Pretta, a girl with a weak heart

Pretta had a weak heart and everyone who knew her, knew. They may not have wanted her to know they knew, but she knew just the same. They may not have been old enough to understand what was said to still know. Still they knew. And she knew they knew, whether by speaking or gesturing or glancing away or rolling the eyes or tongues back or around in a circle or simply sucking on a thumb. She could relate to sucking. Her exposure sucked.

She learned to carry herself with grace. Before she even cared to, wanted to, needed to and so did. Her mother taught her with books on crown chakra balanced. Her neck became strong. Long.

She was seven years old, Pretta. Seven when she was able to walk through a small group of girls (not friends she knew but friends to them was she to be.  and do.)  also seven or so, most of whom she had to suffer in pre school times. Seven years old.  She held her head and her dresses high, and left them all with only a breeze trailing her strong jawline she inherited from her father. She would use unsparingly from this moment on.

She would be so generous. She would not spare them her pride. Inherited. She would not spare them it! For her weakness required compensation. Overcompensation to balance. A simple concept she knew, from the books on her crown chakra to ballet she watched the older girls and prayed to some day do, too. Having descended from a murmur descended from a fever: aka Scarlet. Red hood got her namesake by course of coursing blood and blue, turned out to air. Met oxygen with a blush. Stirred the beating heart some.

                 Scarlet. Scarlet sometimes coursing so as to make the tissue flush. Often a cure could come, some said, if you sat bedside and waited out the wailing winds. If you did not rush. Rouge red against the pale blues tripping out in an arc the moist flower bed.  Makes you scream, terrified. Strikes the weak of constitution dead. Or so was said.  No one wanted scarlet fever. That was how effective she knew exhibition of this trait to be. The small group of kids became smaller below her above average height, as she passed through unfazed. No less than two of the girls left the experience,  eyes glazed.

Pretta… she was going to make it. They also knew this, those who poked her and would not let her touch them back for fear of contagion.  She would outlive them all! You did not dare suggest otherwise. Everyone in this majority w.a.s.p country understood. The weak. The earth. The meek. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Ya Ya Ya… Her odds had low denominators, La La Ya!  She learned her math by it, her perfect true condition. The one thing that made her stand out  unique. Like the way she felt the day she rode her banana seat bike first through the mission. Approaching # one wholesomeness, they wanted her to think. Organic and good for the spirit.  Now tilt back, nurse said, and drink.

Young Pretta sprouted tall.  To help her get above it. A tall girl, many remarked, a lady still a girl. She would never know why they stopped. Why they stared. What they said. If they cared.  Sometimes she really minded. Most of the times she let them see the back of her head, her long dark straight hair.

Her peers they could not relate to her on many levels. She seemed older sometimes, but not all of the time. She got tougher every year, for sure. But all knew somehow the fears she carried, though some did not know they knew. Their was no lesson in her. She was not a subject to be taught. Still most and especially the boys thirsted to learn from her or learn her or learn to be like her, the girls.

She would not give anything to be any of them. Not one. Though she looked up to quite a few. Even looked up to younger girls she knew. She did not know why she was strong, or why everyone thought her so. But she let her hair grow long like a girl. And she arm wrestled until she was strong like a boy.  And the only thing she must pretend and put on, was that she was somehow tough, boy-tough.

She could and did pretend. She did not have to like it. She did not have to even be it, no. Not a fake. Atleast not pretend to the end. Where the boy would spit, she would hesitate. Then stop. Where the boys would curse, she would not. Where a boy would scream and yell and go manic? She would perform clear and conscious restraint. On a dime. Skirts falling ahead of her young calves and back again. Swing, swung. Swing, swung.

The boys eyes went wide like saucers, then telescoped small when she moved again.

They could not understand how she moved like that? could not predict when? She was a sweet sweet anomaly,  in the class of twenty twenty-two. A shame she would not graduate, Pretta, at least not through and through. She had to do things differently, or wanted to, they say.

She had a weak heart, Pretta. Everyone who knew her, knew.


self-portrait by Katya

lake bake

ive gone retro on the retrograde today, sun is out, wind is whipping across california’s northern, confusion left in the wake of mercury’s spell cast down through the unbelievable space between us. Mercury is a motherfuck, she jams our communications and the confusion in which i reside got me fallin’ out with my girl half of every evening, half of half of hopeless odds of good luck. fuck!

cannot write. cannot hold a conversation. web pages on edge of viral! warning me i need to change passwords. multiple times, same vendor. same site. yeah right! Some planet in its own world its own orbit fixed, in that unbelievable space between us, is purportedly fucking up our program? Yes yes yes. So sad to say so true. so true, so true, now what you gonna do?

I cannot hardly talk to my girl, the one i love most of all with all my heart! Conversations go awry and affirmations fall out to the coming of deny! deny! DENY!

Meanwhile the goddamn planet we live on, our host, has lost its mind somehow. Maybe got turned on to space acid by the milky way. Or a friend of a friend of the milky way, lets say, big dippers contact on the down low?

if you can learn to read stars like streets, you can gain access to the Orion, humble to her street shakedown crew glowing tight out front the nuclear waves of all colors blasting and diving about this part of my new understanding.

See i opened up this past year, opened up to the earthbound spirit crowd, ’cause i have always known they are here, to my left, my right. i can feel their energy and i got acclimated to them and proceeded to just leave them hanging most of the time, unacknowledged and set aside like junk mail.

Bad idea. So i did, after they left me — after i left them! mind you. I became an seven or eight on the depression scale. Anxiety strangely dropped down to a manageable level, panic attacks at a minimum this summer. Thankfully.

Anyway, I felt like — like– well not like i owed them nothing cause i didn’t. But rather i knew i was meant to pull away from connection with those sentients in full weight — the heavy! — and in lieu of the grande repetitive mating pattern, i chose to give away some of the most captivating timeless juicy romances of my life before now in exchange for my soul!

Scared ya? sorry! I am leaning towards 90/10 opacity mix in this new worldview i have embraced. I wanna be transparent. I wanna be adored. I wanna be anywhere but in what she calls the Bardo.

Cause i cannot fully come over to the comfort of these poor souls earthbound and kinda lost yet kinda found (having found a home in synch with the multitudes of others like them, calm coming over with a simple opaque glance and then a humble passing through one another, the highest form of intimacy for these souls.

I can only witness them, really, though i felt embraced at first…a month now and i know nothing more of any of them, no stories shared, no passing through me, just fear.

They see me and see me seeing them and get scared. Oh. There’s always the one out of ten that has no fear of my kind whatsoever, Often highly volatile element, one electron short of a neutron stable. One legged shivering table.

Restless spirits, endless nights, turning 18th century pocket watches by and by on down to the common evening gathering of trace of life into a fullness, and most importantly , free of the nags, the bitches, the assholes, the witches, the A-types, you know the worst of any and all types! Goddawful ugly mean karmic nightmares fucking up your day or trying. These poor sad souls have perks! Anyone who wants to judge gets judged at time of judgment. And the verdict is easy enough for the proselytizers,

Proselytes, acolytes, succubi and trilobytes all get filed under JERKS. I dont know why or what to tell you, like i said i dont quite fit in. Not quite so well, see. Not with the sad souls, nor the jerks, not with the sentients, not the turks. I dont understand the lurkers, the succubi. Sometimes i feel as mundane as jug wine in an Italian held banquet, common as a loner house fly.

I mean… I feel… I am seen and considered known quantity. Ok yes, this is what i learned, this is where the rambling comes to fruition. You may wanna take the headphones out yer ears, jack, and give another listen to my track.

My first released EP, dubbed’ known quantity’ circa 2022, was about me but really about you! Girl? you there? I need your attention, even your angry stare. Cause yes its my monologue, its my story, whatever! I am telling you its about you, not me, you see? Believe me! Its hot! hot like fire!

No, no! where you going? No! dont say that! I swear im not a liar! im not being sarcastic. I love you and i mean it! Come back, i beg you please! This is critical, this is drastic. So i can flesh out the feeling that i voice, how i live my life yes, ‘free will’, but check the limits on the choice. huh? Now you’re coming back to me, now. Yes. Cause you love me, the Known Quantity in the space we inhabit. In Alice in Wonderland, i would most certainly be the Rabbit! In the Lord of the Rings? the hobbit! In the sanctuary where monks take and hold vows? the Abbott!

who am i?

I am a sugar pack.
(Not high fructose corn syrup)
I am your referee.
I am the witness to be called upon when needed.
I am the one you can talk to when no one else will do.
I am the algae eater in the glass tank.
I am the calm water below the surface of an ocean
stirred by storms.
I am a yardstick.
I am Switzerland in time of war.
I am the small talk that leaves your lips
when you are waiting.
I am the hardcover peeled dusty dictionary
cast aside.
And never cast away.
never cast away
finally i see
who i was
and always
will be

the one they cast aside
but may never cast away

so close and far away
so painful
you cannot mention
my name
in any company

and yet you set a place
for me
because im always there
with you

cast aside
and not away

you shuck off peels of carrot
and potato
you pull the hide
right off the ears
of corn

a thought of me
is like a thorn

and confusing
because you know
theres a rose

and you
like me