blink, blink

don't read his words because he's drop-dead gorgeous; read his words because they're insightful, attainable, and often beautiful.

Jeremy Hawkins

happiness is...

DSCF0307
Originally uploaded by i_bruise_easily.

forgetting that you'd rather be doing this with a boy.

we're joining the gym

it's so important to be nice, but how can i persuade you?

funny is good, and charming is swell, but kindness....

and why is it that we only remember when it's necessary to do so? we only remember when it is niceness from another, compassion from him or her or them, that saves us. saves me. why is it so hard to keep a worldly view?

others do it very well, consistently.

but i swear. please listen. you need to be kind to her. to him. to them. and i'm not talking about that frosting kind of niceness. be nice all the time, yes. but i mean the kind that makes your eyes meet. that invokes that flicker--subtle; careful you don't miss it--of reminiscing. a smile that only curls the corner of your mouth, because the rest of your energy has gone to warming your belly.

you don't need to cry and this moment doesn't need to be profound. i'm talking the hollywood shit, but in a realistic application. it is there, sometimes. pay attention.

get up. let's talk.
thank you.

mamakating

go ahead, try to pronounce it. was it the first way you said it? or the second? is it Native American and therefore you're just going to say it silently like those words you skim over in a novel as you think, that word?

well, to quell your inner curiosities, it is pronounced that way that makes it sound like some kind of perverse act that you must only do in public--and even then, never speak about.

and it's the name of a town.

and my co-worker belong's to that town's hunting club. yes, that co-worker.

he instructed me as to the proper pronunciation which, of course, resulted in my childish giggles. how do you proclaim allegience to this club and not feel embarrassed or unfaithful to your wife?

he returned my giggles with blushing, uninhibited laughter.

we tried to share it with an older co-worker; but he's hearing is virtually gone and he didn't respond to the hunter's jests. i still laughed. the hunter kept talking.

yeah, Jim, I was caught mamakating in the garage!

i persisted with laughter, wiping my tears.

Mary walked in on me!

uncomfortable laughter. the whore. Jim was still reading the paper, unaware.

mamakating to Kristine's picture!

allllllrighty then. i can be thrilled silently, but only embarrassed visibly. yet, i'm not sure how this story will end.

resurrection

I'm certain leaves mourn
their seeping green,
dripping down,
leaching to ground

and the rain--
scowering above--
starts the decent
fierce, gunning, direct
to grab pieces
of everything it touches

but, my love,
the brown earth
is my fingers
combing, scooping the wet sand.
Dripping, echoing
to the bottom of my bucket
where it is stirring--
it is our green grass
it is our blue blood
and foaming thoughts
striking a chord
striking many
crashing, folding, beating
churning a symphony.

more than never

it occurred to me today that music may be spoiling me.

i hear a stunning, evocative new piece of music and i'm as euphoric as that drug used to make me. i'm feeling as transcendant as writing a poem may let me.

it's clearly easier for me to listen to music. do we always have to seize the moment--go through that curtain that has presented itself through some chords? i guess not always. more than never would be better than nothing.

repeat after me:
the earth is not a cold, dead place.
the earth is not a cold, dead place.
the earth...

hooray!

but i'm your sister

i'm really worried about my brother. i've always understood that he's been a social outcast, first unwillingly, and later, on his own accord. only over the past few years have i really tried to know him. and i'll keep trying, but now i wonder if it's too late. he's learned to stay away from the edge of the yard even when i'm in the street pleading for him to come.

he gets upset over unimportant things; the kind of upset that brings tears and choked words. and over things like a miscommunication over watching a movie. there's yelling when there doesn't need to be. sighs and dirty looks when there shouldn't. i'm not sure how to help stop this.

a few weeks ago, we were at a wedding. the garter toss was being announced and i tried to get him to go up. he's not the type to do that, but i was drunk and i wanted him to. i hit him in the arm, first lightly, then quite hard. he stormed out of the reception hall. i apologized later, but it was a stubborn, hostile apology. he only nodded his head.

today, i tried to talk to him. i walked into his bedroom. the air was stagnant and his furniture was too far away from his walls. this bothered me. it was too bright for such a small space. i stared at a mirror on the far wall as he folded and refolded piles of clothing.

it's nothing that i want to talk about now.

but you always say that. you never want to talk about it.

i know. this was followed by an eerie smile.

things can't get better if you don't talk about them.

yeah, but they can get worse.

then i went for the guilt factor.

i'm not sure why you don't feel like you can talk to me.

well, there are few people that i actually talk to, so what difference does it make?

but...i'm your sister.

i really do love him, but he doesn't know it.

fuckin Dave Annable?

i went to elementary school with this kid. then i moved away, grew up, went to college.

where once again we randomly crossed paths during freshman orientation where he made out with my best friend in a stairwell. i think there's a story about some chick taking a dump in the closet of his dorm room in Wilson Hall too...

and so i'm in my PJs on this blustery Friday evening, with my quilt, my dog, and my rented chick-flicks and romantic comedies...

and there he is again! he's a regular goddamn-virtual moviestar!

good for him, right? i mean, he was a humongous dweeb...like the clingy, annoying kind...but he was nice and funny. ha... really funny. funniest when i ran into him at the Monopole that one night that i discovered he was on the rugby team. i turned to his teammates in disbelief. this Dave Annable? this guy right here is on the rugby team?

i'm glad that this little oh-my-god-you're-in-your-PJs-eating-gobstoppers-and-he's-in-the-movies moment didn't depress me.

i'm serious. it didn't. it was an "awww, Dave!" moment. hooray for Dave!

even rockstars can't make mullets cool

please don't judge me as you do

when the lingering--
full petaled, telling--
forms a shadow
my cheeks tighten
i shake you away.
there may be a street
where i am driving to.

you smell alcohol
the rubbing kind
you smile, adrift
turning down and sideways
your smells never fade

you'd think she'd cower
fold, drop
palming the concrete
flakes in fingernails
falling
in such a way
that is now delicate

but it's a celebration.

the mess i'm in

Can you hear them?
The helicopters
I'm in New York
No need for words now
We sit in silence
You look me in the eye directly
You met me
I think it's Wednesday, the evening
The mess we're in and

The city sun set over me

Night and day
I dream of making love to you now, baby
Love making on screen
Impossible dream
And I have seen the sun rise over the river
The freeway reminded of
This mess we're in and

The city sun set over me

What were you wanting?
I just wanna say don't ever change now baby
And thank you, I don't think we will meet again
And you must leave now
Before the sun rises
Above skyscrapers
Sin and

What was it you wanted?
I just wanna say don't ever change
And thank you, I don't think we will meet again
And we must leave now
Before the sun rises over the skyscrapers
And the city landscape comes into being
Sweat on my skin, oh
This mess we're in and

The city sun set over me

i'm not a fan of anticipation. if something is going to happen, it should either catch me completely off guard or be entirely exposed from the beginning.

in a relationship, this annoying (i prefer cute) quirk can be accomodated. with life, it's a bit more of a challenge.

today, i went to work not expecting anything spectacular. i had to work with this guy that i typically don't mesh well with. (really, he's quite irritating and simply does not understand the concept of shutting the fuck up. i have a hard time not making faces to match those of our pained students. he hates me equally. i passive-aggressively put the proverbial wrench in his wheel of color-coded, synchronized plans for the education of his challenged students as often as possible without being blatantly rude.) surprisingly, today's lesson went very well.

then, a bunch of shit happened. to explain it all would be tedious for me to type, frustrating to type well, and both of those for you to read. so instead i'll only say that i realized that many of the men i work with are exactly that: men. it resulted in the kind of crying that makes your mascara run. usually if i need to cry in public, it's that sufficiently stifled kind of cry with maybe one or two lonely tears breaking free. thankfully none of the students saw, nor did any of my coworkers. well, except for my friend. poor thing. it's just so uncomfortable for all parties when someone cries at work.

all this with my realization that i actually do enjoy my job. in the midst of the shit fan, a student came in and asked me for some help with this paper. he gave me a quote: Man is the only animal for whom his existence is a problem of which he has to solve

i helped him translate it. he fucking got it.

then another confided in me about his horrific home life. i couldn't do much, but i listened, and by the end we'd both smiled a few times.

yet another normally quiet child came to me with a cheerful greeting and produced a poem he'd written the night before. it was in all capital letters so the spell-check hadn't corrected his mistakes. and of course the poem was poorly written. but he showed me. that's enough.

i had a plan. that plan isn't quite working, but i'd like to see where it could have gone. i don't actually want to leave my job, but the thought of remaining is utterly terrifying. either i get the hinted surprise of what the next 10 or so years may bring or i see everything--every.damn.thing.

and sitting here thinking aloud will surely amount to no further insight. ha!

i'll just put it off instead of doing something poetic. in that realm i'd have started all this as a poem to begin with. that's relly what it deserves. where it fits. only there is it beautiful.

is there ever a time not to cry?

please watch this.

oh, you nasty girls

this won't be a "good read" or even well written. it's a selfish, tacky, immature moment of whining.

there are a lot of things wrong with me. i mean, i'm still fucking awesome, but i could be viewed as pathetic by many. or most, really. of those nuances that compile this existence, i am most fascinated today with my hatred for flirtatious women.

and when you read the word hatred, really feel the fucking hatred, ok? because that's how intense this is.

the ones that wear metallic clothing, have outdated or just-plain-big hair; those that wear tall boots with short skirts; constantly saying sexual things; unsettling laughter; convenient positioning of the arms to accentuate cleavage. oh, and most of all, the denial via innocence. who me?

yes you, you fucking whore!

(foul language is the feeble mind trying to express itself)

i think this loathing falls primarily upon the older flirting women of the world. of course the prime example is the whore from work, but there have been others. i don't even have to know them. maybe the internet is to blame? maybe i'm just sensing their insecurity or neediness? i really don't think it's the selfish factor, honestly. but i guess that could be part of the equation i'm not too proud to eliminate that forthwright.

do you men enjoy this? or is it at least enjoyed with the understanding of underlying filth and repulsion? it would make me feel better if we could mock such characters with some sort of unity.

the ones who walk away from orlando

i spent this past weekend in Florida. it was a long weekend with today off, but i got back yesterday. it wasn't an efficient trip.

i do enjoy flying, though i also picture plummeting to my death during each takeoff. this is a new development. i guess it comes with age. or boredom.

i was down there with the whole family for a southern baptist wedding. there were rumors that the reception would be dry and we already had preliminary plans to smuggle some booze. in the end, there was a make-shift cash bar. the beer was warm and the bottles themselves weren't allowed in the reception hall so you had to have it in a glass that resembled the type i'd use for milk. i drank red wine.

the day before the wedding, a distant cousin from Sweden picked my brother and i up at the airport in orlando. the weather was overcast and muggy. my deoderant was not functioning. the festivities were taking place in Daytona, so we had a drive ahead of us. a drive that took three hours instead of barely 1.5. the traffic made for some depressive scenery. the highway was more full than the landscape. the flatness exposed the commerce, the realty, the establishments. steeples pierced the languished air alongside our national flag and dealership signs. there was nowhere to hide in this place. well, maybe underground or something. in an attic we could lock away our guilts and despair. i was glad we were leaving Orlando. i turned up my mp3 player and went to sleep for the third time that day.

my mother and i dressed at our hotel the day of the wedding. my father and brother were wearing brand new suits to match the lady's attire. we went all out for this shin-dig. my mother kept insisting that it was a formal wedding, but i still didn't understand the necessity for her mink-lined Saks gown. my father has no job for fuck's sake.

we got the the church about an hour early. it was my mother's job to pass out the progrmas. we weren't in the ornate, evangelical complex for two minutes when the irony began to attack with a tacky lack of subtlety. as she floated toward the box to unpack the wedding brochures, a ceiling tile, saturated from the hurricane-like wind and rain, fell from about 50 feet. it landed no more than a foot from where she was standing, sending wet plaster all over her black satin. there were a few church workers around, including security (at a church!), and they laughed. i said something condescending to the janitor and he must've been guilted into standing watch below the gaping hole for the remainder of the ceremony.

i killed some time checking out the bathrooms, mirrors, leather furniture, golden accents, and pompous literature. most of the leaflets called upon the congregation to redirect the lost souls of the world. these lost souls were conveniently categorized by nationality, with helpful tips on how to approach/talk with each genre. i pocketed a few for some entertainment.

the reception was dry and full of prayer and blessings. the maid of honor only smiled at the non-lost of the party. i drank until my lips turned purple. my brother left the room when the garter toss began. i was hit on my an old man who is planning on calling me when he comes to New York on Friday. my mother danced with my father. i did the twist with my pregnant newlywed cousin. then we all went to Denny's. i ate more than anyone at the table.

the view from our hotel was great, but mostly unenjoyable. it was dreary and violent, and the wind blew in water through the glass doors, saturating the carpet of our suite.

i'm happy to be home, not sure if i should feel guilty or lucky to have left.

segue

(this is not a poem)

sadness can cool fingertips. tired with the weight. heavy with blue. flushed with bitter cold. it's trickling in my ears.

our will is more potent that fifty atom bombs.
(you would cry if you could see what you have done. no mess, no beauty)

i know i saw your eyes catch mine.

if i were to crawl
palms, knees, indentations itching,
across the grass
i'd never connect.
i love the distraction.

fur, dice, and donuts

so last night i learned a few things about casinos.

i went to Connecticut not expecting to have much fun. in preperation, i put on my designer label clothing, pearls, diamonds, and fur. i told everyone,my two friends, that i was going to be Sharon Stone for the evening. they didn't think it was clever. i did.

we checked our coats and i assumed my snobby and flirtatious identity. my friends wanted to play craps and that delighted me. i could blow on the dice and shit while i casually stole some fat man's green and yellow chips.

before we could start, i received a tutorial while the third of our crew hovered for an opening at the $5 table. i listened, or tried to. but i was also fascinated by all those men in beige suits, constantly looking, constantly whispering, moving, waiting. i heard enough to figure out the very basics, so we scooped up our other friend--still hovering--and stood in at the non-smoking $10 table. the man at this one was creepy. he'd made eye contact when we made our initial rounds. flirty eye contact. sharon stone would've licked her lips or something. but i'd forgotten my sexy lip gloss and, well, i sucked as sharon stone.

unfortunately, i was the first to throw. and i was at an awful angle for a right-handed lady. it didn't help that i grabbed all five dice instead of two, or that i lifted them out of the acceptable boundry. oh, or that on my first roll, i threw one of them straight over some guy's head.

but it was cute. i was the dumb beginner. superstitious men were placing their chips on the pass line and the field in my honor. the men that would stack the dice, one atop the other, grab them with exactly three fingers, slide them in small circles exactly three times, tap them exactly twice, then lift them into the air. i had no beginner luck. none of them had any chips for me to steal. i wouldn't have done it anyway.

the beige-suited man rotated with another, then returned again. he was aggressively hitting on me and i pretended i didn't hear him or didn't notice. i told my friend it was hot in here; the beige man said yes you are. i was drinking beer; he suggested something stronger. i adjusted my glasses; he commented on their X factor. his eyes were there, constantly. i bit my lip intentionally, but i couldn't meet his stare. i couldn't kid myself. i hoped the suited men would "comp" us because i was cute. that didn't happen.

the drinks came too slow and the table was cold. my back was getting sore from standing and i spilt a fellow gambler's drink on my Fendi. one friend left to play some blackjack. the two of us stayed. i didn't want to leave. there were buzzwords and fidgets and cheers and curses to keep me constantly looking, considering. i noticed the excessive amount of cameras, all the suited men. i thought of being stoned in a place like this and completely freaking the fuck out. i was glad i no longer do drugs.

my money lasted several hours. my single solitary $100 bill. i didn't win anything. no one slipped me a chip as a compliment. i watched old people with oxygen tanks stare at slots. frat boys grew angry as if expecting to win. i couldn't catch the fever. but i liked holding the dice.

the night ended with too many shots Krispe Kremes. the sober one drove and me and the other passed out. i woke for a moment about halfway home when i dropped the coffee i'd fallen asleep holding. it leaked down my jacket, my winter white fur. i went back to sleep, my arm wet, warm, stinking. thoughts of the shots flashed into my mouth and i closed my eyes. when we reached the apartment, i didn't wash my face. just my arm.

the shitter

pie_165CE533
Originally uploaded by i_bruise_easily.

i once had this friend of a friend. he was big into telling jokes. at one gathering he proclaimed that if we gave him a category, any category!, he'd be able to tell us a joke. i was completely impressed by this because i can't tell a single joke. except maybe the chicken one. or the one about those three dudes walking into a bar. an actual metal bar.

get it?

i think of him now because i have so many different stories to choose from. all are really short and won't evoke much more than a grin. or a grimmace.

i guess i'll tell you about how my best friend unearthed an embezzlement scam in her company today. and how i spent the rest of the day convincing her that she's now being tracked by the mafia.

her theory is that it's the guy from her office that is constantly taking a shit and making business calls simultaneously. directly across from her desk. we discussed him at length one day. we wonder if the people he's talking to can hear the echo of the bathroom walls. or the constant hum of the fan. we're befuddled and fully disguested by this man and his seedy ways (yes, there were lots of bad puns that day).

when i relayed this story and the shitter theory to my friend at work, she replied not about the unfolding Grishomesque scenario, but about the propensity for offices to have an established crapper. i thought about it for a moment. (what can i say? i found it to be an interesting suggestion.) we do have one--our office, that is. and everyone in our building knows. everybody knows. certainly if i were to do a little test and simply refer to this man as "the shitter" rather than by his first/last name, i'm sure the response would be something like, "oh, haha! you mean so-and-so?"

some people must just rather shit at work. however, i'm certain that an even smaller percentage do so while conducting standard business activity. in fact, i would probably consider them to be a rareity amongst our species. maybe almost on the level of myth. the Last Unicorn, if you will. again, if i were do do some research, i might want to make a pretty picture of my findings. and i believe the breakdown would look something like the pie chart above.

and i think i've been extremely generous with the red. i bet an even smaller sliver steal money from their company. while taking a shit.

2005

god.

gross.

i feel quite pathetic. not really in a gross-you-kinda-suck-chica way, but rather that i'm realizing that i would probably feel sorry for someone like myself if i heard of her through a mutual friend or chatty aunt.

(in high-school-senior fashion) this blog is about how i feel yuck-o and how i hope i will feel better in the new year. i will now tell you why i feel that i kinda suck.

1. i think i now fear things that never EVER intimidated me before.

2. i get moody and listen to songs on repeat. for extended periods of time.(like that time i was on the phone with that dude in highschool i went to the junior prom with...ah, and he was a rockstar in the highschool band..."umm...do you have that song on repeat or something?" "uh, well, umm...no?")

3. i depend upon my mother. well, i always have, but now i get terrified when i think of my world without her. like if she became ill or something. it's a horribly sad thought. seriously. and why the fuck am i even thinking about that?

4. i have a huge bed and sleep on the very edge of it. with my dog.

5. i love to write. i used to write poetry. now i just do this. only this.

6. i think of college as if it were the setting for my Golden Years. i feel depressed about that. i feel sorry for myself. but not enough to do something about it.

7. i yearn. constantly. without discresion.

8. i'm an English teacher and i'm pretty sure i just spelled "discresion" incorrectly. and last night, my best friend corrected me when i said "fast" instead of "quickly." she then proceeded to tell me why i was wrong. but i knew. i just said nothing.

9. i still think of an ex. a relationship that ended several years ago. i feel like he's won. and i think i'm a jealous person.

10. i can't plan. i value material things. i'm horrible with money. i don't floss. and i still think that love is the most meaningful, powerful, completely fucking essential thing on the planet.

My simple slant
This broken chant
My human fate
My revelate
Are you so far from me this day
That you can't say my revelate

My open arms
My lucky charms
My number eight
My revelate
I fucked it up
I rest my case
Cause it's all to grey
My revelate

Sometimes I need a revelation
Sometimes it's all too hard to take
Sometimes I need a revelation
This time I'm making my own now
Does this mean we're through
Does this mean it's gone
I spent a day just to ponder the words
That I would write to you this day
But it's all too great, my revelate

Sometimes I need a revelation
Sometimes it's all too hard to take
Sometimes I need a revelation
This time it's up in arms

This time I need you revelation
Sometimes it's all too much to take
This time I need you revelation
Sometimes it's easy just to hate you
Sometimes I need a revelation
Sometimes I,sometimes I,

Redeem yourself
Redeem yourself
Redeem yourself