storytelling

1.2.3.1

they say it will be different but i don’t believe them. they say to get excited something’s coming but what? i am already excited. now they are reminiscing all of them but i don’t want to. please. i wanna stay right here cause it is all i can handle. yes, yes, i can celebrate with you! why not. this moment is full of potential and i’m gonna fill it with all i’ve got. please can i contribute to society in my own way? i am thankful when i can. i really love trains but not getting railroaded. thank you for letting me be me on this ride. loco. motive.

someone loves you

Someone you love, there’s a feeling you’re circling them all the while, watching out for them, looking over their shoulder; follow them to market, smile when they smile, across from them on the subway train, flickering light, blink when they blink, in the rolling uneven snaking through the city substreets. Thoughtful to your thinking, cry when you cry. Someone loves you, there’s a feeling they’re circling you all the while.

2016

Maybe in 2016 we can put our Beats headphones on and drown out the world. Maybe someone will hit us over the head and we will fall in a snow bank. Maybe we will wake up and have a whole different take on life, seeing remarkable visions and offering to pump gas for people at filling stations. Maybe we will fall in love with the first person we see, and ignore all the subsequent restraining orders. Maybe we will get confused and our cell phone won’t be able to get us out of it. Maybe our confusion will lead us home, in a roundabout way, and we will recall 2015 like it was a long, long time ago. Maybe we will have our records expunged and our CDs sponged, and become honorary members of our households. Maybe we will get edged out by all the millenials, and feel special on the margins; a wide open space about to get marked up. That’s where we get to go and write all our notes, anyway. And when anyone looks back, they will only care about us, they won’t even bother with the mainstream. In twenty seventeen.

100

I gave up once, too. I gave up on myself a hundred times. It was really awful. Soulless. Blank. The only way out for me was to believe in myself and have a cause. I wasn’t given a purpose, I found a purpose. Something so much greater than myself. The forces, if you align with them, can give you courage to live authentic, I mean, to be yourself no matter where you are or who is trying to boss you around, no matter what your circumstance, you shine forth and brightly. And find that you are one of a kind, you are needed. And wherever your passion lies, you go for it, purposefully, with a giving spirit. In 2016, do not hold back for anyone or anything. We need you.

even social workers get the blues

I tracked the thought to the very center of my brain, where I detonated it at the precipice of a heartbroken synapse. Only then could I tussle with my hair, drink my coffee chocolate and head out the door, down the stairs and out the gate. I ran to the river, over the train tracks and into open space where the sun denounced the darkness. You will be mine, forever, how I remember you. So I chose not to create any more memories. There is no other way. I am like the sun now.

lucky kid #2 (companion piece)

Quiet life on softened streets, all the bad news backed away. You lucky kid. I washed my hair with 100,000 molecules. Each one like the full moon tonight, lighting up life in all the right ways. I made it to the site. I could peacefully fold my legs up under me on the couch facing the east,  the house where nobody’s home, facing, pinching my slip as I picked it up and let it go hang around freely, pinching myself. You lucky kid you. All the pages were viewed, in a free sweep of eyes (not mine). To be sure they really existed, outside of myself. Not so easily destroyed by water, heat, air, time. Thumbs rubbing the ink to a fade I can no longer describe. Each curve of every letter like the full moon tonight, lighting up life in all the spectacular finishes. Flourishes. You lucky kid. Thinking of a friend, one I haven’t even heard of in years, a keystroke away, a daydream, attacking a search engine with a heart on a saturday in America, one truffle at a time, pulling lightly on the ends of twisted plastic until the whole thing rolls over and out, examining the condition of my condition, remembering the ionic bond even if it hurts. Life I love you.

storytelling

not even a mouse

all through the house I walked, not even myself, looking around like a stranger with a window into the life of some wannabe, I guess it was me,  not desperate just wannabe better I suppose. Wannabe more loving. Wannabe more real. Wannabe more conscious. There are books everywhere and a kindle with many more trapped inside it. Even more in my head. I’m your idea girl. I am yours. You can have me. Wannabe now, all through the house, rolling wheels of swiss cheese, not even a mouse… wannabe me, with or without you.

Love

Happy Holidays