Friday, January 7, 2011


"This distance from myself creates a longing so deep that no love, no joy can fill it. It is a disconnect that drives a fissure down my center, two sides divided both longing for and loathing the other...."

The apartment is warm today and it's size makes it feel like one of Jason's big woolly grandma knit sweaters though i sit at the laptop with it's cold glow starring back at me in his boxer shorts rolled at the waist just enough to expose my hip bone, tank top bra less(of course)and over sized double knit socks. this place, this apartment, has become both my sanctuary and my prison. this town just a larger version of what our simple hand me down filled apartment has come to represent. I can look out my window and see the town crazies wandering up and down main street mumbling nothings to themselves, watch the small town holiday parade and the mommies push there babies along cracked concrete on sunny days with ice cream cones in hand. I can see the world of small town USA from here and yet i never feel apart of that place always just the girl up in the window this clear pane of glass separating me from them the way i have always been in my head. today i need to write something for the local paper about one of the town's historical buildings that has fallen empty and full of ghosts from days more prosperous. I hate writing that kind of stuff but it helps pay the bills and allows me to sit up here writing what is really important what really matters to me. to write something that someone can read and cry with, or laugh with and just know somewhere deep inside how that feels or felt. to see the colors of my words with vivid brush strokes or feel the soft butterfly kisses on there skin with each and every key stroke. that is what really matters not empty buildings dying, coughing and wheezing on main street lost to developers and condos that sit ready to take there place. but today that is what i need to write about. Jason is still asleep in the other room, soundly in his dreamless slumber. His late nights always result in lost days to sleep and more quiet for me. It snowed yesterday and left the town blanketed in heavy wet snow. not the soft kind that looks like a Christmas card on my mantle but the wet and dirty kind that gets mixed in with mud and car exhaust and everything black, turning it all into a slushy brown mixture. In the snow yesterday we went up to our roof. we call it "our roof" because no on else goes up there, no one else sees the beauty of the black topped roof like we do, so it is ours. we went up there yesterday in the snow and threw snowballs at the pedestrians on the street below, hiding and giggling like children when one of us got a suit in the back of the head. we cleared off our chairs that we set out up there over the summer months and laid in looking at the stars through the chill of the autumn, even when the leaves rained down on us with cold winds from the north. we cleared the snow from our chairs and laid heavy towels down to soak up the damp left behind from the snow. Jason built a fire in the old oil drum he stole off the abandoned gas station lot, it was our fire pit our source of warmth when we where not keeping one another warm.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

some sort of explanation

This blog is really just a sketch pad. And those of you that read, christ I am so greatful for! It is unedited and the colors are not always within the lines, but a work in progress, molding it and unmolding. Visions of June is new short story but it seems I started it a while ago, unaware that some of my older posts would tie into her story. So sorry for the confusion...but thanks for reading, because without someone to read what I write, what would be the point.

Visions of June (where are we now- parte tres)

Things were quiet these days and in the lobby of the small town therapists office I could feel that quiet completely wrap around me. Normally it is unsettling; the quiet is something to be broken. In the quiet I could see just how little of me, of June, their is left.

But today in the warmth of Jeff's office it was just comforting. A new sensation that I was not accustomed to feeling when silence held up its mirror. The last few weeks had been a tight rope walk over an alligator pit and so I slept much of the time. The candle on the dresser was down to just a nub of wax with the buried wick. My usual response letting everyone else deal with, fix and appease. The night when I lost myself and allowed Sam to walk through my door changed everything. She was something I could control only letting her in when I needed a release, when the nights grew longer, the words wouldn’t come and staring at the blank page left me with such frustration that a call for help to Sam always let the juices flow. She was what I always imagined I would be, I was so envious of her, she was beautiful, feminine and seductive with a brass set of balls. But on that night, she changed something in me and I lost control. So now I sat here listening to that familiar music Jeff always plays waiting and debating whether I should tell him. Not sure I have fully admitted it to myself yet, so how could I come clean to him, to anyone.

Jeff’s office always felt comforting; It was the warm embrace of an old friend. The low hum of Bob Dylan filled the antique decorated, oriental rug waiting room, with bits and pieces of it revealing little clues about the doc. His taste in music tipping his hand to hippie college days, no doubt pot smoking and philosophy talking. And the taste for old and expensive showed the educated man he had become, enjoying the fruits of his pricey education and PhD. All of this I took in, twisting it around and turning it over to form a complete and intimate picture of the man that sat across from me every week picking and pulling at my insides, gently though, always gently.

Sometimes sessions with Jeff were less satisfying than others, but there were times when they felt deeply satisfying like a soft game of cat and mouse, foreplay with words. His consistent boundaries lit up around himself. I could see through the barbed wire and every now and then caught him off guard, not standing erect at his post, that fence would drop, and a soft smile would cross his face. I was good at that better than most. Good at picking up those very subtle subconscious queues from people. The small smile that slips out at inappropriate times, or the insecurity that shows in someone’s eyes when they are unsure of themselves. Maybe it is the tone of your voice or the way you play with your ring toying it between your fingers when you are nervous, what ever it is I notice and this makes me very good at seeing people, really seeing people. It also makes me lonely. Today in his waiting room I know that Jason is the only one that really sees me and even he only sees bits and pieces putting me back together like a jigsaw puzzle in his mind.

Visions of June (sweet dreams- parte dos)

This would be a secret we would keep locked away safe in the old chest of drawers with the old photographs of nameless shadows and wispy ghosts of days past. The blood that Sam had allowed to run, the life that she lost, and the mess that I had to clean up now, would get neatly folded away with the blood stained underwear, somewhere in my head. The fire place was still crackling and the flames threw off a soothing glow that filled the small living room with our hand me down couch. A little vicodin, another glass of wine, and my very large, very warm blanket wrapped about me would sustain my delicate balance of calm until Jason came back home. The corset drawn tightly around my emotions, I could stay, just stay here and wait.

The chemical induced sleep that came now drew my eyes closed but always left my soul stirring, awake and actively roaming around behind shut eyes. This always made for the most fitful sleep and vivid dreams.

"Hey Babe", touching my face so gently as not to startle me, Jason's broad thick hands brushed my hair from my cheek.
"Hey" wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him down into me.
I would Hold onto him, not just with my arms, but with every ounce of myself. His large shoulders and strong back always felt like home, safe in a way i had never known before. The air had reentered the room and my lungs could breath a sigh that told me it was going to all be ok, but it would get worse before it got better.
"why are you on the couch...miss me?"
"yeah, i always miss you when you are away from me, sometimes so much more than others, but always"
"Come on I am beat, good night for tips, but I am exhausted, come to bed"

Our room felt cool, at least a few degrees cooler than the living room. The old Victorian buildings that lined Main Street here in Pennsylvania always had issues with staying warm. The fireplace only heated the small room it was in, and all other rooms struggled to stay warm from there old steam radiators, hissing, coughing and wheezing to meet the demands of the thermostat.

"what did you do tonight?" His usual question, as if to say, so did you stay out of trouble? The noise in my head was muffled from pure exhaustion and drug induced quiet. But, nonetheless it was still there scurrying around in the dark whispering to my conscious.
“You have to tell him”
“You can not keep this secret, not from him”
And then there is always Sam with her opinions still bouncing off the walls in my head.
“No, you can not tell him, it is done and he will never forgive, he will leave you, so just forget it.”
“Hey why are you in such deep thought? What are you thinking about?”
“nothing, I’m just thinking about...nothing.”
“you never think of nothing, you only say that when you don’t want me to know what you are really so lost in thought about. But that’s ok, you don’t have to tell me.”
I hate that he knows me so well, but I find comfort in the way he can read me, my subtle queues, my quiet calls for help.
“Goodnight babe, love you”
I have always been so jealous of the way he can fall into the deepest sleep the moment his black hair hits the pillow. I’ve never known that. The flicker of the candle on the dresser held my interest away from the shadows that always come out at night. The wax dripped and made it’s way down to the top of the old but not antique, dresser where there was already a pool of hardened wax from nights before this one. The candle was my thing, it was what I would focus on so I could quiet my insides and ignore the shadow at the side of the bed. The cold wax piled up as a constant reminder of battles lost to sleep. The glow of the flame widened and blured, it stretched out and touched the walls of the tiny bedroom with beams of light. And just before my eyes completely closed the flame was the only thing that I could see filling my room with a warm and welcoming glow that would fold me into sleep tonight.

Visions of June (parte Uno)

It was raining. Not hard just lightly, the kind of light rain that just mists your hair and casts halos around the street lights. It was the kind of rain that you could stand outside in and not get very wet just a layer of damp on your clothes, on your skin, on you everywhere. I didn't even notice the rain at first as i stood in complete stillness, bambi trapped by the light, and lost in silence. I was submerged from the world bathed in my own underwater tomb. The silence began to fade when i noticed the rain, when i saw the halos from the mist. Then the empty nameless faces of the people all around me. My legs began to shake and it hit, and i came up for air from this underwater place. The limbo i sometimes find myself in just before i realize i have been somewhere, or done something unfamiliar. Jason wasn't here and the warmth of the blood that flowed down my thigh had reached my calf as i stood exposed in his over sized sweater, my boots, and my hat (when did i put those on). His sweater always made me feel warm though the streets where wet and cold with November's night air.
Blood, “blood!, that is bad that is very bad”,
where was i, search the faces, the street signs for a familiar name.
“There! three blocks from home thank god, i hate this, i hate this, and the blood, that is so bad, so so bad”.

Shaking, and cold I ran most of the three blocks, but i could not ignore the pain in my belly, the nausea creeping up in my throat. The door to the apartment was open and the warmth from within pushed up against my damp skin with pins and needles. The tears welled up in my eyes, it was only 11:41 and Jason would not be home until 3am. His nights on as bar tender at the local watering hole where locals bellied up to wash away there discontent, always left me antsy. The time alone was never good and though I baked, i knitted, i cleaned, i surfed the web and reached out to any soul that would fill the void, the overwhelming loneliness was sometimes to much to keep in the shadows and sometimes it would blanket over me covering my eyes in a shroud that was often called by some other name. Who was here tonight, i needed to clean this up before he got home before he saw the blood and what had been done. what had been done?

On the sink in my tiny pink bathroom with it's Fifties tiles, lay the wrapper for that pill, the one i could here Samantha talking about taking, the one she almost convinced me to take, the one that gets rid of that beautiful life growing and rooting deep in my womb. All week I knew how upset Sam was over the news. Jason didn't even know yet, I was going to tell him tomorrow night when he had off and we could go to our spot on the roof and i could hold his hands and feel the strength of his shoulders. He didn't even know yet, but Samantha knew and she did not want this for us. It would ruin everything.
She protested holding up my fears, "the sex would suck, the writing would suck even more".
"Who can write with a kid" she yelled in my ear and whispered while i was asleep, "writers, write what they know", she told me.
"how can i write when all i will know are play dates, diapers, laundry and baby fucking Einstein"
" who will read that shit"
" no one of any interest anyway".
Part of me knew she was right, but Jason wanted this, he wanted it so badly, this bond that he and i would have. Something that he thought would plant my feet on the floor and maybe he would not have to worry so much about the nights he was gone if I had something bigger than myself to focus on.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

house in the woods

I could get lost in that room. I could never leave it again and the things that would come from there the colors that would shine from it's darkened windows and torn drapery would light up the world and cast color into the shadows where once only darkness lived. I could stay there and never come out again and lose my self to her and to him and shut the door on the cries of everyone.
Sometimes I walk around a ghost, just a shell of my self with a painted mask and puppet arms. I am not here I am in that room with the doors shut tight and drapes pulled closed so that only the glow of this computer screen lights up my eyes. So far away from home forgetting to enjoy what's around me locked with key in hand in here, in that room in the woods, the one that resides in my head, where the weeds grow tall and walls are bare.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

play time

i have left exhaustion behind and all that lingers now is this dirty haired, caffeine injected cigarrette smoking shell

i just want to be still

to sleep

and be in the quiet, just close my eyes and let the quiet in

hard now

to NOT want to just sleep for days and write and smoke
and sleep

it is hard now

to think

beyond my next fix waiting for me in the corners to come out and play

it is hard now

to move
to eat
to love
to feel
it all slips away

leaving the swollen eyed girl that can't cry

this is the hard part to move and be beyond just a few fragmented words that mean


beyond the shell of my own head

to leave this place and do more than just sit with you and type and drink and forget to eat

and forget to love my husband
and loose my children

to not want it

to not let it completely swallow me

to not stroke the keys and loose it all here
give of it freely ..... to you

the price to pay is to high
the need
to high
the longing to much