tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60102161165855061052024-02-20T13:27:07.185-08:00Score To SettleRamblings of an Aging Hipster.
Life of Ewok.ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-75772269253926964342022-07-15T17:37:00.000-07:002022-07-15T17:37:28.340-07:00Sometimes<p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Sometimes a fire grows so bright that you can't stand the heat. You trample it out of fear and live <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>with the embers. For the embers are bright enough; emit enough light to last a lifetime. You stand <span> </span><span> </span>in the awesome power of the embers, so thankful for the warmth. Surely, this fire will never go out.</span><br /></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span>He tells you it won't. It's different. You know it's not, but you let him teach you the lie. He knows its a lie <span> </span><span> </span>too, but you're only a child and can't handle the truth. So he gazes into your eyes and plays prince <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>charming. Such a beautiful sacrifice, to let one's fire burn out for another. You didn't know you were <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>supposed to be fanning the flames.</span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span>When you realize, it's too late. You walk out to the campfire after a beautiful night of rain and see the embers smoking, not smoldering. You still don't believe it. </span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span>"It just needs a little fuel," you tell yourself. "It's stronger than that, surely..."</span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span>So you add the fuel. And you cling. And you devolve into merely a shadow of your former self. You're <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>ready now, to fan the fire, but it's far too late. The fire went out years ago while you were preoccupied <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>with yourself. There's no reviving it now. You start to wonder if the fire ever burned, or if that was just your imagination again. Have you always been alone?</span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span>The fire won't light. So you stand outside. And cry in the rain.</span></p>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-58650800139446032042021-12-10T21:09:00.008-08:002021-12-10T21:17:45.391-08:00Emotionally Homeless<p style="text-align: left;"> </p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I don’t belong here. I wake up every day in a state </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">that I don’t know, </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">that I don’t belong in. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">In 2011 I tried to make my life better by giving it away. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’m in CA. I could go back to Michigan </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">but my life there is gone; I gave it away.</span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’ve never felt so alone. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">You don’t know what it’s like to be a toxic POS. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">To ruin everything </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">you touch. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">You don’t know </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre;">what it’s like when the only thing </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre;">you could possibly do</span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre;"> to make people’s lives better is to leave </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">them alone. When everything you touch turns</span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> to shit. When you show your love by insults and </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">abuse.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-acc94fc0-7fff-1942-419f-9a0b4592e711" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">“You don’t have to act like this. You haven’t in the past.” </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The excuse is gone. How do I tell them I don’t have control? </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">That I simply just… Do.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I know it’s not what you want, but I have to go. Paradoxically, </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">the only way I can ensure you get </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre;">proper treatment is to leave. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre;">Who loses then? Me. Always. It’s always me. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre;">Is it what I deserve?</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’m so tired of always losing. Some days I wake up </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">happy and feel accomplished. Other days I </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">wake up scared and alone, wondering where</span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> the fuck I am, and who the fuck these people are </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">that don’t even know me.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But I’m here now, and I don’t have a choice. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">No home to go to. No one to tell. If I do, it’s I’m </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">“being dramatic”, “stop being such an idiot”, “</span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">You don’t care about me” “I don’t understand you”</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">“You’re acting like a child.”</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I don’t belong in this world, and I don’t want to be. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I didn’t want to be born. I’d think I somehow </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">ended up in the wrong place, but</span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> I don’t think God would make such a mistake.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I know my purpose isn’t to suffer, yet it seems my </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">purpose is only to harm those that I care about. </span></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I don’t want to be here anymore.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I want to go home.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> But I don’t </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">have</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> a home; </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I gave it away years ago.</span></p>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-72858186705722289282021-09-05T18:32:00.007-07:002021-09-07T17:22:46.275-07:00Sole Holder of Memories<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: white; font-family: arial;">Sole Holder of Memories</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-4862f415-7fff-4743-fec2-89d63c0a4a95" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sole Holder of Memories</span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Remember when we were standing on my back porch in Jamaica, drinking Red Stripe at night, and that cockroach flew in out of nowhere and smacked me right in the face?” We’d both laugh. It’s getting harder to remember the sound of your laughter.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I hated the things, but it happened so quickly that I didn’t even have time to be upset before it was over. I processed it myself after the fact while laughing it off; likely smoking a Cravin’ A Cigarette.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When people serve in the Peace Corps, it’s not actually a 2 year experience like most colloquially think.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It’s 2 years and 3 months. It’s two years at your ‘post’, but before that you spend 3 months in country training, before you’re cut loose. Within those three months, you become bonded to your fellow volunteers. You didn’t get to pick your captives, but if you get lucky enough, each one becomes utterly unforgettable; irreplaceable. Our group was tightly bonded.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When you get your site assignment, that’s when the nerves really kick in. What site did you get? Did you get a more urban setting like you requested? How close are you to the airport, the ocean? What route will you take into town to visit the office? But most importantly, who in the hell is somewhat close to you, and are you happy with who that is?</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I lucked out in getting the placement I did, in St. Ann’s Bay. At least I think so. I was right on the north coast; 2 blocks walking distance from the ocean. The bus ride to town would only be about 3 hours. I was an hour from MoBay and 20 minutes from Ochi, a huge tourist destination. Ochi would become my reprieve when I was overwhelmed. Could always go to Ochi and blend in. Until I’d go into the shop to buy a pack of Cravin’ A’s, or haggle down an American taxed taxi fare.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“You’re not a tourist; you live here.” </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“You’re right” I’d say, “Tanks. Ya (h)ear?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Alright. Ok. Bless.”</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Each group on island shares the island with the previous group. I was in group 82. Ross and Tina were in group 81. You came later. You were in group 83. My first year was shared with group 81, and boy did they take care of me. The initial meeting was such a sigh of relief. Finally a chance to ask a fellow more seasoned volunteer what the hell I was supposed to be doing. “How do I pay my electric bill?” You could always text. Phone credit in JA is not cheap, but all volunteers had free call and text to each other within the phone plan that was worked out. This became invaluable. “You remember when Charlie did X?” I’d hear an 81-er say. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Who’s that?” I’d ask.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Oh, that was a 79-er.” they’d say with wistful nostalgia. “He was awesome.” I don’t know who that is. I likely never will.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I remember when Tina took me to the market, to “her girl”. Now I knew where and how to buy my produce. Another sigh of relief. Now I knew how to flag a taxi, and how to ask for a stop.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Driva. One stop up a Middle St.” The car barreling forward at 80 mph would stop at Middle Street like I asked, and people would make room for me to climb over them to exit.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After my first year, Group 81 finished out their service and went home. I remember the last hangouts, the last hugs, the last drinks, and the last tears. Re-integrating into American society is harder than integrating into your host country, TEN fold. No one back “home” knows the first thing about you anymore, or how to relate or how to talk to you. Everyone’s moved on; lives have changed and rearranged. Your ‘place’ no longer exists, and so you have to try to make a new one.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When group 83 came, I was leary. “Who are these people?” I’d ask myself. These aren’t MY people. I’ll have to start all over again. But whoever it is, whoever I get in my town I’ll have to take care of. It’s the right thing to do, 81 did it for me. They’ll be my responsibility, and in this lonely barren place, I welcome that. I look forward to meeting you.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When I met you, you weren’t what I was expecting. You were a bit younger than me, and were beautiful with long dark wavy hair. You had the body of a model, and I was intimidated. In my head I thought, what brought you here? You don’t seem like a misfit or a reject like I often felt. You must be one of the well adjusted volunteers who’ll have an easy time, but never leave their house, only talk to other Americans, and keep up a stock pile of Nutella.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I don’t know what you thought of me, but I probably came across as cool and experienced and safe. That’s how my friends in group 81 appeared to me. Through you I learned that even the pretty girls have problems. An obvious thing. I never realized how immature I was until I lived in Jamaica. And while there I was on a collision course. I was a mess, just a ball of action acting, without much thought. That was my strategy; that’s how I survived the incredible mind fuck that it is to try to assimilate into a completely foreign culture. You’ll start to think you get it, then realize you know absolutely nothing. </span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I loved coming over to your house, Ross and Tina’s old house. I felt such comfort with you, and through our walks and talks we built our bond, and I began to love you. I still remember the day you told me I was your best friend. I didn’t realize the gravity. I didn’t realize the honor.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry you got stuck with such a horrible influence and disaster of an elder volunteer. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong. I’m sorry I stayed with a man that did the things he did, which caused us to fall out, and for me to have my last 8 months taken from me. I’m sorry I got pulled out early. I’m sorry I left you alone.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I’m sorry it took me so long to learn, and I’m sorry it seemed like you may have followed in my awful sinkhole footsteps. We do stupid things when we’re isolated, lonely and confused.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I reached out to you; you didn’t want to talk. I don’t blame you. I said things I wish I hadn’t. “How can you live a meaningful life with no belief in a higher power?” I asked. I was disrespectful. And the next thing I knew? You were transformed. You were no longer the same person. The girl who didn’t believe in marriage was married. The girl who didn’t believe in God was a devout church goer. I wasn’t mad at you. Of course you weren’t the same; none of us were; I never expected you to be.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was just so happy to read your words, that you began speaking to me again and wanted me back in your life. You were back now, in the US. You moved to Tennessee. You were a teacher. We had so much to talk about. We made plans to arrange to talk on the phone, to catch up. I wanted to hear everything, every insignificant detail, every perception you made, every conclusion you had drawn, every situation you had deduced. You were SO smart. You always were. I was still deep in my trauma, but a part of me came back to life when I read your email that you forgave me. I couldn’t wait to talk to you again.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The call never came to be. When I found out you passed away, I was at work, with my students. I remember reading the headlines: twice. Your husband passed away? That's awful! I must move up the call; reach out! My brain flatout refused to process what I was reading correctly. I messaged a mutual friend. “Stephanie died?”</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Yes.” I was told. “It’s awful.”</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Even though you were safe back home, you were in Jamaica when it happened, which somehow feels fitting, and somehow makes it hurt more. It was a car accident. You died likely instantly.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“I never want to die.” You told me years before. We were sitting in your living room, listening to the sounds outside.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Really?” My clinical depression asked the question.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Yeah.” you said. “Life is awesome. If I could live forever, I would.”</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I thought this was childish at the time. I heard your words again in your voice while I read that headline.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I miss you so much. I think about you nearly every day. You were my best friend too, though I didn’t realize it at the time. I can’t think too long or the pain becomes just too much to bear. And I feel responsible. I know that’s illogical. But I was 82 and you were 83. And I WASN’T there.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">So now I hold those memories, our memories, swimming in the ocean, our walk into the shopping district through the back way, through the hospital and the horses. The drinks on your porch and mine. You dyed my hair, we cried over boys. I hold those memories tight, I cling to them as if they will no longer exist if I let go. For I am the sole holder of those memories, you were the only other one there. And they’re so precious to me; I’ll tell you again one day, when I’m there.</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Remember when we were standing on my back porch in Jamaica?”</span></span></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Life is awesome. If I could live forever, I would.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It’s getting harder to remember the sound of your laughter.</span></span></p>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-62522631632999917292019-11-08T00:26:00.001-08:002019-11-14T23:26:14.803-08:00It's me; I'm ma'am.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've got a growth on my eyebrow. It hurts when I touch it. I should look it up, incase it's dangerous. Just to stay on top of things. It's good to stay on top of things.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's not a growth. Maybe it's from the VR headset that I wore yesterday for a paid study. My neck hurts, and my shoulders. The headset was much heavier than I thought it would be. But I managed to keep my head level. At first I didn't think I was going to be able to, that I would embarrass myself. But I did it. I held my head level. And I followed all of the researcher's directions. I did good, I think with pride. Because I followed directions. If nothing else, I can listen and I can follow directions. I've prided myself on that, because if nothing else.<br />
<br />
Not everyone can, you know, follow directions. I learned this when I was working in Juvenile Detention. And I prided myself on my ability to, because if nothing else, I could be useful. All I’ve ever wanted out of life is to be useful. If nothing else. At 37, it no longer feels like enough.<br />
<br />
I went grocery shopping late at night. While in line with way more things than I should be buying, I let a couple of guys go before me. They each only had one item. There was a lady in front of me with some bags in her cart and three random items. She got out of line.<br />
<br />
The cashier inquires, can I ask you a question?<br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
Can you go look for that lady with the bags in her cart outside, and tell her to come here?<br />
<br />
Oh, that crazy-looking lady?<br />
<br />
The young cashier giggles. The guy behind me snorts. I feel good. I said what everyone was thinking, for sure, and I made them laugh. I've still got my charm.<br />
<br />
I go outside and I can't find her. I see the cashier and I tell her so. She's gone.<br />
<br />
I just wanted to ask her a question, she says as she works the line by herself. I wanted to know why she's not up here.<br />
<br />
Oh, she works here?<br />
<br />
Yeah.<br />
<br />
She works there. I didn't say something funny or clever. I'm not a cool girl, who you think you might want to be friends with. I'm not even a girl, I'm a lady. I'M the crazy lady.<br />
<br />
"Ma'am" is a difficult word for me. When I was younger, it was said to me a couple of times and I smirked. I wasn't old enough to be a ma'm. In my twenties I looked young for my age, in my early thirties, I was mistaken for 25. I liked it, but I never thought too much about it. I should have thought more about it. If nothing else.<br />
<br />
I never knew it would be so hard.<br />
<br />
"Ma'm" is a woman or lady. She's not a girl, or a chick, she's older. Maybe not OLD old, but she's old. She's instantly dismissed, and always out of touch. She's called "ma'am" as a curtesy, as to not offend her, by girls and boys, and men and women alike. She's not someone you would ask about music advice, or where the cool spots are in town. She's just some lady. I'M just some lady.<br />
<br />
It's hard not to think back on all the wasted years. If I could only go back to being a pretentious twenty-two year old fuck, I could do it all over again differently. The thoughts are painful, and so bittersweet. There's no going back. And besides, the daydreams fade when I remember that I'm lazy, and that I sure really did love poison. It would be like a B-List version of 'Groundhog's Day' with a MUCH much lower budget, and horrible acting. And the main character would be perpetually drunk or hung-over. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.<br />
<br />
I should have enjoyed it more, being young.<br />
<br />
If nothing else.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-54898759524578438792013-01-25T23:51:00.000-08:002013-01-25T23:51:02.128-08:00.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
And when he told me to turn the music off, that it was making him think too much, I thought to myself that I just wanted him to sink down under the blanket with me, and that deep down I feel we all have some terrible suffereing that needs to be comforted. I mean, its painful to be alive, right? But what the hell does that say about me?<br /><br />#seachange.</div>
ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-27140422091210738342012-10-08T13:18:00.000-07:002019-11-14T23:32:36.885-08:00Beauty is As Beauty Does<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
...</div>
ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-21307058752770836282011-07-31T15:14:00.000-07:002011-07-31T15:17:44.072-07:00Blip on the radar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You were my blip on the radar, radar-\</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Just short of passing, shooting star.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You were my timing to get it right-\</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You were my landing, in cold fright, its alright..</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'll never see you again I am sure of that now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And it getting easier scares me somehow</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like I want to stay the same, or lose my brain</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like a firefly in a masquito net</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like a trip on a wire.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like a cage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like- </span></div>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-6890817577060846532011-07-29T19:08:00.000-07:002011-07-29T19:10:47.128-07:00Jamaica.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm in Jamaica, yet Japan still calls me. It's strange to be called by a place you have never been; might not ever be. In and out of my mind, a constant stream of thoughts of Japan. Why? And no, I don't think that's why.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The sound of the TV from the other room is a constant reminder of human connection. My family is watching that 70's show. I am using wireless internet. I am tan. I am in Jamaica.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Jamaica is beautiful. The mountains are green; houses protrude from the sides; make amazing views on verandas. The clouds wisp in and out, cause fog in your sight, the rain falls, slow drops at first, then a tropical rain. The people walk down the street slowly. If you greet them, they usually respond warmly. Sometimes they just stare.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sometimes I don't even know how I got here. My life feels unreal, yet my time here has just begun. I am thankful that I enjoy my own company.</span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It is wonderful to begin to know a place. A place other than my home. My old home. Jamaica, I am home. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
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</div>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-80565429472186947292011-05-10T00:27:00.000-07:002011-05-10T00:27:44.006-07:00Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Time is strange. It passes differently for all of us. Yet, it still passes. At the same rate.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I don't know why I do the things I do. Sometimes I do, but usually I end up mystifying myself... Until time passes, and then I see the why.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Why? This is why it is important for us to trust ourselves. For only we really have our best interests at heart. Not because others are untrue, but because no one else knows ourselves like we do.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I sit here watching the minutes tick by, asking God for sleep. Yet it is here, if I want it. It is me that keeps me up at night; my own restless mind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">For at night come the racing thoughts. The ones I refuse to not listen to; not think. Others take the easy way out. The smarter way really...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">They watch tv until they pass out, complacent with its' hum. Not me. That's cheating. But not the sleeping pills I take that hardly ever work anymore. Not to me. I lay here, or sit here, and listen to the silence, my thoughts weaving in and out of it like water. I do not disturb myself; disturb myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">It's all part of my ever present flux. Flux in time, flux in space. For where else are we ever really? Than existing inside of our own minds?</span></div>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-46451673359677291262011-04-15T23:38:00.000-07:002011-04-15T23:38:57.728-07:00When Enough is Enough.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Living dichotomy, short of lobotomy, two in one is not always more fun-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Studying psychology, I'll leave an anthology, under the same sun, life's just begun.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And I don't know how he does it, how he manages to be just exactly what I need-</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I asked for some space, I asked for the place, and he came to meet me just short of God speed..</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And I wish it weren't this way with him right now. He is like a prism; the mutli-facets almost even line up with mine...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And if I were to stay here, I'd almost more certainly be leaving him behind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But I accept it, and honor it. My love.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I am scared to go. On with him, and out of the country... But I am happy. He makes me happy. And right about now... That's just exactly enough.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></div>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-19243994340595178172011-03-10T21:19:00.000-08:002011-03-10T21:19:41.960-08:0015 days<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Restless as hell.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Holding cell.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Pay no mind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">to your own kind.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Believe in nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Faith is everything.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Seems like I'm setting myself up again...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">To fall, or for a fall. Can't tell anything yet. Losing it. Can't sleep. Can't be productive. Can't even watch TV.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And for what? For a slap in the face? Positive or negative it's still just stress.. And how can I put it all on your shoulders? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What do you think about? Who are you? Do I even want to know?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">2 weeks left. My stomach hurts. It's going to be a long 15 days.</span></div>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-69032166441398346522011-01-30T21:05:00.000-08:002011-01-30T21:05:58.752-08:00Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I get reality, and unreality. But what is it that lies between? That's where I now reside. Its a hazy place. Its a beautiful place too. Trouble is, reality and unreality have not forgot about you. And both are still pulling at you. You can't ever hide.<br />
<br />
I could wait for the other shoe to drop. But it maybe already has. Or did. Or never did. I won't ever know the difference. I have to hold it down. I told him I could. <br />
<br />
<br />
</div>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-62014943462393416102011-01-30T00:41:00.001-08:002011-01-30T00:41:16.575-08:00Love.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">And even in his pain he found a way to give.<br />
<br />
I will always remember him for giving to me, and showing me so much kindness. He needed me, and I helped him with his wounds. In return, he gave to me, and showered me with his love. Can love really ever be cheap?<br />
<br />
No. Love is something to be cherished, and appreciated. If someone gives you love, please don't ever take it lightly. Don't ever be me. Take it, and reciprocate it, and always understand what it is. Do not assume it is ever more or any less that what it is.<br />
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The world is vast. Do not limit yourself. Love may come from and where you least expect it. It may come from convoluted reasons; it may seem unwarranted. But still, love it is.<br />
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"Love is like an airplane", to quote Sean Lennon. "You jump and then you pray. The lucky ones remain. In the clouds for days. If this is just a dream, which of us is dreaming, and who will wake up screaming". He taught me how to love again.<br />
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And now, I follow his lead. And its scary, and it may take me to terrifying places. But I trust him, even though he'd hate me saying that. Do I believe him? No, but I believe IN him. And isn't that whats more important, what really matters?<br />
<br />
"I feel this way", and he says "I know." Its not out of pretention, its actually out of understanding. He knows what it is to love. And he's also teaching me.</div>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-90486957802429292482010-06-22T11:06:00.000-07:002010-06-22T11:09:20.358-07:00what to doIts a dog eat dog world and Im caught in the riptide; railroad tie, run and hide. I'd call you but its probably not a good idea; we'd hate each other in minutes; abuse substances, go home empty. I've been there too many times.<br />
<br />
So as the sun shines midday, the only light i see besides sometimes dawn when I stay up for it, I wonder the path I choose to wander, and mingle with my sadness. Tomorrows a new day, but we both know it will stay the same.ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-69452062047370624702010-05-26T23:29:00.000-07:002010-05-26T23:29:39.091-07:00PCSo, it's done. I've officially signed up for the Peace Corps. Spoke to a recruiter. There will be more paper work to do, and then... That's it. 27 months I will be out of the country. I'm finally getting out of here! Wish me luck, lovelies...ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-30597284058796525622010-03-17T01:30:00.000-07:002010-03-17T01:30:07.530-07:00Been a Minuteits been a while since I've posted. I thought I might give up on this thing. I never did take the time to learn how to use it. But I'll keep keeping on. I started my first novel the other day. Its not the first time I've started a novel... But I feel way differently about this one. Its entitled 'Not For All The Willow Trees In The World'. The main character's name is Jade. And she is a badass..! I'm rlly excited about it. Can't work on music right now, but I'm kinda glad. Because I'm working on another life goal.. Dominican Republic in..... less than a month..!<br />
<br />
<br />
{pieces}ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-90706782394460849962010-03-17T01:25:00.000-07:002010-03-17T01:25:00.824-07:00Four Pillows On My BedI got 4 pillows on my bed. 4 pillows, and only 1 head.<br />
<br />
When it comes to sleeping, I use 2. I use 2, the rest could be for you.<br />
<br />
I got 4 pillows on my bed. 4 pillows, and lonely instead.ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-10506275039742848722010-01-12T19:37:00.000-08:002010-01-12T19:37:02.574-08:00???Does the mark imply the question, or the question imply the mark...??ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-38576703158664101672010-01-12T19:32:00.000-08:002010-01-12T19:32:31.697-08:00UnusualPassing lane, passing out.<br />
<br />
Passing frame, laughing bout.<br />
<br />
Languid menace, dispatched dentist,<br />
Its gonna be a long night.ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-79325741152731590772010-01-10T02:08:00.000-08:002010-01-10T02:09:32.304-08:00<object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fpoW90bckgs&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fpoW90bckgs&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-54663865558329760102010-01-09T21:06:00.000-08:002010-01-09T21:10:26.346-08:00Travel<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Dream big, dream small.. Dare to dream at all.</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I exist in my dreams, go everywhere I want to. Don't feel small; feel small.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I see the road, I read the willows, the light bounces, reflection..</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I am at peace, I am peace.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">And all the while, I wonder when I will get there. When i will feel there.</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">When I will begin there.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Foreign friend, you know so much more than them, you don't know me at all.</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Maybe someday, when i finally get there. Maybe when I'm half way across the world I'll be right here.. Maybe I'll be away. No way to know.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Only one way to know.</span>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-69219480970558545372010-01-08T23:41:00.001-08:002019-11-14T23:41:12.419-08:00Decadence is a Picket Fence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Decadence is a picket fence.<br />
<br />
Decadence is a picket fence! I screamed, and for all it really was that intense, for it IS actually if you think about it. I mean really think about, fall out, fall in, fall in-between in some sort of outward show of appearances, disappearances, wayward constructivist...<br />
<br />
It’s all a fabrication. Of unification.<br />
<br />
For the two could never co-exist, only hope to happenstance. Awkward glace, much fear, no elegance. To the fall. Spring to the fall.<br />
<br />
And God how I miss the sun! And God how I miss myself. So, so happy together. Fatal happiness. I swear to you, I’ll make it right.</div>
ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-89294276792205590742010-01-08T23:28:00.000-08:002010-01-08T23:29:41.402-08:00Life of PencilThe Pencil was going over.<br /><br /><br />Overboard, falling onto it’s multi-faceted sides, plodding along in its’ awkward role, casually extending to tumble over the edge. <br /><br />Kai woke up.<br /><br />“It’s been over an hour”, he thought to himself. Reaching out his right arm, Kai snagged the wayward pencil in mid-descend. “What am I going to do?”<br /><br />It had been three years since Kai had left his hometown in rural Pennsylvania on his somewhat now tired dream of ultimate fulfillment. He sat now in a worn out seat in a hospital waiting area. Back after three years away. Back to Pennsylvania.<br /><br />When his Aunt Mabel had called him a week earlier Kai had hardly been able to make out the words between the sobs, but he didn’t need to hear them. He already knew. It was time. Mom.<br /><br />Kai’s mother had been sick for a long time. The cancer had started in her liver, and had been moving slowly up through her body over the course of the latter part of the year. “She’ll get better.” He had thought, but from the beginning the prognosis was grim. Kai had been planning a move back home, but now there wasn’t enough time. His denial had kept him away, living in a safe little retreat of ignorance and false logic. And now… <br /><br />He just couldn’t face the truth. MOM.<br /><br />Kai’s head snapped up as the doors to his mothers’ room opened. The doctor walked out. He walked toward Kai in a slow, mechanical manner. His head was bowed. When he got to where Kai was seated he couldn’t look him in the eye.<br /><br />“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” said Dr.. What was that? Brown? Kai wasn’t listening to the doctor, he was trying to read his name tag, but the edge was obscured by the doctor’s scrubs, he just couldn’t see the very edge, he was sure he could read it if the doctor would only just move an inch to the left, just a small baby step. Hell, even just change the way he was standing; sway a little to the side..<br /><br />The doctor did move. He grabbed Kai’s shoulder. <br /> “I know it’s difficult, but you need to listen”. Dr. Brownstone said. The problem was, Kai already had. It had been hard over the falling sensation in his body, but he had heard. Kai’s world was falling apart. <br /> Shaking, Kai snapped the pencil in half, stood up, turned, and walked away.ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-55880983779616787062010-01-08T23:16:00.000-08:002010-01-08T23:17:33.066-08:00Letter to an Ex<span style="font-size: 14pt; font-family: "Courier New";">I am not insane. For years I thought I was, and that is nothing to do with you. But now I know.. I am a lot of things. I am in flux. I am damage. I am self sacrifice. I am dramatic.. But I am not however, entirely insane.</span><!--EndFragment-->ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6010216116585506105.post-14272659513691493122010-01-08T23:02:00.000-08:002010-01-08T23:04:10.442-08:00Life of Counselor<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">"Ask 'What do you feel like?'" She said, head tilting in that thoughtful way, side stepping across the questions, embracing the agonizing comments, interruptions, misinterpretations....</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Ask Not What you know. Not that it matters.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Hall of help; long winded therapist, analyzing glance out of the office; sideways is special, it often works. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Like all eyes are on you, and you are entrusted to make everyone else feel that way too...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">It’s not a question of ignorance, not a mistake of misfortune, or ill intent. Its a way to exist as a blanket, or bridge, getting muddy from the footsteps we brush them off, smile rapturously with that funny little leprechaun mischief.. Embrace for the break; tense against the strain. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Sticks and stones; but the words are the real problem, cutting in at just the right angle, making you second guess, but grow stronger.......?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I have not yet broken. But I honestly wonder when.</span>ewokhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14635068919148951989noreply@blogger.com0