morning.
I was not real happy with my sister for telling my neice I was hungover, but not much I could do about that.
Anyway... great day. I was very happy and, at the end of it, very tired. Still couldn't sleep though. I'd settle down then my heart would race as if I was terrified for my life. That's bad news. I never did get my follow-up tests done for my thyroid and I suspect it's acting up. Before I had surgery done on my thyroid I felt like I was in a constant state of absolute panic. It was horrible. Well, it isn't that bad now, of course. Even with PMS I'm in a great mood today (except for being REALLY sleepy). I wish I could just adopt Tori and take care of her all the time.

I'm so hungover. Seriously hungover. really ick. why did I do this to myself? oooooooo o sick and I'm goinhg hiking today --eeeee

forgettable

People laugh
with each other
in their little worlds
like tiny solar systems…
People all parts
of an inner circle
every circle a part
of some larger one.
What am I?
a comet, perhaps…
in the sky for a moment
then right back into
the black abyss
Unseen for a few more
cold centuries.
My absence never noticed,
for when I’m gone
they still have the sun
But I have only
the endless ether
and darkness.

Truth sucks

Sad truth: If it weren't for my employer expecting me to show up and work, and if I made a simple computer program that posted occassionally so the bloggers wouldn't wonder, I could litteraly be dead for months before anyone would notice. It'd be months before my father or sister would notice I hadn't emailed. Sometimes it's like, although I am here alive, I don't really exist.

Agent Grey, Super Hero Internal Affairs. (what a cool idea) 

Danny went as the Evil Dr SantiCLAWS! 

Nerd of Steel?

For the latest theme party we had to invent our own super-hero. I was going to go as ADD girl but after planning that for a while I lost interest and had to be something else. I was The Carbide Professor, aka.. the Nerd of Steel. My skin was painted silver. My utility belt had a fold-out calculator, pencils, pens, a phone, and comic books. Instead of a cape, I had a lab coat. Sorry it isn't a great picture, but it's the only one I have.

READ THIS!!!

You all need to know this, so read up.
This is how the real world works. Happy couple buys house. In the particular file I'm working on right now, they paid $467,500.00 for said house (and much land). Well, the people they bought it from did not pay their mortgage. That means the land is going to be taken by the bank and sold to pay off the previous owner's debt. How do the homeowners get their $467,500.00 back? Well, if they neglected to shell out a one-time fee of a measley few hundred dollars for Title Insurance, they don't. They are simply screwed, S.O.L., too bad, so sad, sorry about your luck.
When you buy a home, you will be required to pay for homeowners insurance (insurance against fire, etc...). You will also pay for your lender's Title Insurance, but that only protects the lender. If you do not buy your own title insurance, you can potentially lose your home and every penny you paid for it. Probably half the people I see don't get Title Insurance because nobody understands what it is. Now you know. It is a company insuring that you hold title to your home. If some dude comes along and says "Nuh uh, I have title and his right to the land is invalid", then the title insurance company will either protect you in court, pay off the dude, or pay you for the house.
If you pay $90,000.00 for a house, you'll pay hundreds in closing costs, etc... don't be stupid. Pay the one time fee of a few hundred bucks for title insurance.

That's all I have to say about that. :)

I still just love this photo. gorgeous isn't it? That's the train bridge at Tioga Falls. Kyle is taking the photo and that's me, Danny, and Bryan walking the bridge.