The Difference

There's a ton to cover. Right now.
from weeks ago.
this is taken from my journal.(a new one)


the boys and i are listening to Percy Sledge
watching the lightening play
and the rain fall over the mountains, from the sun room.

its around 8:00 pm, we are in awe of the magnificence
we are a part of.

its breathtaking.

lights off.

some of the clouds, look like dinosaurs. (puffy)

foreboding.

the air is off, the breeze is perfect.

i feel so delicate today.
the magic that has been created.
could not ever be duplicated.
(no curtain call)

this performance was a one nighter.

sold out.

i want to tell you, so hear me out.
when i asked you what you would do with a dreadful amount of money,
your answer, was as vanilla as i expected.


you didn't ask for anything elaborate,
and I was honestly disgusted.

knowing my love affair with words,
i long to be admired,
in a way a child touches the skin of a salamander.
its new.
it something that hasn't been experienced.

and to insult me further,
you act as if i do not have a plan.
wrong.

i am carefully calculated.

i am one to be watched.

most steps, have thought,
with such weight,
its alarming.

listen dear,

(living in the past, right here)

I think of the words in our conversation, Sue.
"this is what your next wedding should look like."

maybe it will.

does it matter i shake and break
(not shake and bake)
@ the thought of committing once more?

(come on Pink Floyd)
where have all the good times gone?
who's gonna show this stranger around?

right before dark, the boys and i picked flowers.

the boys?

wait patiently like a Southern Belle on her chaise,
waiting for a mimosa.

listen again, dearest.

things are happening.
and changing.

have you noticed the color of my heart lately?
i would ask Holli, but she isnt here.
(i swear, she sees our aura's.)

it's almost lavender.

why lavender?

not quite blue,and no longer cold.
rather, blooming.
awaiting the chilly spring mornings,
and soaking up the warm afternoon sun.

is love money in the hand?
hardly.

just as silly to think all girl's love roses.

some love daisies.
some love orchids.
some love violets.
blue amaryllis.

as ridiculous to believe a person
who claims to adore John Lennon, a person
who claims to love his message.
is the same person, who goes to bed with a fat belly,
and a sense of pride that shadows their ignorance.
this person, who despises her partner,
but has the gall to say,
All You Need Is Love.

I am as naive as a schoolgirl, and my teacher, is staring at my knees.
daring my skirt to raise.

there are times, i play the role of the teacher.
wanting
your skirt to raise,
just a touch higher.

there are times, i am a scent, lingering on your clothes.

in a blink of an eye,
i could be the thought that ignites
passion & awe. I wonder.

always be quiet and listen.
let others tell their secrets,
shed light as bright as the sun.
hold your flashlight,
under your coat.
stand ready.
conserve your batteries.

i wasn't wrong.
i had to wait till after Easter.
look at all the good things,
my attitude for starters.

you may not need passion, like i do.
i don't mean, hot, stick it in me passion.
(what a shame, if you haven't ever heard these words, hot on your ear.)
i mean, absolute drive.
that isn't bought.
(expectations, dear. high.)
it isn't lovingly put together,by crude instruction.
passion flows. passion stirs.
you can tell a lot by a man, through his handshake.
how many lovers, he lamely tried to please.
how cold his kiss would be on your mouth.
passion pushes you farther, people admire it.

when you barely acknowledge it,
that's when you now, you provide it,
cause it, you are it. unaware.

passion is the curve of someones face, and you long to see the rest of it.

passion is what keeps you awake at night,
and it keeps you up, just so you can
satiate it.

(compulsion, is completely different.)

passion is what i reach for, the shoulder, i am trying to grab.
as if sitting on the bottom of the cold mountain river.
you can see it,
but you may not be able to tell how deep the water is.
our eyes, refuse to adjust.

we reach, and reach, never to touch.

unless i start swimming.
so yes, i need it.

passion to eat well, treat myself well, to present myself in a way,
that i work through a blaze of emotion that shades my face.
the tickle, that glides up my back.
that allows me to shine.
i need the passion
to show the world
who i want to be.

MoneyPenny, I love you.

I suppose, in a few ways, I can relate to MoneyPenny.
She just wanted James to pay attention to her.
If she had been a real woman, (and not a character)
She would have woken up for James,
Worn her hair for James,
Gotten dressed for James.......
She would probably wear any outfit he complimented her on, over, and over,
(even if it wasn't her favorite.)
It would always stick out.

We feed on positive attention.
And, there's nothing wrong with it.

King Lear

Dear (fill in the blank),

I see the manure, and I can't help but wallow in it. :)

Reminder: You just better have your manure in a row.
(or ducks, which ever.)

I hesitate.
As I should.

I would regard, this as what I refer to,
"fake breast" mood.

Fake breast mood is when I want something, and it sounds like a great idea, but really, I need a firm grip of reality. I do not want fake breasts, please refrain from misconstruing what I mean.
I think things, could improve.
Maybe, I just want too much.
Maybe, I'm not getting enough.

You read this correctly,
I'm just not getting enough.

Enough of what?

Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, dear.
And, everything else in between.

Did you know, there's no cure for Home?

There are way too many times, I want to give into the glutenous side of me.
Eat, drink, not worry.
I'm not nearly enough of who I could be. And it discourages me.
It shouldn't, I know.

It's as if,
I were delivered in a box, marked,
FRAGILE

Do you ever wonder about coincidences?
This is something I do not believe in.
I believe everything, every situation, is created.
By our own hands, by other's choices.
It's way too convenient to pawn that kind of thing off.
Where's the accountability?

Where's Waldo?

Where's the fun in letting something made up take the glory?
I love being "in" the story, doing it up, playing it out.
I love, that you are a part of it too.

It's good to think I write things that are relatable.
It means, I am doing a good job.

Nothing really happens on "accident."
No matter, how much you want to convince yourself so.
Situations, occurrences, happen!

And, ultimately, turn into satisfaction.

I suppose that's why "plans" and I do not really mesh.
Everything I plan, always changes, just a little bit,
or, a lot of bit.

When I plan, I also "expect."
And, when I "expect,"
I always anticipate too much.

On people,
myself.

I want too much.
There it is, in black, and white.

I carry too much weight on my little shoulders,
I imagine myself as an "Atlas" type.
When, in reality, the mirror reflects me,
as delicate, as butterfly wings.
Crushed easily.

Just in case,

I know you didnt ask,
but I thought I would tell
you what I need.

Sometimes, its better to admit defeat,
than to keep fightin' the "good" fight.


Live in the moment.

We imagine people for what we want to see them as. We romanticize precious people in our lives, that we throw on a pedestal, or lift the "little princess" on the mattresses, bearing the screams of the pea she claims to feel. We bat our eyelashes at our fragile friends, and shoot them forlorn glances across the room.

We shake as we prepare a glass of punch for our "prom dates."
Hoping, to score.
We create moments. We cultivate what we love to see in them.
Which isn't horrible.
It's best to see the great and the good in people we associate with.
Even when, we show our white bellies, floppin' on the riverbank, like a fish.
That mental picture, makes these souls even more endearing, even more incredible.

Now, enough about me.
What about you?
What's new?
I know nothing.
Very little detail.
You have been
Admirably Generous,
Entertaining me
With sugar cubes,
As if I were the
Sweetest Trick Pony in the ring.

I have no clue what goes through your mind.
Heavy mortgage, (not too heavy, I hope.)
Dreams, of appropriate appetite.

(I would love a slice of apple pie, please.)

It's bound to happen?

Consumed.

What a perfect word.
Consumed.
Transpired.
Accumulation.
Fierce.
Wild Fire.
Symmetry.
Abandon.

There are times, I think you just,
Leave me hanging.
Not by choice, but you do.
I look for you.
Around corners, and closed doors.
Waiting.
And I don't seem to mind, is the trouble.

Other times, I feel my heart beating, thrashing, in my chest.
As if waiting to get out of the gate.

Bang!

Frothy mouth, (horse reference) legs, wildly moving, pounding the ground,
something primal coursing through the veins.

I sit in awe.

I cant wait for you to find out.
I think/believe/will
Write about "How it is."
Until it stops.

Like a carousel.
You know, taken care of.
Oiled.
Hand painted.
Glorious.

Organ carefully maintained.
Threads replaced.
With gentle hands.

Today, I belong in the bathtub.
Laze around.
And listen to the rain on the tin roof. (I have one)

One leg up, on the faucet.

Toes, turning on the "hot" water.

Mama's Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowgirls

That's not how the song goes, I know, but there are lines in that song, that reflect how I feel on occasion. It's a new season, the Cowgirl Season. You do shit by yourself, but the feeling of feeling alone when I'm with a bunch of people has finally eased. I suppose, I am in a good "place."

Cowboys ain't easy to love
(This cowgirl had been told the same thing)
And they're harder to hold
And They'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold
(I, would prefer the song,too.)
Lone star belt buckles (sigh)
And faded old Levis (meow)
And each night begins a new day
(Reminds me of Mark Twain)
And if you don't understand him
(True, for me, the faster I run, the more I am feeling you couldn't comprehend the meat of me)
And he don't die young
(You don't ever know)
He'll probably just ride away
(Or speed a way, look at that red streak!)

Then the chorus, we all know, I will cover guitars, and old trucks soon.
I hate to point this out,
But you cant make somebody "do" something.
(Too literal?)
They'll never stay home
(Runnin' to Ga, and NC, it's what I need)
And they're always alone
(Except for the dogs)
Even with someone they love.
(The last line, has already been covered.)

I do, enjoy smoky old pool rooms, and clear mountain mornings.
(Next line)
Little warm puppies and children and girls of the night.
(I love puppies and children, but prefer, um, men of the night)

Them that don't know him, (wait for it)
Wont like him (better off)
And them that they do
(I like you too)
Sometimes wont know how to take him (my greatest fear)
(How many discussions, texts, phone calls, emails, blogs, have encompassed this topic, eh?)



I'm not fearful of the long winter, (Sweet Baby James)
I'm not afraid to ride a buckin' horse every now and then.
I believe, I look for them.
The wild horses? I look for a challenge.
My appetite for what's new?
Has not been satiated, and I suppose, this is a great thing.


He's not wrong he's just different and his pride wont let him
Do things to make you think hes right
(Sounds about right)

Of course, I love old trucks, and guitars,
(The boys who drive em', and the boys who pick em'.)

You can see my perspective, right?

It all adds up?

I think so.

~ Fortune Cookies ~

The following are fortune's found, and kept in my wallet.

Now, they were posted in one of my journals.

Taped, on a page.

Focus on your long-term goal.
Good things will happen soon.

Modify your thinking to handle
new situations.

You will make many changes
before settling satisfactorily.

Keep your plans secret for now.

The time is right to make new friends.

Be alert for new opportunities -
pleasure or business.

I love fortune cookies. It's one of my "things". Not that there is anything wrong with having one of those tiny things that just make you super-excited-happy. That "stupid" thing, you call stupid, but your friends and family think it's one of the adorable traits you possess.

A great poem, I want to share with you, I had forgotten about.
Which, was found, in the book, Sue has let me read.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

Wallace Stevens

I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing,
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendos,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

I'm still "just right".
Like the porridge in Goldilocks and the 3 bears.

I love ya, with no "but" attached.

Twenty-Somethings

There are days I despise my position in life.

No. I realize, blessings flow everyday.
I see, dear, after the rain, comes the rainbow.
There are days, all I can hear is the weather vane on my house, and I am beyond content with the way the wind blows.

I also, spoiled myself rotten over the weekend, barely coming outside.

(except to weed eat)

I, napped with dogs, ate like a queen, read books, wrote furiously in my journal,

and of course, drank Dos Equis, and dreamed of pizza.

(ate jalapeno burgers, instead.)

Champ and I had a heated debate over Wyatt Earp.

We listened to Leonard Cohen, and lazed in the bed.

I wasn't lonely, and everything felt right.

It still does, feel as if,
I could very well, turn into a dejected piece of space matter,

at any given moment.

Listen kitten, I realize, being a grown-ass woman, with her wits (somewhat) about her, should we continue cat and mouse? Should I always let bygones, be bygones? When, do we, sweep everything under the carpet, as if nothing happened? I mean, the dirt is still under the carpet, and just because, I tried to clean it up, it means the dirt is still there!!!

Where is this coming from? I'm really not so sure, but I am sure, I know what I'm talking about. To question what is, ultimate truth, is like sitting on the couch, bitching about a white elephant. She's still there.

The reason, you don't see her?

Is the whole point of the white elephant syndrome.

Ignored.

She's still there!!!


Address the white elephant with caution, but address her, damn it!