a mournful drinking song

Oh, the reaper’s gone a’courtin’
And he’ll dance away the night
Yes, the reaper’s gone a’courtin’
And he’ll dance away yer life.

His favorite song is a mourning dearth
And he always loves a wake
He rises early to catch you quick
And he always stays up late.

He loves to sit and philosophize
While sippin’ fruity wine
And he’ll be the first to tell you
that he’s never not on time.

Oh, the reaper’s gone a’courtin’
And he’ll dance away the night
Yes, the reaper’s gone a’courtin’
And he’ll dance away yer life.

My mother caught the reaper’s eye
And has teased him ever since
But she’ll never let him in her bed
Cause,

“you c’ain’t never love a man who gets mud in the sheets.”

My father loved the reaper long
And played his mournful keys
And when daddy breathed his very last
The reaper laughed at me.

Oh, the reaper’s gone a’courtin’
And he’ll dance away the night
Yes, the reaper’s gone a’courtin’
And he’ll dance away yer life.

I almost let him take me
In the middle of my car
And a dared him still to tempt my hand
But he left only a scar.

So if you spot him through a window
Or in the bottom of yer glass
Don’t sing all his catchy tunes
Or you’ll be fertilizin’ grass.

Oh, the reaper’s gone a’courtin’
And he’ll dance away the night
Yes, the reaper’s gone a’courtin’
And he’ll dance away yer life.

untitled

it is iniquity that drives us to make sense & understand
age sets into recognition and there we see a broader stance
death comes to the window and we gaze at truth at last.

i am a preacher-man's only child -
he wanted a son, but got a daughter
he made me stone then hit me hard to find the water.

i have stared down the ages that he left for me to wander
when the pain became too great and he cried out at last
"heal me, Lord, for i have sinned" and he broke upon his past.

i looked and was sure i saw his face
until i blinked and saw my own.
blood proved strong a tie though i could not keep his name.

i am a preacher-man's only child -
he wanted to believe, but broke his altar
the vision proved strong a hold though he never would remember.

i looked again, and saw the winter
the cold seeped in and the blessed numbness was my shelter
i never wished for warmer weather

i saw the days, i saw the age, i watched the death
i dreamed of rain and took his pen and drank his wine
his music started off key but soon a strong chord took hold.

here lies a dead man, poor child never knew better
i heard he wandered away one day and came home a preacher
but he never found the words to break the spell.

and then

i have no words to name the season.
the ink well has run dry and i can suck no more water from it... i am afraid to let my hands fall from my grip on today. on the now. i hold it so close because i have lost so many nows, thinking only of that-one-time's and when-i-was's and back-in-the-day's. i try to hold now so close and not let it slip away, for it is the slipperiest of times and loves to run out while i stare into space.

i wish i could yell at now, and have it hear me. but it always looks away.

she'll be riding round the mountain

the race to extend freedom saps the life out of us all. and yet we keep the pace… never slack behind, never fall back. for the monsters at our heels will bite you in the foot.

who knows if understanding will ever come our way? we may stand at the corner of the gravel road as it crosses the dirt path and wonder if our search was meaningful, or if our wandering was in vain. and we may not find the key we swear was sitting on the table by the door when we left, where it unfailingly lays.

i may not find reason or rhyme for the time that came before. i may be stuck between fiction and lore, with no references to build the appendix of my very real life. if i'm not real i'd like to be a cowperson, in a land with no cows. where the sunset stretches on endlessly and i can always keep up as i ride off… the light will never completely fade.

i'll ride out west on the frictionless train. in an instant i'll arrive at my new land i won't own and i'll give the coat off my back just to roam, just to unfocus my eyes for awhile. the sun hurts them so.

i may jump from the train and then put on my hat and hide my eyes from your stare. and you'll never know it was me. but i'd soon give in to your easy smile and quick laugh, and we'd be off on our adventure 'round the world in a day.

who knew you'd come home while running away?

the waiting game

So they just did a study which I'm sure many of you have heard about ranking life expectancy by region within the United States. Tennessee came in 45th.

Combine that with a 41st ranking in smartness and a 52 out of 69 ranking in average commute time for the Nashville/Davidson country area, we get to spend much of our relatively short and stupid lives in a car.

Maybe we should just start recycling cars as coffins and be done with it.

mother

i pray that when you sing, you can touch the rain you dream
i pray that when the night falls, youll breathe your last in sleep

i see you. you aren't hidden.

i know you wish you could give back the years that brought death.

but if dreams are for the dying, only them that see the light
then who lives behind in mourning, when the day becomes the night?
who can wish away the autumn, who can beg the snow to sleep?
when the sun will fall to pieces, then i will rest in peace.

take away the blindfold; it will still be a surprise
the time you won't remember fades away as years expire
learn to laugh now, learn to live now, for we never know the hour
when our day will hold its breath, and we all will learn to die.

he will outlive you, and will never know your tears.
i pray that as you love him, you can lay to rest your fears.

i am not oppressed.

I am in the process of coming full circle back to my activist roots. For a long time I struggled with the same crisis that every idealist faces at one point or another: what the hell can I do to make a difference?

I am facing the realization now that I am in the perfect point in history to be an individual making a realistic contribution to the issues at large. Micro business, grassroots efforts, and viral marketing are just some of the tools and methods at the disposal of those of us who have this crazy need to make a difference in the world. We are only going to become more and more connected, and understanding this reality and utilizing the potential of the current state of technology and the mindset of the people all around the world is not just a boon to big business. Initiatives need organization, for sure, but that organization doesn't always need to come through a larger footprint.

We are truly in a time where conviction is the best place to start. Realize the issues facing our society, understand the realistic impact you can make, and have the courage to step out and do something. We can harbor no illusions that the solutions to things like poverty and slavery and war will be simple. But we have to believe they are obtainable. If a crappy movie with a silly title can sweep the nation with a clever viral marketing scheme (you know who I'm talking about, Samuel L. Jackson, you snake you) the only issue standing in the way of the public at large being connected to the realities facing us all is communication. Which has always been an issue.

But if you're reading this, you right now are connected to a network that can do much more than provide you with the latest entertainment news or offer another forum for my ranting. The global worldview is real. When we can completely let go of the mindset that what goes on around the world has no affect on our lives because they're so far away and realize that we are connected, both through the "information highway" and the very real impact that every decision we make causes as citizens of a global superpower, we can make a difference. Not a difference initiated by "we who have more money and therefore know the answer to all of your problems", but rather a difference made by individuals who understand the effect their existence is really making on the rest of the world and using that existence intentionally.

20% of the world uses 80% of it's resources. I am part of that 20%. I am making a huge impact on the world, though it's not always in the form I would want, when I don't consciously consider the repercussions. The greatest American freedom is choice. If you don't see that as valuable, you don't understand the reality the rest of the world faces. The reality that many within our own borders face for reasons that could be surmounted. We are not facing an impossible situation.

I heard a horrifying statistic yesterday. 75% of American charitable giving is from the church, to the church. And America contributes a lot to the developing world in with its donations (if someone could find statistics for how we stack up in charitable giving to those outside our own country compared to the rest of the world, you'll get kudos from me).

My point with this really long post is this. If you believe you cannot make a real difference and that keeps you from giving your money, time, or whatever else you have to give, you're bullshitting yourself. The resources are there. The network is there. So where are the idealists who will step up and take the stage?

And income level is certainly no reason, either. Busy or not, poor or not, creative or not, it boils down to this: we are not starving. We are not slaves. We are not oppressed. And we do exist, and leave a footprint from that existence.

Make yours intentional.

plink.

i slobbered words in my sleep. sometimes i think i distract myself with my own soliloquy - i forgot you were listening the whole time, to my poem that didn't rhyme.

i hate boxy closed in trains of thought that litter my otherwise messy closet.

toes to the end of the blue line - i ignored the lettering proclaiming that i should stand there, and not here. i caught your eye as they stared us down, and we winked at our certain demise. when we blow this joint, let's take a lollipop break and stare at the clouds and pretend they are rain.

too much of this, so little the same... but i'll skip along the riverbank and we'll catch a train to the unknown place between the earth and the sky. yeah, the horizon, that's it. we'll fly with the wind as we stand on our train and then land where we are when we stop. my name will be fruitfly, you can be bat. all of our world won't know where we're at.

towards evening, i say we sit with a bottle of gin and wander our way home, while discussing the ins and outs of the science of art, and the art of life, and good cereal box reading. you'll put your hand in mine when we come to the river, and i'll look up at you in the moonlight, and as you lean down to tickle my sides i'll laugh at our prosaic-ness. you never knew i had a romantic side.

who would have thought, really, that we'd find ourselves here? i haven't written about death for nearly a year. or dying at least. for nearly a week. i still find myself in awe of the final sleep, watching and wondering at the breathing-in-and-out note that's sustained until one day, it fades, or ends with an out-of-key bang. which will it be? i'd say i'll take melody, and you fill in the rest, but i'll change my mind halfway through. let's just close our eyes and dance.

step one, step two. you're resting in my arms, and i enjoy that you cause my side to fall asleep. i held my tounge when the words came to whip the moment to threads... i was quiet when i decided i'd say "i just want to run, when you are too close". i even looked you in the eye when you reminded me that i love you.

i think it's progress. plink, plink.

place names

it was like this.

poor man sought to attain new riches. he searched long and hard to earn enough to buy himself a house and a car and make an inheritance for his children beyond poverty... and in so became greedy, and drank away all he had. but, now without a family, he had no reason to pass along material wealth when he met his maker, so he drank on. he was last seen on the corner by the rich side, pretending to be blind.

i was gonna move to the city
and build me a name out
of nothing
and find me an actor
who wanted the same
who'd help me pretend i'd left the small life
from my small town
they all knew me, and saw my fall
and though i was young i knew that was all it would take
to drive them away
and so i'd make me a name
a strong one
a rich one
a proud one
built it lofty high, to hide from my shame.

that's how it was.

you'd think they'd long left me broken but nary a
tear would fall from my eyes that i felt.
i saw what i was supposed to and did what i was told.

it was like this.
the day we turned the soil to cover your remains i did not touch the shovel, i did not speak your name
death became me well.
but all of that does not belie the truth that i am my father's daughter.
my blood runs south
as deep as the bayou
do not be fooled, my nature is a
divided one.
even in my family
there is a black and white side
those drifting in between are
defined by "more or less"
i myself am a lighter hue
but none of us have a true name. we fit our mold
to best suit our ambition, and yet we
still crawl in the gutters.
the mud and grime and swampy water
soak deep into the skin. and when someone
questions you, you say "yes, ma'am" and
"no, sir" and you lower your eyes... never
look up. you might see something you want that you cannot have.
the days are drying up with the receding tide.

i became a writer to shield my existence from my own insecurities.
to pretend i could not hear when they called me names i would seem to be lost in thought, discovering a phrase. but then i quite accidentally found, while attaining shallow (insight? reflection?) that i truly sought to find a story to tell... and the very things that made believe i was lost made me find myself as i truly am. my stories come from true things, though they are not always factual. but i don't write statistics, i write people.

crazy? i was crazy once. they put me in a room.

i search for the perfect words to articulate my sight as i lust after forbidden fruit - my yearning cannot be quenched. such is my original sin... self-seeking... i look within me to see without me... my drive to attain knowledge and awareness makes me blind to what i see, as in passion i forget all in yearning for release.

blindly stabbing at the words
i fall short of my eloquent ideals
but they haphazardly fall into
place so i'll drive the anthem on.

there once was a day, and it was long. and the shadows slowly stretched, and the wind barely moved, and the sun beat hot and dry. i drank my water. my thirst was assuaged and i found myself slowly drifting to dreams.

this is a pauper's story.
the anthem has struck me deep
i made no name
but my words have constructed
a semblance of the dream
that i dreamt in my waking hours.

that's how it was.

knots

you'd think if you're tired of running, you would stop.
i feel as if my insides are tangled
like a necklace that knots itself as you wear it
and as you ponder the knot that occured without tying
you become increasingly agitated when it won't come out.

stupid necklace. never liked the damn thing anyway.

and so here again we are running in circles
lighter and softer, but still the same dance.
i might just remember to pause and consider
if you would remind me, and give me a chance.

tomorrow i'll sit on the windowsill and dip my brush
in the hue that i mixed with colors and water and
hope for a sight that often eludes me, and perhaps
my attempt will turn phrases and rhyme into meaning.

sometimes i feel as if i'm doodling, while the world begins
to end. and yet without craving the light that i'm tasting i see
no reason to breathe.

porridge

you always think you're going to notice when everything changes. the sun should have a different hue, or the birds a different tune, or the ocean a different blue, like in the movies. maybe all your memories should be in sepia, so you know they're too far behind to recapture.

i don't think there will be a stop here next time. i think the station will decay and the track will fade away. but maybe we'll find each other in that place we've always thought we would go, but never have.

aged

i saw him one last time before i left.

you'd think he had never spent a day in the sun. the light from the incandescent bulb dangling outside his cell cast shadows that made him seem haunted and illuminated his skin with an eerie glow by turns. all i desired to do was to hear his voice, to have him once again speak calming words that would make my fears fade away as they did when i was a small child. but his voice was cracked from underuse, and i could barely hear him. that scared me more than anything, i think.

"you have everything you need, child."

"i tried to bring water, master. but they took it from me and spilled it to the earth." this is the thought that had broken me. that the water that could save his life was now turning the dust on the floor to paste and my master was nearly dead.

"have no more thoughts of me," he croaked. "save your stength to face your enemy. he is a brutal beast, but he is a dumb one. never forget that."

"i cannot fight a beast! i can run errands, and make coffee, and bring you your glasses when you cannot see. that is all i am good for. i can't even use a weapon, how can i possibly defeat anything as brutal as a dragon?"

his eyes cleared at that moment, as if his cataracts faded away and i could again see into him as i could before. his countenance changed. i saw then the master of my youth, whom i had followed like a shadow and begged of him to give me shelter. he took me in, and even though i lived as a slave, i had a good master, so it was no matter. his riches were gone now, fed to the fat bureaucrats who no longer believed in such foolishness as dragons. but he was still my master.

"i was going to leave you my wealth, child. but you should learn sooner rather than later that all of the world's wealth is foolish. so i will give you all i have left. come closer, child."

his voice was growing faint.

he leaned in close to me, and through the bars he cupped my cheek as if i was still small. he pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes and in his last breath i heard his whisper.

"there is always... hope."

my inheritance faded away as if i had never heard his words. wiping my face i stood and went to the front desk.

"you are the only survivor?"

"yes. everything should be there in the papers he left. may i take his body to be buried?"

the guard reached into a drawer and pulled out an old box. he carelessly pushed it across to me. "your master was a traitor. if you have his inheritance, then here it is. this box, and your master's fate. you have gone from slave to exile."

"and what of my master?"

"he will be burned. he always wanted to face a dragon - he will get his last wish and die by fire. damned myth-men never will be a part of the rest of us... they only live in the shadows of the ignorance we've left behind."

i had no concept of life without my master.
i took his box and walked out of the building. i would be chased by the dogs through the borders if i didn't go quickly, so i used the shadow-hiding i had learned by following his every move. it couldn't hide me from the nose of a dog, but no human would see me leave unless they still believed in myth.

there is one good thing about being a myth-follower. the "enlighted" are still afraid of the forests. the prison was at the edge of the lighted world. they wouldn't even send their beasts in here. apparently ignorance can stalk in the night and snatch trespassers in the forest away never again to be seen.

i sat on a log and opened the box. i had cleaned it many, many times before. the temptation to open it had grown with everytime i touched it. the insides of the box glowed, so i knew it held a wish.

the enlightened ones wished by stars and wished with coins thrown in the fountains in their lighted world, but the myth-men knew a different way. we know that wishes could warm you, could seep into your being - which is why wishes must be handled with great caution. wishes and greed are not far removed, in myth.

i sat with my heart clear and let my master's wish fill my soul.

all is not somber

Q: How many Zen masters does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: A tree in a golden forest.


Q: How many surrealists does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Two, one to hold the giraffe, and the other to fill the bathtub with brightly colored machine tools.


Q: How many Bush Administration officials does it take to screw in a
light bulb?

A: None. There is nothing wrong with the light bulb; it's condition is
improving every day. Any reports of it's lack of incandescence are
totally unfounded, and the result of delusional "spin" assaults from the
fanatic, elitist, liberal media. That light bulb has served honorably,
and anything you say undermines the lighting effect and dims it's ego.
Why do you hate freedom?

sha`ah

stop and gaze as the sacred edifice crumbles. should one pause in thought, or cease to pray? should mourning overweigh the joy of death bringing life? should we stop and throw stones as the mighty fall?

i desire to gaze into the crumbled remains of a haughty idol built in the image of an emperor and see the memory of the days before.

are graven images built in the name of christ?

i remember what i have never learned.
i seek that which was torn from our grasp.
but i am brave because of the one giving defence
who seeks not war, but peace.
who welcomes hatred, and turns the cheek.

if all words were lost, we still have the seed.

the morning light has shone.
the noon has past
evening dawns
the long night draws near.
if you may, send moonlight
as fires burn
and forests end
and melodies haunt
and the earth is rend
give light to us to find the dawn
so still our walk may continue on
so still our time may linger on

and if the moonlight should be lost
then all the dreams the world has dreamt
will open eyes, and their purpose met
and all the dreamers willing dust
to rise and ashes give way to breath
the foretold offerings will not lose way
and still the night will turn to day.

grace

last night we were at church. at some point in the beginning of the service, justin said that the scripture that says "let the little children come to me" popped in his head, but then he didn't think anything of it. we started out having a fairly normal service. sang songs, people gave testimonies, someone preached. but then at the end, we started worship again. we sang for a while, and then out of no where there was a long moment of silence. i love those moments, when a whole group of people sits and reflects on what just happened, and not because someone said to. someone explained that what was happening was a selah, a moment of silence where God does not stop moving but we do, to reflect on what has happened.

justin had selah come and sit in his lap during this time, as childcare was over. selah sat quietly for a moment and then looked up at justin and asked, "is God and Jesus in my heart, daddy?" justin told him that they would be if he wanted them to be, and he just had to ask. so selah closed his eyes and sat quietly for a moment, and then said "they're in my heart, daddy. i can feel them." we have never made him pray or read the bible... we wanted him to have a chance to observe and ask questions and make a choice at his own pace.

i was four when i asked for Jesus to be in my heart. i walked a long road to being truly free. an uphill barefoot in the snow kind of road. but God has taught me so much through it. he has reminded me that i don't need to be afraid to be a parent. he reminded me that the things i experienced as a child were not from him, but rather the consequences of my parents choices. he has taught me that i have to understand and recognize that there were people that made decisions that hurt me, as you can't forgive anyone until you can say what they did.

and beyond that, he has truly restored me as if those things never happened. i've been tempered, for sure. and i remember the past and still have the scars. but they don't hurt anymore.

i have told selah about my father. i've told him that he was a sad and angry man, who was mean sometimes because his daddy was a sad and angry man who was mean. i told him how my mom and i prayed for my father, and how before he died he asked for forgiveness and i saw then who he was supposed to be.

selah prayed with me last night. he said,

"Jesus, thank you for being my mommy's daddy when her daddy couldn't do it. Say that mommy."

"Jesus, thank you for helping my mommy not be sad. Say that mommy."

"Jesus, thank you for taking her daddy to heaven. Say that mommy."

i'm still scared of being a mom. but if Jesus can help me when i was a little girl who didn't know love learn to understand who he is, then i think i might be okay. i just have to remember to let God be God, and just work on being a decent Audra.

it helps that my son prays for me.

cause i'm up

and even though i'm protesting myspace, i still got stuck reading everyone's sites for like 2 hours. thanks for the country song tav

and some days i'd rather be a pirate...

stephen colbert

here's a link to the torrent of stephen colbert ripping into lots of people... at the white house correspondants dinner. it's been pulled from just about everywhere on the net. but you have to witness this. whatever you think of the current administration, he stood there and the establishment what just about everyone (even half of conservatives, according to the polls) has thought at one point or another. maybe 10 feet from president bush.

http://seedler.org/en/html/info/539676

save the net

big business is trying to say that they have more invested in the internet than we do. AT&T, Comcast, and Verizon are among the companies lobbying congress to pass laws that will create a sort of "fast lane" premium net service for companies that can pay the higher cost. the rest of the net, including blogs, non-profit sites, myspace, itunes, personal sites, and small business sites will be given less bandwidth making browsing such sites much slower. personal internet use and the benefits the net has given small businesses and non-profits are at risk. the net is one of the few places where we all have equal opportunity to make our voices heard. we can't let congress take this away!

Congress is voting on this issue next week. moveon.org already has 250,000 signatures on a petition being submitted to congress. help out by signing the petition. call your representative. help spread the word on the net. the public outcry has been enough to sway several representatives that formally supported big business on this issue. it helps that this is an election year!

this public service announcement brought to you by audiworld for Internet Freedom

why are sundays so rainy?

i mind less when i get my sunday naps.

because some things just piss me off

there's a lot of stink everywhere on the whole immigration issue. and i understand the need to deal with it... we've had an outdated and confusing system for a long time now.

my gripe is not with those who want to deal with the issue. issues get ugly, as everything has at least two sides if not more. and i'm not denying that border security is important. helps keep out those pesky canadians.

my gripe is with those who would defend their position against illegal imigrants with what is basically, though it's certainly not called this anymore, the "divine right".

when our country was founded on its supposed christian beliefs, there were many who were uncomfortable with the fact that it was being founded on genocide and slavery. these wavering folk were brought back to the fold by the concept of divine right. at it simplest root, it means that god gave america to christians, where we can fulfill the original commandment of filling the earth and multiplying... of having dominion over the earth. and have the nifty benefit of lots of ocean surrounding our new eden, which helps with those pesky religious wars.

i find it ironic that a country that was founded by those fleeing persecution now makes it really damned difficult to immigrate here, especially if you're fleeing persecution. i think somewhere along the way we forgot (i'm using the general "we" now, claim it or discard it at will) that we aren't being persecuted. that we do live in the land of opportunity, whether you're an oppressed minority or not. is it utopia? hardly. but most of the true freedoms we have we’re entirely ignorant of, since we don’t live somewhere that represses them. i’m pretty happy to live somewhere i don’t fear gential mutilation and my husband doesn’t have to fight in a war to remain a citizen and my son isn’t being pressured to be a suicide bomber. and the worst thing that may happen if i read a bible in public is that someone might make fun of my puritan beliefs…

the other thing i find ironic is that the christian conservative movement has somehow found a way to make this all about them, and the ever impending loss of their freedom of speech. i understand people are breaking the law. i'm not arguing that we don’t need a solution for the issue of illegal immigration. but like it or not, while morality from the standpoint of christianity is black and white (except for the gray areas open to interpretation) the implementation of a workable solution for a problem that affects the whole damn secular country, and even surrounding areas, is not going to be easy to come by. part of my ancestors immigrated illegally and possibly owned slaves. another other part walked the trail of tears. which part has a right to be here?

and who was it that said we should rejoice if we are persecuted for the sake of christ? not that i’m saying i really see too many instances that the extreme right trumpets as examples of religious persecution as being that at all. but if it were happening, shouldn’t we be throwing parties or something? hell, i think that would be a good indicator that we’re doing something right. maybe even becoming a little like the jesus we claim to represent.

so pick your side of the issue. and do it honestly. but if you are a believer in Yeshua, then you have given up your life that you might live. so stop bellyaching everytime you might be losing a right in america (it’s not the kingdom of god) and take care of the poor, the widows, and the orphans. and if you are ever persecuted, call me, and i’ll buy you a beer.

what i thought

i thought i had lost my way.
i understood myself as a fool
not realizing my failure was to see
only through my own eyes
and hear only the words i chose
to hear.

but i'm standing here right now
knowing that what was once found
was almost broken
seeing that you, who comforted me
as i fled the insane things that
haunted me, could think
to take your life.

how silly of me
to not have seen
how selfish of me
to think i understood
and how pointless of me
to wish i saw sooner.

i would take your choice
everyone's choices
away, if i thought it would
make us safe.

but the one i follow
chose a different way
he chose to make us free.

free to live, or to die
or to live everyday we have
blind

i would have done it differently
but then love could not be
a reality, for what is love
if it is what i was made to be?

i'm glad you failed.

dragon: unknown

"here lies the brave.
if you should dare face
this beast, be aware
that he will not be slayed.
he saw the true nature of
my heart, and then before
ripping it out to taste his
truth i wrote this in my own
hand, so you would know
that you have been given lies."
from the tomb marked as
"unlucky". date not known.

dragon, 2

i considered his laughter as a personal assault. my master had assured me that i was ready to face the dragon, and to be mocked by my own quest was insulting. i must admit i was not prepared to hear him speak, much less laugh. i was vaguely aware that the fact i had assumed i would be dealing with a dumb animal was evidence that i had missed something my master tried to teach me.

adding to the natural terror one feels when standing next to a monstrous, sentitent beast that is mocking you, i could see myself in his scales. that was disconcerting. for when his chameleon nature blended him into the horizon and the waters, i could only see a distorted version of myself.

it was beggining to be difficult to comprehend my surroundings. the dragon bent its long neck down until i could feel the warm stench of his breath on my face. he looked me right in the eyes, and at this moment he was not the ever changing reflective shape of before. he was standing there, in his awesome form, and i realized that if my master had slayed these beasts i did not know my master at all, for i had thought he was a simple man.

the dragon spoke again.

"you see, small one, i do not fear you. you call yourself a dragon-slayer. so how many dragons have you slayed?"

for a moment i considered embellishing my story.

"well, you were to be my first," i responded, trying to drum up more confidence that i actually felt.

his eyes squinted as he stared deep into me. he spread out his wings, making himself larger than before, and now i knew that escape was not an option. he would rise into the air and snatch me with his teeth at the end of that long neck and i would be gone before i had time to say a prayer.

"and therein lies proof to the humor of your claim. i was to be your first kill, and now even you put that purpose in the past tense. what did you do to anger your master enough that he would betray you to me?'

and then i realized that i, humble-dragon slayer that i was, had no chance of defeating the beast, and that my hands could no more pierce his scales than my "courage" could intimidate him. i stood there, and felt in that moment that this dragon knew me far better than my master, who had abandoned me to the beast.

i was no dragon-slayer. only a child who wanted to believe in a fantasy. so i took the name i was given and bravely set upon my quest and now, if there was a Maker, i had a decent chance at meeting him.

"you know," said the dragon, "i really almost pity you. do you know how many dragon-slayers i have eaten?"

bragging rights

justin has been playing around with his camera for awhile now, but i think he's actually turning into a photographer. i had to show him off.

eyes

oh, i ache to feel the wind
i come every day to the edge of the
cliff and pray this will be the day
the wind lifts me off my feet
for i fear i don’t have enough
faith to jump.

give me the grace to let go of the rock
and the truth to hold onto the air
and the release to let it take me
to places i would not dare to
tread.

let me fly as high as the air will allow
and stare deep into the heart of the
space beyond
and remember the rock which holds
me is strong, if small
and while insignificant, and meaningless
and inconsequential in the scope of it all
is still my place.

and after my eyes tire of the sun
take me down into the shade
and let me sleep a thousand years
in quiet, or at least a day
and help me remember the hours
and minutes
and decades
that i spent watching you soar.

5 years

half a decade.
here's to five of the hardest years of my life!
i wouldn't change a thing, baby. you have taught me more about living than anyone ever has. i never knew i could laugh so much. thank you!






circa 2000
florida

inside, outside

where does evil really lie?
is it ever in the places that i think it’s in
can it be contained within skin?
you look at me and see a void, as you don’t know me
i look within and cannot define what i see, because i
am hard to find.
the limitations of my experience show through when
i try to find the words to paint for you an expression of
my inner self, but the colors seem dim in comparison and
my perspective is off.
i don’t know you, anymore than i know me
i look at you and i see a void, on which i place my own
expectations for you to either leave me or walk away.

please stay. i don’t mean to offend. i mean to shed
light on the reality that i face, that i grew up in a place with no
people who understood me and so i made my own culture where
everyone gets along but imaginary people have no identities to rape.
pretend souls do not die and face fate
and so my pretend way of learning humanity fell short of the real
thing.


and there it is, the thing of which i speak. you have the power to
cause me to react and that scares the shit out of me because i do not
know if i have the power to react well. i do not wish to feel anything
because i hesitate to trust when i know you could make me afraid. and
therein lies the flaw in my pretend world. i made no safe places. my
sanity was based on shallow views, and so when my trust was
broken i was forever made a walked on thing. i never believed that
i could be more or deserve more or know anyone and let them inside
and still, i must admit, my walls are thick and high, but i can see
a small view of truth in the hole i just carved – a real one. not a pretend
window. one you can really see in.

here lies the daughter of those who did not believe. they had no
hope, as they couldn’t see the light in the dark places. i killed her
when i decided to try and remember it all. maybe, just maybe,
along with the ugliness i’ll remember the times you didn’t leave me,
and you stayed.

dragon

"but how do you slay the dragon?"

as i stood facing the awesome beast, i still wondered at my masters refusal to answer my question. why would he give me such a daunting task and provide no tools by which to accomplish it? it seemed very out of character for my master.

i looked around, ever mindful of the dragon's sleeping visage, and scoured my surroundings for a spear.

i saw the grass, but it was too soft, and the thick stalks were too green.
i saw the trees, but they towered over me. i had no tools, and could certainly not fell a tree or carve it into anything with no tools.
i saw the birds, but they maintained their distance and even though their song was soothing none came to help me.
and so i stood defenseless. my master and my environment, by nature, had betrayed me.

you cannot drown a dragon. you cannot burn a dragon. i could think of nothing which would give me an advantage in fulfilling my master's quest. he had called me "dragon slayer", and let me play with his swords and spears and think that when i faced my enemy i would be protected at least with metals and innovation.

having nothing to do but wait, i studied the dragon. his skin was too beautiful. the silvery scales reflected his surroundings so that the only way i could be sure i was looking at him was to find the faint wisp of smoke from his mouth. as his massive torso swelled with every breath, the light around me would bend and seem to twinkle like the stars on a misty night. he was as tall as the towering trees and seemingly as expansive as the lake's horizon. i watched him submerge himself, his customary form of awakening, and then he opened his eyes.

i saw my own reflection in the eye of a dragon.

"who are you?"

"i am a dragon-slayer", i replied, as my master had instructed me.

his eyes filled with disbelief. then he did something i never would have dreamed to witness... he laughed. the waves rolled and the trees shook and the earth trembled and i was very afraid.

compose

see, there was this one day, when the wind was chilly and it whipped around my bones. the rain's cold fingers penetrated until i was soaked through and my shoes squished. i saw you splash in the puddles. we glanced across the terrain and for a moment, i could see through the drops of water as the putrid haze was washed from the air. i tread on the water like broken glass. a soft sigh from the wind as it finished the gale and i opened my eyes, again, to find you still there. the shards from the storm soaked deep, but there was no bleeding. the day was warm again, and the silence receding. the moment seemed but an apparition, but i wasn't dreaming.

damn

http://www.fxnetworks.com/shows/originals/blackwhite/main.html

sometimes clients are useful

“Don’t worry about the mule going blind, just load the wagon."

I was reminded of this today when reading through info sent by a client. that's my problem... i never assume i could get a new mule...

honestly

you may not know how hard it often is for me to put my words on this page knowing that people read it. it was way easier when no one knew it was here:)

but i think it's important for this one to be here, whether it makes me feel safe or not.

i realized that i'm really good at hiding. so good in fact, that i can convince myself that i'm not. somewhere along the line, it just hurt too badly and i ran away from the things God had put inside of me. one by one he's putting them back in, but it's painful.

when i was young, there was no doubt in my mind that i deserved to be whole.
now, everyday i have to fight the part of me that believes there's nothing good in me. that i don't deserve the place to encourage people, or comfort them, or speak truth to them and see positive change. once, i never doubted.

i thrived on going into places with broken people... seeing the truth of who they are... and telling them what was there. many changed. many turned away, but it didn't hurt as badly then...

somewhere along the way i gave up on people. that's what i mean when i say "i prophesy to sticks and stones and walls because it does not hurt when they turn away". i gave up on having anything to do with bringing life to anyone. i assumed that such times were over... i had messed up too badly... and i should stick to business, cause that's what i do well.

apparently, i was wrong. i woke up on saturday, mourning the part of me that was missing. i don't know if this is coherant, but i feel it's important for me to share. i've been hiding in a cave, because i thought i wasn't safe. and i really wasn't... but i was never supposed to hide. i don't know when i started apologizing for my faith. but God told me that i was wrong the whole time... and if i hadn't have ran away, i wouldn't still feel the pain from all the yesterdays.

so here i am. not hiding. as in talking about where i am in the middle of it, and not recounting a watered down version of something i've already walked through, on my own. i don't really know where to go from here... as i don't really want to look into myself enough to find where i lost what i did. and i don't even know where to start looking.

but here's to trying...

/

i prophesy to sticks and stones and walls because it does not hurt when they turn me away.
when the dead cry out against me, i defend nothing because i have no name
but the faceless lost remember, and know i am still the same.

my apologies

god will not send a burning bush to lead you to the right
place when he has given you grace and a brain
i'm sorry that life is so fucking hard but if you drank
from a dirty well in a dump in the desert i would feel pity.

who thinks that they have no choice in life?
you turn a way and change your world.
just pick something, damn it, and go for it.
just learn something and stop being a fool.

and if you fail, don't blame the fates
the person at fault was you
but so what? you pick yourself up and dust off the mistakes
remember where you tripped and fell on your face
and then pay attention to where you're going next time.

and if you get lost, don't blame it on god.
he gave you eyes and ears and a way to remember
and the simple things, while important, are not where to stumble
just laugh it off and buy a map. then the next time, turn towards
where you want to go, and not away.

i'm sorry that life is so hard
but i really don't care.
if you're wandering alone and have no one to
tell you where to go, is it possible you drove them away?

fuck it all.
who gives a damn about life if there's no living?
and if you wake up tomorrow and find no meaning in
the world, don't blame anyone. not the fates, not god, not even
the ones you love. meaning is only in context, and
is pointless if you forget to wake up.

shake off the daisies, you're not dead yet
you've still got time
whoever you've buried will wait.

death is only chasing you, and lies are everywhere
you turn, and it's easy to forget who you are,
and everything is confusing.

and if i lose my imagination, and live only in the prose
and forget the ones who love me
and swallow death
i have only cheated me.

but that's just today.

nostalgia?

i never thought i'd live long enough to hear my husband say, "man, mosh pits just aren't the same as they were when we were younger."

if anyone brings back flannel, i'm hiding until it's over.

;)

crux

so what do you do when you unexpectedly find the center of your paranoia while watching Smallville?

4

nce upon a time there was a monster, who was chasing a princess. she grew tired of running and hid in a tall tower, with no door, and one window. everyday she looked out at the world she was missing.

it took a small boy to convince her that she could live without her tower. even longer for her to be convinced that the monster was just life. you see, even though the monster's strike is always fatal, we have many sleeps before that day. and so we wake up, and try to remember not to run away from life.

this small boy kept growing, and all too soon the princess could see a glimmer of the man that he would become. she knew he would be loved, for she loved him very much and so did his father (whom she decided to stop trying to hide from as well:) and together they made sure to suround their small family with lots of people who could love the small boy.

and she built him a house, with lots of windows, and beautiful gardens, called hope. and she told him that whenever the world was dark and gray, to remember that hope can live forever, if you let it.

and she looked into the sky every night as she tucked him into his bed under the stars and was very grateful she got to keep the small boy, for as long as Time would allow.

and if there were less sleeps before the monster's strike... then the princess was grateful she chose try living... and who better to make everyday worth finding hope than her small boy, and his father?

un

this is a song that justin and i wrote.
it actually has music, not that we plan on singing it in public. but i really like the words.

undiscovered beautiful
undiscovered terrible
red wine
touch your fingers to my lips
singe my skin
i’m drunk again

undecided
stay or go
bleeding all is all i know
drying tears from drying eyes
dark and long the lonely night
here again

find me now, my closest friend
warm my hands we’ll dance again
breathe again
your laugh-lined smile will seem so new
i’ll dance for you
just sing for me.

door

here comes the next thing
as the dust settles from the wave of change
i think somewhere my heart was torn
the indecision changed my way of life
and the things of then can be no more.

i miss the yesterdays
i miss the way things used to be
but that was so long ago
there's a new life to build now.
a new life to give now.

i cannot be my father
who could not admit the truth
i cannot be my mother
who can't see depth behind the mirror

i cannot even be you.
you would have me torn and empty
you would take away the things i've seen
one by one, i'd lose my memories
and then all that's left would be young.

though innocense is tempting
i cannot deny what i have witnessed
i cannot deny the blood that i've shed
so i will build the temple.

i will be the one who remembers.
and when i'm done, you'll take me home.
it's a long road that stretches before me
so when i'm lost, pleast take me home.

fear of spiders

i realize that a fear of spiders is an irrational fear.

who would really fear the unknown, the unpredictable things, if they were all so small you could step on them? granted, there's that whole poisonous bite issue, but how many people do you know who have been fatally bitten by a poisonous spider? i mean sure, you get that acid hole in the arm going on sometimes, which isn't so cool. or the big black bruise-looking mark that hurts like hell... also not fun, i've heard.

but i think i just fear irrational things.

happy days

the sun has been out 3 days in a row
i just made lea laugh
my husband is content
my son has the giggles
and my allergy meds are making me loopy, not sleepy.

it's a good day:)

fingerpainted memory

maybe someday i will jump from the solid ground and you will find me no more. the wind has little preference for the direction it goes. maybe there will be some as yet undiscovered place that i will see, and find my way home from there, and then i'll be an adventurer. i always envied those who found america first... to cast yourself from all you know and find a new way must be a heady sensation.

and as i grow old and each memory of those unfound places crumbles with time the beautiful scraps left behind will have wonderful colors.

i will dip my finger in each pigment and caress the canvas.

and when i am gone, no one will miss me, for i will have left my dreams behind to be savored.

how it all began

the place we came from has nearly burned to the ground. all the old neighborhood haunts feel like a ghost town. you can see the memories pass through the empty halls, and it makes you wonder if you were really there, or did you dream it all?

but the beauty never fades, even when in the memory it is misplaced.

i remember that one time, when we drove in the rain and it was so quiet. the peace came down with every drop and i remember hoping that when i left the momentary sanctuary the cares of life would not return. i was so old when i was younger... my bones would ache and my mind was weak and i always had a funeral to go to. i wore the world heavily on my shoulders. the sharpness of my cynical thoughts would tear anyone to pieces who stood there long enough to bear my gaze, and i rarely left the dead horse alone.

i think the fear of feeling had worked its way to the depths of me, like a rheumatism for the young and frequently disappointed.

you know, somewhere on my porch you can still find the ashes we left behind when you once again told me that i'm not insane, and one day i would feel the wind beneath my feet. i wanted to believe.

i think i'm quite lucky. not many souls have so many to walk the path with, and i have found those who will not doubt me. and when you do, i remember the days behind us and all the path we've cleared. i'll take my chance and forge ahead to places unknown. and when we learn how to fly, i won't even miss the weeds.

soothe

the taste was still lingering in her mouth.

too many places have left their mark, and now she's getting careless. and thoughtless. she hurriedly reached for her things and tried to discount the nagging sensation that she was not who she set out to be. in her rushed attempt to find solace from yesterday's wounds, she had given away her faith, piece by piece.

as the cold wind hit her face when she stepped out on the street, she ignored the fact that when she looked her friend in the eye as she passed, there wasn't a hint of recognition.

explain

so we had a perfectly natural miracle today. jesus came without fanfare, and dropped the line about hiding in the caves and running to the hills and woe to those who are with child. he came in a bush that burned but did not ash. i touched the scars on his hand and knew i saw a mirage, for only my imaginiation could dream up such a powerful charasmatic experience as one would have when dipping your fingers in the crevices left by his wounds. how odd, that i smelled a mirage. the scent of jasmine mixed with dead leaves hinted at my subconsious, and i wondered at the possible prophetic meaning.

do you call me heretical for believing in what i could not have seen? i would have to remind you that i have touched the face of God, and he found me impure and wanting, and so he gave me a new shirt and ushered me into his home. a feast was waiting for me, and as i gorged myself on the bountiful plenty i found before me i was grateful i was no longer a sinner.