Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Alone

Alone doesn't mean "not with other people."
I have experienced alone.
Alone is when you are utterly isolated in mind and soul.
Alone is like an oceanless beach, dry and safe,
but without danger, what is "safe"?
When you are alone in body, you can dance and be yourself.
It's only when the others arrive that you hole yourself away
where you can hide in plain sight.
Some have wondered what the weight of the soul is.
Alone can give you that answer.
It is as large-heavy-dense as you need it to be in order to escape.
Alone is not bad.
It is you as you know yourself.
It doesn't mean "no friends".
It can mean no peers.
It can mean retreating until you feel
you can share who you are.
Alone is reached by yourself,
an independent achievement.
Alone is okay.

Monday, November 29, 2010

What's a guy to do?

POV: Caring guy with new girlfriend.

Well, today started out like any other day. I woke up, had some coffee, took a shower, and went out for a walk to calm my nerves.
Today was not normal, however.
Today, I was to meet my girlfriend's mother.
I was too jittery from the coffee to sit and watch TV, but too anxious to take another walk. Instead, I tried to pick out my clothes to wear for the visit. Casual? Business? Business-casual? I didn't want to be seen as a bum, nor did I want to be all tuxed up and ready to go.
At 1:00pm, the doorbell rang. It was my girlfriend.
"What the hell are you doing?!" she roared, "You were supposed to meet me and Mom for lunch at 12!"
"B-But-"
"C'mon!" She growled as she dragged me out the door.
When we arrived at her mother's purple-shuttered, daisy-gardened house my shoes came untied.
First I tied the Converse, then I tied the Aldo. All gussied up...
Suddenly, the front door swung wide open with a bang! "Well, hello dears..."
Why, her mother was a nice lady! "Come in, come in," she said sweetly. My girlfriend (ignoring my choice of clothing) walked right in. All I could do was saunter in apologetically and take the proferred armchair. Mother-dear poured us all a glass of tea in flowered china (How quaint!) and seated herself across the narrow coffee table. The paisley wallpaper danced across the bungalow's walls and the neatly vacuumed yellow rugs fuzzily tantalized my shod feet.
That's when I noticed the gun rack.
Mother-dear motioned to her daughter who immediately made a B-line for the kitchen.
And that is when my hell began.
CRASH! The coffee table shook from Mother-dear's (I now noticed) hefty fists. She stared me in the eye, pointed at the gun rack, and then at a strange tattoo on her bulked up forearm- a bunch of acorns.
"This," she menacingly hissed, "is a record. All the nuts who broke her heart...? Well, I ripped out theirs! DON'T BE THE NEXT ONE!"
"Now, you walk her home, buy her an engagment ring, and treat her right...
... or else."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I woke up, I started my day like any other day...

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Simplicity

A quiet drop still ripples in a busy pond.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

A letter

Good-bye you evil harpie, you wicked witch.
I won't miss you.
If I do feel a twinge of regret, I absolutely refuse to acknowledge it!
You laughed at my normalcy, my life as I knew it. You dragged me off of the deep-end, and until my eyeball was pressed against the bottom drain, you had me so deceived that I still called you friend.
Because of you, little things are what makes the crazy come out. Today, in fact, I laughed and teared-up hysterically because the boy on the intercom sounded like Spongebob. Everyone was being normal, like usual, and I just couldn't stop laughing.
It's all because of you.
Because of you, when I'm brushing my teeth, I make strange faces and end up choking on toothpaste because of my laughter. Every time I giggle, chuckle, laugh, guffaw, hoo-rah I think of you.
You have poisoned my life.
I get strange looks. Me-the serious one, because of seeming bouts of insanity. Sometimes people laugh at me- and I join in.
Because of you, people claim that I've lightened up, have learned to live life to the fullest.
Because of you, get this, I've become "a better person."
And it's all because of you.
Thank you.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

To write

Have you ever watched someone write?
Have you ever identified those born calligraphic, with their long liquid strokes, holding the pen like a delicate canary bone, creating art with every waltzing dance of their wrist?
How about those who are destined writers, with their fevered devotion to the words spilling onto the page, with no care to the formation of individual letters, just an energy and tempo so intent?
Have you ever watched those who never learned the fluent language that wrists share with fingers, which translate to the foreign language of the pen? They bend over the paper, fists clenched about the pen, with their mouths agape as they clumsily transfer their thoughts doggedly and with much effort.
Strong hands, soft palms, angled wrists, fingers bent just-so.
Writing might be one of the characteristics of advanced society, but it would be nothing were it not for the thick, thin, strong, weak wrists which faithfully translate thoughts shallow and profound.
These are beautiful things.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Over again

I am so glad I've started my life over again. To be given a crack at happiness is like having been imprisoned for millenia and finally having your chains fall away.
Away.
Away is where I moved to, after a short good-bye to a life filled with strife. Those days are simply unpleasant memories, never forgotten but vestigial. Seldom ever do people recognize a second chance until it is far too late to act on the offer.
I was lucky.
In starting over again, I have experienced no pain post partum. All membranes of attachment have been dissolved, and I have been able to live free and happy. I am no longer a refugee from life.
I am alive.