Blue doors stoic against white washed summer walls
What awaits me beyond those carefully curated wooden walls?
Are there candles aglow or choirs angelic?
A return to life which withstood pandemics?
Were every role played
Within the confines of finite memory?
Perhaps there awaits all which we’ve lost.
Tears shed over damp sheets
And fresh mounds of dirt;
Carefully sculpted castles for our bones.
For once I may say, we’ll never truly know.
As my ornate blue doors slide into the distance,
The way our true love fades
From your memories and words,
Meant for another, promised over sun bleached summer days.
A little story time to go with this little poem.
When I was a snotty pre-teen, maybe around 11 or 12, I was giving my mom a hard time as we drove home. I don’t remember about what, it doesn’t matter really but it was a moment for her that unleashed something else. Without saying much she swung her old minivan into the parking lot of a mixed Korean/Baptist church at the end of our street and started crying.
“Maybe one day I just won’t come home.”
I didn’t know how to react. I kept telling her it would be ok but what I really remember is that we were parked right in front of the church doors.
Looking back I’m fairly sure my mom probably suffered from the same anxiety and depression that now plagues me and my sisters in various forms. Coupled with the weight of my narcissistic father’s constant cruelty and I’m certain this wasn’t her only breaking point.
It may not have been a breaking point at all but more of a blip on the radar of constant pressure to provide when the one you’ve promised to walk beside has more or less declared “jokes on you”.
Today’s International Women’s Day and I’ve seen posts all over social media remembering and celebrating accomplishments. That’s wonderful, I embrace it. I also ask that we not forget about the women who are dragging themselves out of bed everyday simply because they have to. The women who have laid awake all night threatened by their own nightmares and now have little people depending on them to function. The women who have gently laid dreams aside or practice them quietly after hours because there’s simply no one else to “bring home the bacon” and the dreams they have aren’t to that point yet. The women who have found themselves trapped and unable to leave for fear, so they trudge through every day the best they can while pretending everything is ok.
Society has come far but society still has a way to go.
It’s Sunday, I’m still working out a good opening here.
Prompt – Congregate
Music – Pink Floyd – Meddle
*Started writing, forgot to start timer, delete, start timer*
I don’t go to church.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise.
When I was 15 my parents moved from a city area to a much more rural area.
I went from a performing arts high school to an agricultural one
I didn’t even know that was a thing …
One day I was on the bus
I took my headphones out at the request of a boy who was wearing a fish hook on his hat and had a clump of dip in his lip
I can’t remember what he asked but the subject turned to religion
To which I responded “I don’t know, I’m not Christian, I don’t go to church.”
At the time, if I had to put a name to some idea of religious practices, then I’d say I was Pagan.
Poor guy was floored.
“I thought you were a good Christian girl!”
I congregate in a different way.
I go to concerts.
One time I went because I thought maybe the music would be loud enough to drown the bullshit in my head.
Now I can’t always understand what you’re saying in normal settings and I go to shows to drown myself under the sound.
Let it wash over me and take away all the self hate that can settle in my mind.
This morning I woke up and something just hit me, straight to my core.
I found myself thinking in terms of self hate, “pathetic piece of …”
I push those things away and congregate in big, or sometimes not big, raucous, sometimes not raucous, groups
To let loud melodies chase them away.
Go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch
I was going to do a picture post this afternoon but instead I’m going to post this. It’s a little bit of a personal story but one I wanted to get off my chest. This is out of the creative writing realm I normally stick to but I feel it’s important.
For anyone who’s still unsure about this whole “me too” thing, allow me to break it down with a personal example.
A week ago my ex showed up at my front door. I didn’t invite him. He hid his face so I couldn’t tell who it was through the peep hole and he wouldn’t stop knocking or ringing the bell.
When I opened the door and stepped outside he informed me that although we’ve been broken up for over a year he is still going to try and win me back. The only thing that could possibly make him think “this is over” is if I’d found someone else.
Of course he wanted to know if I’d found someone else. Then he “accused” me of finding someone else when I told him it wasn’t his business and he needed to leave.
He finally did leave but not before declaring that he wanted his old life back and he was going to do everything in his power to get it back. “I’m not done trying to win you back.”
I have not offered him his “old life” back. I have not “led him on”. He is blocked on my phone and on my daughters phone. So he started trying to text my family members.
All of this to say: People are not objects to be won. We are not possessions that you can hold on to, let go of and take back at will.
My ex is part of the problem. People like him are part of the problem. A society that leads men to believe they can act in this manner is the problem. A society that leads people to believe women have done something to deserve behavior like this is the problem.
Me too is not about women whining. It’s not about false accusations. It’s not about tearing men down. It’s about shining the light on the fact that we live in a society that has for far too long found this behavior acceptable and allowed people to act on these ideas with little to no consequences.
It’s about influencing change in a system that’s so ingrained into our society that we’ve been shamed for stepping forward and acknowledging that it is wrong.
Weekly Stream of Consciousness Writing – Prompt – Creature (oh wordpress, you get me).
Music: Samsara Blues Experiment – 2010 album Long Distance Trip
I’ve always been an odd creature.
When I was in middle school a boy in my class turned to me, moved really close and asked me if I turned into a cat in the middle of the night.
“Your eyes are cat eyes. Do you turn into a cat at night?”
“I don’t know, I’m asleep.”
That seemed reasonable enough for him.
I was always too kind, in elementary school it got me in trouble with bullies.
They needed someone to exploit. I was all too willing if it meant someone would be my friend.
I never quite felt like I fit in.
I still don’t although I’m more comfortable with it now.
I guess at a certain point you realize everyone is some form of odd.
We’re all strange.
Maybe that’s why I connected with “weird hippie music” so much.
Hendrix, Pink Floyd, The Doors … all artists that embraced the fact that people are weird.
I explored all kinds of alternative paths.
I abandoned the Christian religion I’d been raised in as a teenager and explored Pagan and Buddhist lifestyles instead.
That will throw people through a loop when your parents decide to relocate you from a diverse city area to a hick town at 15.
It is nice to realize clarity comes with age
To realize that maybe we’re all wrong
But if we’re all wrong I guess I really don’t want to be right.
I can be odd all day, nobodies going to change that.
Embrace it, it’s ok.
We’re wrong, we’re right, we’re strange.
The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch is waiting for you!
Pictures to catch me up on “picture a day”. I should start calling it picture dump to catch me up. We all know I love music. I’ve been feeling down and having a hard time lately so this weekend I hopped around to a couple of cities to visit my favorite soul surgeons.
Leah Shapiro , drummer for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Robert Levon Been, bass (and all the instruments also) of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Peter Hayes, guitar (and all kinds of other instruments) of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
These guys were the opening band, The Night Beats. Lovely way to open the shows. In Houston the bassist’s mom came up and got on the rail with us. She couldn’t stop gushing about how adorable her son was on stage. That’s support man
I went to two cities, Houston and New Orleans. Other than my pictures of the show in Houston I didn’t really take many others. I just didn’t find as much that captivated me.
New Orleans … that’s going to be it’s own post because it’s one of my favorite US cities (with the exception of the band pictures, BRMC pics above are the New Orleans show).
It’s been a minute since I’ve posted pictures … I have obviously not done well with keeping up on “a picture a day”.
Today I was thinking about mosaics. How intricate they are. Hundreds of tiles layered together into designs. Sometimes very intricate, sometimes simple, sometimes the beauty lies in the simplicity.
A couple years ago I went to Greece and ended up on Delos, an island about a 20 minute ferry ride from Mykonos.
They’re restoring a lot of what’s outdoors on the island but they have a lot of original artifacts in the museum there.
The ancient Greeks loved their mosaics.
Looking at these, I’m not sure all of these were mosaics. Some of them may actually just be paintings. The smaller ones had other displays in front of them making it hard for me to get close to get any kind of creative/close up shot.
I go out of town this weekend so you guys will finally maybe get some new travel pictures and not stuff from when I went gallivanting around Europe a couple years ago.