I saw my friend, her face reflected in the ocean.
It showed her more twisted and ugly than I had seen in years.
I have seen all of my friends twist in the tide.
The others were blinded by the sun on the sand. They were unable to
see what was happening.
I have lost something that I could never put my finger on, but I always needed.
It pulls the very breath out from under my lungs. It rips the shoes off my feet and fills them with sand. My heels are worn bloody from not wearing socks.
Sometimes the ocean gives breath and life. It's salty kisses, heal the wounds of bug bites, broken hearts and city burn-out. I've grown accustomed to the ocean giving and revitalizing.
I saw myself reflected in the ocean and knew at that moment that it had
taken a piece of my soul. It is jarring when you realize that it's no longer a one way relationship.
The ocean wanted to take and I wanted to take. The ocean always wins.
For two days I have been on the verge of tears and yet of the three people
who are closest to me, only one cared to find out why.
I feel sunburnt and out of place in the city. Why am I here?
Everything comes and goes in waves. I want to build a sand castle all by myself. I want everyone to leave me alone. I need to wait for the ocean to forgive me.
I fear, I can never go back.
My time has passed and I have dropped the torch.
Oh twisted one, it is yours to pick up.
I love you, no matter how grotesque you become.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Photo by Carrie Thomas
Today is a fingerpainting day.
It's too cold and rainy to go outside and play.
It's a day to bake cupcakes and make paper airplanes,
to watch the droplets collecting on the window panes.
Today is the morning after
when the booze and laughter has faded
It still echoes in your ears and bleeds through
all that you hear.
Today is the day that I will pull myself together
despite headaches and bad weather.
Yes, today is a fingerpainting day.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Photo by Carrie Thomas
I remember knocking over a china vase while fighting with my sister. It was probably the 5th grade. I remember getting super glue and piecing it back together to cover all traces of our sin. My mother used to say that we couldn't have nice things. I think that I was a big part of this.
I remember staining the carpet with bleach. I had white shoes that I wore to gymnastics and they had turned an earthy shade of brown. I took a bottle of bleach and cotton balls and sat Indian-style on the carpet, dapping the bleach on the offending spots. I was so proud of my accomplishment until I looked down at the half dollar sized circles of bleached carpet. I grabbed magic markers and shoe polish to try and fix the mistake, but I was found out. My mother was furious. I had to sit in a chair without moving until my father got home. I think this was the last time in my life that my father whipped me with a belt.
I was standing in line this week at the post office, listening to music when the sound stopped pumping into my left ear. I discovered that my nice headphones, a christmas gift had started to come apart due more than likely to the rigors of abuse that I have inflicted on them. For the last week, I have been listening to music through one ear. The strange thing is that I feel like I can hear what should be coming through the broken headphone, but it's just in my head. I'm completing a circuit like an amputee who feels the need to scratch a limb that is no longer there. Yes, We just can't have nice things
Chris Garneau has the face and voice of an angel.
He is easy on the eyes and ears. It is rare that
I am drawn to male musicians. I'm mostly captivated by the ladies.
This video for his song Relief tugs at my tender little heart.
May it tug on yours as well.
Most of us stumble through life on crutches of various types. For some it is booze and cigarettes. For others it porn and pixie sticks.
I would say that I have an addictive personality, but I think that to be human is to be drawn to addiction.
I lived with a girl who ate a very strict diet, obsessive. She would steam greens to go with her long grain rice and miso soup. She would criticize me with her nose held high as I fired up the skillet for fried pork chops and butter drenched mashed potatoes. Secretly she had a stash of twinkies and ding dongs in her room. She would binge on sugar and chocolate full of preservatives and then sob alone in her room, consumed by her secret sin. I would find the wrappers, little clear pieces of evidence exposing her daily crimes.
When I was 24 years old, the floor fell out from under me. I wanted to die. After 4 1/2 years, my relationship was over. I had lost my job. I was broke and felt so desperately alone. I found that drowning my sorrows in booze was the only way that I could bare to even breath the air. Every little thing brought me to tears. I screamed. I stayed in bed all day. I played my guitar on the street for loose change to buy food but more often a drink. I needed something, anything to numb the pain. I thought my life was over.
Slowly, with time all wounds heal leaving scar tissue that is tougher than the soft untouched baby skin that was there before the trauma. I am covered in scars. It is a blessing to have been cut deep. As I have healed, my drinking as gotten more and more manageable but has still been a crutch, a way to numb. I think that there is a comfort in habit. There is something soothing about a cigarette and a beer to calm the nerves. It is nice however to take a moment and experience clarity.
I think that I will always be a drinker. I don't know if I would have been able to make it through some of the trauma without a bit of numbing. I know that if I hadn't been able to express myself with song, I would be dead. I'm addicted to music. It is my #1 addiction. Everything else is habit.
I had quit smoking 3 years ago after a pack a day habit that somehow crept its way back into my life recently. Today, it is 9 days since I have had a cigarette and almost 3 weeks since I've had a drink of alcohol. Oddly, It's been calming. I feel very zen and upbeat. It's nice to step away from my habits for a while.
I'm not standing up in front of a group of people in an awful VFW hall basement with flourescent lighting that gives everyone a hue of sickly green. I'm not reciting the serenity prayer or gleaming with pride that I was given some sort of pin, the human equivillant of a dog biscuit for learning a new trick. I have merely sent my liver on a vacation as it has served me well in many a war and deserves some recouperation before being sent into battle again.
I'm thinking of going back to Yoga. Apparently it's what I'm supposed to do now that I have become so centered and filled with clarity, free of habits and addictions.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Oh Adam Zyglis,
How I love your political cartoons.
Check out more of Adam Zyglis' work at Adamzyglis.com
And while we're on the subject of politics. Check out this article from the Huffington Post. It's all about...
This disgusts me.