Whoooooaaaaahhhh!!

Allz I gotta say iz, it's not my fault! It's been so long since I've written that I forgot my password. But here's the thing, my new closet at my new house in my new city is big enough to fit the length of a kayak...as there is one in there currently. It's sort of like a small basement on 1st floor level. Or a garage with no remote control door. Or a yacht without a sail. But really guys, I just said "yacht" because a certain arguement over pasta the other night consisted of carving the said word into a cabinent wall in hopes to win the closest and most correctist spelling. My closet doesn't look like a yacht at all. It's off-white. In any case, it is a bit like Narnia or Malacandra, and as I have proven true, one can get lost for months in there. But I admit, I am alive. In more ways than my physical.

Ah, so, the update. Since I've left the mid-west and ventured yet again to sweet southern bliss, a twist of welcome-home fate took its toll against the lighter side of life. I moved into a house where the previous tenent performed cat sacrifices in my oven. Pretty sure anyway. Have you ever had to mop your walls? Just wondering...
The brunt of chaos actually happened to my best friend and not me...which in real life I'm greatful for (sorry dude) but in writing, it'd make for a much better story, seeing as how I'm the one writing.

Alright, day we moved to newest happy city, half way there--car broke down. Luckily, back up car hidden just a few hours away. Waited at lonely abandoned parking lot for 4 hours until ride showed. Started new life with new back-up car--3 weeks later it gets totaled in a mad crepe myrtle catastrophy. Decided that only option was to get job in walkable distance. Walks to work. Walks home from work. Gets robbed and beaten at gunpoint--minus the robbed part because after having given the thieves the wallet, they forgot to take it. Genius. Started riding bike as not to be such an obvious target. As smart girl that I am, I buy beaten, tired, stinky victim Bible in time of need. Having ridden bike to my house in thanks for the gift, said bicycle gets stolen off front porch. I think at that point we dug potato sacks out of Narnia and with our faces covered in ashes, we beat our chests. Yeah, that sounds right.

Nothing in above story is falsified or amplified, surprisingly, given the absurdity of the content of the story and given the melodramatic nature of the writer of the story.


I have to rebuild my writing strength, learn how to walk again in vocabulary and exercise my thoughts. I'll be back. Hopefully before I have another great story to tell.

Seriously, all a girl wants in life is a t-shirt that says, "Talk Nerdy To Me"
Is that too much to ask?

Been doing that traveling thing again...

Once the itch is under the proverbial skin, I must scratch with the wheels of my Jeep.

I've barely just returned to the south and yet the west calls again. I left Alabammy with bearded mountain man Willing McMurder and headed west, barreling (slang for an act or instance of moving rapidly, often recklessly, in a motor vehicle) through Tex-ass with as much interest as if I were dead. Disclaimer: referring to physically dead, not spiritually, because friends, seriously, I do plan to be Living it up when I'm dead. We swiftly made it to El Paso, TX having only spent one night in the Jeep--windows rolled down to escape the sweltering sticky heat--even in the pouring, southern, massive droplet rain.

Crossing the border to Mexico seemed the next obvious step in our travels and so we hopped the "Border Jumper trolley" for a mere $12 and crossed the Rio which was a bit "dried up," stretching out to a whopping 5 ft in width. I couldn't have drown myself in that river with a plastic bag around my head and weights strapped to my feet. What's all the hooplah of trying to escape the customs, eh?

Spent a couple days in Juarez, crazy touristy border city, returning with nothing but the regret of having not purchased a Sponge Bob Square Pants pinata.

So, freshly back in the States after, oddly, no search what-so-ever from customs, we're cruising through NM, toasty-burned, squinty eyed, and tired, and we decide we'll stop in Pie Town, NM for some...pie. Population 60 people. We find only one bakery that's closed, but across the street from it is a chunk of land that says 'Camping, Free'. Alas, we embark.

Sitting out in forefront of the land is an old man whose face is just screaming, "Come talk to me, I'll share my world with you." His name is Bob Sundown, an 85 yr old natural story teller. For many years he has traveled in his covered wagon while being pulled by a team of mules. He now lives in this said wagon on this land that the government gave to his old war buddy for winning two congressional medals.

Sundown has been kicked by a mule and now has a colostomy bag. He has been shot in the side by a pack of crazy thieves who attempted to jump his ride (aka wagon) and rob him. Sounds a bit like he stole that scene from Robin Hood. He also only has one eyeball...didn't get the story on that one. So, he takes us around this plot of 170 acres and teaches us the fruits of the land. He shows us what we can eat (chef's salad--nickname), what we can make tea out of (sage and chamomile), what we can use to heal our dry desert skin (milk weed). He raised three girls in the back of the wagon and one son all while on the road. His wife died in a car accident and he forever swore off driving a car. Every summer he'd work on a ranch in order to be able to send them to school in the fall. We just sat there, eyes and mouths wide open, soaking in his history.The next morning, after camping next to some wildly loud coyotes--I swear I wasn't scared at all--we went to the only cafe' to get coffee and pie and took Sundown in thanks for teaching us. After we got our food he prayed for us, prayed for safe travels and health. He now organizes with the local high school AG teachers and gets the kids to take field trips to him where he can teach them of the local plants of the land.

That's the spice of traveling right there, meeting those who are so rich and full of life.

you ask and you state and you pause at my ear

don't pause at my ear and withhold your words
let it drip from your tongue and mumble a third
your stinging silence has me twisting wrought
i brought a love, an apple and a bag of my thoughts
it's a socket a nail and a love and a curse
it's the plaid and the liquid and the music's timely burst
when you crept in the night to steal a pointed verse
then just to twist and to tie and play the game first

under the painted door don't lie to yourself
the curve has me rendered and begs to be delt
they ask for your name behind the hidden trees
shaded by the dungeon of your mortality
banging your head against the unchanging walls
I wait and I wait and I wait for your fall
the triangle box just stares at me
what can I do for you tonight, my lovely lady?
you ask and you state and you pause at my ear
you ask and you state and you pause at my ear
tell me you love me and save energy from fear

in the night, in the heat, in the secret southern bleak
in the river of my soul flushing out the meek
overlapping circle, my eye catches yours
dancing and glowing and glowing just to glow
sing that song again once in the night
hanging on a hated pause and feeling contrite
standing dry at your mercy
in the street's light

roadtrippin' again

I'm the only one not wearing one of those striped cardboard thick cowboy button-ups. I vividly remember those from my days waiting in Kentucky truckstops for a jump on my Nissan.

early a.m. sitting curiously in a small diner in a small town in Missouri trying to absorb my surroundings. It's gorgeous in this state, especially after having spent last night in Kansas...which to its geographical state is not unpleasant, but it does by far remain the most difficult drive to keep your sanity fresh. I spent the night in my Jeep. There was a bitter chill in the air but nothing so harsh as the Colorado mountain air I just left.

I'm driving east. just going straight. eastbound. no turns. just east. that doesn't happen very often. But I have a nice lineup of peeps to visit on the way before I eventually head down to the Alabama coast.

The last entry in my journal states, "God is crazy. He's a madman. But I am completely calm under the hand of the Master."

I had planned to do some massive havoc reeking on the outdoors with a certain farm boy in Bama, like riding horses, a bit of climbing, kayaking, beach volleyball, and scaling the side of the USS Alabama battleship with him at night in my newest black leather ninja pajamas. But, I fear these crutches at my side in this booth with me now lend meaning to my propped up foot and the bag of ice on top. End of the season foolishness. Everyone has their own story. Without graphic detail to my foolishness I'll just say the rock face of my apartment wall resembled all too well that of the side of a mountain needing to be climbed. After many successful turns, I made it only to the 2nd balcony, and plop. In the words of my Uncle Evil when as kids we'd punch him in the family jewels not at all sympathetic to the consequences, "pain, agony, defeat." Just let me die. So needless to say, with all my insane attempts at cliff jumping, sports, snowboarding, riding on top of cars at increasing speeds, I've not until this point injured myself. So this trip on crutches, no pun intended, has been a riot. It is true that crutches serve as a conversation starter, a tool for milking affection, and also a source of defense. But with the latter, it i sof utmost importance to have an excellent sense of balance 1st. A couple of drunken ski patrolers, a few of my friends with absolutely no credentials, and Will's dad the doctor who assessed me via Will over the phone, all diagnosed me with only a 2nd degree ankle sprain. I'll be fine tomorrow. Though, that last part is just my foolish optimism. I'm off to complete another 8-10 hrs of relentless stare stealing roads. Louisville is my destination. I hope someone there has a shower. ...did I mention 17hrs ago I spilled coffee in my lap AND had gasoline spill all over my feet? Ah, a shower indeed.

good times in the bad times

I was under the impression that sleeping was an option, but the way the force of my eyelids raped my freedom of choice I might have to recast my vote. In a way, I fell asleep yesterday while still moving. I boarded down Strawberry Park on my morning run, feeling a bit loopy over each bump. Trudging on in fervent reminder that this would be my only glorious escape for the day from my toasty lift shack, I hurled myself through each curve and launched over every roller. Ride fast, take chances I was told.

Somewhere down the mountain the bearings in my brain broke loose and sparks of imbalanced chemicals began to freely fly throughout the cage of my head. Like a narcoleptic, I must have uncontrollably lost consciousness and plumeted to the ground, because I awoke to a bodily position that insinuated I should still be moving. Except only now, I was laying on my side, ear full of snow, arms twisted behind my back...obviously not in attempt to break the fall, snowboard still strapped to my feet, plus an oxygen mask strapped to my face. And, notably, accompanied by a handful of cute ski patrolers taking my pulse. Now, if this were the view I could awake to everytime I come to, I'd trade in the embarassment of being tagged a 'random fainter' for the eye candy. But, whatever.

Skittish: Smokey Ramblings of the Tin Box Bunny

Something is always far away.

My feet dangled from the moving chair in anticipation. The full morning moon caught me in a staring contest. For a moment I wished it was you. A salty thing to taste rolled from my eye down my cheek to the corner of my lips. I'm convinced it was from the bitter wind chill, but undoubtedly missing you was the only thing on my mind. I looked around, sat back in my chair to get the bigger picture, as there are always 4-17 perspectives for every view, and I noticed how the moon seemed to perfectly nuzzle itself in the valley.

Some things are always far from me.

The tingling crackle of my fickleness sounds to shed this layer of indecision. You've quite ruined my world ya know, mushing my thoughts all mimbly bimbly of sorts. I've got one constant in my life and that is my wanting you. At a glance, all the world seems put together. But that's a lonely answer. We want to think just that for hope's sake. The unrevolutionary idea that we have no business even putting one foot in front of the next for fear of the soon and coming cliff is more realistic. We are either ridiculously numb creatures frolicking in our own disease of mistakes by forgetting past errors and continuing in naivete or we are more likely, pressing forward in a bravery even to which history cannot give ample credit.

The princess cannot even fall asleep on a mushy pea masked by 20 mattresses but I alone can fall asleep on a hard plastic 32 oz Nalgene bottle, and due to sheer exhaustion, manage to get in an 8hr snooze. And, if every once in awhile everyone doesn't wash their clothes in dish soap or see a monster across the room in broad daylight in public, then maybe my thinking I'm like the rest of humanity is far from the truth. But wait, I've never thought I was much like the rest of you.

Maybe some things aren't so far away.

Consider yourself a pioneer for new thought. New thinking for yourself, a new life on the horizon, a new path to be blazed. You're a pioneer for a new adventure as your soul seeks it fresh.

I once thought Molly's apartment was obnoxiously small. I now see it as spectacularly telling. We, you and I that is, could not run from each other...Except in circles...And I see that as a game...And also one in which I'd like to be caught. Sell your house to the maker. Give your heart to the creator. Leave your baggage at the door. Give your money to the poor. Play a song for your girl and lend me all your kisses.

There's a time to kayak and a time to sleep. There's a time to grow your own garden and a time to eat beef jerky all day. There's a time to smoke a Bali Mai clove and a time to swim 6 miles. There's a time to use a tent and a time to wake up to a curious moose. There's a time to snowboard until it's illegal and a time to roll naked down a snowy hill. There's a time to be clean and a time to drive back from the beach with salt and sand in every crevice of your body. There's a time to guard your heart and a time to be blatantly honest. There's a time to roll with the wind and a time for change. Something here must change.

Some things are so close to me. Maybe you are exactly where I need you.

silly me

My mom says I do well at being myself and not floundering in the eyes of pressure...so with her words stapled to my mind I hoped that I wouldn't come across as a completely socially awkward nerd--which actually, is a huge possibility that I could, considering that is definitly a part of "being myself." But in this moment I couldn't contain myself. The very word 'patient' made me quiver with impatience, and so I boldly took the situation into my own hands, completely spitting in the eyes of the very definition of Waiting.

As a humble and embarassed living witness of one who decided to take a chance, I confess, don't do it!

Or at least do some research first.

officially

the only thing wrong with being sick, having the deep lung, old man smoker's cough, is not being able to sing. bring on the snot, I can conquer you, but the lack of song bird singing....
just kill me now.

a sensation of sudden fear

It's time to bail...
and it's just become the hour of admittance.

But the reality of vulnerability drops heavy,
making it hard to breathe.
Pain comes with reality.
and heartbreak with pain.
and bitterness with heartbreak.
and reclusiveness with bitterness.
and misunderstanding with reclusiveness.
and discomfort and paranoia and unconfidence with misunderstanding.

It's time to bail...
and it's just barely become the hour of admittance.

enchanted

These eyelids, though taped open,
brutally defy my notion to continue consciously through today.
These delicately monstrous mountains,
though snow-capped and breathtaking,
do not offer the jolting burst of awareness I need.
This music, though melodically inviting,
cannot peel me from my delusion.
This coffee, though fantastically strong like crude oil, so much so
there are beans getting stuck in my teeth like chaw,
doesn't shake and grate this delirious mind.
Confused and confound to my snow cabinet,
this sleep deprived insanity
drives me to spout of hatred for lack of the snoozer.

Creation to Creator

"Though I may fall short
when on this world's scale
I've been weighed,
but it's an honor to know
in your image
I've been made."

-Everybody Died

To Will

So, the wildabeast that ate your arm off in your dream crept into my world and crawled up my nose. Picture this: me, you, Amber, Danny and the lady that works at the Starbucks all sitting on a hot southern day at an Asian flea market building houses with chopsticks. A spider, godzilla size mind you, crawls up my nose. I'm freaking out. You and fellow dream participants don't care. So in my attempt for survival I stick a chopstick up my nose and pull out only half the body. Suddenly, a nearby ski instructor (at the southern Asian flea market?) informs me that if I chug 2 PBR's quickly that it will drown out the possibility of the eggs to attach to any olfactory epithiletham glands and hatch. So of course a beer fridge suddenly appears and I grab 2 of my favorites and funnel them. And it is not until this point you guys finally pay attention to my pain, and even then, only to tell me I'm being a bad witness to the Asian children. Man. What a night. Happy Valentines to me.

a fellow blogger friend of mine, Jev, must have read my journal last night because I do believe he posted the same thing I was going to say. And to quote him (quoting my mind), "blogging isn't about being interesting, or clever, or astute, or sounding intellegent, or deep; it's about being yourself. And sometimes, yourself is very boring." http://scrumtrelecent.blogspot.com

and this is where you expect me to bleed my soul onto this screen but instead that's all I'm going to say. 'Cause even though I hold strongly to his words I can't quite seem to squeeze out that part of me that admits boredom. ha ha. I'm a sucker for entertainment. But thanks for stealing my thoughts Jev.

a poem, a bloody big bomb...what if a sonnet went off accidentally?

The mystery of a play is what keeps the audience in their seats until completion. And in a good play, an excellent play, a moving play, actors and actresses will continue to remember their lines forever, even dreaming about them years down the road. And in a good play, an excellent play, a moving play, audiences will continue rehashing that night they went to the theatre, even quoting lines and imitating characters, and praising the cast.

The mystery of a personality, a motivating, an honest, an enigmatical riddle or sorts, is what keeps one coming back to get their cup filled full.

in you may i bask, just a smile or two?

A cord of amusement you pull
from me, out of the core
great and terrible sufficing power
I want you to sustain,
to remain, to attain me.
arms like strong towers
legs as volcanic powers
burst into my life and embrace me,
intice me.
Be concise with me.

fireside

I've got all night
to ponder the
pains of the human heart.
Why does it hurt?
Why? When it's not even me who loves.
Why does it hurt to not love?

salon jazz

Leave the Keys Behind to Rest

He picked my heart through the piano strings
like soldiers on the line to defend
She ate my soul with her breath
like the encompassing winds of nature destroy
They gave me life through their dancing
like electricity in my bones
Kiss my cheek, Love, in sweet romancing
and you'll never be alone.

Can you clap in the moonlight as I inhale you?
Let the curve of sound be your guide
Will you dance me to the cliff of your imagination?
For to this heart I am tied.

cultivating faith

the bouncing floor seems to seep from the waves of fiction in my mind. I know it's real. I know I stand pulsing with every drum beat. Swing on down to me. Vibrations of bodies against me dancing with flawless inhibition propel my ecstasy. As if endorphins injected directly into my blood stream swim like dolphins though my veins, I scream and move to my contentment's music. Peeling through the colored red, orange, green foggy lights, my sight encompasses a satisfaction personified. I am so happy. I would change nothing other than to be like liquid, shoulder to shoulder with you.

got luv on the mind

somehow i thought you could read my mind

A word is said--spoken--so to speak
to you, from me
delicately
diligently
inherently
but incorrectly.
(Not to you, Silly, ...him, *wink*
So sorry, Love.)
But I take it back now.
For had you loved me,
broadened your gates,
untainted your
strict structure,
I would've given you the words
and multiplied them.
But now they're lost...
in the air,
under the bridge,
in my tears,
on the road,
melting in the woods.
And you could've had me
You could've had me--for all time...
But you passed through my life like a dream in my head.
A fleeting memory now I consider quite dead.

In a world so gargantuanly round
With years to penetrate the visual sound
I've journied the earth's inviting crown
And here in my soul is what I've found

Will it always be this way? stuck on me, stuck on you?
Stuck so far from those baby blues?
Can you hear the music singing our tune,
as I want nothing more than to be next to you?
How long will adventure act as my guide,
when all the while I adventure just to get you by my side.

I prefer numerous journals of all colors and sizes and characters as some women prefer men. They satisfy me, and variety is good for the mystery.

I know I haven't posted anything worthy lately but honestly, where is there time to think when a girl has to concentrate on snowboarding everyday, and getting a suntan, and listening to lots of Fleetwood Mac? But alas, in the midst of riding the mountain in speedy rampages, I went back and found an insert in D.Miller's "Searching For God Knows What." These are his opinions on humans from his alien point of view. (no wry comment McMurray):

Humans, as species, are constantly, and in every way, comparing themselves to one another, which, given the brief nature of their existence, seems an oddity and, for that matter, a waste. Nevertheless, this is the driving influence behind every human's social development, their emotional health and sense of joy, and, sadly, their greatest tragedies. It is as though something that helped them function and live well has gone missing, and they are pining for that missing thing in all sorts of odd methods, none of which are working. The greater tragedy is that very few people understand they have the disease. This seems strange as well because it is obvious. To be sure, it is killing them, and yet sustaining their social and economic systems. They are an entirely beautiful people with a terrible problem.

to dwell in agony or to color my view?

Put it back in my eyes. Put away the lies. Is not perspective interchangeable with choice?

The dancing made me deaf. They danced like children. Awkward, bumbling children who are not naive to their stolen toys, their fingerprinted walls, their vegetables under the napkin. Groping and knowing and relishing and hoping. I hated them all. Swirling pots of mistaken mush.

Silence raped my ears, drowning out the pleasure of the band. Skewed was my vision of the blinking disco lights as everyone breaks me while trying to fit into my mind's triangle. Now they want in. Now they see. But I'll shake it like a snow cube. Whirling around. Dancing heads become bouncing heads against the glass. Crush.

The sun came out for a minute. It was on no account of you mr. girating belt buckle. Mr. flash your one sided jacket lining, like you're selling watches in NY. That's a fancy sparkle of disgust spiraling from the chutes and ladders of your eyes. Time always tells the truth.

Put it back in my eyes. Put aways the lies. Is not perspective interchangeable with choice?

I'm writing a play. It's a real life story called "The Mountain", based off the fictional t.v. show called "The Mountain". It's about lifties. It's about snow. It's about mountains.

My budget is small and all props will be homemade. And all backgrounds will be hand drawn. Backgrounds will consist of "the mountains" and will take place in the mountains. I've already got a co-mastermind on tap. I think we're going places.

Prodding through strange lands alone

**Ha--I found this entry as I ransacked the pages of stuff I wrote while still in AL. As usual, exploring the unknown, I searched for a quiet spot to write and also to search out these alleged goats my friend Erin always sees down by the Mobile Bay. Seems fishy. In any case, this made me laugh so hard just now I thought I'd post it**

There's a strange sense that as I peddle through these waterside weeds I'm able to come upon a dead body--or maybe even an arm, waving at me no less. Or worse yet, a live body. Every 3 seconds I gleam behind me in quiet desperation of survival. With every rotation, my feet are troubled as to where they should plant themselves--either between the empty bucket of Church's Chicken, used spark plugs, discarded Marlboro Light butts, a soggy Ziplock Bag box, or an arm? ...Ahh! What the... Oh wait. Never mind.

You know what is scary though?RIGHT NOW! When I think I'm all alone and I suddenly smell fresh cigar permeating the stale air. Typical me right now, "Oh, aren't these flowers pretty, let's frolic in the marsh. Oh, hello, psycho killer from the swamp. What's your name?"

Solomon 8:6

6 Place me like a seal over your heart,
like a seal on your arm;
for love is as strong as death,
its jealousy unyielding as the grave.
It burns like blazing fire,
like a mighty flame.
7 Many waters cannot quench love;
rivers cannot wash it away.
If one were to give
all the wealth of his house for love,
it would be utterly scorned.

2:7 Do not arouse or awaken love until she pleases
as love should develope naturally...do not force it.

don't you realize?

creeps in like a monster in the closet
but sleeps like the glazing of a setting sun

must you force yourself so nonchalantly
into a place that anyway beckoned?

abuse, unheard of
tainted love
where comprehension lacks
and presumed river flows

my face is BURIED.
MY face is buried.
but a familiar one trots and sports
and loves and glows
near you, funny thing,
all over Texas.

Sinched solice so solid
so it be
drip drop darling
tick tock darling
fury following father
finding me

eat it
weep it
lead it

contored control contracts
contrary to him
raging rampant rules
rarely not dim

Waking up next to you...(Next to you on the other side of the wall)--it's like having the pleasure of wrestling...you and I know...smoking our Luckys. They say true love is hard to find. Do I disagree? Debatable.

Bent backwards all squirmishly excited, like crawling out of bed trying not to wake you; I tiptoe alone trying not to wake the awareness of my heart.

It's 62 degrees. I don't want the temperature to change. I don't want you to know how I sneak around, childlike defiance, from your tower like arms as they pull me toward you, biting my bottom lip in painful restraint.

Have you the power of willful observation? OR must I unfold my tablecloth of mysteries onto your platform of subconscious questions? You say it's the idiosyncratic quirks emitted from the character of your puppetry that motivates your love. Not pinpointed. Not deserved. Naturally silly and beautifully obsessively compulsive--even to a breaking point. But where do you study? Personally, I've never heard the lectures on your discoveries. Have you written this alleged dissertation or does the research remain to be fulfilled?

Do not arouse or awaken love until she pleases, I tell myself. Let love develope naturally, do not force it. Oh dammed patience. Oh poor me. ha ha.

bitter sweet

Way before the sunshine I'm up like a curse
Rumbling in my stomach, my thoughts are diverse
Why can't I sleep,
Put away this crazy heart
Don't read into things, emotions are fraught.

I toss and turn, sheets tight like cocoon
Pillow on my head, avoiding the stare of the moon
It knows me...it's seen this kind before
Wrought, twisted, happy, confused
I can't sleep so just let me ponder and adore

My knees ache, my teeth hurt, my heart insanely curious
My intangible fantasyland leaves me hanging furious.
Skewed is my mind, intertwined with delved possibilities.
Let me drown in my love for you,
For you reciprocating is no reality.

This line just in......(I think it wins)

"You're the only reason I'd ever become a cannibal."