How do I even start to describe, the turmoil, the sudden, unexpected turmoil of Summer.
Something I vaguely remember about what I thought would be all
sweat
cabbage moths
long starry nights
love
tiger lilies
long gravel roads
lemonade
birthday candles
hands to hold
thoughts to ponder
Turned into some wandering loss.
Good night.
Won't be back for a while.
Come visit.
Soon.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Psssshhaaaw
Goddamnit. Curse you gov school and all your insolent dog shitty hell.
I'm NOT going back next year.
Just for you that don't know, theres an oil spill going on. And, I mean, I go down to Florida at least once every two years, or somewheres close to that. And I want to go help!! Activism isn't activism unless you push for something and put time in. If things work out I'll be fairly close to the Gulf this summer, which by the way, if you never have been there, the water WAS gorgeous. Crystal clear, wade out for yards, drop dead gorgeous. And now it's all about as wasted as one drunk dead man on a motorcycle with his head half shaved off onto asphault. I'll be down in Texas, which is going to be so itching close, and I want to DO something about it.
For activism see also:
The Cove
Talk about a mind fuck-
Tarintino and Kubrick movies back to back
I'm NOT going back next year.
Just for you that don't know, theres an oil spill going on. And, I mean, I go down to Florida at least once every two years, or somewheres close to that. And I want to go help!! Activism isn't activism unless you push for something and put time in. If things work out I'll be fairly close to the Gulf this summer, which by the way, if you never have been there, the water WAS gorgeous. Crystal clear, wade out for yards, drop dead gorgeous. And now it's all about as wasted as one drunk dead man on a motorcycle with his head half shaved off onto asphault. I'll be down in Texas, which is going to be so itching close, and I want to DO something about it.
For activism see also:
The Cove
Talk about a mind fuck-
Tarintino and Kubrick movies back to back
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The second day is only the first.
So, school is all over. And here I am, watching Bruce Willis with Karen O's twin, racing around on a chopper. So I've decided to run this summer, and to make things different then...then before. In about two weeks my summer will be over for about a month and a half, and I want to enjoy what I have until it's done. I need ideas on what to do. I have a couple ideas....
I need:
my first slurpee
a motorcycle ride
run Percival's Island
watch Fast Times At Ridgemont High
but right now,
that's all I have.
I need:
my first slurpee
a motorcycle ride
run Percival's Island
watch Fast Times At Ridgemont High
but right now,
that's all I have.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Sittin on the Dock of the Bay
Can I expect the world to hold on its turning
never a second breaks
without new breaths unfurling
every second aches
It is etched in the glass I drink from
the lip's residue of glazed food
ticking upon the sun
the trickling sands I view
Summer, expendable, dwindling, reaches
a new forray into sublime
and bayside a preacher preaches
a new meaning to ripe time
There's a boat to carry those
spending the time life bought
with fleshed dallores
and here we keep the catch we caught
Each of us sailing an impenetrable sea
passing hands against the glaring sun
we're all ripe from the breeze
and we'll sink when we're done
never a second breaks
without new breaths unfurling
every second aches
It is etched in the glass I drink from
the lip's residue of glazed food
ticking upon the sun
the trickling sands I view
Summer, expendable, dwindling, reaches
a new forray into sublime
and bayside a preacher preaches
a new meaning to ripe time
There's a boat to carry those
spending the time life bought
with fleshed dallores
and here we keep the catch we caught
Each of us sailing an impenetrable sea
passing hands against the glaring sun
we're all ripe from the breeze
and we'll sink when we're done
Foreigner in a Native Land
Hi...
Smacks gum. Hi.
I'm here for my appointment.
She flips through her book, Name?
I lean over the counter and whisper it to her, watching her eyes as the cognitive gears whir.
You? In the papers?
Shh. Please.
Yeah, sure, I thought they had you nailed. Everybody in the town has been searching for you. I didn't recognize y...
Yeah. Can I go in?
Let me tell him your in, you aren't going to do anything are you?
I stared at her, I'm innocent, I gave her my innocent smile.
Okay..... be back in a second.
I waited, sitting beside a businessman.
He watched me.
I watched him.
He looked at my legs, then looked away nervously.
I picked up a magazine to hide my skirt.
He looked back.
Watch it kid.
What?
Shhh, holding a finger to my lips. It echoes really easy in here.
What?
I started reading an article in the magazine, and he stared at me.
I guess we're all in here for the same reason.
I felt the wh... forming on his lips. Then it registered.
Yes.
Except.
What?
Nothing.
Good.
You look familiar?
...Not a smart move.
No I don't.
Okay.
Okay.
Door opens back up.
He'll see you now, quickly.
Bye kid.
Whaa...
Don't bother. I smoothed my skirt back over.
He was standing in the hall.
Smacks gum. Hi.
I'm here for my appointment.
She flips through her book, Name?
I lean over the counter and whisper it to her, watching her eyes as the cognitive gears whir.
You? In the papers?
Shh. Please.
Yeah, sure, I thought they had you nailed. Everybody in the town has been searching for you. I didn't recognize y...
Yeah. Can I go in?
Let me tell him your in, you aren't going to do anything are you?
I stared at her, I'm innocent, I gave her my innocent smile.
Okay..... be back in a second.
I waited, sitting beside a businessman.
He watched me.
I watched him.
He looked at my legs, then looked away nervously.
I picked up a magazine to hide my skirt.
He looked back.
Watch it kid.
What?
Shhh, holding a finger to my lips. It echoes really easy in here.
What?
I started reading an article in the magazine, and he stared at me.
I guess we're all in here for the same reason.
I felt the wh... forming on his lips. Then it registered.
Yes.
Except.
What?
Nothing.
Good.
You look familiar?
...Not a smart move.
No I don't.
Okay.
Okay.
Door opens back up.
He'll see you now, quickly.
Bye kid.
Whaa...
Don't bother. I smoothed my skirt back over.
He was standing in the hall.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Pulling in, I remembered back to what they said. “You can’t just expect him not to, you know, he just wants the best.” But I figured, that if what we couldn’t agree to wasn’t best, than I should just leave. Normally, that was how I did things anyway. Shirking the right to a good full on fight. Scared of what it might cause. I can’t help it if I left the coast. It was only my nature….
The driveway was short and circular for the first house I pulled into, and I could see immediately that it was completely wrong. All over the property there was Virginia pines, broom straw and other scrub, where there should be a lawn. No shade could be offered to the roof of the house and the brick screamed a fiery red in the noon time blaze. The soil was a cracked and dusty, the same Virginia clay that the house was made with, baked into a solid brick acres wide. In the back, the hum of the air conditioner carried on the air like the buzz of hornets.
“I’m glad you found it ma’am” he said, reaching out a sweaty palm to me. I took it and shook it loosely, nodding. Once we unfastened I wiped my hand off on my dress as he stood there, watching.
“It sure is far out here, but it was no trouble finding it. Hot day, isn’t it?” I said, rearranging my dress. He made me uneasy, with a wrinkled shirt that was sweat stained where it contacted his body. “I’m really not sure it’s what I’m looking for, too big, you know?” That really wasn’t my trouble with the house. It was gorgeous in its design, a real modernist’s approach to the classic Southern planter’s home. But the surrounding area, and the total attitude of the house was wrong. He waved me inside and I followed obediently, my curiosity to search the inside overwhelming that sickness that comes when I walk into an empty home. It was cold as a Frigidaire as I stepped into the living room, steps echoing from blank dry wall and hardwood floors. I rubbed my arms, skin prickling with cooling sweat. He showed me around and blabbed on about the square footage and whatnot but I tuned him out and only responded to the silence with mmhhms, to show I was listening. The view out past the windows was horrendous, a real scraggly nightmare. I started heading back to the front door and he followed and I shook his hand there and told him goodbye.
“You’re not interested in the house ma’am?”
“No, I don’t think I am. It’s not what I was looking for at all, but thanks anyway.” I knew the only reason he had assigned me to the listing was because my price range was so high and he was looking for the extra money so I left him inside to lock up and walked out my car, cranking the windows down in the baking interior.
The driveway was short and circular for the first house I pulled into, and I could see immediately that it was completely wrong. All over the property there was Virginia pines, broom straw and other scrub, where there should be a lawn. No shade could be offered to the roof of the house and the brick screamed a fiery red in the noon time blaze. The soil was a cracked and dusty, the same Virginia clay that the house was made with, baked into a solid brick acres wide. In the back, the hum of the air conditioner carried on the air like the buzz of hornets.
“I’m glad you found it ma’am” he said, reaching out a sweaty palm to me. I took it and shook it loosely, nodding. Once we unfastened I wiped my hand off on my dress as he stood there, watching.
“It sure is far out here, but it was no trouble finding it. Hot day, isn’t it?” I said, rearranging my dress. He made me uneasy, with a wrinkled shirt that was sweat stained where it contacted his body. “I’m really not sure it’s what I’m looking for, too big, you know?” That really wasn’t my trouble with the house. It was gorgeous in its design, a real modernist’s approach to the classic Southern planter’s home. But the surrounding area, and the total attitude of the house was wrong. He waved me inside and I followed obediently, my curiosity to search the inside overwhelming that sickness that comes when I walk into an empty home. It was cold as a Frigidaire as I stepped into the living room, steps echoing from blank dry wall and hardwood floors. I rubbed my arms, skin prickling with cooling sweat. He showed me around and blabbed on about the square footage and whatnot but I tuned him out and only responded to the silence with mmhhms, to show I was listening. The view out past the windows was horrendous, a real scraggly nightmare. I started heading back to the front door and he followed and I shook his hand there and told him goodbye.
“You’re not interested in the house ma’am?”
“No, I don’t think I am. It’s not what I was looking for at all, but thanks anyway.” I knew the only reason he had assigned me to the listing was because my price range was so high and he was looking for the extra money so I left him inside to lock up and walked out my car, cranking the windows down in the baking interior.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
The corn was small, dry in its rows. Row after row.
I drove down through the fields, acres and acres of them, along the back roads. Looking for the lane I slowed down, encountering no traffic except for the occasional slow moving truck. Other than that all that took up the roads were blackbirds that flew up as I came through and then settled back down onto the black top. Heat mirages waved up as the road stretched out between its shadier, curvier sections. Winter wheat, yellowing on the stalk and drying in the sun, frizzled and fried like a blonde burnout.
My hair kept catching the wind, both windows down, the humidity sticking my dress to me along my back and chest, sweat edging my upper lip. There wasn't any wind here to clear it off like there was on the coast, the air all full of spit. And there wasn't a shady cloud in the sky, the sun magnified and reflected off the hot flat open.
All the houses along the road up to that point were either cinder block three room homes, sometimes covered in vinyl siding, or they were dilapidated farm houses. But as the farmland began to stretch out in dusty expanses, the houses grew larger,with trees in the front sometimes shading a moss-like yard extending out from a front porch covered in chairs. But these were few and far between, the roadside littered with dumpy little villages of three or four houses built right on top of each other, yards littered with rusting cars and plastic swingsets and yard furniture. Scruffy dogs barked from chainlink prisons as I drove by, paying little heed to their calls.
Men in the fields were gathering sweet hay, all covered in denim and long t-shirts in defense the of hay dust which made your skin itch to the bone and your eyes swollen. They were red faced and sweating, but raised a hand in courtesy as a greeting of my travels. This was a custom here as I had learned, and even though growing up on the coast I had encountered this kind acceptance, what I encountered more often were the cold or wandering stares of tourists, you can never seem to keep their eyes, or their hands for that matter, to themselves. People here waved from porches, from the drivers side of their cars, from tractors, and from lawn chairs sat out in their yard, where they keep a watchful eye on the road during the heat of the day.
Camomille flowers and a small yellow wildflower lining the road swung in my wake as I watched them through my rear view mirrors. Dragonflies flitted to the left and right before clearing a path before me and then taking off into the oak trees lining the road. I slowed down more here, taking a gravel road off the state route as my directions told me to.
To be continued...
I drove down through the fields, acres and acres of them, along the back roads. Looking for the lane I slowed down, encountering no traffic except for the occasional slow moving truck. Other than that all that took up the roads were blackbirds that flew up as I came through and then settled back down onto the black top. Heat mirages waved up as the road stretched out between its shadier, curvier sections. Winter wheat, yellowing on the stalk and drying in the sun, frizzled and fried like a blonde burnout.
My hair kept catching the wind, both windows down, the humidity sticking my dress to me along my back and chest, sweat edging my upper lip. There wasn't any wind here to clear it off like there was on the coast, the air all full of spit. And there wasn't a shady cloud in the sky, the sun magnified and reflected off the hot flat open.
All the houses along the road up to that point were either cinder block three room homes, sometimes covered in vinyl siding, or they were dilapidated farm houses. But as the farmland began to stretch out in dusty expanses, the houses grew larger,with trees in the front sometimes shading a moss-like yard extending out from a front porch covered in chairs. But these were few and far between, the roadside littered with dumpy little villages of three or four houses built right on top of each other, yards littered with rusting cars and plastic swingsets and yard furniture. Scruffy dogs barked from chainlink prisons as I drove by, paying little heed to their calls.
Men in the fields were gathering sweet hay, all covered in denim and long t-shirts in defense the of hay dust which made your skin itch to the bone and your eyes swollen. They were red faced and sweating, but raised a hand in courtesy as a greeting of my travels. This was a custom here as I had learned, and even though growing up on the coast I had encountered this kind acceptance, what I encountered more often were the cold or wandering stares of tourists, you can never seem to keep their eyes, or their hands for that matter, to themselves. People here waved from porches, from the drivers side of their cars, from tractors, and from lawn chairs sat out in their yard, where they keep a watchful eye on the road during the heat of the day.
Camomille flowers and a small yellow wildflower lining the road swung in my wake as I watched them through my rear view mirrors. Dragonflies flitted to the left and right before clearing a path before me and then taking off into the oak trees lining the road. I slowed down more here, taking a gravel road off the state route as my directions told me to.
To be continued...
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Clean-up and Maintenance
True to my word, I cut off more of my hair. I was resolved to do it all winter, and now its finally gone. Hello heat, meet short hair, less heavy and warm than long hair. The sweet peas are blooming and so is the honeysuckle. It's all over the roadsides here and it smells delicious when I'm running and it's so sweltering. Swelter swelter.
But anyway,
what I really can't take, are those people that make you feel bad in your skin. They could possibly be your best friends, and they say that they aren't judging you, but then you say something that they don't agree with, and their face turns upside-down and gets a bit cloudy for a couple moments, and then they lie to you and tell you it's okay. Or, they stay silent, and utter out a few uhms, and let the subject pass. To something lighter. To something easier. They consider for a few moments, how they are on top of the world, and much more cultured or sophisticated or intelligent than you are. How they have everything together. They make you tense.
However, there are those people that are just at ease.
They say: "Oh, you did that? Me too."
Or they say: "I totally understand where you're coming from"
They don't judge, they don't lie, they discuss, they analyze, they show you what's right in their eyes and what they consider wrong.
they do not lie.
they do not lie.
But anyway,
what I really can't take, are those people that make you feel bad in your skin. They could possibly be your best friends, and they say that they aren't judging you, but then you say something that they don't agree with, and their face turns upside-down and gets a bit cloudy for a couple moments, and then they lie to you and tell you it's okay. Or, they stay silent, and utter out a few uhms, and let the subject pass. To something lighter. To something easier. They consider for a few moments, how they are on top of the world, and much more cultured or sophisticated or intelligent than you are. How they have everything together. They make you tense.
However, there are those people that are just at ease.
They say: "Oh, you did that? Me too."
Or they say: "I totally understand where you're coming from"
They don't judge, they don't lie, they discuss, they analyze, they show you what's right in their eyes and what they consider wrong.
they do not lie.
they do not lie.
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