Semi-Daily Scribbles

Carving out a corner to post random crap.

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  • What comes after the jump?


    GateI'm a warm body to occupy a seat on certain days during particular hours. I'm no more different than the Stay In Lane sign I speed past on certain days during particular hours. I am not wired to think of weeks. I'm galactically dense on how to view life as 3 squares, 6 packs, 9 lies, 12 gates. Hard to be grounded when all is up in the air. The pair of dimes I keep in my pocket lets me know what's real. I've got my lucky scars to thank for that.

  • A Flattering Shade

    In the Best LightDana tells me to keep that fucking door shut. She says every time I come back through it, I'm a different person. I ask her why's the door there if not to be opened? It's a gateway to ruin, Dana says, and you've never been able to leave the dead alone. Stay clear for once. For me. Shadows are a comfortable fit, I say. They make me look thin. I always look better once the light's gone out.

  • Thursday’s Ponderous Thoughts

    Is Height-Weight Proportionate a thing anymore? I'm curious because I've been called out for my shape-size-stature (all 160 centimeters of me) in recent years. I never heard comments regarding my shape-size-stature back in the days when … well, more people were HWP. I'm not even sure I understand what Body Positivity means. I am positive I have a body (which is a cumbersome thing, by the way), but I reckon the term means self-acceptance. I do believe you need to love yourself because humans are flimsy creatures and to whom/what they claim loyalty frequently shifts. Just because you refrain from berating yourself, however, doesn't give you license to kill yourself with kindness. Want to make changes in how to navigate this life? You know what to do.
     
    Positive BodyAnyway, back to me. I've decided not to feel guilty anymore when I wear my size S clothing. I won't get defensive when called Stick Woman, or when my boss comments on the fact that I "obviously don't eat." I have more important things with which to be concerned. And so do you.

  • Most Likely

    Roll with ItOK
    READY
     
    It was the fool moon. Yeah, blame it on the lunge of Libra all tangled up in my "you're terribly unhinged because you've long neglected your needs" business.
     
    butreallyiblameitonthefactyousaidCRAZYPEOPLE
    whilewewereinthemiddleofaperfectlypleasantconvo
     
    I'm too old to let anything twist my knickers, or use a word like trigger unless I'm talking about an equine celebrity from yesteryear, but some spring-loaded payload got tripped when the CP words were spoken. Then out poured the unlovely laundry list of a restless and broken biped. Sentences left unattended can really fuck with one's head. (In most instances, grunts and groans and spastic hand gestures will suffice.)
     
    Dancing on the Ledge is prominently displayed at the top of my CV, along with VOTED MOST LIKELY TO SAY SOMETHING INNAPROPRIATE IN THE WORKPLACE.
     
    There really is no turning back now. We're barreling toward the first of many firsts, peoploids.

  • Heartache Resistance

     
    Darla knows what it's like to sideswipe, ricochet, merge and burn into an oncoming soul. Darla's got the scars to prove it. Worse yet, Darla's attempts to tell her story to the white coat right in front of her is a waste of time. Nobody's there. Thank the gods she's got Art to speak on her behalf. But damn it if Darla keeps pushing her foot on the gas and travels the highways with eyes tightly shut. Voyage au bout de la nuit. Old dreams dredge up new fears. Darla's afraid she's not really here/there. In fact, she may be the object she's been chasing all this time. No wonder he's been so elusive! And the heartburn! And the headache! Oh, the insulin resistance, too!
     
         Cupid's got me in a headlock. The Fever! The Fever! Love has shoved a katana through my heart.
     
    Well Darla, we need what we need even if it's the last thing we want. We seek a cure for the wound that never heals.
     
    The universe provides. Enjoy the ride.

  • The Truth of Things

    I have a story to share with you. Will you hear it the way I want you to? It may not matter if you miss the point entirely. I tried, you see. I'm 5 lines behind as I lay out the truth. A true In the Bud thing resonates within the listener, not the speaker. Meaning gets messy when weighted with words.
     
    Let me speak my nothingness.
    Tell me how it feels.

  • The Aisle of Lost Souls

    Picture the journeys we've embarked upon that have led us to this aisle, staring up at the same title, wondering if we've found that lost thing we could never quite nail down. What is found was never lost. Let go of the illusion of going with the flow. We agreed upon this meeting place This is How You Find It — we set a date — to wander aimlessly simultaneously so we'd end up in this story, second from the left, just within reach but touching the sky, nestled among the stacks of remembrances. The hour was noted before we were born. This is how to find what you didn't know you needed.

  • Courtly Love

    Courtly LoveGary's less stressed these days. The lights he used to see when he closed his eyes now follow him around like fireflies. Those firefly-like lights create a shimmery rooster tail in Gary's wake as he makes his way through the Food Court. Even the tinkling ring of cat bells, once confined solely to Gary's auris interna, replaces the mall's Muzak loop of 80's pop hits. Gary's feeling more in his skin than ever before. He credits this new-found sense of wholeness to his two daily 6 oz doses of apple cider vinegar and the intriguing vixen he pretends to ignore who, Gary assumes, is writing something of major significance. Gary's Great Secret, which once weighed upon his entire being and made it really hard to take deep, vivifying breaths, is about to be blown wide open. All he has to do is gather up his gumption and approach the aforementioned writerly vixen and tell her he's been having …

  • Courting Disaster

    In Times of WarAnother bitch looking at me. This one's brown. GO THE FUCK BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM. Where did she get $$$ for that computer? Stole it — bought it with $$$ dealing drugs — sucking dick. That welfare cunt is looking at me again. Maybe she likes my coat. What the fuck??? She's looking at me then starts typing. Looks up, looks down, type your shit, I don't care. I need to wrap up this plan. Later today drive by church and get service times — let Dylan know. Might be ready to go tomorrow. Now crazy bitch is looking at crazier bitch talking to a fucking chair. I DO NOT WANT TO GET OLD LIKE CHAIR WHORE. Cute bitch at McDonalds will give me a refill. Bet crazy bitch will type that I'm going to get coffee. They'll remember me.

  • A Court Appointment

    CurvatureChéri, listen up. You've always done a good job with that. Scoot a little closer. That's it. Well, I had the dream again. Zoë's head has much to say. I don't need to tell you how much. You know … you know? The world! The monsters! You. You with your straight spine and head harder than mine. You let more things in, though. In and out. No one walks all over you, do they? But they lean. Lean on you in hard times like I'm doing now. What's new?! Goddamn the lights are bright today. Floor's more slippery, too. Hmm … what's that? Yes. The dream again. Here's what happened this time, although I was still 14. Don't think I was ever 14 is what's funny. And please keep that squeaking down. Can't think. But I'm up on the tightrope with gigantic blue winged vulvas circling me. How am I supposed to save you and everybody in this courtyard if I'm busy balancing on a wire fighting off neon genitalia? I'm the only one who can save your sorry ass from the weeping creepers. Because all of you are asleep! Do you know what Alex was doing the entire time I was batting at blue vulvas? Alex had the wire cutters. Why do I even bother? You're all just divots in the curvature of spacetime.