Redemption.

First--

Click HERE

It will lead you to youtube, and music.

Then start the link. Let it load. Don't let it pause in the middle of meditation. That always throws my zen off.

No, it is not about Red Dead Redemption.
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Remember those night runs, with headlights bouncing, as the summer's humidity pushed beads of sweat through your skin, only to cool in the darkness of night?

The frogs choke near ponds and in gardens and the woods are lush with their noise.

People appear out of their houses later into the evening, voices call out and hang like slow falling fireworks.

It feels good to lay in bed, no covers on, and feel night air on your skin after a brutal day.

The moon seems always full and savory, like apple pie.

Nights when you find yourself wandering and pulled into shops where music plays and its bluegrass. Where the food is always fine and fresh and growing a few miles away.

The clarity of sky and the freshness of water as you plunge into it.

Spring, come sooner.

Indian Summer

In a day the crocuses are in full bloom.
Opening pretty yellow eyes to the sky.
They are the size of toes.

In a couple days everything will bloom.

In an Indian Summer.

"Don't let the darkness eat you up."

A handwritten note, tacked to a tree.

I weave the horse down the slope, muddy, and rolling in grass, sweet with a new sunny warmth. The bones under my legs heave and muscles bend. I give the horse her head as she weaves through broom straw down to the paths edge, lined with tiny sycamores. They shed their skin in papery slips, and I tear one as I pass by and tuck it in my pocket to write notes on. I pass by two mated hawks sitting high in an oak in the forest later, their massive white feathered breasts unsettled in the graying light. Two other hawks fly by, chased by a flock of crying crows. Crying because they've hunted their mates out of the sky. The clop and sighs of the horse under me give way as she startles and takes off, gathering the massive body under me and leaving me to gather the reigns.

A glass jar of tulips sit on my counter.
Mason jars litter the rest of the space.
Winter seeps under the doors and chills the floors.
It will not release the reigns yet.

Typical.

I hate the way you talk to me,
And the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car,
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots
And the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick,
It even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you’re always right,
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh,
Even worse when you make me cry
I hate it when you’re not around,
And the fact that you didn’t call
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,
Not even close…
Not even a little bit…
Not even at all

I find the greatest satisfaction in not pledging loyalties.
I'm flighty.
Unfocused.
Self-interested.
Abusing.

But, it's really just rare that my attention is held, past the three seconds.

Maybe that's why everything fell apart in such blazing impossibilities.

Impossibilities. Things we didn't believe would happen.
They did.

Shrug.

There's someone new.
I keep them at arms length.
As, I do most.
The people that are closest don't have any direct stake in my life, usually.
I'm afraid of their judgement.

But, there's still the same beat within me. Fun, caring, if just jaded.
I admit:
Self-Interested.

Do you feel melancholy?
I don't.
I can't be tied down. Not for long, too long.
And, that's why I had to go.

I have someone new.
Keeping them at arms length, just as I should have you.
Happy Valentines Day.
God Bless.

Singled Out.

Body Is A Cage

FUCK YOU BLOGSPOT, DELETING MY POST WHEN IT'S ALMOST PUBLISHED, WATCH ME SWITCH TO TUMBLR

Constant Companion.

So, creative writing class this semester, I will totally take you on. I will climb your remarkably easy curriculum and I will stand atop that high mountain of success with one hand shielding my eyes from the penetrating rays of being SO DAMN HIGH UP and use one hand to hold a shovel to take on my next task- Digging through the Earth to an Indo-European country.

I've been trying to think about how I should sum up what I've been doing all this time while not blogging.

*taps chin pensively*

*waits a few minutes*

*makes a sandwich*

*remembers English paper is due tomorrow*

Returns.

Not much. Other than pickin' fights, celebrating black history month, and reading books about sassy generals. Perfecting my coffee making skills, swimming, yelling sweet nonsensicals and throwing yoga balls at people.

Being Short

has its exceptional qualities.

If you are short, you can easily morph into BACKPACK MAN.
(is where you just run into a group of preferably friendly people and jump on their back like a backpack yelling 'backpack man!')

If you're short you could be a Hobbit in the new Hobbit movie!

If you're short you could fight a bear by just running around his feet in constant circles until he becomes dizzy and staggers over a strategically placed cliff.

If you're short you can still fit into refrigerator boxes all the way and then just pop out and scare unknowing passers-by.