the internet: a great place for undeliverable mail...

To you,
I miss you irrationally. I just want to be close to you right now, and it is completely impossible. Life is stupid. Sometimes I wonder what I did to Karma to piss her off to the point where bad things follow me around. Even things that seem good at the time lose their glimmer and I realize that they really weren't gold as they had first seemed. It is amazing how big of a chasm separates us. You are one place, I am another, and although I would love to sit and rest my head in your lap, it isn't possible. More than anything I want to hear your voice telling me that everything will be okay. I want you to brush my hair out of my eyes like you used to and make me laugh. I miss laughing with you. I want time travel. I want to be able to revisit your table so that we can talk again. I want to smile at you and see an answering smile on your face. Someone should make the impossible possible.
Sweet dreams...

dead scarf...

Epitaph:

Here lies the remnants of a once beautiful scarf.
You were not long in this world, and that was the real problem.
Ultimately, you just fell short, and were cut down.

(Ba-dum-ch)

most certainly, yes, quite...

Well hello, dear nemesis. So, it seems we meet again. I must have been somewhat mistaken upon our last encounter when I had thought to have ended you. However, it seems that your light was not snuffed. My revelry in your demise was premature and my elation over your doom was misplaced. Once again we stand toe to toe looking at one another directly in the eye. Actually, is it my imagination, or did you shrink some? I seem to be staring, more or less, at your forehead. Never mind that small rabbit trail of a notion, it was misguided... Bother, perhaps you became more diminutive in stature specifically to throw me off my original intent. Now I seem to have forgotten where I was going with this whole speech. Blast! You may have one this battle, my most hated and ubiquitous foe. However, as it is your very nature (see previous descriptor), we shall meet again. I am most ready for this encounter, and I will prepare my next oration with more care. Let it be known that you will meet your demise at the will of my very hand.

strange, but true...

Yeah, I just dreamed this, seriously. I'm glad I keep a notebook or a computer next to me at all times. In my dream I was sitting under a tree in a gorgeous sweater and a long flowy skirt, playing the guitar, and singing this to the wind. For some reason my hair was brownish and it kept blowing into my face, so I actually stopped mid song, pulled it back into a braid, and started over. My psyche is completely nuts.

The minute I gave up,
the minute my heart stopped,
is when I saw the colors fly by
in a technicolor sky.
The moment you held me
is the moment you sold me
on spending all of my days
wrapped up in this haze.
You promised with a kiss
it would always be like this
and I believed you,
because that is what I do.
Please never let this end;
always remember when
you told me this would last
and you calmed away the past.
In that whisper you told me,
in that minute where you showed me,
that life could be better
I wanted you forever.

truths and a lie

I wrote these down, and I don't know why. It is especially odd due to the fact that they are in a notebook that only I look at. I am completely insane. I suppose you can all play if you want though.

Four Truths and a Lie

1: Sometimes I pretend I'm a vampire and refuse to recognize my reflection in mirrors.
2: My electronics all have names.
3: I am easily persuaded by infomercials, but only after midnight(ish).
4: I used to think I was brave.
5: I have an alternate version of almost anything I do waiting in my brain, unused.

1: I like celery.
2: I'll do almost anything for cake.
3: If I'm cooking anything I will inevitably burn myself.
4: I like beets.
5: I wish I was a better cook.

1: I can't ever get myself to regret anything.
2: I like hugging some people enough to initiate the hug.
3: I had a dream about purple flying lions once.
4: I want to visit England mostly so that I can visit the homes of dead writers.
5: I secretly wish I could be a rock star.

I really don't know how this ended up on a page in my notebook, silly brain...

It seemed like a good idea at the time is the only reason I can come up with now. I looked over the cliff and realized that if I could get moving fast enough something would snap and the world would turn inside out. In that instant, I would be able to see something else. Something else being an alternate reality, of course. Needless to say it worked. Now I am stuck in Oz looking for a way to jump into a wormhole and back to something that makes sense. Rainbow horses and talking animals have never been my thing.

empty suitcase...

Hello, empty suitcase, we meet again! I loathe thee and love thee all at the same time. Oh, dear suitcase, you will take me places, and yet you taunt me and torture me. Why must you stare at me with such desire and longing and yet confound me?


(Yep, it's official, my procrastination has driven me to complete madness...)

bah humbug...

There goes my brain again, it is jumping around like popcorn and trying to make me crazy. Goodbye brain. Go ahead and dive in deep. Why not? It would be great to let you think whatever for a change. Go on. Be free! Silly brain. Stop being so difficult. If I could quit worrying about this stupid nothing, things could be perfect. But the stupid nothing just bites, and I want to be able to go fly around for a bit and whistle a show tune or two.

a matter of theft...

If you aren't using it anymore, do you mind if I have your soul? I mean, it is just sitting there and growing dusty. If you are going to pretend it doesn't exist, maybe I could find a good use for it. the world just does not need more people that spend their lives falling through cracks and slipping into nothing. There is no use for the crack people and their mind games. They have a whole civilization that nobody dares to speak of. If the words are spoken and the truth comes out we cease to exist and they win. But as long as you are still teetering between darkness and light and deciding if you will crossover or stay put, could you please just give me a minute? I'm not telling you which side to choose. I have no interest in either. My neutrality will ultimately win me a spot in the nothingness of purgatory and that is okay with me. As long as I can live a not miserable life and die a not miserable death I am okay with living in the grey area. However, if you will not give me what I want, I might have to change my mind and just take it. You won't miss it. You aren't using it anyway.

icky... icky... icky...

Posted: No Moths To Enter Premises Upon Pain of Death

---

Epitaph:

Here lies a creepy moth.
He had no real purpose,
But he enjoyed torturing the innocent.
He will not be missed,
But he will be rued for eternity,
Thus making this evil creature immortal.

(Blast)

smoothies make everything seem like a sandcastle paradise...

"Oh no!" She cried running quickly away from the boulder. It had looked at her in a shady manner and her heart had immediately taken flight and headed in the direction of Milwaukee. Her heart had a tendency to betray her like that, however, this was not as ghastly as the constant mutiny of her feet. She really could not keep life straight anymore. Between the constant glares from the inanimate objects and the snickers coming from under her rug, she knew that eventually she would go mad. Still running she took a turn into a dark and mysterious wood. Something beckoned her in and she realized that what she really wanted was a berry smoothie. A smoothie! That was it! A sweet berry smoothie would solve all of her problems. She hurried through the wood toward a light. The light happened to be a Jamba Juice. What luck! A berry smoothie in hand she leaped into the air and grabbed a hold of the legs of a passing seagull. It was, in fact, disgruntled by her intrusion, but it decided to take her to the beach anyway. After being gently lowered to the ground by the bird, she made a quick sandcastle. She fashioned it quite nicely and decided it would be her new home. Placing a welcome mat made from seaweed in front of the door she went inside and took a nap.

oxygen deprivation...

Learning to breathe is the most difficult lesson ever to be learned. It takes more effort than any other normal function. For instance, one does not have to learn to keep their heart beating. However, keeping oxygen flowing in and out of my lungs takes a constant reminder. Slow down. Take a breath. Relax. Try not to panic. Try to stop panicking. Try to remember to breathe.

Sometimes I want to scream obscenities at the top of my lungs. I want to curse everyone and everything that is taking away my sanity. This idea never works. The vulgar words get stuck on my tongue and the chastising venom spewing in my head never comes to fruition.

Somehow I have allowed myself to become convinced that the feelings of everyone around me are more important and more fragile than my own. I gently apply a soothing but mostly ineffective balm to my aching heart and I try to remember to let the air come into my starving lungs.

Deep in my soul a writhing, tumultuous, seething, monster is lurking. She carefully and gleefully tends to my festering wounds hoping that they will explode into a giant black hole that will consume everything in its path. There would be nothing left. A vacuum of time and space where everyone and everything that I knew would be gone. On the other side of this wormhole of nothingness there would be a field of rotting corpses left in my wake.

Sometimes I want to scream obscenities at the top of my lungs, but then I remind myself that it already takes too much effort to breathe without all of the unnecessary loss of air that comes from allowing bitter and worthless tripe to flow from my mouth with the same pressure as a fire hose.

Breathing. Taking a minute to pause. Allowing myself to compartmentalize and move on. Always, most importantly, remembering to allow the flow of oxygen to continue throughout my starving and desperate body. Trying to remember. Trying to keep myself going. Trying to stop the inevitable. Remember... breathe.

this started as a tweet...

I'm feeling a bit growly at the moment. Sorry about that chaps and such, it's just the way it is. I really feel little ambition within my psyche to make any sort of change. There is nothing anyone can do to convince me that it would be better for me to take my inner polar bear (okay, maybe small black bear cub at best) and cage her or even give her a snack to sate her hunger. No, it is going to be this way.
Sometimes my anger builds. Well, you cannot really call it anger. It is more mild irritation with a side of miffed. For the most part, I avoid strong emotions. (That was just a slight pause for worthy digression.)
In reality, my life is not complicated enough for me to become angered. However, my life is just boring enough for me to become complacent and then agitated when something changes. Agitated. That is a good word for it. Like a puppy trying to get away from the two year old bent on pulling its tail. Poor puppy. It will never get away. Eventually the two year old will grow and evolve and develop a way to attack. Rawr.
For now, I remain like a goldfish aware of the kitty staring longingly in at me licking her lips and planning out her mid-day snack: "The fins first or the whole thing in one gulp? Shall I cook it and take time to savor the delicacy, or shall I simply snap it up in my jaws and relish the squirming as it glides down my throat? Seasoning? Perhaps just a little more torture; yes, torture will make it more tender and quite tasty in the end."
The sigh of contentment can quickly turn into a moan of distaste when you realize that what you were enjoying has been turned into a catalyst for torture. Oh, but the jacuzzi felt good. It felt wonderful until I realized it was not a jacuzzi at all but, in fact, a pot of water set to slowly boil upon the stove. Drat! Foiled again at my own game. Is there any way to learn from such a ghastly misstep?

Today went well... So well, in fact, that I am going to write something for all of you. I'm not sure what will come next. Your guess is really as good as mine. I just ramble on after all, I don't actually think much of this through before my fingers hit the keyboard.
---

One score and almost four years ago, a girl set forth on a journey to rule the world! She was frequently thwarted in her early domination attempts and so she eventually gave up and decided to eat cake instead. Or did she?
---

Epitaph:

Here lies a perfectly good bit of chicken.
While it was alive, it pecked the ground, in death it was tasty.
The floor was its ultimate demise,
Those who knew this bit of chicken, will surly miss it.
Dear chicken, rest knowing that you made lives better before your untimely departure to the trash can.
---

Not a Limerick: (Slightly dirty for I have been previously reprimanded for the cleanliness of my prior not a limericks/real limericks)

There once was a girl with nice legs
Who liked the way boys would beg.
She wore scandalous skirts,
And skipped through the dirt,
Then she realized that she was objectifying herself in a horrendous way and committed the rest of her life toward the banning of such ridiculous and reprehensible clothing as the mini skirt.
---

The End
and
Nighty night friend types.

epitaph...

Here lies a good and noble pen.
You were the best at what you did;
You wrote well in a time of uncertainty.
When there was turmoil, you brought peace.
You were a security blanket.
Only a pen, in fact, and not a blanket.

ignorance could be bliss, or maybe cause for a guilty plea...

This could be controversial. It could make some people angry. Of course, neither of those two things have ever stopped me from speaking my mind before (at least not from the safety of my blog), and so they will not stop me now.

Recently I have taken part in a couple of different conversations about ignorance and what it means to society. Is ignorance an excuse to cover the wounds caused by words that people speak? Could ignorance be equivalent to a guilty plea when being publicly or privately tried? Or could it be that ignorance is simply something that exists before people learn important values, lessons or facts. Maybe, in most cases, ignorance is just ignorance. A misused word that has taken on a meaning that it should not have.

Let us start with a definition (mostly just because I like an excuse to use a dictionary). Mariam-Webster defines ignorance as: the state or fact of being ignorant: lack of knowledge, education, or awareness. It is so simple. So basic. Being ignorant means that you have no knowledge or education of what you are ignorant of. None! How fantastic!

The definition of the word leads to a grave misuse of it. Example: two socially educated friends walking down the street. Person 1, "Oh my gosh! Look at that person! *insert racial or social slur here*" Person 2, "Stop being ignorant." Almost always, this is not ignorance. Almost always, this is just one person being terrible, and another person calling them ignorant because they are, in fact, terrible.

Here is my problem with this misuse. Using the word in such a way has caused people to equate ignorance with hatred. Not all people who say or do or omit things out of ignorance are hateful. Projecting hate into someone's heart when it is not there, is mean and, to be honest, somewhat hateful in itself. Some people just do not know the difference between what is right and wrong. The only way to mend this, is to teach. To teach with love and respect, I should probably add.

I do not want to make this much longer, but I do want to address one more problem. Do we convict people morally or legally based on their ignorance? Should the mothers that have kids that were born with defects due to the insulation in their homes, the lead in their pipes, or the alcohol they consumed before those things were known to be harmful be condemned for being ignorant? Should the wife of a notorious serial killer who never suspected her husband to be something so heinous be tried and convicted as an ignorant accomplice? It all seems a little sticky to me.

I think that sometimes ignorance is just uneducated people (and I mean uneducated in any way, not just in the traditional sense of the word) who do not know they are hurting others. That is what it should be. Misuse of the word is really what is to blame. I think that people need to remember that when they are defending the helpless or those abused by someone that one finds to be ignorant, that it is not done in a hateful and hurtful way to the one you are defending the original person from. Does that make sense?

thoughts on writing...

There is something about putting thoughts into words and words onto paper that makes the world a little better; a little more tolerable. I can see why Achilles sought immortality. It is easier to think about your fate and your destiny if you know that some part of it will be remembered forever. Achilles still has not been forgotten. In fact, he just becomes more permanently immortalized every time someone makes a new movie or writes a new missive about his life. Could it be that anyone that takes the time to sit and pen their thoughts out into the unknown is seeking the same fate? The same outcome?

I wish there was a way to know that I was making an impact on the world. I wish that I could know that when I spend time writing, someone will read it and be effected by it. Even if that effect is only a shallow musing or a fleeting smile, it would be something. There is something deep in my soul that pulls me out and makes me do what is uncomfortable. It forces me to share with whoever will read what is happening in my brain. The innermost workings of my head and heart are laid bare for everyone to read forcing me to admit that failure will most likely come and that even if that happens I will not be able to stop trying for success.

I am a storm of tumultuous conflict. There is a rage in me that cries to be heard. It wants out. It wants to rule the world. The refusal of such a powerful emotion to be sated has caused me to write. That rage demands to be allowed out of the part of me that cannot handle rejection, pain, social interaction. So, she was born. An alter ego that allows me to be something that I am not but that I so desperately want to be. Confidence pours out of her just as it flees from me. If it were not for the writing I would be lost, doomed to a dark and unforgiving world of self inflicted isolation.

so cold... must find heater...

Small black scraps of fabric grant confidence through the shameless promotions and mass marketing of stereotypes. For me, I take whatever confidence I can get.

---

If there was a word for the feeling of waking up rejuvenated but not wanting to get out of bed because you went to bed wearing too little and now you realize your mistake because the house is freezing, it would be: confounditalldamnitareyoukiddingme-howcanahousebesofreakingindecisive.

---

Ode to Charlie

Charlie, Charlie, I adore thee!
Although you shed and drive me nuts.
You are warm and very cuddly,
And you lay upon my lap.

---

Today I enjoy the cloud cover and try to remind myself that soon I will be sweltering in the heat of mid August and whining about how dreadful it is. Soon, I will go on and on about missing the bite of the fall air and the cool, peaceful winter. Although currently freezing in my poorly insulated abode, it will not be long until I stare longingly into the past and future and beg for the cool mornings to come be a welcome reprieve from the long, hot days of an endless summer.

Bambi?

Drip, drip drop
Little April shower
I'm getting wet
And I don't care at all

---

The rain should stay. I woke up this morning and felt like I was on vacation in Oregon and it was the best feeling ever. More rain tomorrow, please?

---

If you jump down that hole, you'll only end up floating in the sky. You'll drift up and up and eventually end up losing your ability to breathe as you are sucked out into space. So, just do not go into the hole. It should not be that difficult to resist. Holes are dirty anyway and you would not want to get your pants dirty. Well, maybe the pants. The pants are not that special anyway, but your shirt is fantastic! Where did you get it? We should really go shopping sometime. At least if you decide not to jump into the hole.

snorefullupagus...

Josh and Cole are both snoring. Usually I find this oddly comforting, but tonight I find it... annoying. Therefore, I grumble.

*grumble*

*sigh*

*growl*

Maybe I will get to sleep soon. However, I do not count on it.

So, my sweet group of loyal readers, I will sing sweet silliness into what are most likely your overly serious lives. After all, smiles are good for the soul. We would not want said souls to become ill would we?

-----
Fractured Nursery Rhymes:

Hickory Dickory Dock,
You sniffed an old smelly sock.
Your face turned green,
And it ruptured your spleen.
Hickory Dickory Dock.
...
Jack and Jill went up a hill
To eat a turkey cobbler.
Jack cried fowl,
And he did scowl,
And Jill went crying to mother.

-----
These are not limericks:

There was an old woman from Boston,
Who always got lost in the commons.
She liked her fish fried,
When she spoke, she did lie,
And so she was told she had to go live somewhere else because the good people of Boston were no longer going to put up with her antics.

Someone from Mars went to France
To look at designer pants.
They liked how they looked,
But away they still booked
Because the prices in France were simply exorbitant and they realized they could probably get the same quality pants without the designer label back home.