Friday, October 2, 2009
I was wrong, i was wrong and once again my kids...yes, i have kids (lots of them) and my husband, my rock, the one who helps to keep my feet planted on this plane, get to witness my brains oozing out of my ears and the long winded speeches filled with profanities about how overwhelmed i am and how much i hate my life.
he only ever tries to make me happy, everything he does is to put a smile on my face and it is never good enough and i tell him this every time my mind looses it's grip and every pore in my body aches to run away.
what he doesn't know is that i could never run away, there would be no life for me without him and the kids...they are so entwined in who i am they are what keep me from completely loosing myself to the shadows that crawl around inside.
I know he doesn't understand this i know he never sits with friends and hates there simple conversations or longs to feel the stimulation that a good philosophical discussion can give you. i know that he never looks at people and sees the true beauty or ugliness that lurks beneath.
i don't just see it i feel it... i feel it all the time i hear the words that people say and i feel what they really mean underneath. i look out my window and see entire poems that spring up in my head racing so quickly there is no way to get it down.
the constant distractions of parenthood are burdens to me, they should not be burdens...they should not feel like worthless intrusions on my life...but to often they do. i hate me for that. i wish so often to be simple to think simply to want to only fill my life with couponing, and carpools, cub scouts, and PTO, but i don't....
he hates me right now....i can feel it...he hates himself for loving me so much...how could he of let this happen. how could someone so strong and balanced love someone so damaged. he wanted a wife and mother for his children, a home maker, he thought that was what he was getting. instead he got me.
i don't know how to fix me. for so long i pretended that the shadows weren't there ignoring the longing and it would crop up in lengthy bouts of depression every so often...times when nothing was right and nothing was happy. i know now that i can not ignore it any more and this melding of the two will not be an easy one. stitch by stitch i will unify the side of me that sits with the shadows and the side that sits at the PTO meeting, i promise.
i am trying.
please don't stop loving me.
Monday, September 21, 2009
and the soft warmth of false falsehoods the floodlights switch on to illuminate the raw misgivings of a childhood never had
this body lay so to longing evermore for something to ignite the embers that linger
in the ash and nub of yesterdays had, and tomorrows that never come
calloused minds and suffocating to do's that dull me to the very core
acid driven days of illuminated colors,
to touch the hand of God, Allah, Mohamed, Buddha and feel that universal oneness
clouded thoughts that fill my lungs like glue making it impossible to suck the life out of the air
the dulled and deadened that lurk in the days filled with glassy eyed misconceptions
never really see if seen at all
the poet with the wide eyed grin and clit like mind rising with the X-stacy of this fuck...lost to it now in the moment of swirling thought that strokes at my brain as if to bring me full and ready
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Jack Kerouac----On The Road
"[Neal and Allen] rushed down the street together digging everything in the early way they had which has later now become so much sadder and perceptive. . but then they danced down the street like dingldodies and I shambled after as usual as I've been doing all my life after people that interest me, because the only people that interst me are the mad ones, the one who are mad to live, mad to talk, desirous of everything at the same time, tho ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing. . but burn, burn burn like roman candles across the night."
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Nor should it be choked by the words of colorful characters beckoned from the dreams of women longing for there white knight to come forth from the american night and bite into them with all the longing and desire that was lost to them in this eternal daytime slumber.
the artist that paints with the colors that spill forth, to birth life upon the canvass as they fill in the color of the sun; can you feel its orange and yellow rays warm your skin?
words that bound from the page to dive deep within the brain to color the rays of the sun and let you see it in all its glory,
do you feel now
the warmth as it bears down in all it's opressiveness upon your breast filling your lungs with the heat of day
can you hear it now
the buzzing buzz of the cicada bugs that fill the tree tops.
can you see
periods in the wrong place if there at all and sentences choked by commas as to bring to life one long rolling thought that carries you away in the heat of the day.
NOW do you feel
the release of the line that rips through the pages in one long non-capitalized sentence to paint to life all the colors of the day.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The first time i saw Jason was during his freshman year . His thin hipped tall figure loomed above me though I was two years his senior and while it was not the coolest of things to do; date the freshman, there was no denying the pull his deep set blue eyes had on me. the way they would smile with his face pushed up into there own grins by his high cheekbones.after the phone calls and pointless discussions with both he and his family our lives did not simply or cleanly part ways, that summer was spent busily manipulating friends, forming alliances ... who would stand at his side or mine ... several late night phone calls of me hoping to get from him more than he was capable of giving; not much more than a good lay.
"What do you want, why did you call me here in the middle of the night." the disdain for me was so thick in his voice and yet there we stood in the moonlight of Grams backyard. His anger so deep...why would he come, walk the 3 miles from the other side of town at 1am ...why else...
"I am the best fuck you will ever have, you don't need to admit it because I can feel it when you touch me, and though you hate me you want me so badly you can taste it welling up in your mouth like the acid from your stomach." why else would he come, because through all that bitterness his cock still rules his head, he is 15 after all.
"I hate you" and as the words leave his lips in a hiss he presses his full mouth to mine with all the furry, and lust of a man two times his age. What he is feeling now makes him hate himself, makes him hate me more.
Our entire relationship was built on desire and the unspoken chemistry that was so thick when we were together. Our bodies fit together so completely that with every thrust he brought me near orgasm and the moans that to often filled his adolescent room could be heard throughout the emptiness of his dysfunctional home. Was it complete naivety or just a secret longing that I would get pregnant ... something that would fill up the void that had grown in me since childhood.
this would not be the last time he would come to me when i call, never embracing me, but he never turns me away. desperate for him, his touch, his love, i will take what i can get.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Being pregnant and 17 is just another chapter , one that will undoubtedly be a vivid one filled with raw experiences and gut wrenching emotion. The summer was long, in childhood the summers always flew by over before they even started and back to school. But now, now it was long and filled with uncertainty and change, my changing home (yes again) my changing feelings, my changing friends and my changing body. That was also the summer my grandfather on my father's side passed away. My grandmother, affectionately known as grandma Mae was close to me, closer to me than any other adult as few adults if any earned my respect and if they did not have that they were dismissed into the pool of contempt. She knew I was pregnant before anyone else, other than my mother. She just knew. I didn't need to tell her she guessed by the third day of my one week stay with her shortly after grandpa passed and she tended to me and loved me the same way she did before she knew. She didn't pass judgement or lecture, she simply loved me and accepted the things that came. This was; perhaps the greatest gift she could have ever taught me. We accept life as it comes we adapt and we continue to move forward. A week with her was a vacation from expectations that i could never achieve and judgemental tones, it was safe place where you could just be loved and when the time was right she would offer up some words of wisdom, usually during a heated card game of Gin, which she always won!
that summer we packed up our rental home and moved back "home" to Grandma Edie's, where we were not wanted and she made sure she let us know with every comment, every action, every breath. she didn't know i was pregnant and the goal was to keep that from her until we could leave her snake pit. this was to be a temporary move until we could buy our own house, my mother's ultimate goal her end all to all of the moving we only had to last 3 months with her, we could do that.....
the anger and resentment in that house was so heavy in the air that it stung my eyes. the distaste my grandma Edie had for my mother was so painful obvious it loomed in the house like the unwanted house guest that moved in along with us. her dislike for her own daughter, my mother naturally overflowed spilling out onto my sister and i who at 16 and 17 already had a deep dislike for authority figures, the combination of her bitterness and our hormones made for a combustible combination that lingered in the home just waiting for someone to throw the match. you couldn't breathe there she made sure of that.
mom hid most days behind her work, spending long hours there and leaving us behind for a slow and torturous day with grandma. most days started for me with an early morning wave of nausea that woke me from my sleep to remind me of the changes that were happening inside. suppressing the urge to throw up and draw any undo attention was always a great way to start the day. after the bile would settle back down in the pit of my stomach where it belonged i was often roused lovingly from bed by that nasty bitch from hell with a clapping of her hands and "chop, chop, time to wake up" this usually made me want to leap from my bed and punch her square in the face , but often only resulted in a string of choice swear words in attempt to vanquish her from my room. she didn't cease there if we didn't get up, which we usually did not, she would progress to the kitchen where she would bang the pots and dishes creating such a flurry of noise that it left you little choice but to get up.
life there was miserable, exhausting, painful...there was no escape from her always watchful eyes, no where to steal a private moment or hide away from her bitter tongue. this was going to be a long 3 months....
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
what i was really thinking about tonight in my ambien haze...which i have so come to covet, is about that time, back at home in my mom's kitchen, we were packing yet again to move I think that this move in particular was move number 9 or 10, lost track but nonetheless it was another packing and unpacking up of our lives. the sense of permanency had been long lost as my mother had no idea who she was and so therefore neither did we. Moving every year to a new town or a new home in the same town or depending on how bad the finances we would just go back home to grandma Edie's home on Harper st. the house we all new, nearly instinctually from birth that it was the home that grandpa built.
but the house i was packing now was to move back home to grandma's house so this was not so bad, out of all the places we had been, home had to turn up somewhere. My job at 17 and oh yeah, did i forget to mention pregnant, was pretty much all of the packing. Mom working full time and a half was often to exhausted, to cranky to play little house on the prairie so I started doing some of the "motherly" things . food shopping, paying the bills, and balancing the check book became my newly assigned hobbies. cleaning was something my sister and i always split and she and i took care of all cleaning by sat. or risk getting grounded, we never finished on time, she would ground us and then within 4 hours change her mind, perhaps that is why my parenting skills are lacking today.
I am sure that i have lost the point of what it was that i was thinking about...so here it is.
Maryanne my mothers friend was there helping me pack up the kitchen, you know being pregnant and all, she was upset this day because her husband and her were in one of the many valleys of marriage. I recognized her pain and I laid claim to intimately know the kind of pain it is; to equally love and hate someone, the pit it burns in your stomach is indescribable. but it is there in the bottom of that pit that I in my own moments of wretched blackness reached down so deep into myself to find that light that lives in each of us. in the beginging it flickers so softly that you fear one more breath, one more tear will extinguish it. grab hold of it, breathe life into it and that will illuminate your way through the darkest of days allowing you to cotinue to move forward and by moving forward you heal. that is what at 17 i shared with my mother's 38 year old friend. because some how even through her own divorce from her first husband she did not know this. it takes the blackest of days to see your inner light shine and even then you must seek it out. sevenfuckinteen....and i knew this, i had found it and now knew that i was strong enough to have the little one growing in me. thank you brian for all that preceeded this baby, as that gave me the strength to have her alone and face the prying eyes.
i have always had a very detached view of my life looking at it from the outside in as if turning the pages of my own book. some chapters are very colorful, shameful, deeply sexual and there are some that are boring, but one thing they never are is ordinary. you wont find any of that here, but maybe just maybe you may find a little of your self here, the dark and twisty side that makes you chuckle at the not so funny things, or you may cry because someonelse has felt pain like that too. If you read this and can't relate at all check your pulse, and read some other blog that has practical advice on who the fuck knows what!
we have only touched on the tip of this titty my friend....maybe you will stick around for full on cutllingus on our next date. sweet dreams. wow, ambien is kickin my ass....