the problem with wishing...
what good is a wish if it does nothing but break your heart to pieces. distracted questions shapeshifting within paragraphs of a forced empathy. they dangle it before your eyes & surely thinking you are caught by their slender-throated lies, they leap like stubborn dogs, mad in the head, howling without dignity. these stillborn shadows, they emptied my heart and left me horizontally carved, lurching backwards, fading into the lush dark of the abyss.
so, what good is a wish?
that hopeless anachronism
tethered to an unbelievable upsurge of emotion, i find myself exquisitely corrupted by angst. you've heard it right. i am enraged. but i am fine. i am dandy. as a matter of fact, i've soaked my rage by tucking my head to my breast. i am holding it there. steady. intact. there, it will grow. and i ...read more
To Follow the Wind
I have been e-mailing a lot of friends lately. It is not because I have stories to tell. Itís not because I have great news to share. Itís mainly because I am bored out of my skull. And yes, I somehow feel that we are sailing further and further away not just from our homeport but from humanity. I somehow imagine myself leaving a thread of the human race. So there goes the lamest excuse probably known to mankind.
It has just been over two weeks since the last time I was on land, but it seems like itís been forever already. I miss the touch of concrete on my feet. I miss the feel of grass stuck on my toes. I miss the sound of cars in the middle of the night driving by our house.
When a sailor is out to sea ---- and that sailor has been gone for quite some time and is in the middle of nothing but vast ocean, she would think of things to communicate with other human beings to remind herself that yes, they are not alone. That yes, they are still a part of that civilization and thereís a world out there waiting for their return. And that thought, no matter how simple it is, will always bring a smile to her face.
Dreaming my Way
Lately I find myself dreaming of winning the lottery (donít we all?). I drool thinking of hitting the mother lode of all. I am talking about millions and millions of dollars here. $83 million, to be precise. Bloody hell! That's a lotta money. Anyhoo, If I ever get lucky enough to hit that big ...read more
Death to your God
We have no cable at home (no, I am not jesting) for over ten years now. For other people, we are a conundrum. They just couldn't fathom the idea of us not having the broadcast telly in our household. Every so often when people learn that we do not have cable at all, their jaws drop in utter disbelief and then it is followed right away by the question "What do you guys do?". What do we do? We read, that's what. Books. That's our addiction. With books we do not get to be bombarded by stupid and monotonous commercials. Oh, they are so irritating. We do not have to stare forever at that glowing box. We do not have to keep on pressing the remote control just to end up watching some mediocre, mind-numbing soap operas. I hate all that shit!
I think it's hilarious when you realize people are so attached to the idiot box that they think it's the end of the world without it. Most of our acquaintances look at us like we're from Planet Mars just because we DO NOT own that manipulative contraption they call television that everybody raves about.
I really do not care. I know one thing. I am happy with my choice. And I will hold on to that exhilarating feeling of freedom that I am quite proud of. I do not and will not bow down to that one-eyed-god!
A distasteful mental stagnation creeps up on you. An unbearable emptiness thrums inside you. It does not let up. You wonder why the voracious need to crawl away from the world lingers. And deep in your heart you know that the fractious energy you used to have is gone. It melted a long time ago.
Now you feel like a candle ready to get blown out any time soon.
Day after day you rage and try to find your vigor, your willingness to laugh at silly things, your vivacious inquisitiveness, and your youth. You are hoping that they would rouse in you the desire to deliciously consume your passion for lifeÖ once again.
But the more you try, the harder you find everything to accomplish.
At the end of the day, you have to admit that you have now become a complete clichť in this world.
So. Here I am facing this monstrous feeling of pshycological chaos. I have been trying to start this blog about my grandma, but the usual spontaneity in my writing escapes me tonight. It is sheer hell summoning up my Muse. I am afraid she faded in the abyss of awkward silence. What a pity. I hope there is no permanence to this. I wish she'd come again with her swaggering audacity that I indubitably adore. Yeah. Maybe later tonight or tomorrow or the next day. There but for the grace of god I hate writer's blocks!
There is nothing more beautiful on a quiet night than watching the yellow moon, round and low, as it untangles itself, silently, uncomplicatedly, from the branches of a tree. Caught by the succulent glow of the night, by an upsurge of roaring joy, you pause as you fill your lungs with the exhilarating cool, crisp air. The city sleeps in utter silence. Tonight especially it is so poignant it brings a spasm of swooning seductiveness to your sated heart.
Yesterday morning it felt incredibly good waking up to the soft touch of the yellow sun on my face. Through the parted curtains in our bedroom window I saw the pale sky ribbed with glittering clouds, the long line of interminable pines on the sidewalk were slightly stirred by the morning breeze, the glorious smell of spring was in the air --- half-awake, still. A bessoted sigh escaped my lips as I gloriously said good bye to the thoughts of a bleached world. There, next to my husband, I wished with all my heart that winter has finally faded this year.
A Decadent Addiction
This craving that I almost always have: to mutter, to scream, to write, to bleed words is so strong, so intense, so insistent that I sometimes feel like I will explode if I let everything go by without jotting down the wonderful things, the exquisite words or the stinging and biting rhetoric that I happen to hear in my everyday engagements. My mind goes numb as I urticate trying to find the right consonants and vowels in my head. Yes, it is a constant struggle --- gathering all the abbreviated thoughts I mean to write. But when everything has been written down, when everything is said and done, that's when I get to enjoy the god-like satisfaction of writing.
And silently, oh so silently, I listen to the liberating sound of my thudding heart.