What is Drastic + Dramatic

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Men of Snow

They had their snow suits, gloves and boots and they carefully etched a trail to the middle, one stepping in the prints of the other.

"Let's make snow angels," said Ellie, jumping into each step of the larger stride of her big brother's best friend.

"Lame," said big brother Jack, casting back a why-do-you-always-have-to-tag-along look at the hopping mass of pink snowsuit. "We're going to make forts, and snowmen to battle each other with snow balls!" His loud, un-lame idea tried to stretch into the silence only to freeze and drift back to the ground with the great, quiet flakes.

"Yeah, snow fight!" cried Fred pumping fists and enthusiasm into the air.

Ellie stopped jumping after them and, totally unimpressed by their war plans, trudged her own path toward the small incline at the back of the house, designing her own plans for a snow house with all its amenities, especially angels.

She didn't pay any attention to her brother and Fred as they made the forts, which was a slow process since they kept using pieces of it to test the warring distance. And then when they started making snow men she concentrated fully on the snow couch she was packing. She hummed so she couldn't hear them charging each other with all sorts of absurd crimes as they made piles of snow-packed ammunition. With her hearth and home complete she set out to surround it with angels, and didn't pay any attention to their devilish launches and counter-attacks. When her corner was complete, she was so bothered by their complete disregard for her existence that she went inside to thaw.

Inside, Mom had boiling water for hot cocoa waiting. Removing her snow clothes obediently by the door, Ellie tiptoed toward the stove. She wasn't trying to be quiet. Somehow on tip toe it's just warmer.

She gratefully took a styrofoam cup and glided to a window to watch the war. They didn't see her watch, they didn't notice the steam of her hot cocoa fogging up the glass. But that gave her an idea. She stepped gracefully over her wet clothes, avoiding any melted puddles (wet socks are the worst) and opened the door to the porch.

"Hey guys," she cooed, hopping from foot to foot. "Mom made hot choooocolate!" And just as she suspected, only food could penetrate the pretend of boy, to finally get his attention. They came running. But not before Jack tackled Fred and a white wash war of two minutes ensued.

Red-cheeked, -eared and -nosed snow boys came stomping up to the door and Ellie hopped back inside before the whole floor became an unavoidable puddle. She waited, standing with cup in hands, to see where Fred would choose to sit.

* * *

From outside, the house quickly disappeared in a curtain of flurried flakes, pouring from the frozen sky. The veiled sun was soon setting and the boys' snowball battle was adjourned to a later time.

Midnight materialized out of minutes and pushed the clouds away and breathed a clear, starry sigh over the house. The snowmen, three in total, shook their powdered heads and shrugged their frosted shoulders.

"Where am I?" Said the one with the scarf, whose eyes had been forgotten.

"Who are you?" Said the one with eyes of stone.

"I. . .I'm" he faltered. "I don't know. How can I know?"

Stone stared. "I don't know."

"If I could see you I would know who I am not." added Scarf vacantly

"Well, I'm a soldier." Said the third, looking down to see a toy gun halter around his middle.

"Soldier," Stone began, "be on your guard; there appears to have been a battle here recently."

"What happened?" asked Scarf. "Tell me, I can't see."

Stone swiveled at his waist to register a 360 degree inspection. "I see two strongholds . . . one square, one slightly rounded. Both seem to have been abandoned. It must have taken place much longer in the past than I suspected. . ."

"Well," observed the soldier. "I think we's actually was here when the battle was goin' on."

"What? How is that possible? I would have seen something."

"I would have heard something, no doubt," said Scarf absently.

"And I woulda finally seen some action!" The soldier stuck his twig arms into the sky.

"Stay focused, soldier. You said you think we were already here. Explain yourself," ordered Stone.

"Oh, right. Dude, you've got some of those ammunition balls . . on you . . ." He ended cautiously.

Stone looked down and saw on his body what he had seen on the ground.

"I see," he said perturbedly. "Did you think maybe I just have a rough figure?"

"I believe that," offered Scarf. "Besides, battles involve Big Bangs, anyway, which I never heard, in all my time listening, never heard." His theoretical mumbling continued, ignored by the other two much like his very presence.

A tree above them shivered and burdened boughs dropped snowy shells on the unsuspecting targets below.

Looking up now for the first time, Stone and the soldier cried out and promptly trundled their round forms out of harm's way.

"What, what's happening?" yawned Scarf until snow fell on him and interrupted his stretch. He clutched his arms in around his middle.

After the flurry dissolved, the other two looked at him. "Is ya'okay?" asked the soldier.

"What was that stuff?" he shook his top and patted his middle, then wiggled at his bottom.

"No idea," said Stone, inspecting the ground and then the heavens again. "It came from above, all of a sudden, no warning, apparently with no intended aim since it did you no harm."

The soldier patrolled between the two forts now, his curiosity and drive for warfare heightened. Stone let his head trace the soldier's search back and forth.

Scarf, still patting his middle, tilted his round head. "That stuff, the stuff that came from above just now. I think I'm made of it."

The others froze.

There was a long, uncertain silence.

"Scarf," Stone started, but stopped again, confused.

"Yes?" Scarf tuned his head to the sound of Stone's voice.

"The stuff that just fell on you," said the soldier delicately, "is the stuff that these here war balls is made of."

"You mean to say that I am made of the same stuff that is used for war?" Scarf asked sadly. "Do you think that means I'm dangerous? I can't imagine myself as being dangerous."

"I don't think he meant to say you are made for war, and I highly doubt you could present any real threat to anything," said Stone. "But if you are made of the stuff, then so are we, since we're all the same."

"Oh!" Scarf's face shined like the moon. "You and I are the same? You mean -- I mean, we're the same?"

"Yes, it appears so." Stone puzzled, looking at all the pieces of the scenery around him. "The forts, the battle, even ourselves . . . all made of the same white stuff. How . . . interesting."

"That don't make sense to me." The soldier resumed his patrolling.

Stone stared thoughtfully at the sky.

"Well, wait just a minute and think about it," Scarf continued. "It does make sense. Why should any of us be here and be made differently? And why shouldn't everything else also be made of the same stuff. If it can be used for so many different things then it must be some sort of . . . omnipresent formula or solution to all our problems."

"Omni-wha?" tried the soldier, bending over one of the forts.

"Omnipresent. It means present everywhere." Stone stared distractedly at the stars. "You know, the specks of light up there seem to be weakening in brightness. There is a slight purplish hue there behind these trees."

Now it was Scarf's turn. "A hue? No idea what that could be."

"It's a color. Oh." Seeing Scarfs blank face --amazing what can still be read from a face without eyes-- he realized the impossibility of explaining color. "Well, it's as if the sky is melting from . . . small to wide, if that makes more sense."

"You're right," said the soldier. "Tha's a great way to der-scribe it."

Scarf still hadn't said anything. "What do you suppose that means, Stone?"

"Does everything have to mean something?" Stone sighed.

"Well, maybe one day when you can't see you will understand that a thing must have meaning to be seen completely."

"You think so, huh?" Stone mused. Not waiting for a response he continued, "Well I think it means the sky is changing, that's what it means."

"Well, the sky can't change and everything else stay the same," said Scarf.

"Why on earth not?" said Stone, growing tired of the triple-tiered philosophizing mound of white.

"If you say that's where the white stuff comes from, the stuff from which we are made, well if the location it comes from changes, then logically what comes from it will change, or it will cause changes. It follows. Logic."

"Logic?" asked the soldier. "Logic won't be changin' anything. Think all ya want, Scarfy boy, but it won't change nothing."

"You're right, but at least I won't be surprised when the changes come." Scarf folded his branch arms in front of him and tilted his nose to the sky.

"Except that you won't see them coming. Simply their arrival will surprise you," Stone flung his words impatiently.

"Well, if you'd be kind enough to let me know if I become endangered, I'd be much obliged." He turned away from the direction of the sound of Stone.

"Looky now," the soldier exclaimed. "The whole sky is spreadin' across wi'yella!"

The trees at the far end of the adjacent field formed clearly into view and the whole world around them came slowly into focus.

"Everything seems to be changing now," said Stone. "I can see so clearly now. Things I never saw before, never knew were around us." He waddled back to the spot he first found himself in, eager for familiarity. The soldier did the same. Scarf hadn't moved from his place.

"What did I tell you?" he turned back to face them, pleased that his faith was now supported by reality.

They were all silent as the sky lit up. The first beams of sunlight hit the distant trees and four earthy eyes watched the bright line advance toward them. As the sunlight slid down the roof of the house, Stone and the soldier stared intently.

"Does anyone else feel . . . warm?" Scarf was ignored.

"What's happening, my friends?" asked Scarf concerned. "You have been quiet so long."

"Oh, sorry Scarf." Stone turned his head a bit, but kept his eyes on the house. "There has been --uh-- a silent wind of brightness advancing steadily across the ground. Well, we also saw a strange moving box, it was yellow --I'm sorry I cannot describe that to you-- and it stopped a moment and started flashing red. After that moved out of sight is when this insensible wind really dropped down, slipping down those trees, gliding across that white field and now it is advancing down this large stronghold so close to us, but that we hadn't seen before because of the darkness--"

"Darkness?" puzzled Scarf.

"Dah." Stone really didn't feel like explaining. "Well, I guess you could say the sky around us had been very far away and now it has come much closer, now that this wind has blown in. And you do understand I am not referring to an actual wind, right? I mean that this light is the wind, and it is pushing away the darkness."

"Yes, I think I can imagine it a little. But I'm more concerned perhaps what this wind is doing to me now. Do you not feel very warm?"

"I think I does," said the soldier. "But it's prolly nothin' don't you worry."

Stone was inspecting the sunlit roof. Its border was dropping tiny, glimmering pieces of something to the ground. Already there were some large, clear spikes clinging to the edge. He felt a sort of tingle all over his body.

"Our world is getting warmer. And fast." He said suddenly. "We need to do something, or this stuff we're made of is going to start looking like that." He pointed and though both of the other two looked, only the soldier saw the icicles. The panic, however, was much more noted by the other.

"Like what? What can we do?" Scarf said. "What can I do?"

Stone turned and looked at the tall trees hanging over them, combing the sunlight and blocking the men from a direct hit. He calculated that if the line kept advancing as it was, however, that they would soon be exposed to a solid stream of melting rays. His Maple shoulders drooped.

"Nothing," he conceded. "We are going to melt. Our lives will come to an end in a few short hours."

The soldier's mouth gaped. He fingered his useless gun. "Damn," he surrendered.

"Really, there's nothing we can do? We just . . . got here. We have to leave already?"

Stone robotically resumed the exact position he had originally found himself in and braced himself for the end. It really did seem unfair somehow. Hardly figure out who you are and then realize that whoever it was is soon to be terminated, game over. He felt he had nothing more to say.

"Well, I say we at leas' try teh fight it!" said the soldier, retaliating. He picked up a prepared snow ball and threw it at Stone's head. It stuck out like a teddy bear ear on one side.

"What the--?" Stone turned to the soldier. "Are you insane? It's not my fault we're going to melt! You're not helping by throwing those useless balls at me, you idiot!" But still he also stooped down and launched a ball at the soldier. The soldier tried moving, but it struck him in his bottom rear. Bunny tail.

"See how it feels?" said Stone. "Now knock it off. Let me melt in peace."

The soldier slumped. "It's so warm," he echoed.

"It was nice knowing you boys," said Scarf with a faltering voice. The connection of his top and middle where the scarf was wound seemed especially warm. His twiggy fingers tugged at it. "I guess one nice thing about never having seen anything is that I won't miss anything. But I believe we weren't made for nothing. There will be something else, another yime. That's something I see without eyes." His voice kind of gurgled. Stone had a bad feeling about that.

A few moments of silence later, Scarf's head slowly started sliding to the side. Stone looked away and heard a hollow thud a minute later.

"Agh," the soldier cringed. "Just the scarf left." He too looked away. The first casualty.

"Nothing we can do." Stone repeated. "Nothing we can do!" he shouted it in the air as if to etch an eulogy into the sky.

* * *

After the school bus dropped Jack and Ellie off at home, they threw on their gloves and boots and charged to the back yard. Jack jumped excitedly down the stairs before he realized, then stopped short.

"Oh. Look how much they melted! Dang!"

Ellie, still on the porch balcony looked over at her melted house, too. "Oh well. It's not like you could have done anything anyway. Just wait until it snows again, make some more."

Jack was already kicking the remains of the snowy corpses with his camouflage boots and stomping down the snow forts.

Ellie shook her head and walked back inside where it was warm. "Men."

see also this link

No One, eh?

Right now the disposal of my mind is backed up, slowly regurgitating the disposable fragments of my day back into view. I don't have anything else to do so I'm staring at each thing I thought I could throw away today, and now I will make a garbage creation, a finite masterpiece, a forgettable symphony melted into a frosted window with the warm tip of my finger.

Except...words make a thing without end.

Perhaps you, stedfast reader, have noticed that I don't swear in my writings. At least I haven't here on my blog except for maybe once or twice, and that was the word ass, which beastfully interpreted, is no swear at all. Right now I think I have a special lack of sympathetic emotion that one might have when one desires to swear. But I'm not going to. There are more clever words to employ for now. Get to work, then.

Anonymous commented on my last post. He addressed me with "hey lady", which for obvious reasons is applicable, but, coming from an anonymous sender, is unacceptable.

"No one reads your blog."

Strike two. And in my game you're out. Don't bury your talentless corpse under anonymity so you feel free to extend a hand of flattery only to slap unobservant criticism in my face.

Your anonymity bores me.

Dull. That's a word to describe my humor at present. Not because I'm uninteresting. Not so. Clearly.

Dull because I already fell from the uncaring branches of reality, to a hard, failing, infertile ground. And when I got up and left that place, it is dull, unimaginative and tasteless now to be presented with a twig and a sack of dirt. Been. Done.

What? I stopped feeling when I fell. I'm not going to return to a grave whose inhabitant left me once already. You can bring the girl to the grave, but you can't engrave the girl any deeper. That doesn't make sense really. See, I'm trying to be more poetic than these feelings deserve.

Do you remember the first lie you were told? I just thought that. I don't remember. I doubt anyone can. I remember the latest lie I was told. And why do they call it "my word"? As in, "you have my word" or "I give you my word"? You don't have words. No one has words.

No one reads my blog. Surely No one is a fan of words then.

If I promised you my word, you would get my word. If I give it to you, it becomes yours and you have it. Sooner than later it would become a lie because you would still think it was mine, and you would think it was obligated to do something for you, but you forget: it's yours now. I am not compelled.

Dull becomes me. What does that mean? I don't even know. I'm not editing this line even when I wanted to from the start. I want to delete it entirely. It doesn't deserve eternity.

"no vacancy in an empty heart motel." That line regurgitated from my journal. That's where I write from my pure self. Where I'm writing from now? That part that knows No one will read these words.

Oh, here's a big piece resurrecting from the disposal grave.

"We're shutting this motel down, Lady."
"Wait, why? Every room is open? Why close a motel that is so . . . open?"
"Because No one comes here, that's why."
"Actually, No one is here! No one is my friend. I'll take you to his room. Suivez-moi."
"'Follow me.'"
Leader, follower.
"No one, hey, it's Lady."
"Come on, man. The boss man is here. He's going to shut us down because he thinks No one stays here, which when I told him I knew No one was, he looked confused, and now we're both confused I think, but if you come out, he will see indeed that No one is staying here and we can both stay. Right, boss man?"
"Wrong. This is ridiculous, Lady. I think you may have lost your mind. No one is in there."
"No one. Is in. There."
"That's what I'm telling you. No one is in there. I know him! He reads my blog!"
"That's it."
Boss man sashays away, Lady loiters, No one comes out of the room.

(because sashay is a cool word)

So now, it's over. You've experienced it. Except, it didn't do anything to you because it wasn't sharp, neither piercing. It won't do anything for you, don't expect it, because these are no longer my words.

Sorry if you were thirsty since all I did just now was open the soda right in front of you and dispose the pop tab into your palm. Which you shall not use to slap with.

And now I am flipping the switch and dumping the soda down the digesting disposal; it needs liquid to drain.

Keep the tab. That's what I really want to give you. Really want it. For you.

Pointless now that the can is open. Dull.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

A Christmas Day

I didn't dream of a Silly String Christmas, but I got one....

I had a super fun day. We made a yummy breakfast and then went to the movies, saw Sherlock Holmes which was simply awesome, and when lunch/dinner was all prepared and in the oven we opened presents. Two-year-old Caleb did most of the ripping of everyone's wrapping and it was fun to make a merry mess with family. Dinner was soon mostly on the table and we played "Lefty Righty" which involved brown paper sacks and a story and every time mom the narrator said left or right, we passed the sacks left or right, respectively. Caleb was in the middle and grabbed and passed sacks at random very excitedly. When the story was over we got to open the sack we ended up with. Among other things, each sack contained a can of silly string. Mine was actually the first open as I tried to help Caleb spray some people with it. But then his mother, Autumn, unleashed the entire contents of her can and everyone was quick to join in and if not protect themselves, thoroughly revenge themselves. I was strung pretty, well, silly-ly, wouldn't you say? Right. Then we had dinner. Yum! The sweet potatoes had had some buttermilk coconut syrup added to them instead of just brown sugar and butter. Wow so so good! I made a butternut squash sweet casserole that was super good too. Then there was the usual ham, turkey, scalloped potatoes and rolls. And I helped everyone wash it down with egg nog cheesecake. So a lovely, full day. I slept well. I feel like sleeping well again tonight. I love Christmas break.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Sure Win

You won't trust anyone.
as long as you kept your heart out of it,
you could whole-heartedly trust.
I'd carve a statue of you, made of words, for the world to ever esteem you, and the monument would crumble before your trust in me could ever fall to pieces.
And words cannot crumble.
And I won't fall to pieces.
I won't fall to pieces.
Nothing is more securely placed in me than trust.
The heart is nothing if not everything.
Which is why I tell you, remove first the heart.
Because then
I won't let you down;
I can't if I'm always above you, never beside you.

See, I trust myself about as much as you love yourself, or hate yourself, depending on which is more endless in depth.

Monday, December 14, 2009


One Sunday, toward the end of June,
the world stopped spinning.

In Jerusalem, high noon stretched down;
tassels of sun held duties dangling
suspended in time

In New York where no one was sleeping
the tall buildings appeared to sway
and people held on to poles,
parking meters, each other -- perfect strangers.

The stars down under seemed to pitch
and the kiwis rolled and bounced
around like forgotten fruit
in the back of a truck.

And the halt made everyone's stomach
and eyes and heart and brain
start spinning within
whether moving, whether still.

But then slowly, oh so slowly
(no one had ever noticed how slowly),
the world began to spin again
from setting sun to rising sun
from east to west to west to east,
and looking down the clocks began
to twitch and stutter backwards.
Each right turn turned to the left
and left turns wheeled around again
and Earth seemed so confused that
cyclones twisted back from Texas
and twisters wound back to the sky
and rivers crept a mirrored course
of the one they'd run before.

Right and left of me, people thought
aloud, "So will I go to work tomorrow
Or will it be Saturday?"
Important riddle.

But little confused was I when I
felt my heart beat join the wobble.
It was all the same
sound and pulse and rhythm
of the moment when
you told me it was over.

My world turned west to east that day.

Earth's heart, her core, must have
this day
been broken down the middle.

(hmm, what do you think of this one?)

Thursday, December 10, 2009


Do you ever get an idea that expands farther than your mind contains space? It's like when you choose full screen and the extreme edges of the movie get cropped from view. I was free writing the other day, a marvelous mess of emotion. A few days later I envisioned a fantastic way of polishing it, and straightaway it intimidated me. I had written the first draft, but if you know me at all, I'm not patient with revisions, so that simply remarkable idea seems in my mind at a distance so far away. As far as Egypt, actually. Egypt would be way neat to behold, but the getting there....not likely. If there was a great storm heading over Provo just now, destination Egypt, I would be more likely to hook my umbrella in its cloudy weave and drift to Egypt than to ever really get myself to Egypt. But, I have enough of that original emotion with which the first free written draft was composed, that I think I will be able to bridge over the revision gap. Funny how verily feeling is the burner for inspiration. And revision risks exposure to so many different temperatures, the original idea can often evaporate unawares. Which is sometimes preferable, and other times tragic.

But anyway, lately the inside of my nose freezes while I get my bus started in the morning, and I don't enjoy it. I enjoy it equal to or less than having to scrape ice off the outside and inside of my windshield. When it's so cold out, the devil rejoices, I'm sure. He gratefully slips out of his burning chambers and vigilantly nips at my fingers and toes. If that biting feeling is what the entire physical being is confined to in the devil's company, I so desire not to join him.

I'm supposed to be writing three papers right now. I think I may only write just two. Both document windows are open, waiting patiently, uncomplaining, happy just to be entitled.docx. Having been brought into existence through my awesome creative powers, their measly purpose amounts to little more than fulfilling a grade requirement. But they'll do as they're told, nothing more, nothing less. Wouldn't it be neat if saved and stored computer files started collecting digital dust the longer they went unopened?

I thought there was something wrong with my car. Every time I slowed down and turned to the right it made a whimpering noise like a failed arcade game level. My mechanic friend Jay drove around with me and said pensively, "I thought I'd heard it all . . . that sounds like rubber . . ." When we got back to the house from our diagnostic drive he looked at the tires and laughed, mostly at me, and for good reason. He kicked at my tires and ordered me to try the drive again, betting me dinner it was just ice & rubber making the bizarre noise. I was probably going to make him dinner at any rate, but now I owe it. But, on the plus side, nothing's wrong with my car! It really was a sweet noise. I enjoyed it. Makes me want to go to an arcade.

I had a thought today about snowmen. And I'll write about that en suite. The thought is still rolling together its mass of creativity, not quite ready to build on itself. So stay tuned; flurries of inspiration keep drifting in.

Aaaaand, school ending and finals are making me fat. Well, not fat, neither plump; not quite chunky; a little less than chubby. But it's uncomfortable. I'm expending money for knowledge and my laziness is paying me in blubber. I need laze-osuction.

I took that picture of the kid handprint on the iced window this morning, by the way.

For now, the end.

Friday, December 04, 2009

entirely unique

At times my thoughts wander around the world, strolling at a casual pace, thinking:
"It is easy to say truthfully, 'somewhere in the world there are always at least two people:
talking on a cell phone.'
staring out a window.'
going to the bathroom.'
bending over.'
making a new person.'
learning something new.'
getting wet unexpectedly.'
-----------------------in the very moment that I think of it."
And every time I think of at least two people in the world sneezing I further imagine that that's what makes the world go 'round.
That if everyone stopped sneezing, the world would stop spinning; hence the seasonal allergies, for assured rotation year 'round.
And, every time I hear someone sneeze, I think of the world spinning
without me remembering that it's spinning,
and my thoughts begin to stroll at its remembered spinning:
mind inhaling passing thoughts,
(the world moves me while I'm sitting still)
like recollected air passing into lungs.

Then I think, "It's not easy to say truthfully, 'somewhere in the world there are always at least two people:
thinking of you.'
thinking of me.'
driving a school bus in 9 degree bitterness while 3 high school band members talk much too loudly for the morning hour and temperature.'
receiving an unwanted phone call from their disapproving roommate about rent money.'
making chicken curry for a third date meal.'
tired of Utah and wanting to move to New York to be a nanny for two three-year-old french twins.'
-----------------------in that very moment that I think of it."
Then my thinking catches back up to my doing and off I go.
Until someone sneezes again.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Giving Thanks

I have posted a few lists of my favorite and least favorite things, but never have I posted a list of things for which I am most grateful. Probably because when I've started lists like that before in other journals it's been very very lengthy. So....since it's the 26th day of this month, I'll limit my list tonight to 26 things.

1. God and all things that under Him fall.
Oh, that could take care of everything, huh? But I mean all those godly things: Jesus, the atonement, forgiveness, the Bible, revelation, temples, prophets, the Book of Mormon, testimony, faith, love, patience, learning, gospel clarity, understanding, etc. See.....
2. Mom, Dad, Shawna, Aaron, Autumn, Brian, Caleb, Cameron, Heather, Jason, Breanne, Grandmas, Grandpa, Aunts, Uncles, cousins.
3. Friends
4. Health
5. A job
6. Food
7. Talents
8. Internet and countless modern conveniences
9. School
10. Books and writing
11. Deep thinking and people watching
12. Lessons learned
13. Showers and soap and stuff
14. Clothes
15. Many fulfilled wants
16. Imagination and inspiration
17. Compliments
18. Humor and laughter
19. Opportunities and adventure
20. Meeting people
21. Being easily pleased and entertained
22. Vacation
23. Exercise
24. Freedoms
25. Passing Math
26. Things to smile about

Sooo much to give thanks for. And to whom? I give it to number 1. He's the Man...well, sorta. He's more the God. But you get what I mean. I feel I don't deserve it all, when I see what others have not... Give thanks and give.

Saturday, October 31, 2009


You were. . .amusing.
Sometimes you tickled.
Sometimes you ticked me off.
Other times you reached
so far down my throat
I would gag and
What came out wasn't pretty.
Many times it seemed
You were tangled in my guts.
Somehow you figured you could
steer inspiration from there.
Well anyway, it all worked.
For then.
But now, well . . .
We need to talk.
I want you out,
to be frank.
I need a new Muse
and he's going to rent your space
so you can't be here anymore.
This is the last poem, I hope,
that you will inspire.
Thanks for everything.
We can still be friends.
So . . . Take care.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Tuneless Song

A long time ago I wrote this, while listening to Keane's CD Hopes & Fears. I've been meaning to transcribe it..

Goodbye Kiss

There's a place in my mind
I come to through my heart.
You come there, too. It resides
in your mind as well, this place,
But you won't go often
because in your mind I'll always
be there, a memory to start
That you want to end.

When you see me, I smile.
You don't move your face,
But your eyes trace me.
I move to the blanket you
laid out. I sit and wait.
Here is when you leave
most often. If you sit
you stay.
Only we share this place
and you hate
That you can't erase me
and send me away.

Then why don't you tell me what's wrong?
Tell me, what don't I see?
You pretend that you belong
without me.

Lingering this time
you sit and stay.
I see all the shooting stars;
you look at me like that. . .
I wonder why you don't
just tell me
what's in your heart.
You hold it back and me
at the same time.
I still can't read still lips,
so I lend them a kiss.

This good night's kiss
made you leave.
And I can't change the memory
but this may be the last time
you find me
sitting here when you come,
if you come, again.

So why don't you tell me what's wrong?
Tell me, what don't I see?
You pretend that you belong
without me.

I think you miss me
I think you need me
You know it's true
but you won't tell me.
You will erase me.

But first can you tell me
what's wrong?
Tell me, what don't I see?
You pretend that you belong without me.

Why don't you tell me what's wrong
With you?

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Doubt, Dear Lady

I just wrote this poem for my English Literature class. It's based off a line in the novel we just read, Jane Eyre. Here is how I prefaced the poem in my essay:

The story goes, that our heroin, Jane, is returning to a former home and to her, a former life, after having hastily abandoned it a year prior. She sought her old master, Mr. Edward Rochester, whom she loved more than can quite justifiably be explained in a couple words of a sentence. Only reader of the whole story can understand Jane’s devotion and unique connection to this man twenty years her elder.
As she reaches the end of her return journey, entering the town nearest his home, she has the temptation to inquire what has become of Mr. Rochester and what she might expect before walking the last two miles to his home. Suspended in hesitation she rightfully counsels herself thus:
“I so dreaded a reply that would crush me with despair. To prolong doubt was to prolong hope” (490).

Soft the look in thy down-turned eye,
Aye, softer the color in cheek;
Pale is the hope, that would shine
Through thy smooth skin,
Compared to thy will to seek
Thy lover’s gaze once again.

Waiting soon tires of sitting
So pacing the lane you begin;
An embrace would be better fitting
As nourishment for mind
And body, rendered so thin
By worry that has thy brow lined.

From my window I see thee;
Oui, ma cherie, qui tu cherches est là.*
My own gaze impossible to free
From thy soliloquizing form.
Would that thy eyes I could draw
To mine; Calm thy inner storm.

A man approaching upon steed
You recognize not, for sure,
Eyes lowered further indeed
Thy tears to be concealed.
My own servant on horse it were;
To thee, truth could he have revealed.

But to ask would require thought,
To form a question you dare not;
And fear of the answer bought
Thy silence and delayed discovery;
The hope for which thou hast fought,
Suspended, caged, in thy reverie.

Doubt, dear lady, doubt on.
Let no voice but mine
Enter thy tired ear anon;
My touch only convince thee
That for thee as well I pine.
Hold doubt ‘til thy hope I set free.

It was very fun to finally write a poem that directly stemmed from another author's work. Usually I merely inhale floating ideas and run with them, but this one had to be written and I'm glad I got it out...even with a rough rhyme scheme.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Just FYI

All the edits I did on my poems I just pasted over the old poems, so if you wanted to reread them, oh faithful followers, the new and hopefully improved versions are now on display for your endless enjoyment.
About Time
Recipe For Fail-Proof Invisibility (formerly known as See Through)
What's Mine is Yours (actually this one didn't change since I thought it was already as near to perfection as I could possibly squeeze out)
Easy Come

I'll think of something else to let loose on here soon. I'm pretty busy with a lot of school writing and other homework. And I'm actually doing most of it, believe it or not.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Easy Come

Lungs allow air to enter and exit
First we are born
and they get to work
For the rest of a lifetime.

The sky allows itself to absorb
and drain water.
First the sun scoops it up
then it falls for a while.
A rhythm to recycle.

The heart allows love to enter and exit
not easily,
but sometimes too easily.
Not entirely unlike blood
It flows, within and out
For a lifetime.

Love expands,
Deeper than oceans or breaths.

Her heart can't exhale.
Not because he fainted, needed heart to heart, or died
(For she could have done something then).
He just got tired. Or She did.
Perhaps she got light-headed,
Or he was soaking wet.

A lung that can't breathe out,
Or a cloud that endlessly orbits the world.
Is that possible?

Not easily.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Lost and Found

When the kids in the back of the bus all stand up and start freaking out about something, usually they don't sit down until I physically go back there and figure out what's going on and how I can save the day. Today, one of the littlest apparently had been chewing on a paper towel and it must have been ripped from his playful jaws, for the surge of attention today was directed at a suddenly bloody hole in his gums. He lost a tooth. His mouth hung open, wider than his shocked eyes. I asked if he wanted a paper towel and he nodded absently, drool gathering, eyebrows furrowing, mind preoccupied with where his missing tooth could be. I got him a new, clean paper towel to collect the drool with and I ordered the show to be over and pockets to touch the seats and faces forward. We were off. When the kids were dropped off, and the bus parked in its cozy spot, and I was sweeping, I noticed that the high schooler that had brought a box of Nerds on the bus hadn't gotten them all in her mouth, and every pink one caught my eye, in case the little one's tooth was perhaps slightly bloody. A couple seats into the sweep I saw a tiny rounded rectangle in the corner. I slipped it into my pocket and continued sweeping up surprising amounts of nerds, random beads and lots of paper bits, but gratefully, no bloody, drooly paper towel. I have prepared a gift for the little one, for when he boards the bus tomorrow morning. He will be one tooth richer, although still one tooth down . . .

Also today I had an exciting thought. How cool would it be to have a traveling board meeting, where all your business was discussed around a fine table, sitting in cushy chairs -- all bolted to the open trailer bed behind a big rig, cruising down the highway at 70 mph? Paper weights would be your most valued office accessory. And a good hair scrunchy, for girls.

Sunday, September 06, 2009


Just a girl in her empty boat
Floating hardly beyond the rocks,
Ocean licking, looking for a way in.
Without a paddle the waves steer
Her and her half walnut shell
Along nutcracker cliffs.
She lays her body in the bottom,
Palms pressed into the side
Of her empty boat.
From a wood-framed view
She sees clouds in the sky
Pitching to and fro
Turning darker, churning.
Their juices spill on her skin
And the ocean spits on her clothes.
Eyes closed she does not see
The rock that wounds the wood,
Ocean bleeding into her bed,
Emptiness filling
From above and below.
Body pressed and still,
Water replaces air
In her empty boat.
The flood tries to refill
The dry riverbed of tears
Mapped upon her cheeks
Pooling gently on lidded eyes
Until the wet wraps her whole.
Eyes open she can see
What a fish must see
When it looks to the rim
Of its empty bowl
Filled with water.
She watches the ocean surface
Blend into the sky
Until water replaces air
In her empty lungs.
Welcomed to the calm ocean floor
Just the girl in her empty boat.

(note to those who may worry: this is not a literary reflection of my personal inner workings at this time.
Another note: I will be submitting certain pieces of writing to that Touchstones magazine at my school again, and I'd like to have your editorial notations and suggestions for any of my more recent musings into poetry, What's Mine is Yours, Crackers, See Through, and About Time. And please, if you have suggestions for this one, Empty, please make your notes! And tell other people you know that like to read to read them too and make their comments, because I don't have an editor, so you will be my eyes and ears to what I don't see or hear 'off' with my pieces. For example, I already think with this Empty piece, that I might delete the first line or the last two lines, or change some of the words throughout. So as you can see I'm open to your suggestions! Thanks beautiful readers!)

Tuesday, September 01, 2009

I will lead you along

I say unto you, ye are little children, and ye have not as yet understood how great blessings the Father hath in his own hands and prepared for you;
And ye cannot bear all things now; nevertheless, be of good cheer, for I will lead you along. The kingdom is yours and the blessings thereof are yours, and the riches of eternity are yours.

Be thou humble, and the Lord they God shall lead thee by the hand and give thee answer to thy prayers.

(Doctrine & Covenants 78:17-18; 112:10.)

Monday, August 31, 2009

What Next, Dear Mother?

Most mothers make good impromptu nurses when time requires, but Mother nature sure has it out for me right now and not helpfully. I've had quite the cough for almost a week now. I've tried her natural honey and lemon drops, salt and warm water gargle, rest and relaxation, steamy-hot-water showers, sucking on frozen water (ice) to shrink bronchial membranes, and then I've moved to sticky syrups and bitter gulps of stuff, but those lungs are still battling and the war sounds wheeze from my covered kisser (which hasn't been kissing anyone for at least a week). So, you know, thanks a lot, Ma. But you won't take me back into your earthy clutches over this bout. You'll have to try harder than that to get me!

Most females are content to live and thrive in their homes and with family and close friends, rummaging for her family's daily needs through hard work and generous service. But mosquitos. Ohhhh no. The females cannot survive without stealing for daily their needs from unsuspecting, or sometimes very suspecting and somewhat paranoid strangers. Tiny vampires, not looking for love in rain-cloud-covered towns, but lusting for blood, dementedly probing any warm dermal surface to retrieve their needed nutrients all because they can't stomach peanut butter or hamburger (plenty of which they could probably find in dumpsters, if they'd just branch out and try some). I ventured into the out, for a mere half slice of an hour, and returned to the in with 25 (twenty-five) dirty left-overs of their quick, greedy meals. Only one casualty on their side. And look at me. I look diseased.

But this too shall pass. It will take more than this to pull me under!

Friday, August 28, 2009


Well, most people figure their dad will get married before they will. Today I saw my dad marry Shawna. I'm very happy for him of course and for her, too. They just came together and they go so well together. It was a nice and very casual wedding. We were wearing hawaiian style clothes and leis, and then we had a buffet bbq dinner, and it was the perfect evening. Sometime I think it will be really nice to get married. Preferably before I have kids. But whatever, I'm not picky.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

New Age Dating Rules

These are rules I've heard of, seen, experienced, etc. that seem to rule the world of dating or just as general rules. Of course this is not an exhaustive compilation. Please feel free to add other rules, since these days really anyone is free to make them as they please.

1. Do not double text before receiving a reply.
2. Guys, do not text a girl until two days after getting her number.
3. Girls, do not text a guy before he texts you if he has your number.
4. Do not text someone who doesn't know you have their number.
5. Do not text what you can't fit in less than three texts.
6. Text when you can't give your full attention to a person, but don't tell them that.
7. When in doubt, don't push send.
8. Do NOT assume that because someone hasn't replied that they don't like you. (But don't rule it out completely, either.)
(Don't forget that assuming in general only makes an ass out of u and me.)
9. If someone only ever replies with a maximum of seven words, they aren't interested in receiving much more than that from you.
10. Emoticons do not clear up much. For example, in a text, "yeah right" can be read approximately 85 different ways. Adding :op or :-) or ;) still reads approximately 85 ways, no matter how many you add.
11. Texts do not clear up much, in general.
12. DTRs should not be texted.
13. Do not text and drive. Drive and drive.
14. Remember if = he and me = of.
15. The after date thank you text. Something about it... Not sure why it's necessary.

1. Do not request a friend that isn't your friend yet that hasn't mentioned to you that they are on facebook.
2. When a person mentions they are on facebook, they want you to look for them.
3. If you have gone on a date with someone...better not to add them as a friend at all, actually.
4. Do not add or even message a friend because you saw them tagged in a friend's picture and you thought they were cute.
5. Do not mix up "what's on your mind" with your reply to what someone wrote on your wall.
6. Do NOT leave yourself logged in and then leave the computer.
7. Don't take quizzes. Just don't. Please.
8. When in a relationship, don't write on each other's walls. If you're away from each other, message or call, or do anything but write on each other's wall. Come on.
9. Remember who your friends are...sometimes one is your mother, or old bishop. Just don't forget who you've added.

1. Did you want a lasting relationship?

Internet dating sites:
1. Meet in public, then release your number if he/she is not insane.
2. Wink, poke, nudge, flirt...if you're lame.
3. Realize it sucks. No one that you think you might be interested in will be interested in you.
4. Don't describe yourself. That's not really who you are. Nor is your picture really doing you justice. Or, it's unjustly representing what you look like in person.
5. If he/she says no, don't push it. We already know you're desperate. You're online.

Craig's List:
1. Are you kidding? Do not use as a dating service. The end.

1. Really? Who cares. If they care that much, they probably live with you already and they don't need to go online for the update.

If you fancy someone, go for it. Worst they can say is no. Well, sometimes it might be worse that they say yes, but you'll never know if you don't try.

And, remember, Edward isn't real.

Monday, August 10, 2009

What's Mine is Yours

I want to care for you when you don't care,
hold you when you're losing grip,
listen when you have nothing to say,
whisper sweetly into your mouth
to give you everything you'll need
to whisper later in my ear.
to press my cheek to yours
when you talk, or chew, or smile;
seal your lips with mine,
hold your hand in mine,
take your hug and give you mine,
sync your gaze to mine,
to breathe your lungs,
trade you hearts
to trace your bones with mine,
to witness as you live
the matrix
of your life becoming mine.

Better than One

Actually what I like most about this pic are the framed double wall hangings. Who really wants to kiss their self anyway? Not I. Not really.

Sunday, July 26, 2009


You wanted peanut butter
But I could only give you cheese.
You didn't want cheese, just peanut butter.
But peanut butter goes with jelly go on bread.

Sorry, Crackers.
I really do love you
I loved eating you
With cheese.
And cheese, heaven knows,
Is dear to my heart.
But peanut butter goes with jelly go on bread.

You never noticed the cheese I gave.
To you, I only ate ate ate.
You only wanted to be the bread.
But you are Crackers.

I adored every bite,
But for some reason could never try peanut butter.
Maybe it would make me too thirsty.
And peanut butter goes with jelly go on bread.

So you left and I'm sorry.
Sorry for letting you go stale,
Crushing you into fine crumb,
Drowning you in hot and sour soup.
You left
And cheese just isn't the same.

Friday, July 24, 2009

ReWrite Mad Lib

Help me find a more excellent choice of descriptive words. You know what to do. Mad Lib.

The Unfortunate First Impression

1. verb past tense
2. verb past tense
3. adjective
4. verb ending in -ing
5. adjective
6. verb past tense
7. noun
8. verb ending in -ing
9. noun
10. adjective
11. verb past tense
12. verb
13. verb
14. article of clothing
15. adjective
16. verb past tense
17. exclamation
18. verb past tense
19. noun
20. adverb
21. same as 14
22. verb past tense
23. adverb ending in -ly

And now, with the words you have written down you are empowered to help me rewrite the following section of my short story.

Troy’s eyes (1 verb past tense). He lunged forward to try to grab the girl, but it all seemed to happen before he could even move. Her head (2 verb past tense) the (3 adjective) metal barrel and her body fell over the bale of hay, (4 verb ending in –ing) to the ground. The water inside the barrel sloshed out, as he jumped to her side. And somehow, being the (5 adjective) coordinated hero he always seemed to be around any damsel, in any or no distress, he (6 verb past tense) a bit too far, also slamming his shoulder into the barrel. It didn’t hurt, but, it did send the barrel into a lean, almost tipping it over. He reached then, over the girl, to keep it from tipping, but he pulled back on it too hard and the (7 noun) of the water tossed the whole barrel over. Luckily it also tipped toward the unfortunate bale of hay, so instead of (8 verb ending in –ing) the girl, it just soaked her through as its contents emptied on the both of them.
The tirade of curse words came to a (9 noun) as he corrected the barrel at last and realized the girl was still motionless in the (10 adjective) dirt. Her hat had ridden a wave of barrel water about five feet away and her hair (11 verb past tense) around her head.
“Ah, hell.” He knelt down and picked up her head. “Kelli?” he whispered.
No sign of consciousness. He felt her neck and though he was shaking he thought he sensed a pulse. Oh. She was still breathing.
“Thank God. Now what?” He said out loud. “Kelli?” This time a lot louder. Call for help. “Help! Anyone? Hello?” He raised one hand out from under her head to (12 verb) his forehead and noticed his arm was covered in blood.
“Ah, hell no. What do I do?” Kelli didn’t respond, but he was pretty sure, if she had, she would have told him to grab Billy Strait’s truck and (13 verb) her to a hospital. So, that’s what he did. But first he took off his (14 article of clothing) and wrapped it around Kelly’s head like a sloppy turban. He propped her up just a little, against the (15 adjective) bale of hay, made sure she stayed, and ran.
Billy was drunk, as usual.
“Staying in the trailer tonight Billy?” Troy tried to catch his breath to sound casual and did a pretty good job. Billy just (16 verb past tense) from a dark end of his trailer. “Just gonna borrow your truck, K, buddy?” He hardly waited for a reply as he grabbed the keys, let the trailer door slam shut and raced to the truck.
The driver door was jammed shut.
“Ah, (17 exclamation) .” He raced around the hood and opened the passenger door. “Damn door.” He tore back toward the barrel and the hay. . .and Kelli. Dust swirled around him as he (18 verb past tense) the truck to a halt. In the (19 noun) of the headlights he could see she was (20 adverb) as he left her. But his (21 same article of clothing as 14) was already soaked red. Fast as he could, he slipped his arms under hers and dragged her body toward the passenger side of the truck. He noticed her hat on the ground, crouched down and grabbed it, and flung it into the back of the truck. Then he (22 verb past tense) in first, pulling her after him. Putting her head in his lap, he gently shifted the truck into gear as (23 adverb ending in –ly) as he could.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Recipe for Fail-Proof Invisibility

The mad Shientist surveyed for ingredients.
‘Long brown hair, a must.
New in town or bust.
Speaking of bust, a good one of those, please.’
Sensing the surest possibilities
He anxiously began his experiment.

‘Excellent. Here's the fail-proof plan:

Monday: Take brown-eyed short to dinner
Tuesday: Swim with green eyes; she's thinner
Wednesday: Call them both and cuddle with blue-eyed
Thursday: Take tall n' tan girl for a (car) ride
Friday: Call them all, and ask out brown-eyed short again
Saturday: Keep open; further intrigues may begin.

This will reveal that I am a fail-proof man.’

Then one day in this small surveyed town,
Blue-eyed talked to green eyes
Who'd talked to short brown eyes
Who'd seen tall n' tan leaning so far in
To Shim like she was part of his skin.
Fail-proof would now get some of his own.

Monday: leave him knocking at the door
Tuesday: drop him when he asks for more
Wednesday: cuddle with another
Thursday: ask out his brother
Friday: all four show up to watch him squirm
Saturday: let him dangle like a worm.

The dangling Shientist’s disbelief swelled,
His experiment had gone terribly sour.
He was supposed to have retained all the power.
But clearly his theory had all but come true
(That women would crave him and not have a clue
How well his true self unfailingly repelled
Well, everyone).

There are other fish in the ocean
Not sea sick with a false notion
That their particular motion,
Emotion or loco-motion,
Is solely needing devotion
From everyone.

The moral of his story, then
Is if you spread yourself so thin
Perceiving you're made of enough that's divisible
You’ll only successfully end up invisible.

Thursday, July 09, 2009

Math is so applicable to life

f is the function for the equation solving for peace.

f(x)= girl - (x)(boy - troubles) ≥ girl (power) / (x)^2 +freedom

find f(hooray) where hooray = xboy


question worth ∞ points.....

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Must. Write. Something.

I wrote recently on my Dreamastic blog, but still nothing has inspired me to write here on my dearly beloved blog. I could write something about Michael Jackson dying. And Farah Faucett, too. They died the same day, they died looking the same, too, but they died of different causes. But I don't want to write about that.

I don't want to write about my car getting backed into either. Or the fact that I had the stomach flu and went to IHC Urgent Care on Wednesday. It made me miss my first day of math class at UVU that I don't want to talk about either. I started a new short story since I'm avoiding my novel. I don't want to talk about it. I'm ashamed that I neglect my novel. I know it needs care and attention.... I did sealings at the temple on Friday. The lady in there with me must have really wanted to talk to someone. She talked to me in the dressing room after our sealing session. I found out that she had two dead husbands, that her sister or someone had married and it was hard for the daughter and she met a lady that married a man and he was dead now and his funeral was the next day but she wouldn't go since she was going to go visit a friend and it was interesting that she had been in the same sealing session as those two younger men -- neither of whom were married ;) ;) ;)-- since she knew them from somewhere before. They weren't married, either of them, had she mentioned that? I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't even really know what she was talking about, but oh well. I listened....

Ah ha. I want to write about the barn cake that Mom and I built for our John Deere-loving friend, Jay. So beautiful. The cake, that is.... Don't believe me? See for yourself.

Now what did I tell you? Beautiful.

Thursday, May 07, 2009

About Time

Where does the time go?

Father said it follows him everywhere, that's where.
Mother told me, Time returns to the dirt.
The King sang as his hips swang. "Time goes by so slowly...time can do so much."
The Queen sent me away, "Busy busy, work work!"
The Sisters bowed their heads for all eternity, so I never got their answer.
Big Brother said, Don't worry where the time goes, it's taken care of.
I asked the Man in the moon, he yawned and phased the other way.
I peered behind the Calendar.
I watched my watch.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days; time goes many ways.
Wrinkles, heartbeats, memories; time goes through me.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Best Thing

It only took one back-arching, chin-tipping reflex to realize that at my new place, I won't have to do magic bending tricks in order to wash myself in the shower. Ahhhhhhhh.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

New Post

What's new? Oh, didn't I tell you? A couple posts ago I wrote about my rejection letter. Well, I have since received an acceptance e-mail! They are using my teeny-tiniest entry, my visual poem "Look,." (I figured they had a little blank spot on a page that they needed to fill up.) It's on my blog, first post of this year I think, but it goes like this.

If you take this away
If you take away If
you take away you
take away

I was always proud of this one. It will be published in a literary journal at UVU, Touchstones. Yay! I'll get a complimentary issue of the journal when I go to the release party, April 14 at 7pm. It's cool.

And I sent popcorn to France. It's disguised as a "group gift" and "a blanket, a ring, a letter" on the itemized contents list... I had run into a little trouble when telling the truth so I had to stretch some hardly-truths to get the packages through. But now they're off and I'm relieved. I'd promised them all (the members in the wards where I served) popcorn over a year ago. Better late (and $200) than later...(and > $200 w/o a FedEx account--thanks Miles).

And I am a temple worker at the Provo Temple, Saturdays 4:00 to 8:30pm. It's really nice. I don't have any dates or other eternally pressing matters on Saturday evenings so I'm at no loss working the Saturday evening shift. It's not too busy, either, so it's double nice. Peaceful and calm. Lots of pregnant woman I've noticed though....

And I'm going to move. I'm so excited. I need a change, and this will be somewhat of a significant one. I mean, Pleasant Grove is a whole new world, eh? ;) I think that's where we'll end up, my two friends and I. It will be so nice, cuz we're very complimentary friends and they make two roommates for me instead of five. I prefer that ratio.

Then, I started working for one of my best friends, Barb. Well, maybe more appropriately put, I work for the baby, Addison. :) Cutest baby. She's so chill and fun. But not exactly low maintenance as she LOVES to roam and be the center of attention. She's a complete joy, and I'll love this "job."

Oh, I go swimming at the gym lately, and my dad has given me lots of pointers. There's so much more to proper swimming than I ever knew! I really need to get a rhythm and figure out what to do with my motorboat feet. When I get concentrating too much on everything is when I get the most water in the orifices of the head. But it's fun. Maybe not for whomever may be watching me....but learning new things is fun for me!

And I'm addicted to Edamame (ěd'ə-mä'mā). But right now I'm eating Salt & Pepper Pistachios from Costco. Both good and good for me!

Okay, well that should be fine for now. See you at the temple, eh? Or perhaps in one of my strange dreams of late. Or wherev. Peace. :)

Monday, March 16, 2009


I wore one sweater less than usual, half the usual amount of time.
I saw a fruit fly.
I wore capris (red).
I turned on my car AC.
It almost hurt to touch my car steering wheel after work.
I smelled flowers even when I can't see any.
I think Spring is a comin'.

Friday, March 13, 2009


When nothing is on my mind, I do nothing perfectly.
I see nothing wrong with nothing on my mind.
Nothing can inspire me like nothing can.
And I am bothered by nothing; that is, nothing bothers me more than anything and anything I do means nothing to nothing, so why is anything on my mind?
Is anything worth nothing, or is nothing worth nothing?
I want nothing on my mind.
I do nothing better than anything.
Nothing happens and I feel nothing.
Nothing could be better.

First, I wrote Nothing. Then I saw nothing here.

Friday, March 06, 2009

Pay It Forward....

Pay It Forward
Lucky you!

The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me!

My choice.

For you.

This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:

1 - I make no guarantees that you will like what I make! (Though I may ask some questions during the process.

2 - What I create will be just for you.

3 - It'll be done this year (might take a little while).

4 - You have no clue what it's going to be. It may be a story. It may be poetry or an article. I may crochet or quilt something. I may bake you something and mail it to you. Who knows? Not you, that's for sure!

5 - I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.

The catch? Oh, the catch is that you must repost this on your blog and offer the same to the first 5 people who do the same.

The first 5 people to do so and leave a comment telling me they did win a FAB-U-LOUS homemade gift by me!

Oh, and be sure to post a picture of what you win when you get it!

Good luck!

Tuesday, March 03, 2009

As Long As There's a Drawer. . .

I realize the reason I like blogging so much is because my blog publisher really likes all the things I have to say. I don't get rejection very often.

This morning I got this SASE back from my university's literary journal, Touchstones. I had submitted 7 small works of which I was moderately to greatly proud. The self-addressed stamped envelope had very pretty writing on the front (ahem, mine) but it looked much too clean, thin and hastily posted.

I smiled and said to myself, "Ah, my first rejection letter!"

Sure enough.

I permitted the smile to leave briefly, but ordered it back to work not a moment later.

I put the letter, the envelope I bought, the stamp I paid for, my handwriting, in that drawer of stuff you aren't sure what to do with but will worry about later.

But I won't worry about it later. I'll worry about the next one. It'll be bigger. When I send it, I will have shaky confidence. When the reply comes, it will hurt no matter the reply. You know, cry if you do, cry if you don't...or something like that.

It's humbling, to think you may have had at least one out of seven good ideas actually be good and to have another not think so. But, think of it as another form of rejection: you're just not what they're looking for; doesn't mean it's not good. It'll be good for someone, someday.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

To Boldly Go

I feel like misusing adverbs unwisely.

I slept smartly most of the night without coughing.
I was helpfully grateful to wake up feeling snarlingly better.
I went to work stonily and drove the bus quite forwardly.
I returned home painlessly.
Hopefully, I ate seaweed rolls and understandingly checked my email.
The sun shone thirstily.
I looked shamelessly out the window.
I blankly took a shower and dressed my body immensely.
I drove sensibly to my parents' house.
The printer repentantly delivered my homework.
I nauseously returned to my apartment.
I rightfully think of nothing.
In this state I type; indisputably.

Friday, February 13, 2009

All I'm Not Going to Say

The moment she made the suggestion, I felt good; I felt I needed to say yes and somehow wanted to say yes.
You called and I felt nervous, and confident.
I saw you and my heart jumped just a little.
From the moment I saw the length of you stride I felt I could be perfectly at ease in myself, so that's what I've been.
I have felt this way before, but deeper; I don't really know you. I met a guy that I clicked with the same way in the beginning. He was my boy friend that I had let become my best friend, but we ran out of common goals and had to bring it to an end. I didn't think I'd ever feel that way with someone else.
But I felt like that with you, date one, date two.
If I've seemed too forward, in my defense, you make me feel the way that releases those actions. I'm a very 'one man woman' and when I feel a certain way, affection naturally accompanies my actions. So although I may have given the impression that I move fast, I actually don't. But I felt so immediately natural in your presence that this side of me that reserves itself for just one someone that I've known longer and am ready to know better came out.
I can control myself though. Whatever you need to do you should do. I won't let my feelings be influenced by what you're feeling. . .until you tell me what you're feeling. Same for my thoughts by what you're thinking until you tell me what you're thinking. At least, I try. . .
I just like you. That's all. I'm interested, I'd like to know you more.
It's not elementary; I want to send more than a candy heart message.
It's not high school; I drive that to school every morning and take it home every afternoon.
It's just a chance to know you and a chance to be known.
So far, just a spark. No real danger.
I guess that's all I'm not going to say.

Thursday, February 12, 2009


I went to a new grocery store in town. It's fine. I wandered around, scoping out the goods and not so goods and found about everything I wanted and more things that I'd forgotten I wanted, all except avocados. The line of available cashiers looked at my approaching cart longingly for the chance to be the one to pass its contents over their scanners. I didn't pay attention to the bagger, really, but I'll never forget him (although I wouldn't be able to point him out to you, if you come with me, if I go again). I bought two tomatoes, two gallons of milk, one bag of green grapes, some meats, some yogurt, a box of Ritz crackers, a bag of frozen berries, Febreeze and Comet...the bagger didn't put the two gallons of milk in a bag and yet when the final count came up, I had 15 items and ten plastic grocery bags. The tomatoes were in a bag by themselves, as well as the small bag of berries. They're bag happy at Buy Low! Or maybe they just haven't taught their baggers well.

While on the bus I saw a girl in another car mouthing (so I assume she was singing) the words to the song on the radio station playing in my own ears. It was funny.

Since I've been in this bus, there has been a DC sticker stuck on part of the front engine compartment. So today since it's cold I've been wearing a beanie, but it's like a fancy white one that looks hand made and all, but this girl asks me if I'm a skater as she looks at the sticker. I say, "oh, no. I don't know who put that sticker there." Pause. "Well, you look like one." A laugh jumped out of my mouth and I smoothed it out with a smile. If you only knew...me on a skate board.

I 'saved' $4000 on a thing that I'm not saving $1500 for, all by practicing patience. So in other words, I'm not paying $5500, but only $1500, because I'm a quiet and well practiced patient person. Love when that pays up.

I have had like 8 dates in 3 weeks. It's nearly killing me. At any rate, I'm myself on each date, so I've felt like I've been spreading myself thin. I'm much more of a one man woman. There is one in particular that I like best. He should call me again.

My roommate left to France for ten days and for some reason I've exploded in our room...It's messy. Hasn't been that way for a long time. Don't worry. I'll clean it.

Well, that seems good enough.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Me Random Rights

* I am a writer of the Real Life Department, 24th district.
* You are under observation.
* You have the right to remain silent.
* Anything you do or say can and will be used for my own purposes in a future story of mine.
* You have the right to talk to anyone and it is preferable if others are present with you during observations.
* If you cannot actually afford an entertaining entourage, one will be fictitiously appointed for you if I so desire.
* If you become aware that I am observing you, you have the right to end the scrutiny at any time.
* Do you understand each of these rights as I have explained them to you?
* With these rights in mind. . .just beware.

Friday, January 23, 2009

My Present to Morrow

I don't really know you,
But I want to.
I hope we hit it off permanently.
I will spend the whole day with you
Of course.
And as soon as I get a feel for you
I'll want to live one more day
To know you again.

I will meet you before the sun.
And when he catches up
At Dawn
You will be the shadow,
Rain or shine,
Cuffed to my hand
Until Dusk.

The clouds whisper your mood.
The stars wink incessantly.
But I don't believe they really know
What you hold.
And even when you hold me,
I will reach for you still.

Is there nothing I can bring you?
Is there anything you need to tell me,
That I will need to know?
You may bring me joy
Or sorrow
And I will bring my all.

All I have is this Present
And I seem to remember
That you gave it to Day
So I don't feel that I can give
What isn't truly my own.

As long as you will be there
For me,
I promise I will not look back
And cheat you;
I don't mind always being one step behind
If you don't mind.

Then this is my Present to Morrow:
A song, one song, one tune.
I will hum it
For you
And you will bring it back
To me.
You won't need to wait for me;
I'll be ready.

Monday, January 12, 2009


Hopefully, I will try and explain,
Irregardless th'enormity of pain
As to whether you shall utilize
Adverbs, verbs, nouns or otherwise,
In time, in rhyme, in this refrain.

Firstly, that which one must do
Is choose he or she, i.e. who
she considers might best impact
her audience, due to the fact
That both hes and/or shes are considered taboo.

A so-called poet then will decide
Among they're methods of ways to confide
The contents of her individual sole,
Her footsteps trace a path yet untold
That only her only words only can provide.

So the poet will be mean while writing a mess
To thoughtfully use tact and to not use no less
Then no fewer words she can and/or say allowed
And when she is done she'll insure you she's proud
But till I'm impressed I just couldn't care less.

(How many errors can you find?)

Saturday, January 10, 2009


Measure height, width, length and age
Make dark clouds shimmer
Transport communication
Determine the score
Assemble and wait
Govern the road
Notify the world
Rule our paper
Display history
Assign victory
Divide issues

Wednesday, January 07, 2009


If you take this away
If you take away If
you take away you
take away

Friday, January 02, 2009

A Few of my Least Favorite Things

In honor, somehow, of a new year I treat you to an incomplete list of my dislikes....with a cherry on top...

cherries. well, I like real cherries, but not maraschino cherries (except the stems I can tie with my tongue), cherry flavored candies (excepting candy canes) or other cherry smelling things.

the fact that when I try to think of something random, the first thing that always comes to mind is always watermelon...

when I cry when I'm too frustrated to speak to stand up for myself.

events that merit the phrase: "oh, that so didn't need to happen."

not noticing the expiration date on coupons before check out.

assumption and unnecessary stress from text conversations.

clothes sticking to the body because of excess heat/sweat.

a lack of hand drying instruments in public restrooms.

people that criticize what they know nothing about.

cooking time left on the microwave clock display.

opening the door after putting lotion on hands.

crooked things, i.e. quilts, picture frames, etc.

undesirable people that sit undesirably close.

people that can't admit when they're wrong.

watching movies/television during the day.

incorrect usage of they're, their and there.

the spot in my back that is always sore.

that feeling of remembering too late.

pushy sales people/telemarketers.

people that talk during movies.

sleeping through the alarm.

bored tow truck drivers.

sneezing while driving.

the wrong jelly belly.

when I can't sleep.

sleeping too late.

biting my lip.




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