If you can’t spit it out before the driveway, just keep it to yourself. Forever. November 9, 2009

“three minutes left
if there’s anything you
want to say… you’ve got
three minutes… nothing? oKay
then.” the last exit.  the turn left.
torrents of smoke dance and shimmy like
ghosts above each chimney. two hands
on the wheel.  emergency brake
(symbolic?) divides us. we
are on sides. just three
minutes to decide. to
speak. to speak.
to speak.

there’s trees.
and leaves. and lies.
I plea on behalf of bodies 
and bark, headlights and dark.
i’m sinking further into the wet
ground- mouths melt hot and I’m falling
like Alice… drink me. trip on
roots. trip on the moon. put
my fingers into my mouth-
baby spoons dig, unearth
this girl who speaks
who speaks who
speaks too many words.

After a snowy early morning run at the end of 2008.  I actually remember this morning very, very well.  I’ve taken a pain pill for the horrible way my body feels this evening- I need sleep.  My spine feels wrung out.  I think it’s making me a little sleepy and sad- crazy and imaginative.  My bed is a pirate ship; we sail out at daybreak and ride through the painted sky on swollen clouds.  Night night.

That Band has a Chick Bassist! October 7, 2009

I used to play bass.  I was more or less the wifey/girlfriend who was skeptically taught to play in order to fill a slot.  Let’s just say someone didn’t have ‘bass’ on their Christmas list but got a bass any way. LOL.  Mediocre sums up my ability at best AND that was many years ago; I’ve not had the slightest inclination to pick up the instrument.   Nope- that gig is over.  Then I get asked to stand in for one “show” in 2 weeks a few days ago by an old forgotten-about band   I’m thinking about it, but better not think long because I’d have to reacquaint myself with the Fender PB in the meantime.  It makes me laugh thinking about it.  In a way, it really doesn’t matter how I sound… everyone loves seeing a chick in a dude band!  This morning I uncovered an old photo, the only one I could find, of me ‘rocking out’ .  Try to contain yourselves- this was ten years ago (the Korn and Limp Bizkit Era, my friends) and yes, I was serious about the shiny electric blue button-up shirt.  (I was also carrying some pounds and that seems to be all I can focus on)…

In the same batch of albums from that year, 1999, was a pic of me at the terrible anniversary Woodstock Festival- I can laugh about it now- it was AWFUL- we all fought, I got severe burns that required a doctor’s visit and antibiotics… it was just sleepless and I missed my kids.  Anyway, you hear people talking about their early twenties as being some kind of prime-time, but I like NOW much, much better- how I look, how I feel…  early twenties sucked!

 

1999- burnt, silly and tongue-pierced (and I look high, but I’m not!)

2009- Domesticated

And that’s that.  Hate to change the mood, but I gotta stick some poetry up here soon.  Address?  I didn’t think so- wasn’t holding my breath.  Tonight I’m going to take something to make me foggy so I can sleep and won’t feel sick so I can return to work without my head feeling like it’s sliding off if its skull, so wish me sweet dreams.  (Then again, thinking about this upcoming marathon in ELEVEN DAYS is likely to give me nightmares- I’ve not run in 3 days.)  More blah blah blahing tomorrow.

Breaking and Entering October 1, 2009

I’m longing for some old fashioned breaking and entering- criminal mischief of the investigative kind.  My mom, usually the co-conspirator.  I was digging around on my old blog to see what I was doing years ago at this time and came to my Oct 2, 2006 post.  I LOVE this house we broke into.  Anyone recognize it?  Well, here’s my old post…. because like F. Scott Fitzgerald describes, I’m always “being borne back ceaselessly into the past”…   Not much changes- running, feeling better.

Ohhhh…ahhhh…that’s better.  Where have you been, lost friend? I’m feeling much, much, better, thank you. Autumn is settling her bones around here; exoskeletons in mass graves amongst the dying crab grass. I’ve been running these evening, against time, in a frantic way… as if october’s spiny fingers are at my back urging me on, crunching the battlefield leaves and onward into the white gory of winter. Look up Sunny Day Real Estate. Listen. cry. whatever…hey, you do what you like, okay? I’ve been exploring haunted houses. Well, hopefully (haunted, that is). We broke into (my mother, aunt, dale) a personal obsession of mine on Third Street in Connellsville. Enchanting…the things that permeate my sleeping subconsious. For every nineteenth century home that I walk through, I momentarily become those former inhabitants. Silly, I know. I belong to another time, that’s certain.