Friday, April 17, 2009

Pillows Made By Mamaw

Writing is awesome. I am not that great, bc where I can try to put things together, my thoughts tend to be too scattered, and I ride the wave, and it ends up a mess.
Somehow, people still seem intrigued. Cool. Maybe it's like a bad car wreck, you just gotta. Whatever it is, welcome cowboy. Er, or cowgirl. I like you both. In a platonic way.

Let me begin with The Fatmobile. This is a car I had back in the day.You could fit many a gay man, along with a dog or two, some great girls with wild imaginations, and you could even fit some good intentions in there too. It had a bitchin' tape deck. I was a mix master. Many a mix tape, stuffed in every nook and cranny of the thing. Some made by boyfriends with melancholy love songs, and their fear of rejection. The Fatmobile?
It was a true Pussy Wagon. Peeps always wanted a ride. I couldn't blame them. It flew. Back roads, shmackroads. I seemed to always be driving. Or stealin' beer from parties, Convincing my girlfriends to find more hell to raise.

Remember 4/20? It's coming up. The last 4/20 party I attended? I threw a Juggernaut. It may have been 2000. I lived in JC. In the house on the highway. Scott and I lived together. We had this whole crab boil going on. I didn't help cook. I may have been mowing the yard.
That house was amazing. It had a front porch with a swing. My bedroom had a huge window, and on the sides, there were two windows you could open, and I would go in in out onto the porch. You don't know what you got till it's gone.
Crab boil? Successful. We ate. We even went swimming that day.... I didn't swim, I just hung out with my thoughts. I guess my personality hasn't changed. I may be a little more outgoing.

Wait, I did help with the little red potatoes. I sliced them in half.

Cathartic. Speeding through like a train down the tracks. Metal scraping. Tracks flying apart. Wind blowing. Dog bites hurt. Badly. So does razor wire. Ok, so I don't know about razor wire.

Aww, shucks. Ain't that lonely yet. Remember that song? Somehow it's in my head. Who knows. Stuck in there. It's just that my dear. I just ain't that lonely yet. I read your email. It was just enough guilt, that It made me laugh. You knew a different person. Or the person you created me to be in your mind. Got it? There are 5 girls in my life who are my go tos, my bread and butter. My substance. The wind beneath my wings. (Insert laugh here. With one of those applause machines too.)

Mental block? You know those. Sneaky suckers. They try to dominate me. Ok, so they have, until my free will comes in and obliterates them like a Priest drives out the spirits from a demon possessed girl.

Ill communication. Brilliant album from the Beastie Boys. All time favorite band. Also, just something that happens.

Crow in the road. Amazing. Happened yesterday. Barreling down the highway, he just landed in front of me. I didn't hit it. Crows, are my favorite bird. I get the whole, scavenger thing. Vicious little critters. Ruthless. I love them. I have a connection with them. It's not as crazy as it sounds.
It was some kind of sign. Of what? I don't know. I love birds. Freaky bird lover. It has a lot to do with my spirit. Of what I am made of. So, stay tuned, I will keep you posted. Discernment is coming.

It is well with my soul. Familiar with that song? It was written out of great calamity and loss. Written by Horatio G. Spafford. There's not a word I could type, that would do it any justice. To tell the story.

Path less traveled, is the one I am on. Are you there too? Waiting on the side of the path. Maybe frozen. Or I was running too fast to recognize you. Or while I was smelling the flowers, you had already been there, so you couldn't wait.

Telling on myself.

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