Universal Mind

Same

2012-01-21T09:34:00.000Z

Nothing new to report, here. The weather is strange, though. Foggy, and in the 40's. An unusual number of tornadoes, for this season.

I awoke somewhere around 5:00 a.m., today. Rude, as I'd promised myself and announced to everyone within earshot, that I was going to sleep until I was ready to get up, today. My body and my mind obviously have different ideas about what "ready to get up" means. The brain went straight to the job issues. Lovely.

There are a zillion things I need to do, today. A priority would be to get my car worked on. Another would be to do some laundry and grocery shopping. Something I need to do, but is not urgent, is to color my roots and get a hair cut. I so wish I could find someone who can cut my hair in a style that I don't have to screw with to make it presentable.

At around 8:30 p.m., or somewhere within 2 hours +/- that hour, I have to pick up my eldest son from the school. He's on a trip to TN, for an ROTC drill meet. At least I think I have to pick him up. He mentioned something about his dad going on the trip, if he didn't have to work, but that was never confirmed. I love the communication.

The other adult in this house is still asleep. The day is getting away, and I still haven't showered or eaten breakfast. I need to get on it.

The Truth Is...

2012-01-16T20:17:00.003Z

I could tell you that I have an idiot brother,
Who doesn't eat anything but boxed mac n cheese,
Or that my aunt was an eccentric movie star,
Who would only wear pink and sequins.
I could say that I have a house in Canada,
That I go to, for secret weekend assignments.
A place where you can look out the window
And see the clouds beneath the treetops.
I could tell you that on New Year's Eve,
It is my tradition to eat sand crabs, from Spain,
And they taste just like dirt,
But they have spiritual significance.
I potentially might maybe have an extra bone
In each ear, that makes my hearing ultra keen.
So, I can hear conversations from next door,
Through the walls, sometimes.
And speaking of walls, there might be some
Top secret documents pasted behind the drywall
In the back of my bedroom closet,
Behind the gray and black portions of my wardrobe.
I might have a chip in my head
That tells me when there is a sale on at Spencer's,
And it might tell me a lot of other things, too -
Such as which dogs at the pet store are sickly
And which ones will be hardy and loyal.
Maybe one year, I lost both of my pinky toenails
In freefall accidents - but I didn't bump my head.
Perhaps the light bulbs in my home emit
A certain spectrum that makes it possible
For me to see inside your mind
And know your soul's wishes.

But, no.
The truth is, I did very little, today.
And I have a vivid imagination.
The honest truth is just, I love you.

Lot

2011-09-09T08:12:00.004Z

Yesterday, I went to the drugstore to drop off a 'script. When I returned to my car, a dude was sitting in an old, beat up, black Toyota pickup. He was gray-headed, though almost bald. Rough looking. Whiskers. Smoking a cigarette. He looked mad, and guilty. By the time I was behind my driver's seat, and looked up again, there was another dude, about my age (mid-forties, maybe younger), standing beside his driver door, talking on a cell phone. The truck dude was obviously listening in on the call. I get a feeling somebody's physician quit writing pain killer 'scripts; and now he's using up his buddy's. Highly likely. Sad. Not only that the guy is potentially hooked on narcotics; but that he seems so miserable, and not proud of himself.

Constant

2011-08-12T12:36:00.003Z

We are not digitally enhanced.
Our spirit comes, unedited,
Even if we have been physically remolded.
One can sense the energy.

True, some wear blinders,
Either subconsciously or not.
Deception is a cruel use of energy;
Tainted output.

Positive forces frighten us, though.
Looking at the light too long
Makes one apprehensive;
As if we undergo an endurance test.

How long can we keep this goodness?
When everything we see dies,
Or drifts out of our visual range,
It feels like we are undeserving.

Nothing, yet everything, "belongs" to us.
How can one realize, we are what we lose?
We are the adored pet, family member,
Icon, or object that passes into another frame.

We are that movement, that change.
Being stuck, clinging to a moment,
And how things seem to be,
Doesn't allow flow, progress, growth.

So, this moment, I will let it be.
I will hold all in the palm of my hand,
And feel the changes, and wonder
Why I even have to try.

What It's Like

2011-06-20T23:02:00.002Z

Ask me what it's like to dress down, not to draw too much attention. There are so many reasons. Not that I care what anyone thinks; but I care that how they think will affect others. I can't be distracting folks, making them ask questions in their minds, and amongst others. I know too many people. I know how they feel, because it's how I'd feel. I don't want them judging. If I dress up, take what I want, it has to mean that someone else can't have it. So, let them think they have it all. Maybe they'll be quiet. I just want them to be quiet.

Ask me how it feels not to wear perfume, or lipstick, not to wear a mask. To be exposed, so I can hide. Is this me? Where am I? What are they?

Ask me, "What is your passion?" The search for truth is my passion. But look around. Everything is what it is. The truth is, no one can be true.

Sue

2011-06-18T15:02:00.001Z

Saturday morning
On your call list
All about you
I don't exist
My whole life
I'm no good daughter
Mother or wife
I won't resist
I don't exist

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Blowhard?

2011-05-02T12:05:00.002Z

Who is afraid of a country that sits on it's ass, posting and re-posting news that's been heard, read and imposed many times over?

Anybody notice that you can't go anywhere or read anything without seeing a button or tab for a social media network? Ever think about WHY?

While some are busy doing nothing to produce anything positive, or to take care of their own, there are still those out there who feel it's their purpose to rid the earth of what they honestly believe to be useless wastes of air and land. Those joiners and followers are making it so very easy for them, playing into their hands. Showing them how right they are about this country.

Some of us joined the social networks, so we could be...well...social. What does that mean, really, anymore? I thought it was about loving, caring, helping people. Friends. Alas, it seems that some are not in it for the compassion, but for the opportunity to hear themselves talk, or to read themselves writing something that's already out there. To cluck, cluck, cluck, like a bunch of hens about the egg so-and-so just laid. Like there has never, nor will ever be another egg.

To thank a political leader in this country for something that it has taken countless individuals to accomplish, shows a real lack of insight. As a U.S. Citizen, you have paid those fuckers to do this job. It came out of your earnings. They didn't do this as a favor. They sit on expensive furniture, and eat expensive meals, pretty regularly, and you pay them to do it. Who's paying you? What are you doing?

In this country, we are supposed to have choices. Choices about what to watch, what to read, what to do with our time. I do not watch "Idol," and can't imagine why, even if I did, I would want to read about every thing that was happening on said show, as it was happening, on a fucking SOCIAL NETWORK. I would watch the fucking TV, that someone paid for, that is probably not in many ways at all recyclable, that probably causes fucking autism.

I guess it must be comforting, on some level, to people who hate real life so much, to sit around on a social network, clucking...about...fucking...nothing. I guess that way, they won't notice when someone who's actually done something, out of some sort of PURPOSE drops a big fat fucking bomb on their neighborhood, to delete their consuming, bullshit ass.

When, when, when will people realize that to balance that hatred, there has to be a collective of LOVE? Stop advertising for the maniacs.

House Post

2011-02-22T21:34:00.003Z

Almost two months after I resigned from my job, I am finally feeling like my house is MY house. After living here for just over eight years, I have finally found some peace in this dwelling. It is more to me now than just a place to sleep, do laundry, eat, bathe and check my e-mail. Even though the serenity is limited to alone time (i.e. the times when kids are at school, and the husband is sleeping - he works nights; and when the husband is at work, and the kids are in bed), it's still there. My brain took two whole months to settle down.

I worked in the financial field for ten and a half years, and none of it was ever comfortable or peaceful for me. I'd come home, and be thinking about work, while still having to run a household. It is also my responsibility to manage the finances at home, so I literally have been a round-the-clock financial person for that long. It has always fallen naturally to me, to do the finances at home. For whatever reason, perhaps my attention to detail, I attract people who can't keep a check register and/or have a poor concept of money. While working, and trying to raise a family, I was also schooling myself for the financial licenses. That took about seven years, having to do book study, between helping with homework and trying to be a wife and mother. All that, and still the job only paid enough for me to just stay out of the poor house. Enough was enough. I needed to get ME back.

I haven't felt at "home" in my own house, since about 1998, when my ex-husband and I started living in separate rooms - a trend that exists in my current home, with my current husband. I don't seem to have the wifely instinct. How can a person have any domestic capability, when their brain is always "working"? When any vacation time taken for the actual paying job, is spent with in-laws, on their schedule. When there is no meaningful connection or conversation with a partner, no time for friends, or no quality time alone.

Two and a half months to finally figure out, again, what it is I like to do. Me. There's a me. A me who's pretty decent. In retrospect - like WAY retro - I was pretty cool. I didn't know it then, but I was.

Just in time to start looking for another job. I'm going to take my time about it, this time. Every job I've ever taken has been done in desperation for money to pay bills. Never was there a conversation with me about what I WANTED to do with my life. Never was there a college fund, to set me on my path. It is up to me, in the end, to take responsibility for what I do. So, this time, I'm taking it slow. I'm not going to settle. I refuse to be pushed into doing a job that makes me so uncomfortable that I feel like throwing up all the time, just so I can make money to pay bills, because I have a family to feed, clothe and house. Because, really, I just made myself sick doing that. The blood pressure, the meds, the stress. Forget about it. Fagetaboutit. I gotta make this ME feeling stick. I gotta make the serenity feeling stay, or at least be very readily accessible. It's up to me.

Haunted

2011-02-04T15:15:00.002Z

What do you do, when there are black holes in your past, and suddenly in your early 40's, you begin to remember them being the equivalent of a V.C. Andrews series? What happens to you? I'd be interested to know how this manifests itself in others. With me, it's been a lifetime of unexplained phenomena, like ghostly experiences, rages, depression, sleep walking, repeated failed relationships. Here's the upshot ^

A Yammering Bit of Prose

2011-01-19T16:23:00.003Z

I started writing this just to see how many words I could actually write, as my word processing program has a tool that counts the words in your document. Up to this point I have (32) words.
I've always been fascinated by words. It's probably because they are symbols, and the human mind craves symbols. That's what your dreams are made of; pictures of things are actually symbols of different aspects of your life, and in your dreams, you use these symbols to create and solve scenarios that you consciously don't want to or have the required atmosphere to do. I believe that most of our incapability to do this in our waking life is due in large part to having to deal with life, which is - ironically - what makes all the symbols we use to deal with our emotions, which are - ironically - created by all those situations in life that make the pictures. It's a huge circle/cycle that we do each day. Our brain uses everything we feel emotionally, see, touch smell, hear and taste to help us function without whacking off someone else's head that contains a brain doing the same as ours. The difference being that we are not all on the same time frame as far as our brain symbolism process; thus creating conflict. There is a reason we don't connect to the "mainframe" of consciousness like we probably did before humans actually existed as we do today, but I haven't deciphered that part of it, yet. I do know if we did that there would be no war, famine, etc. Unfortunately, certain humans contain personality traits (mostly in my opinion created by a lack of using their brain symbolism [hereinafter referred to as "brains"] to its optimum capacity) that just irk other humans (the ones who DO use their brains). The only explanation I have for this utter faux pas of creation is that we also have a spirit - or soul if you will. We all know that there are good spirits and bad spirits. We all also should know that good and bad are very relative terms and we all have our own ideas (or symbols) as to what those terms mean. This is largely created by our physical makeup, but I think we also inherit soul or spirit traits from our ancestors. Some psychiatrists or other doctors of the mind may call it a chemical disorder. Well, that may be true as we are all made up of chemicals. But what makes the chemical disorder to begin with? And, isn't the term "disorder" here also relative?
I suppose in some countries it may be perfectly fine to just chop your neighbor's head off for mowing at a ridiculous hour on a Saturday morning. Perhaps some countries don't een recognize Saturday at all. I've also heard that it's considered and insult in some Asian countries if you DON'T belch loudly at the end of a meal. How completely absurd! But, burps are also relative. I mean to say that if someone lets one rip during a church sermon or a board meeting, it isn't the same at all as if he or she were to say a loud, "WHAAAAWWWWP!!!" in the middle of an outdoor heavy metal concert, right? (This is all surely uninteresting to most. However, I've now written 556 words; incredible.)
So, now that I am pretty sure I've figured out one of life's little mysteries, what to do with it? We certainly can't make others think as we do, or symbolize as we do. Do you ever wonder or care to wonder what the original symbolism was? Well, I've read and tend to believe that it was probably all just a big, white light in the beginning, and there were no other pictures or sounds. As a result, I imagine there were no problems with belching or not belching after a meal or during a sermon or meeting.
I imagine there were no problems with persons jingling their coins in their pockets as they paced back and forth across the floor in front of an otherwise productive individual, causing them great distress in that they could not rip that obnoxious bowel sphincter's head off of his neck and throw it out the second story window of an old building. There are probably people who can work under such conditions. I am not one of those people, and I tend to think that there is something wrong with me that I cannot concentrate on my intentions while there are others about. Then, I think that there would be something wrong with me if I weren't forced by my nature to pay attention to that person, as that person could be carrying a pistol and happen to be inclined to use it. Or, that person may actually have something interesting and beneficial to share with me verbally. Or, perhaps their pants may fall down and they'd be wearing their mother's undergarments. I may be overly observant, but SOME people might appreciate that if I, while they went about their business unawares, were to save everyone's life at work by noticing a grenade flying through the window and landing on the office floor, and screaming, "GET DOWN!" or something like that. Yes, we all have our flows, but they are just as relative as everything else in the physical world. This is little comfort.
What I want to know is, where are the minds of the under observant people? What are they thinking, and why isn't their adrenaline pumping into overdrive when what's-his-name is pacing and jingling coinage? I wish I could just tap into that chemical as needed, instead of having to visit some doctor and paying them hard-earned (or distracted-earned) money and having to swallow a pill daily. Who can remember to do that - what with watching for grenades and for the pants to fall down off of jingling pacers? Really! I have important things to look out for. How can I be expected to add yet another chore - another symbol - to my daily routine? The pill would be one more thing to dream about.
What does a pill symbolize? Well, it could be any number of things, depending upon its size and color, and also the context of the pill dream. For instance: A large red pill. The pill represents a cure, usually. So there's a remedy needed for whatever other symbols the brain happens to be using. It being large would tell me that the cure was sorely needed. The pill being red would tell me that it was in direct correlation to my health or emotions, or that I was digesting a warning delivered to me in the forms of a pill that I could "swallow." Has anyone ever tried to warn you of something and you just wouldn't listen? Hence the term "It was more than I could swallow." Taking the pill in the dream would possibly represent ingesting the advice of a loved one or close friend without actually having to consciously admit it. Yes, without dreams, how could we live at all? We would surely go bonkers in little time.
If you've ever been truly sleep deprived, you will know what the beginning of bonkers is like. Bonkers, of course - as all else is - being relative. There are people on this great big rock we call Earth that have practiced, since before anyone really knows, religions that use sleep deprivation, as well as fasting, as a means to create an altered state in which they can more readily experience the spirit world. There are those among us, also, who like to take LSD to get similar effects. LSD is costly (and can land you in the hospital or the clink); less food is less costly; less sleep is usually free and becoming more and more abundant from what I have heard (but also could land you in hospital or clink under certain circumstances). The key is moderation, caution, and common sense - common sense being the very thing our dreams are made of.
I've heard some folks say the don't dream. Well, I will tell you right here and now that when folks say that to me, I want to run the other direction very fast. If they're not dreaming, they're either crazy or dead. I've enough things to watch for in regular life (grenades, strange underwear), without having to deal with crazies or zombies. Sometimes I think I do actually deal with crazies and zombies in my capacity as customer service person...but they're "always right?" (1,430 words).
Let's just go back and analyze that term "common sense" for a moment. Okay, let me do it, then. Common - other words for common: ordinary, everyday, shared (among others). Sense - other words for sense: intelligence, meaning, feeling (among others). Just look in your thesaurus for all the things these words mean, and you will see that we all share a common knowledge of some sort. Some use it, some don't. I like to think I do. If I could only get some of that quick and easy calmness chemical to flow freely through my common sense, I'd be just about perfect, I think. There are people out there who do have this ability. Those are people who lose their driver's licenses and keys often. Perhaps being calm inhibits your short term memory. Maybe we're all overworked, overstressed and under-entertained. That would be a logical explanation for this particular mar in the human psyche. I say we go to the afternoon siesta system. We could stay up later and party more if we were more rested throughout the day. It would prevent burnout, or at least delay it in a big way.
Of course, there are some people who ingest so much caffeine during their waking hours that they get nothing accomplished besides pacing in front of the desks of otherwise productive individuals.... See what I mean? It's the big cycle/circle. You could point your finger nine ways to Sunday and still you'd have it turn back around and point you right in the nose. It's really a lot to think about. There is no reason for anyone in the world to ever be bored. If they'd spend time contemplating these things, they'd worry less about other things. Then, like me, they'd have huge piles of laundry and dirty floors.

Samantha Shirreffs
Saturday, October 2, 2004
(1,740 words)

Pool

2011-01-06T16:59:00.003Z

I am reclined on a strapped deck chair,
Aside a postage stamp pool.
Here you come, through the aluminum gate
With your easy stance, your crumpled hat,
And your beautiful, amazing, unequivocal smile.
You've unknowingly encapsulated me.
I feel naked and cocooned, all at once.
I join you in the water,
Staying out of your self-made lane.
I decide to watch your blurred figure
Through liquid lenses.
The way your eyes look bigger and bigger
As you get closer -
A grade school metamorphosis film flashback -
Makes me laugh.
I choke, being forced to remember
Laughing under water
Doesn't work.
There is your gaze, again,
And we are so at ease,
And yet
So tightly wound.

Dreams

2010-10-31T12:44:00.002Z

Night before last, I dreamed I was at a party on a huge lawn. There were vendor tents. It was dark, and the tents and table areas were lit with candles. I was talking to a couple in their '60's. We were discussing stars. I looked up into the sky, and there were so many tight clusters of stars that the sky was almost bright.

Last night, I dreamed I was living in an apartment complex. The doors were inside, like a hotel. We had a neighbor who was about 3.5 years older than me, and single. The walls in his apartment were made of plexiglass. His bed was surrounded by a 3-foot plexiglass wall, and immersed in water. He was in bed, I was kneeling beside this wall, talking to him about his birthday, and asking him why he was single. He had blond hair and blue eyes. Suddenly, we were in a garage, and he was Jack Black. He was sitting on a stool, and I was sitting on the concrete. The feelings here were intimate. I was distracted by a car pulling into the neighbor's driveway across the street. It was a '70's model car, aqua blue, and an elderly person was driving it. They pulled into their garage and closed the garage door. For a minute there was no more sound or activity. Then, something made me look over again, at the garage. I noticed flames around the old car. I ran over to an open door beside the garage door, ran in, opened the driver's door, and there was the old lady, gasping and whimpering, on fire, clutching her purse to her chest. I pulled her out, and we were suddenly back in my garage. I rolled her and patted her, all the while uttering calming words to her. Under her dress, there was more fire. I was afraid we would have to strip her to get all the flames out. I guess finally I got her taken care of. There was never any explosion from the burning car across the street, so I suppose that was also extinguished.

GOSSIP - My Sermon for the Masses

2010-10-17T12:27:00.000Z

I am frankly bored with so many "Christians" (one in particular) gossiping and causing hurt. Don't thump your Bible at me unless you plan to READ and UNDERSTAND what it's telling you! All of it, not just the parts you pick out that please you. The church is full of more hypocrites than any other place, which is why I quit attending (and I used to be very active in my church). I don't want to hear other people's stories from you, anymore. If you truly believe, get on your knees to beg forgiveness of your God, or you are going to that place you call hell. Remember, he knows your heart. Better hope he doesn't show up at your door while you're in one of your hen sessions. How's that for a sermon?
Leviticus 19:16 – “Do not go about spreading slander among your people. Do not do anything that endangers your neighbor’s life. I am the Lord.” (NIV) Proverbs 11:13 – “A gossip betrays a confidence, but a trustworthy man keeps a secret.” (NIV) Romans 1:29 – “They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice. They are gossips.” (NIV) 1 Timothy 5:13 – “Besides, they get into the habit of being idle and going about from house to house. And not only do they become idlers, but also gossips and busybodies, saying things they ought not to.” (NIV) Matthew 7:1 – “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.” (NIV) Proverbs 18:8 – “The words of gossip are like choice morsels; they go down to a man’s inmost parts.” (NIV)

All I Need

2010-10-04T14:21:00.003Z

When I feel a need,
I feel conflict and confusion,
Because I cannot understand
This need.
Why - when I'm fairly healthy,
Have wits, some gift of talent -
Do I need anything?
Answers elude, but I seek
From the beginning.

I recall a roof, a bed, meals,
People, pets, a yard, neighbors,
Sunshine and shadows, leaves,
Flowers, grass, breeze,
Deep blue and black infinite sky.
Strong arms used to hold me,
Carry me.
Later - and often then -
That strength was used to control,
To push me, launch me.
And still, on rare occasions,
Comfort - and this was confusing.

For the first and only time,
At age thirty-four, I heard,
"I love you," from this man
Who was my father.

Almost any man can train himself
In his body, in his mind.
These are good qualities,
But they are common.
Providing, guarding, holding firm -
Fine accomplishments.

However, a man who gives his love,
His heart and soul, openly,
Unselfishly and often,
Does what he's put here to do.
There is no braver or necessary thing.
And there is no child, wife, sister, friend,
So blessed as the recipient.
For it is the base ingredient
In a wholesome life,
The ultimate motivation and
The strongest foundation.
A man who shares this way
Participates in creating universes,
And in so doing finds his connection
To his source.

That is all I need.

Yard

2010-06-02T19:48:00.001Z

Let's go out on the yard
for a romp
for a bit

Let's go out on the yard
though it might
itch a bit

Let's go out on the yard
in the dusk
waning light

Let's go out on the yard
'cause we must
'cause we might

Oh out on the yard
where it's green
where it's damp

Take me out on the yard
where our figures
make a stamp

Oh, out on the yard
where the gard'ner
will mow

We were out on the yard
and now
they all know

hiccup

2010-06-02T19:31:00.000Z

Oh, um....forgot what I was going to say. Sorry.

Ripper

2010-05-20T22:34:00.000Z

3 a.m., and streets are quiet;
all but the "plink" of water dripping
from the bridge into puddles
I can see in the moonlight.

That light shines in veins
on the black walkway,
and if I were dreaming
I'd think I hit the mother lode.

It is mid-spring,
a comfortable evening,
albeit humid -
which makes me shiver.

A lone cicada
in a tree outside a shop
shakes out a maraca beat,
but no one joins in.

I'm unsure why
my heart is pounding so,
when all I seek
is peace.

A ridiculous longing
grips me,
and I half expect you
to walk out into the moonlight.

But, I know I can't conjure you,
so I stay under the bridge,
reluctantly experiencing
solitude.

Clover

2010-05-02T20:11:00.002Z

I always think of you.
Today, it was a field of clover and low clouds.
I could smell the rain in those clouds, and instantly, tasted the raindrops from your lips.
I caught the perfume of the clover, and felt those blossoms there, beneath us.
Our legs akimbo, the breeze on our skin, our fingers entwined.
I heard the lapping of the lake against the shore, the water fowl gathering in the reeds.
Their families are growing, and I'm recognizing the babies getting older.
Soon they'll have new ones.
It's another season we've loved each other.
This one ever so slightly different from the last, yet still giving hope.
I will keep feeling you in the breezes, seeing you, hearing you.
You are in my heart.
It is steady, even in excited anticipation.

SeaSaltSeeSalt

2010-03-07T21:00:00.000Z

You came crashing down
Took my breath and stung my eyes
A cleansing brine

I remember the taste
Remember the sound
As you came crashing, down and down

As I recovered
Began to dry
I felt you sticky, on my thigh

Another wave rolled in
And we crashed in two
Spread out, splashed back into you

Amazes me how we keep balance
On ever-shifting sands
By holding hands

In ever-rolling waves
Powerful you, powerful me
In the sea salt see

Valangel

2010-02-14T12:30:00.000Z

My Valentine, Oh,
The sun rises
And sets behind you,
Lighting you afire,
Like my avenging angel.

Touch your lips to mine,
And we'll not be parted.
Together, in a roiling bundle,
Searing others to ash.
We'll consume all,
Start over,
Create - at long last -
What should have been.

Another Dream

2010-02-02T03:16:00.001Z

Posted to my dream journal on 01/07/2006.

A few nights ago, I dreamed I'd found an old photograph with me as a baby, and two other little girls playing with toys, in front of a Christmas tree. Somehow, I knew their names were Nikki and Veronica, and that they were my sisters. But, I had no idea where they were now, or why they'd been erased from my life. My parents wouldn't tell me anything. I was very upset.

Something Rather Silly

2009-11-25T02:27:00.006Z

If we were cats, in the morning,
I would touch your nose with mine.
I'd turn my back to you and groom;
Pretending to ignore you,
All the while glancing back to check you out.

In summer, as cats,
We might laze about in the grass,
In sunny parts under the trees.
I might bat at a few dandelions,
Before I come over to cause mischief for you.

During fall, I'd crouch down
In piles of leaves, and stalk you.
My brow low, pupils wide, back legs rocking.
Then I'd pounce! And run away very quickly,
Hoping you would chase me.

In winter, I would lay with you
On a thick rug, at the hearth,
With a front paw around your shoulder.
I'd purr, and lick your head.
Until you purred, too.

In spring
I think
There'd just
Be lots
Of kittens.

Last Night's Dream

2009-11-14T08:52:00.002Z

Last night, I dreamed of a giant vat of macaroni and cheese. I wasn't eating it, but running my hands through it. Searching for the textures, the valleys, the solid parts. The vat became you, and I was pleasing you this way. It's nice to dream of the things you love.

Vent a Blog

2009-10-13T23:23:00.003Z

Okay, amid all the romantic shtuff, I have to rant.

I am sick AND tired of all the GOD bless this, and GOD has blessed this, etc., from folks that have told me, firsthand how shitsuck their lives are!! I mean, make up your fucking minds, please. Has GOD saved you, or somehow taken away all the pain and misery within the past 24 hours? And, if so, WHY didn't I get THAT email?? What am I, your freaking misery bog? Fuck you. You may hate me for this (which, by the way, would be very UNChristian of you), but frankly, if there is a GOD - which there isn't - not like you think - then he's got a really sucky sense of things, causing so much misery and confusion among his flock. It just doesn't make sense. I tried religion. GOD failed me. I make my own decisions, based upon my circumstances, and my particular mood at the time, and so do you. Unless, of course, you feel like you want to be a pansy and make someone else responsible for the chaos you've caused yourself and others. Or, if you just don't want to make a decision, because you may be indecisive, or feel like you're being pressured to do so, maybe. Hey, just say, "I feel like I need to sleep on it, and think about the possibilities." Because, if you're praying, that's all you're doing. Take the credit. Take credit for the good stuff, and the bad stuff.......and QUIT with the religious crap on the social networks. Keep it in a specific club, or at church, for crimany's sake! And, I do believe in hell. Hell is a place where you are miserable....it exists, regardless of time and space, just like heaven - where you're blissfully happy. If I say, "Go to hell!" I mean that I want you to be very unhappy, like you've made me. Perhaps I should rather say, "Join me in hell!" Maybe, someday, you might want to share something nice with me, and I won't think you're such a bunch of fucking hypocrites.

How Does it Feel.....

2009-10-11T23:22:00.002Z

To know you are the warmest part of my heart,
The brightest part of my day?
Does this tax you, or give you comfort?

It looks to me, like a newly planed, thick, oak door,
On freshly oiled hinges, that stays mostly open.
It smells like a fir tree in the forest, on a brisk day.

It feels like a ray of sun;
One that is there through the plate glass window,
As well as drenching me entirely on the front porch.

It sounds like an old, well-built home
With two-story ceilings and elaborately carved banisters.
Like a crackling fireplace, on a cold night.

I can see us there.
Hear our muted laughter; our coos.
I can feel you here, always, in my heart.

Bored, so posting old romantic garbage from the whisht

2009-09-27T14:15:00.003Z

This is something I started on 5/19/07. It's crap, but I am bored and exhausted, so this is what I'm doing.

********************

Milton worked as an accountant for Bigs Department Store, at the edge of town. While Milton was not plain in looks, he was not strikingly handsome, either. He stood just over six-feet-four, and had a lanky build. His stature was more than likely a result of his love for fruits and vegetables, and a natural dislike for fatty foods. He also walked everywhere he had to go - which wasn't a lot of places.

When Milton went downtown that Saturday morning, the only thoughts in his head were of Emma. Emma who did not know Milton existed in this world, contentedly worked her job at the local market, sorting out produce. If Milton hadn't such an appetite for mangoes, he never would have laid eyes on Emma. Being newly out on his own, he'd only begun doing the grocery shopping about a year ago, and that was when he first saw her. He remembered it distinctly and often. She wore a cotton blouse with small, pink roses printed on it, a green apron and khaki pants. Her red hair was a wild frizz about her freckled face. Her cheeks were round, but not fat, and naturally pinkish. She had unusually long eyelashes, which she lightly mascaraed, and green eyes. When she counted fruit, her lips pouted and she wore a little frown, like something was troubling her. Milton found her to be the most radiant angel, and he instinctively knew her voice was of heaven's bells.

Up until now, he hadn't been able to develop a reasonable question to instigate a conversation with her. Most of the time he spent shopping in her section was spent stealing glances at the top of her head. Today, that would change. Today, he would ask about the specific origin of the mangoes. And why not? This was a legitimate concern. One has a right to know - if for no other reasons than political ones - where their fruit comes from.

All Emma ever did was work, go to the bank drive-thru to deposit her paychecks, and go home. At home, she spent her time with her cat, Rederick. She was shy, and she was content with her solitary life.

Being very methodical, she always counted oranges first each morning, as they were first in the middle produce aisle. She gradually wound her way around each case before working the outside aisles. By the time she reached the tropical fruit case, it was about nine a.m., and the market was filling up with customers. Keeping her eyes down, she counted and sorted, pulling a cart behind her to deposit outdated or bad food. She barely noticed the sound of footsteps coming right for her, and was startled when a man cleared his throat to get her attention. She turned, and had to roll her eyes upward to see the thin face of a man who was possibly her age or a little younger. His facial expression was unnerving, and she found herself fearing he might try to grab her and use her as a hostage. He did not reach for her, however, but instantly spoke in a rapid manner.

"I know you know mangoes, and I love you, so I want to know where these came from."

Emma froze. This man was obviously insane. She mentally searched the store for her manager, but remembered he was in the very back, doing payroll. The man waited expectantly for her reply.

"These are from Florida."

"Oh, good."

"Florida is okay?"

"Quite, yes."

"Well, then. Was there anything else?"

"Um, well, I uh, I'm Milton," he said, as he held out his hand to her.

"I'm Emma," she returned, as she shook his hand gently. She was pleased not to feel sweat or grit on his hand. "So, are you going to buy mangoes today?"

"Oh, yes, I do every Saturday."

"Okay, well, I have to get back to work."

"Sorry, and thanks!" He smiled. Milton had a spring in his step the rest of his shopping trip. Carrying his groceries in paper bags, he hummed to himself all the way home. Milton was a new man. He had just changed his entire personality by coming out of his shell after a year of anticipation. And now, Milton Frazier would have his lady!

Emma found herself quite distracted the remainder of the day. She even forgot to pick up her own groceries before heading home. As she only lived three blocks from the market, she walked home. During her normal sidewalk square count, she had to stop and re-start the count several times. Of course, she already knew the exact number of sidewalk squares. This was an obsession - but a harmless one.

Back at her small apartment, she prepared a tuna salad sandwich, and ate it in her favorite living chair; a Queen Anne, upholstered in mauve satin. It was the only piece of expensive furniture that she owned, and used to be her grandmother's. It was all she ever wanted of the estate. As a child, she would curl up in it to listen to her aunt play the piano at grandma's house. How Emma had always wished she could play "The Entertainer," like aunt Clara. But, alas, she could barely play a portion of "Chopsticks." Clara had kept the piano, until it grew so old it could no longer be tuned.

As Emma stared out the window, chewing mindlessly on her sandwich, her thoughts were of the odd, tall man who said he loved her this morning. He must have meant to say, "and I love them," instead of, "and I love you." Still, she couldn't help pondering the possibilities.

Rederick meowed at her feet, sniffing the tuna. "None for you; there's mayonnaise. Cats in this house can't have mayonnaise."

Milton ate his shredded wheat, and drank his orange juice next morning without reading the newspaper - not even the comics. He was busy playing out his next grocery trip. More specifically, his next conversation with Emma. In his dream last night, she had approached him with a mango the size of a bowling ball, wearing a beautiful smile. She glowed, and all sound stopped when she got within two feet of him. "Milton, I've been waiting all my life to give you this!" The timer on the stove beeped, and Milton took his bowl and glass to the sink, rinsed them and headed out the door. He was halfway to work before he realized it was Sunday.

Secret Brain of Evil Genius

2009-09-25T02:23:00.002Z

Yesterday, while rushing to get ready for work, I could not find my lipstick. In order for you to have an idea of what a big deal this is to me, I must explain. I keep my lipstick in the same drawer all the time. It's been there for the whole almost seven years I've lived in this house. It's just what I do. A place for everything. The lipstick is in the top bathroom drawer....except yesterday. It is the final step in my getting ready process, the lipstick. WTF?? Dug through drawer frantically. Now, who in this house would be interested in my lipstick. I live with 3 males. So, I had to make do with the purse lipstick, which is not exactly my right shade, and has some sort of plumping chemical in it. Not the end of the world, I know. So, being still oxygen deprived from this crud, I forgot about the lipstick...until this morning. It was time to put on the jewelry (the second to last thing I do when getting ready - I know, I am a creature of methods). GUESS what's in the jewelry box. Give up? I hear that geniuses do stuff like this. I'm just saying.

Evil Bacteria

2009-09-24T02:29:00.002Z

Let me just say that mucopurulent sputum is just fucking nasty. I know this, first hand, from many experiences with it. I'm sure this is not the last time I will say this. Have resisted the urge to grace the elf doctor with my presence, the past two weeks. I just really need to fight this out, if at all possible. I abhor antibiotics. They mess up my tummy. They strip my intestines of their natural liner, and there aren't enough pumpkin seeds in the world to replace it in short order. Not to mention that they ruin my immune system - which was improving, until I had to re-start Cozaar, about a month and-a-half ago. One of the side effects of Cozaar is - yep, you guessed it - sinus infection. Oh, yay. Another side effect is depression. JUST what I need. THANK YOU. So, I smell like garlic, when I'm not at work. I do the workfolks the sweetest favor by not smelling like Mama Samantha Leone. I'm sure they appreciate it....NOT. Oh, don't get me starting on that bunch. I defriended them all on facebook, today. They are not friends. They don't call me up to chit chat, or invite me out for beers. They don't need to know my quiz results. I've taken away their privileges. Have become exclusive. I am the shit. And, I'm coughing up sputum. Isn't that sexy?

Journal-ding

2009-09-22T13:31:00.001Z

So, don't you just love it when you've been sick for like a week-and-a-half, and you finally wake up one day and know you're too sick to make it in. You call in and speak to the person in charge of sick people being out, who gives you an attitude, "What's wrong?" like you have not been coughing around the office for freaking ever. Come to find out, another worker has also not shown up, who is notoriously not showing up, without notice, due to, oh say, a hangover, or a bum alarm, or some such. So, you're sick enough to stay in bed. Instead, you have to pay some bills, do some laundry and some dishes, because, they're there, and they need doing, and you're not really so sick that you can't do that. And, you feel badly about not going to work, even though every breath is labored. Man, I hate being sick.

Sleep Away

2009-09-20T22:02:00.000Z

This is how it started;
Me here, you there.
You seemed to want to know me.
You know me.
Your disappointment is obvious,
As I knew it would be.
Now, I cannot be me with you,
Where before, I felt me more
With you, than ever.
So, now I have lost myself
In you.
And you are lost
To me.
So, for the first time in months,
I will sleep alone
And disappear.

Yes, it's the New Moon.

2009-09-18T20:46:00.000Z

So, no wonder my body is doing a sudden re-start, eh? Okay, it had to happen again, sooner or later. The lateness. The skipingness (I just made that word up). You know how sometimes, your hard drive has to really eff up or something, before you cave and reset your computer? You gotta get rid of all that old stuff. Here's a chance for my body to get rid of all that old stuff. Still, I wonder, why do we have to stockpile before we purge? Isn't it easier to just purge regularly? Perhaps some of us just stockpile a lot faster. Or maybe I haven't been stockpiling enough? Or maybe the moon has a different agenda.

Question: If you moon the moon, on a new moon, are you still mooning the moon?

Weather Forecast

2009-09-14T03:02:00.002Z

In view of recent tumultuous activity, in the South, we have high humidity and heat, there. In the northern mountains, however, prepare to get a taste of the white stuff.

Mingling

2009-09-09T01:46:00.002Z

Each night you're here
Majestic and peaceful
Your breath a song
In sleep you hold me fast
Protecting and warm
Your pulse is solid and calm
And you are so beautiful
My cells call out to yours
But I hold back
And thus create
A precious ache
I will wake you soon
To start over

Hello

2009-09-09T01:30:00.002Z

I have waited many years for many things. Have blamed a lot of things and a lot of nothings on others. Time to stop it. Time to unbuckle the belts around my brain and let it loose, already. Not going to sensor, anymore. Not worth it. Not getting me anywhere. Sucks. Up to you if you want to read. I really don't want to know if you're offended by anything you read, here. You're given the choice to read or not. I learned something about being a butinsky the other day; don't do it. Compliments are welcome. Criticism isn't. Call me spoiled, but not to my face. You can curse me in your mirror, and pretend you're going to kick my ass, but I don't want to know. Bare your teeth at yourself, get nice and riled. Hear that pulse in your ear? That's me, pumping through you. Look what I did. Control, my friend. Am I worth it? You decide.

That was fertilizer. I'm growing. I'm growing here, on my blog, and you'll read it, and you'll like it. On some level, you know you will. Whether I chose to vent, brag, paraphrase, or otherwise express, it will stir you. I may even tickle a fancy. Might touch a naughty nerve. Make you giggle.

If you're reading this, I love you, right now. I'm allowing you to drink from my well. See what happens. I hope it's good. What a long way to say absolutely nothing but hello.

Service

2009-07-14T02:06:00.003Z

"I need you to fix that sensor; the one you said you would order like two weeks ago, and call me when it arrived. Also, I need an oil change."

"Anything else?"

"I might let you give me a ride to the mall."

No Response

2009-06-30T20:08:00.000Z

When I tell you, "I love you,"
It is not a response;
It is freedom for my heart,
Fire to warm us,
Ice to cool us,
Air for us to breathe.
Declaration,
Proclamation,
Law of nature.
Please don't forget.

SamandPatty

2009-06-30T20:00:00.001Z

Goodbye again, father.
Fresh is your ailment today.
Goodbye, Pat.
I don't even know your last name,
Yet I was there to witness
The intimate moment
Of your death.
Say hello to Sam, when he's in the ether.

Not Playing

2009-05-10T10:40:00.002Z

Admittedly, I am a jaded person. Therefore, I always try to do my "homework" before getting too deep into anything serious. It seems, though, that for whatever reason, I keep getting bad answers. By bad, I don't mean undesirable; quite the contrary. What I mean is I get what someone thinks I want to hear, or whatever they think they can tell me to get what they want at the time being. Well, how can I be at fault when this happens and things go awry? So, jaded yes, fault number 1, in this case.

Now, fault number 2. Trusting for the sake of love. Maybe this really should be number 1. Now, who's on the shitty end of all this? Me, I know. All my fault. And I keep saying, "Never again." And it keeps on happening. I guess I am doing this to myself.

screwitall.

Our View

2009-04-26T23:43:00.005Z

Bench with a view
Built for two
Rest for weary knees
Nestled among trees

Suite on high
You and I
Holding tight
Wait for night

Sun sinks low
Shadows grow
Night bird sings
Church bell rings

Your hands caress
My hair a mess
Deep kiss quick breath
Little death

Ava

2009-04-03T13:42:00.000Z

¿Ava, nuestro ángel, dónde están sus hermanos?

I Know Unknown

2009-03-15T19:43:00.003Z

I had a conversation with my cousin, once, in which we discussed our disintegrating relationships, which were coming to a slow, agonizing close. I told her I was done. Not really wanting anymore of this type of thing. Resigned as I was to the fact that love just wasn't in the cards for me. "There is no one out there for me, who will understand me, and really care about me."

She replied, "Oh, you never know. He may just fall into your lap. You might even tell him to get up."

He did. I won't. He might.

I've learned a few things in life. One is: if you want something, you have to be willing to accept it. I am willing to accept something wonderful, no matter how limited it is. This is but one chapter in a long journey, and I want it to be the best. Not just for me. I have good things in my life. I finally feel like I can be "me," whoever that is, at least for a few short moments every now and then. That is a comforting feeling. It feels honest. It feels like freedom. It feels like acceptance. It feels like love. Any love is better than none at all. I plan to make it beautiful.

If/when it leaves, I don't want to ever think of it as something that was false. It blindsided me. I'm in that strange place where I am unsure and wary, but at the same time hopeful and excited and elated. I liken this to an unexpected shock. Not like scooting on the carpet during winter, then touching the doorknob. More like cruising along on a summer day, on the way to the gas station, and the gas station blows up just before you get there, and you feel heat and see smoke, and then the fireworks that were secretly stored in the shed behind the gas station start exploding like a Japanese holiday. Your heart beats with fear and excitement. Then all is silent, and you hear a voice whisper from the back seat, "Hey!" You turn around, and there is an angel in your car. You feel like you might be dead, and where? Then begins a blissful, secret, wonderful journey. You ascend and descend until you spin and hum out of control. You smile so your face almost hurts from it. Yes, I like this. It pleases me.

Foreminiscing

2009-03-11T23:00:00.001Z

I remember when we could see the same sun, moon and stars, and still not touch. I remember I could always feel you. It's nice we can be here, now. Like a dream come true.

Dante

2009-03-05T21:27:00.004Z

What would it take to graduate from the Second Circle of Hell?
Or, is CEO above it?
I'd say, if he'd only just tell her, he might find himself falling upward.

Clips 03/04/09

2009-03-04T22:56:00.003Z

Can't really recall the order of this dream; only clips.

Scene 1: I'm standing inside an old house, looking out the window of a plush, green back yard with a split rail fence. There are two rabbits chasing each other about.

Scene 2: Outside the house, outside the fence, watching someone farming sperm from a bull. (Hopefully, this is a market prediction!) I know, disgusting.

Scene 3: Outside the house, again, at night. The trees in the back of the yard are lit up like torches, with chunks of embers falling to the ground in slow motion. No one seemed worried this might burn down the house, the bull, the rabbits or us. I was actually feeling sort of pleased about it. The tree in the front yard was fine.

Fisherman

2009-03-02T01:16:00.007Z

A siren calls to the west, a long ago, echoing song.
To a sailor whose since passed by without stopping.
She's watched the ship so many times,
Until her water heart is full drowned.

This night, he stops, a lamp on the bow.
His bell rings.
He casts his nets,
But, alas, they are frayed from the crags,

And siren slips away.

No Gas for YOU! Dream, et. al.

2009-02-28T21:20:00.000Z

3/14/06

I was at an empty gas station owned by Arabs, and trying to pay for gas with a credit card - only I kept signing my name wrong. It was like I was doing it on purpose just to piss them off.
Scene switched: I was riding a unicycle down a dark, deserted street.

***********

3/16/06

Was in a sort of office building or hospital, which suddenly turned into a giant train, that was moving slowly and precariously over a cliff. I was a small boy, and was stuck to the outside of the train like a magnet, as it moved around consuming and transforming everything around it and in it's path.

Drift

2009-02-28T17:46:00.003Z

Under waxing gibous moon, I pad across silk sands,
Stand atop a shore-worn stone.
Angry sea tugs at Poseidon's reigns,
But I am out of reach.
Crests wink in and out.
A storm may brew and cover the moon.
The storm contains no fury like
Goes through my veins.
Disguised by the wind you are suddenly at my nape,
And I writhe in ecstasy, your slave evermore.

Woman Driver Dream

2009-02-24T03:10:00.002Z

07/30/2006 Dream:

This morning's dream was about a woman I'd encounter daily on the road. She was elderly, and drove an old, boxy car - like a Lincoln or something. She was always tailgating and swerving all over the road. It was almost like she was drunk & chasing me. One morning, I guess she wrecked, and I thought she was dead. A priest came over to the scene, and we were going to conduct a funeral right there. An old, scruffy man appeared out of the woods & walked across the field toward us, carrying an oboe. I guess he was going to provide the music for the funeral. When the EMT's came, we discovered the woman wasn't dead, and her looks had changed to that of a younger woman. I thought, "Damn! Now she's going to be back to swerving all over the road again!"

The woman resembled (at the beginning of the dream) Hyacinth Bucket, on "Keeping Up Appearances."

When the guy came with the oboe - I remember thinking, "I have a clarinet in the van; I could play that."

Lost Sovereign

2009-02-24T01:45:00.001Z

A pity that masters don't know themselves.
A further shame that masters cannot find masters
Who will stay.

Diablo

2009-02-20T22:53:00.006Z

Todo es blanquinegro, levanto mi cara al sol. Las gaviotas lloran en el viento. Mis ojos son cerrados, pero yo me siento tu aliento, y sabor de repente el aire salado en tus labios, y en su diablo lengua caliente; un cetro de los Dioses.

Translation:

All is black and white, as I lift my face to the sun. The seagulls cry in the wind. My eyes are closed, but I feel your breath, and taste the salt air on your lips, and on your devil tongue; a scepter of the gods.

Old Dreams

2009-02-19T20:19:00.005Z

Okay, I'll say straight up that I got nothing right now. I'm going back through the dream journal to post some entries, until I get the c.j.'s flowing again....

10/02/05 Dream...

"Dreamed this morning that I got fired. The dream was dark. T was trying to get me to do some reports for her & I was trying to get them done when L & some other woman came & started pulling things off the shelves & out of the drawers in my office. (This was not the same office I have at the bank - it wasn't even the same bank). When I asked them what they were doing, they just pretty much ignored me. Finally , L handed me a handful of small papers. On one of them (a small pink message slip) it said "Sam fired today" in handwriting I was not familiar with. Then, there was another piece of paper that had something about someone named V. Watson. I knew instantly that J had conspired against me, because his old assistant's name is A. Watson. L tried to give me some candles and I refused them. I walked down a hallway to M's old office - which was also once my old office - and opened the door. There was so much junk in there I could barely get it open. Then Alan Alda came in. I told him what had happened with the firing. He told me a story about his sons & their baseball game, and how their mother went and bought them outfits instead of being at the game. (In Mike's old office, there was some of my stuff. The blue lamp that used to be in Z's room & some baseball cards).

At some point in my dream - prior to the firing fiasco - I was floating above my house (which is not my current house). I kept on getting further & further away & would have to force myself closer. There were people in my driveway. One of them was a tall, dark-haired man with a dark trenchcoat on.

After the firing, I was standing in a garage-type area & T was leaving in a brand new sea-green vehicle. I told her I hoped she had a nice day, & she did her best to ignore me. She pulled into the driveway & got out of the car, leaving it running (L & someone else were in another car wating for her). She was looking around in a hedge beside the driveway for something. She had on a long shirt (I guess it was supposed to be a short dress) & her underwear was showing. She had on pantyhose, too & that almost made it worse.

Then, I was at home looking at my house - which was an old cinderblock house painted mint green. (Before T had asked me for reports, I'd been explaining to her why I had the house the color it was; I was telling her that in the fall, it would look beautiful in the foliage). I was trying to decide how I was going to sell the house."

I can only interpret this dream as a result of a turbulent time in my previous job. The bank I worked for had been recently bought out by a bigger bank, and things were changing rapidly, and for the worse. My then partner was almost criminally not doing his job, and I was in a position where I had to expose him to save business and clients. Not fun. Home life was suffering as a result, obviously, and I was slipping away from my family and a feeling of security. That tall dark guy in the trenchcoat was more than likely my dark side looming ever present to keep me "floating away." Why all the mint and sea green? I can assume this may have something to do with money and the prospect of losing it, along with my job, during the season. Why Alan Alda? Other than the fact that I have always admired him, I cannot answer this. Baseball? The only sport I have any interest in, really. Alan was probably trying to make me see what was really important, here; family and play. The candles I refused from L were red, the color of love. I was refusing a small bit of compassion she tried to offer me. The blue lamp - I was seeing (shedding light on) my sorrow. I didn't lose my job at the bank in waking life. I did quit it two years later, when I was told my position was moving to another city further away than I was willing to commute. I did put the family first, and have moved on to better things, employment-wise.

Password

2009-02-19T18:48:00.002Z

Finding my password for this site after not posting for ages was like finding a cranberry in a cherry pie.

From A Druid

2006-03-24T20:19:00.000Z

Don't presume you know a tree. What you think may just be limbs might really be an eye - or a finger. That's okay; We all look the same to them, too.

This is what I shared with my trees today:

It is very early spring - late March.

The air is chill, and it's been raining.

Just before three in the afternoon, the sun breaks through

and shines dimly down from behind a layer of thin clouds.

The trees, in their early-budding angst,

reach out and tangle their hands and fingers,

as if rifling through imaginary pick-up-stix,

for no reason, except to express their excitement.

As I glance at their waists, where the earth is,

I see the sun's light on the ground.

Yet, just past their trunks, is the gray horizon.

The sky is thick all the way around,

but the tip of the sky glows yellow,

So the trees can play.

Confused

2006-01-17T23:13:00.000Z

I am in a daze of confusion. Not like Led Zepplin, or maybe so. I'm in a place I can't seem to get out of mentally where I just don't trust anyone close to me at all. There are causes for this, not the least of these being my own past indescretions. But, when I finally get to a place where I'm starting over and being good, now everyone else seems to be screwing with me. What to believe? What not to believe? Just when I start to forget the question and try to carry on normally, someone gives me a reason to doubt them again. A blatant lie, an uncharacteristic action, seeing something that really doesn't look right. That feeling and nagging in the back of my brain that tells me to check up on everything and everyone. I hate it. If I've been with you for years and all of the sudden you begin to act differently than normal, you are under suspicion. There are clues and evidence everywhere. You'll get caught eventually, so just come clean.

Mike L.

2005-12-21T16:00:00.000Z

I talked to an old friend of mine last night on the messenger. What a trip that he remembered things that I don't remember at all about me. We are talking waaaaay back to the 8th and 9th grade, here. It was great to find out that he is doing very well for himself and keeping his side of the street clean. A lot of the old gang just went by the wayside, I think. Some of them I have no interest in knowing what they're doing at all, and I'm sure that's all mutual. I like where I'm at right now. I probably need to keep in better contact with friends, though, since I only find a real one every 6th time or so. It's funny to see a guy that you knew before he was a man, and see him with whiskers and all grown up. I still think of Mike as a pseudo-boy. I can even remember when I was taller than he was! Here's to old friends, tonight is kinda special.....wait, I think I'm pirating an old beer commercial jingle, sorry.

Crabby Patties

2005-11-14T20:20:00.000Z

I am happy to say that my life has taken a definite turn for the better. I am really beginning to appreciate "the little things" even more. Because, although they are little things, they're my little things, and they're things that I've really and truly got for myself. I didn't have to use anyone or anything else to get them. They are here and that is all there is to it. I can enjoy my three-year-old making crabby patties with pillows. I can enjoy hearing, "I want another hotdog, I want a piece of yellow cheese, I have to go pee pee, Can you help me with this, please?" I can enjoy hearing, "KITTY CAT!" in the mornings, "Do you need me to pick anything up?" in the evenings. I can enjoy a nice footrub with lotion most nights, and beautiful blue eyes staring at me. I can enjoy hugs from my ten-year-old, and the fact that he can fix his own breakfast and lunch and is always more than willing to fix any meal at all within his power for anyone who asks. I can enjoy hearing my kids tickling one another in the mornings. I can even enjoy them tattling on one another. This is my family, and they are flesh of my flesh. They aren't fancy, but they are damn good-looking and smart as hell. I can enjoy the fact that I don't have to buy boobs, thanks to the kids - not that I would. I can enjoy the fact that I wouldn't buy boobs, anyway. I can appreciate the fact that my face is starting to change from getting older - because I'm getting older. I'm not six feet under where I might have been given the things I've done. I can be thankful that I grew out of living a life that was not real or comfortable to me, because I thought I had to put on a show so people would like me. I feel so relieved that I don't feel like I have to weigh 100 lbs., when I weigh a lot less than a lot of women around me. I need to take advantage of the health I have and get more excersize, and I am thankful that I still have that opportunity. Most of all, I am happy that I've been true to myself at all times, and that those who really know me, know ME. Yes, life is good.

Autumn

2005-11-12T07:49:00.000Z

Autumn, you take a piece of my spirit.
I feel you pulling it away
As each afternoon draws to twilight
And the sun completes the day.

Oh, sun in autumn,
You are a lover leaving
And breaking my heart.
You belabor my breathing.

The crimson fire the trees wear
Are but a taunting;
A promise broken when you disrobe,
Leaving me wanting.

Crisp winds clean the air
So I can see your blue sky.
But, alas, you chill me;
An embrace you deny.

Forgive me for loving you
For only what you give,
But when you come, I know
It's time to barely live.

I've wondered as seasons
Have come and gone
Why this sadness
Always comes on.

It is you, autumn, teaching me
To draw strength from within,
Not to fall prey to winter,
Not to give in.

How easy it would be
To sleep nights long and cold
And not to step outside in the day
Among your tree friends of old.

But, autumn, when your fire
Has lost all of its light
I see silhouettes of the trees
Against the pink twighlight.

It's worth the longing I feel
When you arrive,
To see the trees reaching,
So bare, but alive!

Some Definitions

2005-11-11T10:04:00.000Z

WE ALL MAKE CHOICES; HERE ARE A FEW:

treachery - betrayal of trust, faith, or allegiance; perfidy, disloyalty, or treason

betrayal - the act of breaking faith with; failing to meet the hopes of; having lead astray; deceived

trust - a firm belief or confidence in the honesty, integrity, reliability, justice, etc. of another person or thing; faith; reliance

faith - unquestioning belief that does not require proof or evidence; complete trust, confidence or reliance

bad faith - insincerity; dishonesty; duplicity

allegiance - loyalty or devotion, as to a cause, person, etc.

perfidy - the deliberate breaking of faith; betrayal of trust; treachery

deception - something that deceives, as an illusion, or is meant to deceive, as a fraud or imposture

fraud - deceat; trickery; cheating; something said or done to deceive; trick; artifice; a person who deceives or is not what he/she pretends to be; impostor; cheat

mistrust - lack of trust or confidence; suspicion; doubt; to have no trust or confidence in (someone or something); doubt

lie - to make a statement that one knows is false, esp. with intent to deceive; to make such statements habitually

consequence - a result of an action, process, etc.; outcome; effect; a logical result or conclusion; inference; the relations of effect to cause

dispirit - to lower the spirits of; make sad, discouraged, or apathetic; depress; deject

vengeance - the return of an injury for an injury, in punishment or retribution; avenging of an injury or offense; revenge; the desire to make such a return

redeem - to make amends or atone for [to redeem a blunder]; to restore (oneself) to favor by making amends

humility - the state or quality of being humble; absense of pride or self-assertion

humiliate - to hurt the pride or dignity of by causing to be or seem foolish or contemptible; mortify

expose - to make (a crime, fraud, etc.) known; unmask

forgive - to give up resentment against or the desire to punish; stop being angry with; pardon

IT HAS BEEN SAID THAT THE CHOICES WE MAKE FOR OURSELVES WILL BE OUR UNDOING. IT IS THE UNSELFISH ACTS WE DO FOR OTHERS THAT BRING US CLOSER TO THE CREATIVE FORCES.

SO MOTE IT BE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just Folks

2005-11-06T14:54:00.000Z

Months ago, I dreamt that I was at Daisy and Onslo's house (from Keeping Up Appearances), and we were deep-frying doughnuts.

Van Houten

2005-11-06T09:43:00.000Z

This morning's dream started at work. I had two customers (husband - dk. hair & wife - blonde) in my office opening accounts. They left, and somehow I heard of a rumor that Peter was embezzling from the company. I was angry and wanted to go drinking. I was with someone (my sister & Jen?), and we went to this bar and sucked down a couple beers real fast. The couple that had been in my office was there and they overheard me talking about the embezzlement. They were extremely upset. The bartender wouldn't serve us anymore, so we decided to go somewhere else. When we got to the next bar, they asked for our I.D.'s, and I couldn't find mine. I was so frustrated, because I had all this stuff in my wallet, yet no I.D. Finally, the girl who'd been driving us (I think she was a lesbian - she was very butch) told me to write down my date of birth on a piece of paper, then she finally let us have a couple of pitchers. We sucked those down, too. Then we went back to Diana & Jen's. They lived in an old house (not the current one) that they were re-doing. The living room area walls had been plastered (over panelling) and painted bright white. The pattern was very thick-textured. And there was a huge fireplace at one end of the room.

Next, I was in an ally facing a group of teenagers. There was one in particular that I was looking for, but he wasn't there. Then, I spotted him running down another ally and began to chase him. I finally cornered him in a public restroom. He was trying to hide in a stall by standing on the toilet. (The stalls were dark blue). I came up to him quickly, and he had a look of terror on his face. I put my face to his neck, but my fingers had touched it first and broke the skin. I put my mouth to the wound, but did not suck. His blood had already begun to coagulate and it was unpleasant. Instead of drinking, I just moved the blood over my tongue and lips and tasted the saltiness of it. I then realized I needed to infuse my blood with his and give it back to him somehow in order to transform him. I was unsure how to do this and started trying to push the blood into the wound on his neck with my tongue. I don't think it worked.

In the next scene I remember, I was searching out a wealthy family somewhere in (maybe) Romania (1400's?). There was a man who was head of the family, and I got the impression he was a very powerful vampire. This was the very reason I was seeking him out. I entered their home against the advice of a few of the family members. It was night, and I cautiously made my way down the hall. All of the bedrooms were empty. The last room belonged to the man I was looking for. I entered very quietly just inside the door, and saw the covers on his huge bed were pulled back and he was not in the room.

I went outside and was standing atop a hill watching a mob of people shuffling around at the bottom of the hill. There were only a few torches, so it was very dark, but I could see their shadowy figures quite clearly. All of the sudden, there came running from behind me to the left a large black wolf. It ran toward the crowd and the people began to scream and run. As the wolf got closer to the crowd, it changed into a woman (a member of the family I'd pursued) with long dark hair, dressed in a maroon dress with black velvet vest. When she reached the crowd, she simply blended in and ran with them. I could not tell her from the rest.

The Test

2005-11-05T17:59:00.000Z

Last night, I dreamt I was part of one of two groups who were studying for a test. The test was actually a play/musical production that we were to perform, and our grade depended upon the quality of the performance. The first group passed. A girl from my workplace was in that group. Another woman from my workplace was the one making the rules, although she was not our director or coach. The dream took place in the dark on a downtown square. The feeling was sortof Christmas-like.

Dancing Dream

2005-11-05T17:32:00.000Z

The other night I had a dream I was ballroom dancing with David Hasselhoff. He was a great dancer.

Cover All Avenues

2005-10-25T18:55:00.000Z

Blue Bird Bamboozled by Bloody Sun Bedtime

Purple Peeks are Primary

Road is Rusty

Pines are Perky

ME

2005-10-15T13:48:00.000Z

SELF PORTRAIT

A Halloween Story

2005-10-11T19:05:00.000Z

Mandy walked down the path toward home on her way from choir practice one fall evening. She practiced her parts for the church program as she strolled along beside a split rail fence. There was tall grass growing beside the fence, so she could only see glimpes here and there of the field on the other side. The field wasn't large, and was surrounded by long leafed pine forest. The breeze that came off the ocean carried this far inland and made the pines seem to sing along with her. As she ambled on, she suddenly heard a sound. The sound was like something - maybe a dog - running on the other side of the fence. But she couldn't see it. When she stopped to listen more carefully, the noise stopped, also. Figuring it to be something only harmless, she continued walking in the direction of home, but did not sing anymore, as she wanted to keep her ears peeled for whatever the noise might be. Darkness fell to the east and the sky to the west was orange on the horizon. That side of the road was just forest with no field and no fence, so she could only see the orange of the sky in broken pieces through the trees. The rutted path was becoming very dark, indeed. However, she could still barely make out her shadow falling across the tall grass on the eastern side of the road. She watched her shadow from the corner of her eye. This was the time of evening when bats flew about catching insects. She saw a few bats flutter by here and there, and was watching them, when, from the corner of that right eye, she saw another shadow approaching behind her. There was no sound of anything coming, but still she quickly turned, her heart racing. There was nothing there on the path behind her, but a quick glance to the tall grass, and the shadow was still there. It was a shadow about her size, and almost exactly the same as hers. It looked like a girl of ten - like her. From the field side there came a swarm of gnats traveling through the air as gnats will do. They flew into the space in front of her where whatever was making the shadow would be, and something very strange began to appear before Mandy. The gnats began to stick to something...it was the outline of a something that looked very much like a little girl just Mandy's size. Together the something and the shadow reached out for Mandy and began to walk toward her. Mandy could not move as she was filled with terror. As the something came closer and closer, the breeze picked up and blew the gnats away. The something disappeared little by little, and so did the shadow. The pines sang a solemn song that seemed louder than ever before. Mandy's heart pounded a rhythm so fast and loud in her ears that it almost drowned out the pines' song. At once, the sky was completely dark. There was no light around at all. Even the fireflies had dwindled to almost none this time of the year. Mandy began to dispair and cry, thinking she'd never get home in this darkness, and besides she was so afraid and confused by what she'd seen. Or had she really seen it? Had she been sleep walking again? She began walking again in the darkness and ran into the fence. Right as she began to cry even harder, an ice cold hand took hold of hers and pulled her softly away from the fence. She was scared, but she followed, as she really didn't feel she had any choice at this point. As the chill hand led her down the lane slowly, she heard the sound of humming. It was the tune of the song she'd been singing when she heard the first noise. She began to sing along, and another young voice joined hers, only this voice sounded almost like it had bells in it. Before the two had finished the end of the last chorus, Mandy found herself facing her home. The lantern outside was burning brightly. The bell voice faded and Mandy sang the last line on her own. Her hand was cold, but the guide was no longer holding it. In the distance behind her, she could hear a wild cat howling. It sounded almost like a child screaming, and made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She ran up the front porch steps and into the house, where dinner was being set on the table. She went to the bathroom to wash her hands. Through the bathroom window, out on the path between the woods and the field, was a foggy glow that drifted back toward the church slowly.

The Importance of Truth

2005-09-20T19:50:00.000Z

One of the things I've learned from all my failed relationships is this: Be absolutely honest right up front and no exceptions. Share everything from frustrations to weird thoughts to lovely ones. Share your views and your moral beliefs, your religious beliefs and everything else. Because, sooner or later, something will happen. Either your significant other is going to find out the truth and not like it and be upset that you didn't share. Or they won't find out and you will feel compelled to hold it from them, and you will never feel like you are in a complete relationship. You will have an insecurity with that person, and most likely you will find someone else to share those things with and you'll be spreading yourself all over the board and that's just no good. Your significant other is supposed to be your rock and vise versa. How can you know in your heart that someone loves you and accepts you for who you are if they haven't been given a fair opportunity to do so? Hmmm? If it is something you don't want to share because you really don't like that part of yourself, do you think that part is going to go away if you keep it locked up in your mind? No! But, you can possibly say to someone that you are pretty sure loves you, "I'm going to tell you something about myself that I'm really not proud of (or that may sound off-the-wall or not be acceptable to the majority crowd), because I wan't to know that you can accept me as I am." If you don't do this, eventually, you will stray and your loyalties will be divided and that will cause you more insecurity. I guess the first rule of thumb is to be true to yourself. If you have conviction, it really shouldn't matter what others think, anyway. You may be pleasantly surprised when they start sharing, too. You just never know, your partner may also have a hidden fetish or fantasy that you can relate to. There are no secrets. There are only facts. Facts are true. The truth always wins, whether it works for you or not.

Corny Butt Hay

2005-09-05T17:52:00.000Z

Of early citizens’ morning jaunt
Who live or dead shall make no haunt.
For, today will be surely brief.
All their loneliness and tiring grief,
The wherewithal of faith shall reign
To look forward and step back again.
This, your fate creeps forward still
To soar through valleys beneath the hill,
You’ll find you’re face–to-face at last
With the One from whence you’re cast.
So, sleep in peace, and don’t worry your head
Or fret the bones beneath your bed.
Bones are dry and of the world.
They’re not the things of dreams unfurled.

Angels

2005-09-04T21:00:00.000Z

The average human being has wishes and wants. It is that human part that induces these thoughts. There are times when I am unsatisfied with my lot in life, and like many people, I despair. In retrospect, it helps me to realize I have "angels" in my life. As I grow, I find that I am more concerned with my immortal soul, and I review my situation to make mental note of my angels. What is more important than your soul's path? I can't think of a single thing - certainly not anything material. Possibly the most difficult thing for any human is to cross paths with another soul that is lost. Lost souls tend to - albeit unintentionally due to ignorance - grab you by the foot and claw their way up your body in an attempt to drag you backward. These are the tests of your soul's growth and strength. Hence, the importance of reflecting in order to find your angels and stick with them. They may not be members of your family. As a matter of fact, the family can be the tester souls that are lost and looking to a soul that has grown in order to find direction. It might seem unfair, but is probably true, that that is the exact reason you've been placed with those souls. Unfortunately, many of these lostlings test you by inviting you to pity, jealousy, pride, insecurity or hate parties. How easy have you found it to attend these parties and become not only a guest, but the "life of the party?" It is the easiest thing in the world for me to dive right into a party like this under the pretence of "empathy." Oh, and TV ads and magazine articles, or press of most nature is the worst for this. That business is so full of lost souls, there will never be a shortage in this age. Truly, you must be a rock. Truly you ARE a rock, you just have to realize it.

When I dispair in my relationship with my husband, one of my angels - namely "S", is always one of the first to remind me that he is my soulmate. Although, it is a shame I have to be reminded of this, it is a blessing to have an angel like "S" to do it. A brief description of "S" is warranted here: She has a light that shines bright even in her darkest moments. She is kind and giving and politely modest. She is tolerant and brilliant and connected to God more than she is aware. So, when "S" is tested, I am compelled to bring to her notice all the light around her and also all the darkness. You see, there is light and dark everywhere around us, and "S" is sometimes vulnerable to darkness. Of course, it doesn't help that darkness knocks on your door virtually each day, and sometimes it creeps into the gaps in your door and tries to crawl up your nose and enter your mind. The mind is a terrible thing at times, because it is the border between your soul and your spirit, and it can be weakened by trial. Keep in close touch with your angels and they will be there to support you and light your way through the darkness.

In my day-to-day life, as I stated above, I do find discontent with my lot. This is my human nature that has a very strong will. It is always right - at the time. My husband, another angel, and the first that I ever recognized outloud, has suffered my moods and tantrums to such a degree that, although he doesn't know it, he is also closer to God than he knows. I can say one good thing about suffering another human being; it puts you closer to God, and that is why you're here.

I began my soul search about the time I met my husband. I was fortunate that he was an angel and that I found him. From thousands of miles away we found eachother by chance, and I sensed God in him immediately. Funny, I wasn't consciously looking. Now it is my passion to follow the true path of my soul. While some of those I encounter will find me cruel, cynical, stubborn or uncaring, they will never find me false. And now, no matter who I encounter or what the circumstances are, I search and see God in them. I mourn for those I barely know, because I sense they are lost. The redemption is this: we can keep doing it until we learn all we need to know. This is the best tour I've ever taken. I feel so strong and loved when I look around me and see my angels.

Keep to the true path of your own soul, without deliberately harming anyone. It is rewarding and will be filled with suffering and lessons. To harm another is to harm the "Other" - which is to harm yourself. That is my only advice to the world. My words are inadequate. Read The Essential Edgar Cayce. Pay attention to your dreams and your visions and seek their meaning. Those are my suggestions for the day. Peace be with you.

Bi-polar

2005-08-21T18:22:00.000Z

A woman I know recently expressed to me that she was upset with her brother, who is trying to get disability because he is bi-polar. She knows him, so she knows that his "disorder" is probably not bad enough to get paid by tax payors not to work. I understand her distress. It is laughable to me how a person who has never had a period whines and doesn't want to work because he's moody.

Balance

2005-08-20T18:11:00.000Z

Just when I think there will be no balance in my life, I have a dream about riding bikes in the rain with my friend from long ago. Check the Dream Dictionary link to the right for specifics on the elements of this dream. Hey, you didn't think I was just going to HAND you the analisys, did you? Part of teaching others is to teach them how to research ;)

Mad at Ads

2005-08-20T18:02:00.000Z

I can't seem to get away from people trying to sell me something or collect my money for something. HELLO! EARTH TO PEOPLE! I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY!!!! I should be begging their blogs for money so I can keep my overdraft protection from kicking in every two weeks. Geez. Greedy, greedy, greedy.

Conflict

2005-08-12T21:19:00.000Z

Human = challenging game of temptation for eternal souls. Everyone wins, but it takes longer for some of us, because whether we want to admit it or not, we love the challenge. We forget when we're human how peaceful it is in between. When we're in between, we want to learn more lessons from the game. There are plenty of lessons, because by the grace of our own energy, we create. Thankfully, we're only in human form for a short period of time. Otherwise our souls would be "up all night drinking coffee" forever! Even souls need a rest.

Nightmare - or Flashback?

2005-08-12T20:55:00.000Z

Back some years ago, I had a nightmare that I will never forget. I really don't think it was a nightmare in the sense of a symbolic working of my psyche to work out my emotions. I think it was a memory from another time. I haven't tried any past life regression to discover the era, but I've got a big hunch it was Hitler time. I won't reiterate it here, because it was too horrid even for me to repeat. It's a memory that makes me want to throw up and cry. I was helpless. Others were helpless. Small children were being murdered in ways you just wouldn't believe. I don't know what sort of brainwashing made those people do those things. Evil. It was a time of evil rising. It was a time to bring evil forth in a weak nation. Perhaps the result was a stronger nation. Perhaps it was just a wrench being thrown in the gears of an old, boring clock. I have no idea. It was horror. I just read a blog post that reminded me of this. That is my only memory of that time. I don't want anymore.

Horse Fights and Praying Mantis Goalies

2005-08-08T17:43:00.000Z

I walked into a very high-ceilinged barroom - with darkly stained tall bar tables and chairs. The walls were a cream colored wash over stuckoed finish. The room was well lit with natural light from the front of the bar. The room was mostly unoccupied. Toward the back of the room, a huge chestnut clydesdale stood on its back legs, looking except for it's head and legs, like a huge man. He was beating up a human man. At least I think it was a man, for I was behind the horse.

Next thing I knew, I was looking up into the face of a giant praying mantis. He was wearing a hockey goalie mask - like the one Jason of horror films wears, only it was shaped to fit the face of the mantis.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, all was red but for a man's face divided into a five-pointed star.

That's when I started thinking....and the visions left me. Thinking always screws things up.

Out of Touch

2005-08-05T20:42:00.000Z

One of the very few drawbacks of being out of touch with the "real" world (I laugh at this phrase), is that I miss out on things like "LANDING STRIP". This was explained to me today. how did I ever miss that???? That is so f*%@!&g hilarious!

Conversations

2005-08-05T20:20:00.000Z

I went to lunch with my friend, "S", today. We talked about a conversation I had with my husband about what he actually "sees" in me. He mentioned something about my mind and that I am smart and have a certain perception. This only comes from being OLD, I said. But I didn't mean chronologically old. You know how you just "know" certain things and you can't remember why? It's just a fact and you know it. Well things that I know are rather odd and might possibly land me in a small locked room some day. But that will just give me more time to practice what I know. Like I told "S" at lunch, the things I want to do don't have anything to do with money or recognition. They are things like learning to fly. Not an aircraft - myself. I want to learn to fly. I am content to float first. I want to learn how to control the cells of my body and heal myself. There are other things I want to do, but those are things I probably shouldn't. I want to learn to see space as it really is, without all the illusions of this realm. I want to see and smell music. There are people who can do that. I tried LSD a few times when I was in high school and shortly thereafter. I was able to see sounds. It was so cool. If I could do it while under the influence of that drug, I don't see why I couldn't somehow minipulate my brain to do it all on its own. I think I'll have to wait until my youngest son is older, though, because when he's around, I have to pay attention to him. It is just that motherly thing, you know. Perhaps my inability to sleep well when I have PMS is an indication that I should be spending that time meditating or astral travelling or something. I will tell you this: when you've not slept real good for about a week, you can't help being in an altered state. I will probably try to quit being a wuss and go camping sometime during PMS - hopefully I'll do this before I hit menopause. I hope my small psychic abilities don't go away once I go through "the change." Worry, worry, worry. Pthhllllllllll.......

PMS Dream

2005-07-31T16:37:00.000Z

Last night I dreamt I murdered this guy who had blond hair and blue eyes. He had a crew cut, and he was a real asshole. I hit him on the head with a shovel and then rowed him out in a canoe and dumped him in a lake. Unfortunately, he came back to life. He never left the lake, but anyone who rowed out on the lake would see him just under the surface staring at them.

Moral: You just can't get rid of your masculine side by slamming it over the head and dumping it to the bottom of your consciousness. It will always be there. I have no resolution. When you start to act like an ass, I suppose your subconscious mind is going to try and suppress that side of you in your dreams. The shovel is symbolic of finding your identity. By using the shovel to smash in the head of your masculine side you are forcing it just below the surface of your consciousness (water is symbolic of the conscious mind). I'm sure this is helpful.......especially when you have PMS. Your need to pummel someone is taken care of, and you've also managed to "bury" that side that does it - at least temporarily.

Secrets

2005-07-29T15:34:00.000Z

For many years - probably at least 15 - I've had dreams about having a penis. Not just any penis, mind you. But a penis that grows longer than that of an elephant. These are great dreams. I wish I never had to wake up from these dreams. I think having a penis would be great if you didn't have to go to work or get out of bed for any other reason.

Burnt

2005-07-09T18:13:00.000Z

There were two magnets on the 'fridge. One said "Whisker Likker" and the other was the number for the hermaphrodite hotline. Ah, home sweet home. Rambo sat watching the 9-inch black and white. There wasn't anything good on. Just some game show, then a talk show. He ate the last bite of hash browns with ketchup and sopped up his egg yolk with a stale biscuit. He wiped his fingers on his shorts, got up and put his paper plate in the trash. His head felt like a bowling ball on the end of a skinny spring. And he was out of bacon. He had the weekend off from the farmwork. Home wasn't looking all that special since he'd seen that farmer's wife shaking her butt in the kitchen. His plan was to gain room and board as well as the small wage the farmer paid him. A nice bedroom upstairs with a window overlooking the field. If he closed his eyes he could even imagine the smell of perfumed soap in the bathroom. A nice hot bath would be nice. His shower head was full of gunk and only gave a trickle of water. The drain was starting to smell like an old gas station bathroom. He wasn't much for cleaning up. Women were good for more than just waxing your wick. Rent was due in two weeks. By then he'd be ready to move to the glamour of the farmer's upstairs extra room. "Yes, Rambo, ole boy; yer movin' up alright. Ma, ye got no more reason to kick my ass about bein a no-count." There was no reason to shave today. He dug the lint out of his belly button and flicked it onto the floor, grabbed his keys and went out the door to the truck. May as well get some beer, too. And some hamburger and liverworst. Maybe a loaf of bread. Mustard.

The Trip

2005-06-03T18:31:00.000Z

I spent the night with Grandpa, Chris and Cheri. Cheri and I snuck out and came back into her room through a sliding glass door, which we apparently forgot to lock. Grandpa made note of it in the morning. We all took off on some sort of journey. Grandpa was driving a big blue money van. I was behind him on a motorcycle. Traffic stopped suddenly and I almost rearended the van. I got impatient and passed everyone. Then the scene switched and I was with John and we were on a raft of some sort traveling in open water. I was checking out the scenery. We passed through many cities and a few states. We watched weather change. Back on land we were riding bicycles through a downtown area. We actually were riding through something like a huge department store or a mall. I think we were in Canada. I was looking at the merchandise and when I looked up on the wall there was a small clock (like the ones in school) and I said, "Damn, it's 3:15." The bicycle path was lit through the shops - which were closed. John said, "Let's go." We came to a house that we were going to rent. The bathroom was huge - about half as big as my house. It was covered in 1-foot square natural stone, cream colored tile and had a separate shower and tub. The shower area had a knee-high wall around it. The tub was like 10 feet long and had no curtain or anything. I noticed a knob on the wall above the tub, and I climbed onto the edge of the tub and pulled the knob. It was a long, thick rope, like a divider rope at the movies or something. It pulled out from the wall, and I deducted that it must be to hang a shower curtain on for privacy - only there was no place to hook it to the other wall.

Vampere Miguel

2005-06-03T18:10:00.000Z

Michael Jackson was a vampire who would collect victims and plug them into the wall with connectors on their backs. They were like the plugs in "The Matrix" only there was only one in the middle of the back. I was a victim. He wordlessly plugged me into the wall. It didn't hurt or anything.

Riddle

2005-05-31T22:22:00.000Z

What do you call an old shoe worn by The Terminator?

.........................................Robo Bobo

Temptation

2005-05-30T09:18:00.000Z

"The kingdom of heaven is within you."

"Our Father [our divine self], who art in heaven [within us],
Hallowed be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come [let us realize ourselves],
Thy will be done [and do what we know is the truth]....
and lead us not into temptation [instead of the untruth],
but deliver us from evil [save us from our egos]...."
~ The Christian Bible IN A NUTSHELL: "I dont want to mess up again today, because I'm sick of suffering the consequences of my actions."

Humans pray to themselves to save themselves. They speak of themselves in the third person. They separate themselves into parts that are entirely different entities; the good, the evil, the divine, the innocent. Doctors call this multiple personality disorder. It is a coping mechanism. Religion is a coping mechanism. A buffer to soften the blow of our evil. Own your evil. Own your good. You are in between like a river between life and death. Without you these lands do not exist. Recognize these lands and yourself for what they are. Grasp the truth, and you can move to the next level.

Every time a person makes a choice to follow the untrue path, it sacrifices itself to evil. Something in this person feels unworthy of what lies at the end of the true path. It feels it needs more time to remember the experiences of the untrue path. It cannot remember the truth or the untruth. That is the problem. A person would do well to concentrate on remembering before chosing its road.

Giving in to temptation leads to self-distrust.
The tempted can't be trusted.
They are literally alone and a slave to the ego.
Their hearts hold no justice.
They are weak and without respect.
Walk on.
Lower beings are satisfied with temporary gratitude.
Karma will never give them pleasure until they find the right path.
Sin is sadness and pity and anger felt
for those who won't rise above it all for centuries.
It is just the way.
What is so great about the dirt?
Suffer the little humans.
They feel safe in their misery.

Shot

2005-05-30T08:20:00.000Z

* I watched a fair-haired child of about 5 years holding a pistol aimed at my face. I heard the shot. All went blank and I felt like someone had poured warm water on my face and upper body. This is the first time I've not awakened before the actual shooting. I've only had a few dreams about being (or anticipating being) shot. It wasn't so bad.

* I walked down the old street to Renata's house to visit. She mentioned it was her birthday. When I went back home, I decided to buy her a gift. She's a house-cleaning nut. I purchased one of those automatic vacume cleaners that runs around like a dog and even knows when to re-charge itself. I took it down to Renata's. She wasn't home, but her door was unlocked, so I went in and turned it on, then I left it running to surprise her. When I returned to her house later on, she seemed unimpressed with the gift. I haven't lived on the old street in almost five years. I just saw Renata the other day, though, while stopping by my ex-'s with our son to pick up a child support check. Yeah, he got to keep all the friends. He needs friends more than I do. Renata came out to the car to talk with me. She was nice, as usual. She wanted to see the baby, who was not with us, but home with his dad. I told her the baby would be three years old in a few days. Time flies. She really is a clean nut. You could probably safely eat off her floor. I prefer a clean house myself, but have no energy to clean it. I think my ex- sapped all my energy. I am just private (and distrusting) enough not to hire anyone else to clean for me. So we live with clutter and dust. The important areas are clean. If I were more of a gold-digger, I'd have more time and money. I may even be like some women who squeeze all the money they can out of their ex-s so they can drive SUV's, work part-time and shop a lot. I am not a gold-digger, and my conscience wouldn't let me do that. I'm still thinking that what is right will win. My ego is never satisfied. Beware the ego.

2005-05-29T20:33:00.000Z

our house in the middle of the street

Unsolicited

2005-05-29T18:10:00.000Z

The woman stepped from the bath and dried her hair and body with a towel. She felt each worn board beneath her feet as she walked to the front door. The sun reflected off the dirt all around her home in the desert, temporarily blinding her. A gentle breeze entered the house and refreshed her clean, pale skin. Two wavering specs appeared over the horizon and were headed in her direction. She stepped all the way out onto the front poarch and waited - her arms crossed over her chest, holding up the towel.

The two men rode their horses at a trot toward the house. They could see a well out front, and the blonde-haired man swore he could smell the water just waiting for them. "Yes, but lookee here," interjected the red-haired man, chewing the end of a twig he'd picked up at the last town - two days ago. There on the poarch of that house stood a ghostly woman. Her hair and eyes were dark and serious, but her skin was white as a sheet. "Where you reckon her old man be?" he asked the blonde man. "Le's find out," the other replied. As they neared, she never moved, and the two began to wonder in earnest if she were one of those manequins they'd seen in the taylor's window back east. They stopped the horses not ten feet from the poarch steps, and the red-head dismounted and walked slowly toward her. She watched him in a waiting way. She didn't smile or make a peep. She had no expression whatsoever, but looked him straight in the eye. He smiled and tipped his hat, "Afternoon." She was still. "Are you deaf? Can you hear what I'm saying to you?" Her left eyebrow rose a fraction of a centimeter. "Where your old man?" No response. He turned to his friend and laughed, then said, "Look like we got more than just water here, Buford. Look like we got some sugar too!" The blonde man smiled, "Weeeelll, alright then," and tipped his hat to her. Red-head turned back to her with his scruffy, yellow-toothed grin, and he moved his right arm toward her left shoulder. Like a cobra, her right arm shot toward him, and her open hand slammed into his adams apple, crushing his throaght. She casually put her arm back over the other where it had been before and continued to watch red-head as he gagged and coughed and his face turned from red to purple and finally he sank to his knees and then forward on his face and gagged no more. She turned her eyes to blonde-head, who had stopped his dismount and was still frozen standing with one foot in the stirrup and the other draped over his horse's back. He fully mounted and began to slowly turn away from the cabin. Her hand shot out again and she snapped her fingers loudly once. He turned back to her, and as she held his eyes she pointed her finger down at red-head. With the heal of her foot, she kicked his hip and he rolled down the poarch steps and into the dust. She waited patiently while blonde-head dragged his friend up and over his horse and mounted it, turned and rode away forever. She looked at the remaining horse for a moment, then walked back inside, leaving the door open to catch the breeze.

The next morning when the sheriff arrived, her door was still open. She was sitting at the table in a white cotton frock and bare feet so she could feel the coolness of the floor. She'd slept with rags tied in her hair and now her hair was soft and wavy. Small strands would tickle her cheeks in the breeze. She sipped her coffee and watched the sheriff walk up the steps and remove his hat.

"Naoma, you know there's a horse out here?"

She cocked her head and smiled with half her mouth, "Yeah, I know."

"What'd you do? Why'd you kill that man, Naoma?"

"He was trespassing, John."

The sheriff did not reply. He only shook his head slowly with a resigned look about him.

"You can have that horse if you want, John. Seems I get more visitors lately. I don't need him. Anything I need I guess I can get off one of these people that come around here. I can't feed a horse." She paused. "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Ok, then."

Alison Dream

2005-05-28T10:24:00.000Z

Alison and I were shopping for I don't know what. She had purchased or signed up for some sort of service after being newly married. Back at her place, she had received and opened a box from the company that she'd signed with and was suspicious of its contents. She said something to me about keys and that she was unsure if this was for real. I began perusing the contents of the box. There was a small sort of plaque for keys, with grooves carved out to place your keys in upright like you would put pencils in a pencil holder. There was a leather sheath which contained a cast iron fireplace poker. I looked at Alison and asked her if she had a fireplace, and at the same time remembered she did have a huge one in her basement. There was another smaller leather sheath that contained another rod-shaped instrument, but I can't recall what it was. The best present delivered alongside the box of things was a clear refrigerator case containing cookies that were three dimensional and covered in frosting squirts to look like characters. One was Winnie the Pooh. Somehow I knew this particular cookie contained a banana and would be delicious. I offered it to Alison and she declined with a sour look. "You don't like banana's?" I asked. She replied in the negative. I glanced out the window and noticed that part of the sky was black and churning. There was lightning striking all around and I knew the tornadoes were on their way. I was flustered and didn't know what to do or where to go, and then it occurred to me after a few seconds to go to the basement. That is all I remember. It would seem with keys, pokers, rods, bananas - all in their respective "sheaths" - that this would be a sexual dream. Why Alison? Because she is a newly wed and sex is probably still prominent in her life. Receiving random gifts and shopping is all a part of being newly wed. A tornado represents chaos. All relationships eventually encounter chaos. Perhaps this is the end of the honeymoon for Alison. Or perhaps my psyche is using her situation to remember my own, since she is the most newly wed person I know. In any case, the solution is to go to the basement, which is symbolic of the subconscious - or Universal - mind. The answers to everything are already there. Accessing it is totally possible. Perhaps it is a message to get back to ourselves and not pay so much attention to the material world as we know it. This works, but the ego isn't conditioned to using it. The ego is worldly and is what Christians call "Satan" or the devil. It is only one half of our makeup. I am finding more and more that it is the half that makes me unhappy, angry, uncomfortable, disappointed, etc.

Rambo

2005-05-27T20:30:00.000Z

Rambo wiped his greasy chin. His night was not wet - but whetted his ideas. As he stood, he licked his lips and tasted the salty butter, and he rolled his eyes toward the heavens and spoke, "Ah, you've not seen more glory than this, Rambo, ole boy. How'd ya ever get here anyway? Not by your mam's teet. She never did offer ya much. And your pa was a good-fer-nuthin sonuvabitch is all he was." He lowered his head just enough to take in the ground as he lumbered across the grass. His dark tresses swayed over his forehead in time with his steps. If he could make it from the farmhouse to the barn, he could sleep the night away like a baby in the hay. But white likker had his brain by its tail, and seemed to be playing pendulum with him. If he hadn't had cornbread with his beans, he'd have lost his dinner. Yet, this was his own little show, and the circular motion of the ground was just a backdrop for the main story. It was important, too. Watching Flossie's bottom shake her skirt while she worked at mixing the ingredients for dinner. Watching right over that pompous ass farmer's ear as he spoke on and on about a subject Rambo couldn't recall. That dinner - well, boy. He passed on the offer of collards and onions, but drank the milk and ate the pintos and cornbread. Then after, the farmer needed to show off his stock of mash likker - unofficially stilled on the property, unbeknownst to the law. That was when Rambo realized his advantage. If a farmer's going to tell you about a still on his land, why can't you comfort his wife for him while he's out in the field all day? If you can feed and muck the animals quickly, you can pretty much get a dig in or two between some soft legs in a cozy bed with fresh-air-dried cotton sheets. She'd looked at him once or twice at dinner, oh yes. "Here's the hay," he said, and fell into it like a dream already. His sleep was black.