My, my . . .

My father is still in that water logged city, he is scared and alone. He sounds good when we can get through to him, only I hear beyond his voice.
My Leo is too far for comfort, in the mountains of Tennessee. She drifts from sad to stoned and back again, she needs me and wants me. I know, and that knowledge is killing me.
My friends have scattered like dried leaves taking flight on a fall wind. Lost and far away, causing me to feel the same way. I can not breathe.
My drugs are wet and in the deep swamp that was my no-longer-lover-always-very-best-friend Leo's home, all but the joint which was given to me in the lobby today, Courtney ~ she deserves her own blog entry and will get one in time. Down the line, somewhere.
My home, having been mine for 39 days, is gone. My grandmothers furniture, my eclectic blend of friends and gifts and small purchases. Myself. My brief history.

My Normal

The teacher has the engineer, and I do not know if she has ever been so grateful to hold him. Thug life has his ghetto queen, the kisses there are God sent. Every where I look there are couples, their lives destroyed and their identities crushed yet in each other a piece of that life exist. Between them at night in the warmth of their skin there is the essence and the possibility. The reality which will be resurrected. A part of the self that will heal. This tiny bit of normal. Normal.
Where is mine? Spread across the nation getting further from home. Talking about how they will not come back and they will not be in danger again. My non-family, my friends who are my heart. The tiny bits which created this blog and the perfect special bits that are my smile.
I threw a fit for my wrist band Saturday night. Insisting that it was what I needed to dance. I have worn it every single day after, three metal stars as my normal. Past ~ star. Present ~ star.
Future ~ star.
I love you all, I love you. I love and miss you. I love you and I feel like I am dying.

Disaster # 1603 LA HURRICANE KATRINA

I feel lost. Like a child left behind. I know that I am lucky to be alive, to be trapped hundreds of miles from the flood lands of a city who was part of who I am. I know that Life is what is important. I know, still I see the pictures of the small island roof tops as they are slowly swallowed and I can’t help but feel as if I am a ghost. A shell. Fading memory. I think of all that I held so important and hate myself for leaving with only the clothes on my back. WHY? Why not grab the sweet fairies pictures? Why not save the paper wings of my angel and all the art work they gave this world? Why not take something to remind me, something to show, some sort of proof. My empty hands hold no validation, no explanation of this loss. I am so scared to sleep, or look away. I am scared I will forget, as I am forgotten. Erased with no evidence, no fossils to tell the story. Washed away.
I feel forgotten.




For a picture of my general area you may go to: http://w5omr.shacknet.nu:81/~w5omr/new_orleans/omg.jpg
New Orleans Mayor, "minimum hundreds more likely thousands" dead.
MANY bodies in the water, many more dead in attics.
Biloxi ~ My Scorpio ~ I love you! Do you hear me? I love you ~ 90 % of buildings gone. PLEASE BE SAFE!
For more info. on what is going on in the place of my home and the homes of my family and friends you can also visit: www.nola.com

You Are Holding Back

Give it to her, love
Hold no part of yourself back
Lay it on her shoulders
Show her your world of black
Lower your weight until she hurts
Let it cause her muscles to strain
Without fear open and fall upon her
She will drown with your rain
There will be no one who stays as I do
In weakness giving strength
No other holding onto each small piece
As they are tested to great length
Don't take my word, darling
I am sure with time you will see
They cannot understand your dark side
Nor will they love you and your need to be free

When Will You Hear Me

Wait. Please, please, I can't feel my life. I lost my breath.
Wait?
Yes, wait. I need ~ I need a moment. I have to find myself; I have to remind myself who I was before you.
You're not okay, are you?
I'm fine. Fine, fine, fine. Dust where cool liquid tears should be and I, I am fine.
Fine, like when I say that things are cool. That's what fine means. What's wrong?

No, I am fine. I'm fine. Just wait a second. It's such a small thing to ask, a tiny itty-bitty second.

You know you can talk to me, right?

I know, babe, nothing to say. For words are never what I need them to be, they are weak and without credit.

You know I appreciate you?

*Painful smile and small laugh* I know. I do, it's why I am beside you. Always.

Is it your heart?

*Another weak smile* No, I feel great ~ good, at least. My heart? My heart is dead, hung with the roses to dry. To be kept as a dark and brittle reminder of the girl I once would have sworn you were.

Quiet, she is uncomfortable.

For the first time ever,

I see her insecurities.

To a degree, they mirror my own.

Hey, hey?

What?

You have to know that I love you.

*Nod, because the burn in my throat is spreading and I cannot talk around it* I know, that's why I am always where you need me. Always where you can find me ~ should you look. Always what you need me to be. Always here. Eternally. Always.

Her arm around me,

her smell,

her memories ~ our ~

mixing with the her of my present.

*Half-hugging her back as we stand there drunk and slightly sway* What I don't get is how I hear your whisper through the violent storm, I feel your pain in my own flesh, see your face in my sleep, read your thought, that forever I am what you need, finishing your sentences. How is it that I am your completion, as sure as you are my angel. Souls which would not thrive with out their twin, and this is all true. How then is it that you don't hear what it is I really need you to know that I am saying?

I Will Never Understand

“This girl is killing me.” She says. “I wish you could begin to understand.”

I never look up, in front of me I envision the anthology of deaths I have died over the last few months, I can see, in detail, the collection of beautiful, scroll-handled knives I have had to remove from my heart. Each lovely talon-sharp blade having been placed there by her, the girl who wishes I could begin to understand.

She looks over at me and her green eyes burn hot, I haven’t seen that flame in some time. “You don’t have to say anything, Rae. I know that you get me. It’s just hard because this girl does something to me. I want it to work because she is, like perfect, for me. I already told everyone this was it, and you know I hate looking like - well, it's a pride thing. You know."

I nod, but on the inside there is a sinister growl. I will not say anything but she is wrong. I don't know and I don’t get this. This, this RIDICULOUS lack of good judgment, this foolishly acting blind, this eternal pining for that which is hideously undeserving and perhaps more insulting unaware how undeserving it is! Disgust is seeping in through the wounds that her marvelous daggers left inside of me. Impatience begins to breathe with me and I feel myself laughing a little deeper in my belly.

I was once such an ignorant girl, I was once so wrong. She was once extraordinarily blessed to have me see her that way, she is now the extreme ignorance ~ unaware that each evening she becomes less able to reclaim her god-like stature.

The lion's luck dwindles, cosmic mistakes are slowly corrected.

Sweet, Foolish Anonymous

I take your dear empty face in pallid hand, lean in and whisper that which I hate. The secret truth I know, yet fight. Heart breaking is my truth, which in the end cannot be escaped. My lips so close they give dry kisses as I softly speak:
Deep as the ocean but void of all life.
Soulful as an African chant creating great sadness and painful longing.
Emotions that shine as striking as shards of glass ~ every bit as cold and fatal as light reflecting and attractive.
Words, which are wet with sparkles the way dark eyes are ~ glittering blackness too sinister to be something kind, too beautiful to be anything ghastly. Words that draw them in ~ enchanting, seducing, entrapping. Spellbinding words with no meat, no essence, no actual power ~ paper-thin and a great deal more insubstantial. Words thrown up into the air like a fire’s embers and smoke curling, crackling along with the witches curse. I can use them as paints and make with them a lovely world; I can dance them as if they were puppets and create a wonderful story. This gift of prose is my cross for as I can give you the sight and touch of a succulent peach, its soft velvet skin tearing to reveal its sugary torn flesh, take one bite and you, as every other, will find there is no excess of juices pouring down your throat, no taste at all ~ nothing here is real.

The truth: I am not real.

Should I find the one who will mean everything, the deserving love who will bring back life with her kiss, who will deliver me to heaven again and again ~ dear God, should I finally have that girl it will be I who is undeserving, my words which will never be what they need to be.

Where Am I?

Where am I?
Preocuppied, desolate, lost, drifting ~ or am I drowning ~ where am I?
I was feeling so much better. SO, SO, SO MUCH BETTER! It's as if I had found the tiny crystal heart, pink and made of crackled glass. As if I picked it up and went to tuck it gently into a safe place, satin lined velvet tarot bag inside an oak box, beautifully carved, polished and stained. Just before I let it fall into its perfect place I tripped and dropped it. Slow, chopped motion, images with interference and loss of focus. I watch it fall to the ground. It hasn't shattered yet but I am just watching in still motion as it falls.
I came home from work yesterday and fell asleep. At 6:30 in the evening I was SLEEPING. What??? I sept until eight this morning. ELEVEN AND A HALF HOURS! I inadvertently stood a friend up. That makes me feel like shit. I got home from work today and slept again until just now, eight hours and forty-five minutes! WHAT IS THIS? I wake up and want to sleep again, I feel worse every minute I am awake! I want to sleep forever.
I have been feeling like shit forever, it seems. I feel like shit now.
I am about to go back to bed, to stand up a sort of 'friend' and pretend I am dead.

20Q

He’s a little less that three inches around, plastic the color blue-purple that makes it hard to tell what color he really is. His face is a LCD screen with four buttons underneath, your four options: unknown, no, yes, sometimes. He starts the same way every time, “Is it an… Animal? Vegetable? Mineral? Other?” Now, this beginning counts as one question and it doesn’t really makes much sense, of COURSE if it is not an animal, vegetable, or mineral it is an OTHER, it HAS to be something! Still, the oval-like ball continues, questions like: “Is it heavier than a pound of butter?” “Does it come in a pack?” “Is it hot?” “Can it be found on a farm?” The randomness of his concerns is absurd and entertaining. Then comes the moment, “I am thinking, that I will guess that you were thinking… Were you thinking of a _________?”
90% of the time he is right, much more often right than wrong. Ten dollars and eighty-three cents at Wal-mart and this tiny, massively manufactured ball made by RADICA: running off of two AAA batteries seems to know almost and item you think of.
Comment with a suggestion and I will gladly try to stump him. Just be general with your objects; ie. Hammerhead shark = Shark, Cereal box = Box. Anyway, have fun with it and I’ll post any results.

Virginia Un-charmed

The End.

Of a time, a way, a thought, a world ~ all where I worshiped you as if the gods themselves envied you. You were my study, my dream. It was your voice always inside of me. You were my religion.

Now I hand to you the note cards and feel almost humorous, to give them to you. To suggest that you might one day look around and decide that it is you who wants to pen a thought or two to me. Comical, really.

From within myself I watch the world as it turns on its axis, heavy and delicately balanced. I can’t help but wonder what would happen if it did shift and we all tumbled right out of place. I felt that before, as if I were tumbling out of place, my own personal earth having bounced from its axis. It was the single most frightening thing and then again it was the most beautiful. One cannot go back, cannot pretend that they never lived out of orbit. It will not work, or that is my experience.

My name does not matter for I am your Virginia, a Woolf spider. Dreams of you, my coveted, my beautiful, my dearest Vita ~ they haunt me each night that I find sleep. They ravage every console I fabricate for myself and still I replay them again and again, hungrily consuming them as tiny insects caught in my web.

While our souls have met before and our basic story has been told do not pretend to know the ending, do not be so unwise. It is when one turns away assuming such knowledge that the axis is lost and all things are shifted. Instead invite time, that dreaded enemy, watch as it smoothes the rough edges and polishes the opaque surface. See what awesome luster, what amazing colors are born.

One day you will see me. Until the very recent there was no room for error, no possibility for feelings to change, no chance that things might be different. Only now does it occur to me to marvel on whether or not I will still be on my knees, hands clasped in prayer, room full of flavored smoke and meditation. Will I still be a worshiper and you still my religion?

The end.

Do not discourage for it is in the end where the attentive, the industrious, the conscientious, those that are resolute, that are dedicated and steadfast, the few which are of superior intelligence find new a beginning.

I Hate It More Now That I Understand

I could never understand. How can you love, ferociously, painfully, honestly, colorfully, alive with it, on fire with it, burn with it through day and night, how can you love, and then, not. Simply realize one morning that the sun looks different and that this world you have woken to is not the one you fell asleep on last night. How could one search for the change and find that what is no longer there is the love you thought you lived because of. Random, fragile, of ASTROLOGICAL importance, and then, well, truthfully quite insignificant. Like all things beautiful and soul touching and magical, it is and then, just like that, it is no longer.
Suddenly you are left groping blindly for what used to fill your chest, lift your feet from earth. Feeling beyond reason you search yourself in disbelief. Only to find that indeed it is gone, your heart and mind slightly stained with its sweetly-burnt scent like the sticky residue lining the inside of a delicate glass pipe, a drug smoked, a high had and then softly forgotten. The whisper of memory. The emptiness inside of you fills with thoughts, observations, obscure and relentless. You are aware of the indention left by that awesome love on your life, on your sleep, breath, hopes, existence, just as you feel the prickly scratch of a wool sweater long after its taken off. Panicked you grasp at shreds of memories, silky ribbons that trail away and you pray never to forget, swearing that had you known it would be gone you would have journal-ed every word, every moment. Would have recorded, taken pictures, painted and scribbled, forgetting sleep and food.
You would have lived an insomniac’s static electric life so that you didn’t miss a thing. Only still, I swear to you, in the black and white photographs of thought and dreams and memories there are still details lost, edges growing blunt and watercolors run n i n g .
It was that I never understood. Now I do, still I hate that such wonderful things must pass. It is life: grow, bloom, wither, fade.