Insult to Injury?

What is up with this Band-Aid?  Yes, this is a children's bandage, a Disney brand children's band-aid.  Why is Minnie so pissed?  What's up with this scene?  What was happening in the Mouse House when this design was conceived? 

All of the other bandages in the box are simply Mickey heads or Donald Duck or something, and then there is this one.  Just for funsies, or what?  Maybe Mickey came home drinking??  Maybe he proposed that they have anal sex?  Perhaps, he forgot her birthday or she just found out that he has been squeaking around with her sister? 

Maybe Minnie is just a crazy bitch.  She always seemed a little unstable.  Not necessarily as high maintenance as Miss Piggy, but she never seemed like she would be the easiest of mice to co-exist with?  Maybe Mickey is just an asshole.  Maybe he said an incredibly sexist remark during a fight?  Maybe he told her that her ass looked fat.  It's really hard to say, but something is up with this band-aid.  What's the story?  "SMACK!!"  Minnie is the one throwing the punches, so I'm going to go with her being in a rage after coming home from the gym and Mickey didn't have dinner ready or the dishes done?? 

What kind of cover up is this for a boo boo, though?  I'm not sure how much better it would make you feel, especially if your wound was received by an act of violence?  Why don't we just cover up cuts with band-aids covered in pictures of knives and rusty nails??  Maybe just a fist against a face??  It may sound odd, but trust me, it's cute when a mouse is doing it.

"What your mirror thinks of you..."

Sometimes I see you smile when you look into my eyes.
Sometimes I see you shaken when they're drowning from your cries. 

Sometimes I see you stare at nothing---and nothing stares you back.
Sometimes I see the emptiness and shame from what you lack.

I can not give to you what you do not give to me,
And what you are is only what you look at me and see. 

When we're alone, I see you thinking, dazed and solemnly,
I command attention, but you hate to look at me.

We are the same, you and I; your only freedom is to break me.
To you I'm bound and tied; I'm your reflection, you'll never shake me.

12-30-13

Kunes' Farm Apples and The Rainbow Connection

Today we followed a rainbow.  It ended up taking us to Kunes' Farm in Keewaydin.  It was beautiful.  It's amazing how you could really see the colors in order, because sometimes you can only make out a few.  This one had the whole Roy G. Biv going on.  This picture doesn't capture it's full essence.  Usually the "iv" isn't there or is very faint and hard to make out.  A lot of the time it is just "Roy".  (I believe the spectrum actually continues on endlessly, as I understand?)  Regardless, anytime I see a rainbow it reminds me of those nuances in life and how it really is magical if you look at it at the right time, from the right angle and in the right light.

While we were at Kunes' Farm we bought two pecks of delicious apples.  I remember my dad bringing me there when I was a kid and getting apples and especially apple cider.  They were bigger then and made their own cider at the time.  They actually make their own Hard Cider now, which is rather tasty, although they ironically outsource their apple cider now.  It's a great little place tucked away in the Pennsylvania hills.  The Keewaydin Cemetery down the road, I think, has one of the most extraordinary views across the West Branch river valley; for a dead person that's pretty splendid.  Tomb with a view!!

Rainbows, it turns out, are pretty intricate.  Refraction and bending light and arcs and reflections and what not...beautiful mystery.  Divine mystery.  But, it's not really a mystery, is it?  Stop explaining it, Scientist, and just LOOK at it.  SEE it for what it is, the true color of our dreams.  I'll be damned...you mean it's there ALL the time, but we can't see it?  We see it in a different light.  Two things, rain and sunlight, naturally occurring, taken for granted on a daily basis but when they combine there is real magic revealed.  Is the whole greater than the sum of its parts?  In this case it is of the lesser and greater.  What?  Define greater...or even lesser?  Semantics.  Is a rainbow greater than the sun?  Is the sun greater than the rain?  Which is more powerful, the spectrum or the rainbow?  The rainbow IS the spectrum.  The rainbow is revealing.  The rainbow is everywhere; there is a rainbow in all of us.  Rainbows are all around us!  (Remember the mist from the garden hose in the sunlight, as a kid, revealing the spectrum...or, hell, yesterday!?)  It's like a romantic glimpse behind Life's curtain of colors.  A rainbow says, "Something magnificent is happening here...even if we aren't exactly sure what it is." 

Ode to the Rose

Silken petals, like lusting lovers' lips,
Parting in slow motion beneath my fingertips.
Each layer, a story in the book of pulchritude.
Her fragrance illuminating the darkest attitude.

Her garden, a library, housing many a volume;
Her body, a bottle of organic perfume.
Each thorn in her side, a sharpened defense;
Guarding the beauty, preserving her essence.

Tasting my touch with each velvet tongue;
Exchanging the gift of appreciation.
Lusciously lost in flowers so fair,
Hypnotic infusions permeating the air.

Ode To Body

Abundant substance, I behold;
matter over mind.
Obscuring truths sevenfold,
blind led by the blind.

Abusive fingers curl around,
the handle of a gun.
Liquid bullets to my lips;
death by consumption.

Barbara Kruger, "Untitled (your body is a battleground)"

Faithful subject, loyal friend;
true through darkest times.
Rights of passage, means to ends,
scenic view of crimes.

Restrictive habits starve my soul,
unconditionally unkind.
Sustenance---myself, I stole.
No fruit, only the rind.

I pledge my love, I make a vow:
nothing that I think,
Will from hereon ever weigh you down,
Or cause your heart to sink.


9.21.2013

Dissection of Self

I am transparent;
my glass skin spread open,
flaps of sliced flesh pinned to the ground
for the dissection.
Each organ exposed;
each system, identified and labeled.
The aggressive scent of suspended death
seeps from my shell.
My body, like a raincoat,
strewn across a puddle of blood
and formaldehyde,
Dry rots in the relentless sun of consciousness. 
My eyelids, translucent and futile,
hide nothing from my empty, milky eyes.  
The whole of the world pass by me,
And learn from my body,
Like an information kiosk,
On a city sidewalk.
I feel them pointing; feel the observations.
Each gasp, an icy wind on my bare bones.
Each needle stick, a shining nail in my coffin.

10AM, August 19, 2013

Ode to Flame

It consumes the past, smoldering yesteryear.
Bordering death, it's transformation.
Its fiery breath will purify tears,
Bringing with it, devastation. 

It lights the night, like midday sky,
Illuminating circumstances.
It warms the room before we die,
Casting shadows on our moon dances.

Into the flesh, it sinks, it melts,
Liquid skin, evaporating.
Each licking tongue of fire felt.
The pain will kill you while you're waiting.



August 17, 2013

13 Fedoras, My Painted Face, and Endless Assumptions

The 13th Fedora!

It has been about a year since I purchased my black and white checkerboard fedora for myself.  I have dug hats in general much of my life, my dad seemed to always be sporting some fun head wear with or without a feather in it when I was younger.  Actually, hats did always seem to be on his head, but one of the main reasons for this was that he had no hair on the top of it.  Combine this with all of the outside work he did and he never would have stayed warm in the winter without his staple hunter orange beanie cap.  I learned the importance of head gear for warmth through him and over 8 years ago started to wear winter hats to save my body heat.  It worked magically, perhaps because my hair isn't so thick itself.  I felt so cold whenever I was without my hat.  It's funny how used to something you can grow.  When I adopted the fedora, or rather, when it adopted me, my constant wear produced the same separation anxiety when I was without.  I feel naked without one now.  I have half of my collection stacked in the living room and it is the last thing I put on when I am getting ready to go, and the first thing I take off when I return.  I have quite a few now; last year I got one for different events or occasions and happened upon some at other times that simply couldn't be rejected.  I often waited until they were on clearance and for awhile only paid $3 on average for most of them.  Today, I think the average is up to $7.  A few of them I received as gifts.  My parents got me one for Christmas, and my sister brought me one back from Korea that I can't wait to rock out this summer!  In all I have collected about a dozen fedoras in the last year. That's roughly one a month; not too shabby!  Recently, my friend Christal gave me my thirteenth fedora for a just because gift just because she is awesome like that.  It was my first official animal print fedora, which I find quite fitting.  And it was lucky number thirteen as well!

It is actually a rather breathable warm-weather fedora made of a mesh paper blend; not quite as warm as my black felt that I was already wearing the night Christal presented me with it, but I put it on when I picked her up for our mild Sunday night out.  Snazzy zebra stripes! She said I looked like Bret Michaels, but at least it wasn't a turban. I obviously don't mind looking ridiculous, as per my own definition of the word, that is.  Sometimes in public I forget that I am wearing a fedora because I generally do and am puzzled when people stare more than usual.  The same happens with my lip stick.  I forget my lips are bright red so you'd swear I was dressed for Halloween or something? It's just a hat; it's just lip stick!  I'm not the only woman to wear a fedora, they sell them at Walmart for fuck sake!

I don't necessarily enjoy the attention but I like being different because I like being myself.  There is a difference.  I was applying my trusted long lasting lip stick for a night out a few weeks ago and a male friend said all girls who wear make up as such do it for attention.  I FEEL I NEED TO MAKE A POINT!  Perhaps, I told him, I enjoy the angles of my face, I find them aesthetically pleasing, even.  Perhaps I even enjoy the contrast of the bright color against my pale flesh.  Painting a face is much like painting a portrait, only 3D and in makeup.  It's a very personal ritual, face painting.  Just because I wear a fedora and red lip stick doesn't mean I want the attention of every Tom Dickin' Creeper at the bar.  My make up is self love, it's me enjoying my femininity.  I'm sorry, but ironically, that has absolutely nothing to do with men!  My fedora is a form of self expression.  So, I'm just another poor girl 'asking for it' if I brighten my lips or wear a shiny hat?  Because I could only possibly be doing it for some outward form of attention?  Well, some women do, I give you that.  They build themselves up by the amount of attention they get from others.  That is how they feel loved.  This doesn't hold true for every woman.  The fact is, you have no idea what a woman is "asking for" unless you ask her.   In most cases, she probably isn't asking for anything!! Maybe that's your problem, men.  You assume too much.  Far far too much.

Regardless, the fedora does get some attention, not me.  It's like a tail, it has a personality of its own.  It has a fan base, some good, some bad.  I had one man tell me once that his friend told him that you have to "embrace the fedora".  That has stuck with me and remains one of my favorite found quotes.  Some man approached me and asked to buy my new fedora that night.  He apparently was a Bret Michaels fan.  A different night another man took it off of my head and proceeded to louse it up for me.  How dare you!  Another time, some drunk offered me a dollar to trade my shiny faux denim fedora for his ratty ass ball cap?  The nerve, the gall and the assumption!  I haven't lost one yet, and I'm proud of that.  Lay off the hat, you crazy Bret Michaels fans.  I'm expressing myself, over here!

Would you believe I have already moved on to number 14?  

Fedorin',

Missie Sue

Another Dumb Metaphor

"That's a metaphor!"  That's my catch phrase, or at least one of them. Regardless, I use use this line a lot. I think that the Universe lays things out for us sometimes, giving us hints or steps in our lessons. There is always always always (USUALLY) a deeper meaning to something that you are seeing or experiencing. I don't believe this, I beLIVE it. I see it in action daily. Sometimes, things are so coincidental, such a twist of odds or fate, that it seems foolish to not take note.

I'm currently reading a book that was talking about spring, relating it to personal growth and thoughts, the cutting off of the old in order to allow new growth.  The shriveled foliage from the previous year gives way to new sprouts and buds. It's an interesting concept, stating that things are made to flourish, and then die back, and grow again.

One of the things I have always been timid about is the trimming of my house plants. I'm afraid of cutting off what so much energy was expelled to produce. It seems such a waste, even though many of my plants would do well with a trim more often. Hell, even hair is encouraged to grow with a periodic trim. This is a lesson I need to learn. Trimming promotes thicker trunks and stronger roots, a more stable organism.  You don't see plants carrying around their old growth and baggage like us humans, trees refusing to drop their leaves in the fall.  When something is past its prime, it gracefully takes its place among the fallen, the dried, the brown. The compost. The fertilizer. The sustenance. The Earth. Pruning is quite common in Nature. God is an excellent gardner.

Other than the book I am reading, my therapist was using the analogy of cutting off dead pieces [of yourself] that no longer serve a purpose or empower us in our last session.  This really hit home; it coincidentally followed the theme I was being given. How interesting. I should take note.

I recently acquired the remainder of my grandmother's house plants.  They were unattended for some time after my pap passed, so they are in rough shape, some of them. Among them was this guy, a large over grown dieffenbachia or "dumb cane". It's called this because the sap is actually poisonous. It apparently can paralyze your vocal cords and swell you tongue to choking proportions. Add that to the fact that this stem is about as thick as a can of Red Bull, and it is a quite intimidating creature. What if it doesn't survive? Something my grandmother kept alive for decades, could be destroyed so easily. The stem that she saw, touched, and tended. This intimidates me. And it should...it represents more than that. 

I remember once when my gram had just cut it back and put the piece of stem in the dirt, the sideways piece that I now see with a dying shoot on it.  Upon bringing them home, I trimmed the obvious dead off of all the plants, but I waited with the dumb cane's main stem because I didn't know how it would handle the shock or what pieces were definitely goners. I trimmed a lot of it's large browned leaves. His thick intimidating stalk feels like a soft potato. I read you should leave at least 6" or more when you cut it. I'm going to try this and then cut the rest of the large stem into starters. If the trim doesn't help it, perhaps I can turn part of the stem into the dirt and it will sprout? Regardless, it's time to let it go.

The cane's overgrown, meaning its foliage, or weight, is mostly at the top of the stalk that isn't strong enough to hold it. It got carried away. It grew too quickly, too tenaciously to keep up with itself, to support itself. If you've grown out of control, cut yourself back to the roots and grow some new foliage, some new pieces.

If you're scared to do something, I read somewhere that you should not wait until you aren't scared, because that will most likely never happen. If you're scared, just do it scared. Just do it. Trim off the dead portions that no longer serve you. Take care not to let them poison you and silence your present or future, for they can be like the slowest of poisons, but cut them off nonetheless, and let them go...so you can grow. So you can thrive. That's a metaphor, straight from the dumbcane.  Here's to the power of pruning. What dead matter should you cut off of yourself?

Christal's Growing Crystals

First off, let me say that Family Dollar is awesome. My tattoo artist friend Christal and I went to town tonight for some errands. We ended up spending the majority of our time and money there. We got some really good stuff though, good finds! Along with some killer pink zebra striped sheer curtains for her shop and some other random treasures she purchased two packs of Growing Crystals from the kids section.  The old school kits you may have seen, they've been making them awhile, I believe.  You just don't come across them that often, I reckon.  They cost like a buck fifty, they must be made for around ten cents in the worst factory and working conditions or something.  What ARE you, Growing Crystals?  Crystal Growing?!!  Explain yourself! 

IN RETROSPECT I don't know why I didn't snag one for myself, as they were only a dollar, I think. I was perhaps too excited about the buy one get one half off mirror and framed art sale, where I snagged some shadow box music art that should look slick in my living room eaves!  (Seriously, Family Dollar is awesome!  We are true Dimestore Diamonds! ...even if one of us needs to be talked down from buying a turban once in awhile.)  Anyway, after getting back to her house and excitedly opening one box and reading the directions she says about using one of her own rocks even with the kit. I wonder what they are made out of. I wonder how long it will take. Will it emit a noxious gas? Are they the color on the box? It says that you will start to see crystals within hours supposedly. Christal agreed to give me her box of green Growing Crystals ONLY IF I would blog about it, and "right away" at that, meaning tonight after the kid and husband were in bed...like now. The only thing is, I need to sleep. I don't have time to wait for growing crystals, so tomorrow morning I will begin the bloggity blogxperiment.

The Growing Crystals kit includes a tray, a pack of chemicals to be mixed with warm water, a stick to stir it, and two typical pebble-like stones. It is made in China, distributed by a company called Creative Kids Far East Ltd. Apparently they are located in Hong Kong. This pack was manufactured in a factory in Taicang, Jiangsu, China in August of 2012.  Instructions included! I'm excited and curious for the blogumentary experiment. I embrace the assignment! Thank you, Christal.  Tomorrow we will "create beautiful crystals and watch them GROW!!" ...and blog about it.  Let's do this!

Fetal Hoarder Syndrome: Know the Signs

You know how I know I am a fetal hoarder?  While dejunking my bathroom I found, of course, some junk, including a few odd items that I had stashed on the shelves above the washer and dryer.
This is normal, most people have junk. Is it normal to save your cleansing bottle from your hospital stay 2 years ago when you birthed your first child? It's a perfectly good bottle! Could be used to hold some fluid? To squirt onto a wild fire, perhaps, or some outbreak of the plague in your nether region? I certainly wouldn't be letting anyone borrow said bottle, so what were my intentions? I have no idea. No idea.
THANKFULLY I also found those two pieces to the glider chair that we burned earlier this year! Awesome. You never know what those miscellaneous pieces of wood could be used for. They're already varnished, even! Ch!
The Downy Ball is important, right? You need that fabric soft and if you don't have a reservoir in your washer you are shit not of luck. I needed this Downy Ball when I was in college. The washer in the house I lived in needed it....over ten years ago! I have never required the use of this item since then, but you just never know when I could be suddenly surprised at the door by someone needing to borrow one, or if I wake up one day and my washer is different. It pays to be prepared... sometimes.
Samples of shit are great for when you run out of shampoo or lotion! What makes them even better is time. These random ones I found hale from the college era, just like the Downy Ball. Because what I want when I am completely out of conditioner, which never seems to happen, is a shot of goo that has lost all of its color, scent, and possibly potency as well.
Outdated emulsion is always handy, too, and by that I mean when the hell would I ever use this? You never know when I would feel like doing some screens just for fun that wouldn't turn out or expose at all.
An empty bottle of men's shampoo? Why not. The tiny remnants in the bottom of the bottle are more than enough to offer to the random men that show up wanting to wash their hair that I just don't want to disappoint. Why? No, I mean why did this end up here?
No collection of junk is complete without an unopened, stashed pack of travel tissues that you have had intact for no less than 4 years. What better place for them to remain than right next to the remote control to a DVR box we have never used. (Remember, I found these things in the bathroom.)
All of this stuff is useful and has value, you haters probably don't even know what a perfectly good cardboard box is worth either, just like my husband. It's sad, really.
Yes, Missie, very sad indeed.

Chair pieces, empties, and questionables.

I sit with your specter and converse...

I sit with your specter and converse,

As if he was beside me throughout my day.

I work on the dishes and go off about loyalty and freedom.

I rest in the living room on the chaise lounge with strawberries,

I express with faux feelings to faux fellows in faux words. 

“She breaks just like a little girl,” I tell him.

He listens silently.

No reply.

He absorbs all that I am.

He watches me scrub the toilet.  I laugh and tell him about duty.

He sees my melt downs, he sees my build ups.

He witnesses my crazy core yet still he stays with lended ear. 

He has no choice. 

My mind holds him tightly in focus.

The edges blur but I won’t avert my eyes. 

4/5/12

Ode To My Little Hot Water Bottle

I can see how much I have used you,

By the markings on your face.

The duct tape on your shoulder,

The hole in your heart.

Your twin was your tag partner for years,

Though he lost his head with the pressure.

You have held up in his absence,

You have proven the strength of being open.

You have taught me to use my emptiness,

For something greater than myself. 

I thank you for over a decade of assistance. 

I appreciate everything you have done,

Especially during my menses,

And that time during the night,

When I had a bladder infection during my pregnancy.

I would have been scared and irrational without you.

I would never have been able to know,

That I was able to cope with the pain,

With your warmth. 

January 7, 2012