A Missive in Memoriam

I hear you Now.
In songs.
The ones you repeatedly asked
That I listen to Then.

When we were in that Then,
You were entirely too easily
Dismissed.

We had degraded by Then.
Ignoring you had become this:
Reflexive Response.

I hear you Now.
It’s hard not to
In the Aftermath.

I hear You, explained
In themes.

Themes that I see
You did speak,
Just not clearly to me.

I Choose to think
You coded yourself,
In some odd protection,
Of what you knew as
The inevitable gutting of me.

I.e., “My Self Righteous Suicide.”

I don’t even know the title of that song,
Don’t know who wrote it either…
But I know that line.

And I hated that song.

For so many Snobbish Reasons.
Like its cheesie-over-played-mainstreaminess.
…its ridiculous lyrics.

And you were asking me to hear it,
Which made me think you:
All of the above too.
Degrading us further.

Now:
I foolishly play this scene… Setting snobbery aside, I listen.
I relentlessly beat the fucking sense back into you.
Yet I can’t even imagine this foolish scene with an ignorant me.
With a me Not Knowing:
It would make no difference.
Wrath would only prove fruitless.
I can’t look back now without this highly, Obvious knowledge:

–That Dumbass Song–

Would continue,
The oncoming, unavoidable, end of you.

And you chose it.

Peek-A-Boo, Back Again…

It took me a while but I finally got around to cleaning this “Blog” up. For those of you who have followed me since last summer, you will see that I chose to leave some poems up; however, I have taken down all of my short stories. I simply feel that it is in my best interest as an aspiring writer who does want to publish those pieces, and I am in the process of trying to do so.

The poems I chose to leave are very old ones and to me they feel very much like they were written by another person. My life has changed dramatically, in several different ways, over the past ten or more years. I have a trove of such poems and I may post more of them over time, but I don’t know yet. That will require some careful self-editing. For the most part though I simply don’t consider myself to be a poet, my focus is definitely on my prose work, and that is clearly the work I want to protect most.

So what can you now expect from me here? I hope to continue entertaining you through my fumbling approach at blogging. I will continue posting photo’s, as photography is just a hobby and I am not at all concerned about those photo’s. So basically, a plethora of rambling life accompanied by amateur photography.

; ) It should be fun… hopefully interesting. Time will tell.

Thank you to all of you for your continued support of my fledgling little blog here. And a very special thanks to the new followers I managed to pick up in my extended, password-protected absence. I was in the process of moving from Spartanburg, South Carolina to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. I have only been here in my new home for two weeks now, but I have some posts in progress about all that happened in my virtual silence. I will get them to you as soon as I can. I still have a house to unpack and put together though. And I am in my second trimester of my first pregnancy, so… as much as I want to be active on here and give you something new as often as possible, I simply cannot make any promises at this time. But I will try.

I realize how very much this sounds like the typical words of a procrastinating writer, and that would be because I am still a  procrastinating writer. I ain’t (yep, I said “ain’t”) afraid to admit that. It is an issue I struggle with daily. I feel guilty for not writing everyday but the guilt is not enough to drive me to my computer and pound the stuff out. It’s there, plenty of it, I am simply lazy. And still afraid of both succeeding and failing at the same damn time.

Simply the truth.

When things get settled more in my life and order is restored, it should improve. It will. (It was brought to my attention years ago by a counselor–a very wise counselor named Wayne I was blessed with crossing the path of–that I handicap myself with my words. For instance, the 1st sentence in this paragraph. I said: it should get better, leaving myself a possible out in the word “should.” So to be more assertive, I quickly remembered Wayne and corrected myself with: “It Will.”)

I will get over my lazy ass fears. ; )

And my over-use of Passive Voice, I am aware of it, so annoying.

Jeff’s Return to the Water.

I spread those ashes that I’ve been selfishly harboring for five years now. It was liberating… for the most part. My friend Hellen made this journey with me, we share this odd bond. She was his girlfriend before me. They had been apart for a couple of months by the time Jeff and I met one another but before that, she had spent eight years of her life with him. I felt, just as I did the day he died, it was only fitting that she be there. It was quit perfect, she brought her two very young children, Clara-3 and Israel-5 respectively, along with us. They certainly lightened the mood.

I haven’t told you all that I am pregnant. Yes, two months along now. So considering the new life in me it was a day of new beginnings.

Over the years since Jeff’s passing and throughout and beyond the anger of it all, I have come to view Jeff more as a best friend than a love. I admit, I cannot deny it, there were too many people there to witness the pedestal I put him on for a good two years; I loved him madly in my grief. The thing about that though is that he passed so ultimately, unexpected–to me at least, there was one person who actually said to me “How could you not see this coming?”–I never had a chance to hate him in life, or even get mad at him really for anything all that permanent, we were truly best friends.

And to answer that ungodly rude question that no one should ever ask of a grieving woman: I didn’t see it coming because I was the one that drug his ass through three months of sobriety. I was the one who sat for hours on end, on lockdown in my bedroom, and listened as he broke with the regret for all that he had done. Things he had been too high in the past to even really see, the things that he stayed high to avoid feeling. I was there for that. So no, I didn’t see it coming. I had hope. I believed in Jeff.

On a lighter note: It was pretty amazing to watch those ashes as they hit the water of the falls he loved and turn oddly enough from gray back to the color of skin as they dissolved into the fast-moving waters. That I did not expect either. And I unfortunately did not get a picture of that to show you that I am not lying, nor exaggerating this experience. It was life affirming in that way I have of believing that once energy is created it cannot be destroyed.

But then Hellen and her kids left me alone at the bottom of the falls, Israel had found a rock he just had to climb because as he whispered –very secretively to me– he is an undercover super hero in training. As I sat there alone and watched that water rushing past with no evidence of the ashes left I was struck with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. It hit me that I was leaving him there, in that cold, where the sun was setting. A wilderness where darkness is truly darkness.

Yet I know Jeff still and that realization didn’t really upset me, because I know that his return to the water he so loved was the last release that will carry him far from the darkness that plagued him as he inhabited a physical form. The stars will lead him, he will follow. And tonight I believe that Jeff has finally found his way to that weightless state we sought here, but could never truly keep.

Goodbye Jeff. May the heavens greet you warmly, friend.

 

The Inspirational Blogger Award

I received an email yesterday informing me that I was nominated by one of my own readers, Dear Ms. Migraine, for the Inspirational Blogger Award here on WordPress. If you have not read any of her work, she’s pretty darn interesting and her “About Me” page is enough to crack anybody up–especially those of us who have dealt in any way with higher education. She is relatable and funny, and she is an Inspirational Blogger; so for me to be nominated by her for this award was flattering to say the least, I was speechless when I realized it really. That may seem silly to some of you seasoned WordPresser’s but please remember, I have only been here “attempting” this since last Summer.

You can find Ms. Migraine here: dearmsmigraine.com

Part of this Award requires that I now tell you 7 Deadly Sins, no I’m kidding, 7 things about myself and then nominate 15 bloggers that I read… I also have to display the award Plaque-thingy–which could get interesting–but I will get it.

First the easy part…

7 Things About Me:

1) I agree thoroughly with Dorothy Parker, a lot of you may have noticed, but especially on this: “I hate writing, but I love having written.”

2) It was a hard lesson for me to learn that strangers would pay more attention and be more engaging here, with me and my work, than my own friends and family.

3) My life is all over the place, literally my husband and I are living in two different states. I have had to return to living with my parents which makes me feel as though I’ve stepped back in time to some terrible, wretched place, and amid all of this I am trying to finish my last 2 classes for my BFA… it isn’t a very conducive environment for new, original, creative work. But I’ve tried, I’ve had no choice as one of those classes requires it. ; )

4) I went for my very first job interview a few weeks ago within the field of journalism–that was interesting–it was with the H.R. rep. of a small paper in the Gettysburg, PA area where I will eventually land with my husband at the end of this month. I think she agreed to meet with me–because I made it clear in my cover letter that I was just trying to get my name out & about, I could not begin work anywhere until Dec.–just to show, or tell me everything I did wrong. I admit–all the time if your friends with me on Facebook–that I hit send too quickly, which results in me sending off messages and posting things publicly that are riddled with typo’s. It is a huge pet peeve, you would think I would’ve learned, but it still happens. I get excited about something–the prospect of getting to meet with who I thought was the Editor, prime example–and I shoot off a reply without thoroughly proofing it first. And I don’t exactly trust spellcheck, I know better.

This one is gonna need two paragraphs: Yet it was just something in this lady’s tone of voice, I don’t know maybe the condescending smile too, that made me feel like she was enjoying herself a bit too much. I had to bite my tongue throughout the entire meeting with her and at one point, I was so offended by her demeanor, that I couldn’t help it: I actually stood, popped right out of my seat and had to force myself not to go any further. The irony is not at all lost on me, someone fresh out of school, applying for a job–any entry-level job–at a paper and allowing typo’s to get by in their messages with the newspaper rep. However, if I had been in her place: I hope to hell that my personality and “way with words” would not make the interviewee feel repulsed to the point of having to force themselves to remain in the room with me, to stay and not just walk right out of the room. Much as my physical body was compelling me to do…

5) I don’t trust spellcheck.

6) I believe I will probably end up, much to the chagrin of my degree and mentors, working in some plant while I write in my own spare time.

7) I still believe in Literature and I really don’t care about “best sellers.” Which is why I will probably end up working in a plant.

The 15 Bloggers I admire & read, who I would like to nominate as “Inspirational Bloggers,” for this award:

1) My Dead Son’s Journals
2) Kit’s Shutter Moxie
3) Canadian Hiking Photography
4) awakeningpsyche
5)  My CupKeiki
6) Momaiku
7) Literary Litanies
8) Atelier/C157
9) Literature and Libation
10) adoptingjames
11) Sofie’s Diary
12) The Mighty F
13)  Whit B Nimble
14) Ruminations on Love and Lunchmeat
15) Mama’s Been Drinkin

Very Inspiring Blogger Award Rules

1.Display the award logo on your blog.
2.Link back to the person who nominated you.
3.State 7 things about yourself.
4.Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award and link to them.
5.Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award’s requirements.

The Junk of Methods

I’ve seen the cotton grow,
Expanding in bitterness.
From soft serene purity
To soaking wet with sickness.

I’ve seen it grow white,
I’ve seen it grow brown,
I’ve seen it as I stuck it
And drew my sickness out.

And from there I’ve seen the sickness
Vile within the vial,
And I couldn’t wait to stick it,
And push it,
To feel it coursing toward my smile.

To raise me,
To still me,
That I might make it
Just one more mile.

I’ve seen the cotton grow
–Dirt–
Discarded in our methods,
Discarded in our dreams:
Our broke down,
Beat down,
Terminated dreams.

The Plague of Runaway Brain

I suppose I should –I don’t know– stagger these posts better, but whatever…

I am plagued. I am, by so many things… thoughts that  intrude upon me out of nowhere, they blast themselves loudly into my head, they are old memories.. things that happened heinously, situations I have yet to find the courage within me to write out though I know I have to, eventually. Why? To do the private –unshared– work in progress the justice it deserves.

These are stories, memories, I have tried so hard for so long to just block & forget, yet they come to me now like they happened yesterday, vivid in their clarity, purpose, defiant in their meaning about what they represent.

They come too, misshapen and at odds –with even themselves– in my dreams, magnified in ways obscene to the truth of what they actually are: moments that occurred, things that happened long ago that should not have… to anyone, ever.

You’re probably thinking, what wretched things has she done that could bother her so?

More than I’d –clearly– like to admit… however, it isn’t so much what I did, these plaguing memories, it is more the things that happened to me, or us… as we were trying –best we knew how– to just live without dying. Maybe the circumstances we put ourselves in were more conducive to one dying than living, but I can say for myself: That’s not at all what I ever intended.

I always knew myself too well and I knew that in that world: I would not remain.