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.

sin' auld lang syne

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
And days of auld lang syne, my dear,
And days of auld lang syne.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days of auld lang syne?
We twa hae run aboot the braes
And pu'd the gowans fine.
We've wandered mony a weary foot,
Sin' auld lang syne.
Sin' auld lang syne, my dear,
Sin' auld lang syne,
We've wandered mony a weary foot,
Sin' auld lang syne.
We twa hae sported i' the burn,
From morning sun till dine,
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.
Sin' auld lang syne, my dear,
Sin' auld lang syne.
But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.
And ther's a hand, my trusty friend,
And gie's a hand o' thine;
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.


good night, and good luck.


http://tinyurl.com/2r9fb

the darkest night of the year

chaos
broken
starlight
pouring
shadows
through
the
lesser
light
towards
imagined
desire
to
find
yesterday.

should
help
descend?
i
think
the
morning
should
awaken
soon.

vodka
laughter
smokes
cookies
truth.

my christmases have improved.

sensory

insane drain... the drip has just dropped and the plink on the sink is enough to drive me mad. but to walk across the room to fix it seems like wasted exertion. my drink was drank and now i'm bled dry. you'd think the quick beat that moves the life from heart to toes and up my spine would take less time, but i'm hemorrhaging thought out my ear everytime you cause me to question.

but i beg of you to fulfill the need of me.

i'm crumbling. the parchment upon which i wrote my last lines has been burned, for lack of water to quench the flames. but i will still lay with my words and coax them to open their eyes. there's a leaky pen between me and my next turned phrase, and when all the drops seep out we'll see what remains.

blink and you'll find it.

eggshells

i had an interesting experience recently.

i developed a deal with God at one point, sometime in my early teenage years, that if he thinks he gets to run the universe, he has to deal with my opinions and questions. the first interesting thing is that he took the deal.

the second interesting thing is that he just told me that i don't get to do that anymore. it was somewhat jolting... i don't think i realized how comfortable i was with that, and how odd it is to not have it. now when i question, he tells me i know the answer, i just don't like it. now when i tell him my opinions, he tells me that i'm an adult and i need to just stop talking about it and deal with it. it's rather interesting. on one hand, it made me feel kind of stupid, as i realized how obnoxious i had been to him. on the other, i think he just told me that i've grown up.

i honestly thought i would spend my whole life as a broken person. i really didn't realize that he wanted me to stand with him, and walk with him, not just spend my entire life in broken humilation.

i used to hate everything about myself. i still have scars in places i cut myself. i can still remember what it was like at night when there would be so many voices around me i couldn't sleep. i know that i used to starve myself to make me a better person, and i even punished myself when my mom wouldn't because i was yearning so much to matter enough to be disciplined. i used to cry when someone didn't like me. i used to hate myself if i made a mistake. i often ran from people who loved me, and i would push people away if they could see in. i was always angry and always afraid. the times when people thought i was righteous, even when i was young, they didn't realize that i was two people. not because i wanted to be, but because i was so fractured i could be nothing else. i wanted power to protect myself. i wanted money to make me safe.

i'm writing this because i also hid away, and was so ashamed for not being able to control my weaknesses. it wasn't until this year that i realized the depth of my misunderstanding of grace. all i needed was to give in, and let go, and know that i'm loved. i never needed to prove anything in the first place. yeshua took the weight off my back and the craziness from my mind and while i still, every day, have to choose to eat and not be afraid and to accept love and forgive i know that i can.

i have come a long way from the girl who hid in the closet to cry.

i am so lucky to be alive. a big thank you on that end goes to my parents, shawn and missy. my mom was so broken at the time that she could barely function herself. they took a really obnoxious teenager in when no one else really knew what to do with me. i don't think they did either, but they loved me enough to be honest and tell me that i was running from life. their oldest son is now their second teenager. and i am two years older than they were when they "adopted" me.

thanks:)

selah's super gatorade

"all you need is 1/4 cup of water, 1/4 cup of sugar, 10/4 cups of gator, and 1/4 cup of gatorade. and that's how you make super gatorade."






can i be 3 again, please?

so i totally forgot

how much i like creating. even though i'm so overloaded i can't really sleep (something that i will have to get better about), i wake up happy every day.

pretty damn cool.

catharsis

the smell of the spice carried on the breeze from the oscillating fan brought the sweet unattainable flavor to my attention… it would be months before i could savor the craving. rum is wonderful pain. i took you somewhere, or nowhere… and we tried again to see the familiar. that wasn’t the last time i saw you, but i think it was the last time you saw me.

the memory i will forever keep as the one defining you to me is sitting while the constant waves beating the shore reminded us both that we would never rest, but the light from the beacon piercing the fog was a comfort. i’ll keep you there.

i never knew how far away together could be.

there’s words to be known and time to be understood, but i don’t know if i think it will be something seen. i think, if it happens, it will just appear again and we will know the lost years did not destroy our family. i know you would think it trite for me to say i have cried for the lost time.

i still reach out, and i’m still turned away. your friendship was freely offered, and then quickly rescinded time and again when i failed to live up to the expectations you never shared. i’m sorry you’re lonely, but i didn’t leave.

it was like this.
and old man, who should have been young… should have been able to touch the stars that he aimed to grasp for his kind of brilliance was rarely seen… he wasted away. the cancer ate him from the inside and the sounds of his cries still echo. i know he rests in peace, but i would have more belief if it hadn’t taken years of decay to make him see his wife and his child for the first time. he was 46. i’m no longer so far removed, and i’m watching the decay start again. it starts in the eyes, when you can’t see in, and you always look down.

next comes the denial.

then alone, the bitterness eats away. that’s the cancer that took him.

that’s how it was.

so when i say that i’m waiting for you to prove that you’ll achieve what you’ve promised, take that as love. i’m believing that you will choose to live.

don’t let me down. it may be selfish to say that i can’t watch the cancer again, but it’s true.

i see a man with a light, forging the way through a dark forest that has lived in myth, only to burn at your hand. i see a lost soul finding the one he’s sought, to find that he’s the one who was lost. and there you are, filling the large footsteps you’ve left by your dreams, and the worlds you’ve painted with your rhythms and rhymes you will finally believe.

charlie brown

i meant to post this last Friday, november 25th. but many circumstances got in my way, most of which are too boring to mention. there was that bit with the giant orangutans on the subway, but i'm not sure that one was true, so i don't think it counts.

i spent a long time being a die-hard feminist. i'm sure this is big news to most people... as i'm so demure, and all. i swore i would never have a family before a career. and here i am. i've actually become a sap, too, which adds insult to disillusionment... only because i'm now eating crow for all the years of insulting sappy people.

i first saw my husband in a stinky rehearsal room in Tulsa, OK. he was 19. i think his forehead was the first thing i noticed. the second thing was his overly arrogant attitude, and the third was his smile.

not exactly love at first sight, but i've never been a traditionalist.

there were several nights when we drove down to the park with our friend chris crews (also a daddy now) and justin would play his guitar while crews beat his drum, and i swung on swings or danced in the sand. sometimes crews would stare into space or rant about the doors or draw instead, and i would take my insignificant talent for percussion out on his poor drum. justin would sometimes sing, and always eventually put his guitar down and take out a pack of Cherry certs. i think the smell of cherry certs would always be connected to Tulsa, OK and small parks and mishmatched music and long conversations about nothingness and long drives home in a car that scared the shit out of me every time i got in it, had the certs company not stopped making the cherry flavor.

after that, we got married. Which was, obviously, many steps removed from the previous story. these steps involved such things as neo, ghetto-rigging, gaff tape, star crunches, many jackie chan movies, huge palmetto bugs, great pizza, too much coffee, many truly inspiring moments, fun foam, wrestling shoes, road trips, power naps, and a couple of romances and quasi-sorta-not-quite-romance-so-what-do-you-call-it things. But after all of that, we got married. As you might have guessed... it wasn't traditional.

After that, we had a baby. And started a couple of companies, and i still drank too much coffee, and justin quit smoking a lot. now we have this great kid.

i tell you all of this, because as random and unconnected as the above story might sound, there's one constant in all of it: the man i call charlie brown. well, if he doesn't listen when i call the first time.

i don't think i've ever met a person of so many contradictions. but i can tell you that he got a man-hating bitter chick to marry him and have a kid... and realize that there was really nothing more that she wanted in the world than to be married to this man and have a small to moderate amount of his children.

this is less sweet and sappy than i intended... if you get one day of the year when your wife can't be sarcastic to you it should be your birthday. but i forgot to post this on your birthday, poopsky, and if i wasn't sarcastic i doubt you'd recognize me. unless i was losing my temper or lost in thought.

so here's to you, charles justin harvey. you're marginally older, quite a bit younger, much wiser, and a great amount more fun than i am. thanks for keeping me from growing up to be a too old and stodgy, immature, selfish woman. i think i might follow you anywhere, even if i might bitch the whole way that i have no idea where i'm going.

charlie brown, you're my hero. truly.

it definitly works for you that you're hot, too.

confessions, or i really need this out of my head

i just needed to vent this... it's something i've realized that i've been carrying around for a long time. and when you realize that you've been carrying around an elephant that occasionally shits in the corner of your life, i find that it is often helpful to talk about it, so at least you're not in denial that your elephant is stinky.

as an artist and a performer, i am craving specific input. i was raised in a combination of two schools of thought as far as working with a teacher. The first being that if you don't recieve correction and constructive criticism, your teacher believes that you are not capable of handling it. The second, that artists are too sensitive and therefore need to be handled with kid gloves and shouldn't be given too much criticism... or compliments, for fear they'll become full of themselves.

i spent my entire life getting extremely mixed signals. i sang for years; it's actually what i started in. i won most of the competitions that i entered in. but when i asked my teacher if i had a good voice, and if not what i could work on, she replied with "well, you definitly contribute something to the choir". what is that, exactly? when i asked my dance teacher if i was a good dancer, and whether or not i should even try to do it for a career, she said, "well, you're definitly called to this. not as called as so-and-so, but i think there's something there." WTF! when i asked my acting/mime teacher if i was any good, he said "well, your thighs are really too big to be a ballet dancer, and i think you're too shy to do any speaking parts, but you're great at mime". so i'm too fat and un-interesting to be a dancer or an actor? what exactly are you saying here, people?

i asked one of my teachers why this had been the case all my life, with everything i endeavored to do. poetry, performing, novel writing, painting, acedemics... in every case i was more or less vague-ismed out of any confidence i might of obtained otherwise. she told me "we knew you would eventually succeed, so we wanted to give opportunites to other students who might not get it later."

eventually succeed? are you saying that i'll eventually annoy someone enough that they'll give me a chance? what is it about me that cause people to be so vague... they often claim to be protecting me cause they can tell that i'm sensitive, though the things that i hear have been said behind my back usually don't imply respect for sensitivity. so here i am, at 25 with no true idea of what i'm good at. i know i'm a good leader, and that i'm good at business, and i'm at least a decent designer, and i think i'm at least unintentionally funny. but i really don't know anymore than that.

am i too abrasive? do i come accross as cocky or overly self-assured? do i seem needy when i'm asking for feedback? cause i'm not, i'm just literally starving for specificity. i HATE VAGUERY. seriously, man. can't handle it anymore.

so i have to say that though i don't really know if i can sing, or act, or dance... or at least to what extent. should i stick to christian performing, or background roles? or can i aspire for somthing more? i think i can, but who knows... i'm going to inflict it on everyone if nothing more than to recieve some honest opinion and suggestions for improvement. because currently, i'm very confident where i am confident, and i have no self-esteem where i don't. and i don't need a bunch of people walking on eggshells and telling me that i'm cute and even if i need attention, i can just ask... i need to know something definable. i grew up in the christian arts world, people. somebody give me something.

please don't reply unless you're going to be specific

example

did you mean it? in the moment,
when you looked into my words and
understood the way i see, the figurative
reality that gives the breath i breathe,
did you really comprehend the extent
of which i would depend?

the lost cadence is blamed on the true nature of being
one who only walks to a drum if she has to.

and there the beating drives, drives deep into the chords
of parched want for release. you've driven me to
the edge, and i'm begging to jump off the cliff but you hold
me back for fear i'd fly out of my skin, and lose my sense
of self.

one for the money
two for the show
three, in case we need it
four is excess, but who's practicing restraint when
beating out the time by which we stone? the small
pebbles hurt more, but the big ones crush your bones.

drive it home.
the pages are browning and tearing. who's to say, that
some distant day as far from here as the day behind
tomorrow we won't look back upon these years
as the golden days, the time of innocence.
who's to say that my own imaginings won't find
home in my true reality, and break free of
the desert of metaphors, but never lose their poetry.

the motion of time often makes me queasy. here's to
the broken drum, and the forever time.

damn the sprawl

an interesting article, about the infamous American urban sprawl.
http://www.slate.com/id/2129636/?nav=fo

funny

i have a problem with being funny. see, whenever i'm trying to be funny no one laughs, and when i'm trying to be serious it's hard to keep people's attention.

see, i think that's kind of funny. but you're still waiting for the punch line, aren't you?

um... how about...

"Only two, but I don't know how they got in there! "

no? hmm. well, we'll get back to that.

another bit from my youth

i've been accused of being Lucy, but if it weren't for the obvious gender issues, i think i'd have more in common with him. or maybe i'm the tiger. am i keeping it real only when someone who believes in me is watching? or can the misperceptions of jaded people cause my words to lose their meaning?

if i tripped and fell over a twig in the woods when no one was looking, would someone still laugh at me?