Limbo

at the will of the seeker

its weighed by simple questions

standing in dark shadows

patiently it awaits my calm

 

pounce, scratch, bite

it begs for my confession

at tooth and nail

i crawl away

 

... knowing it will come again.

 

 

 

Voila! the boom box.

Finally had the time to minimally color edit the emages of the stereo credenza. i think its hot!!!

 

AND... it allows our office to jam out!

buck up

he asked me if i had a good cry over it
i dont cry about these things i responded
i repeated these words to myself as i wept
the beige pillow stained with eye make-up

i told myself again, like id told myself before
buck up and move the fuck on.

sometimes, i talk a big talk
but i forget how small i really am

love note

there's a love note that begs to be written, spoken and confessed. it lingers at the tip of my tongue and it dances at the weight of my feet. It comes and goes from hiding, but ceases to not exist. its a pesky thing, taunting me with its trips to nowhere land, that place of denial.

hmmm...

in looking and trying to hang old artwork (to inspire/remind myself that i may be slightly talented) i found one that had this scribbled behind it.

"Poor little people they run in shame
They play about the candle flame
and to my sweet satisfaction
they continue with their paltry action"

Now I'm not sure what this meant. I have an idea, because, well, its pretty shallow, but i was sixteen when i wrote it. I dont remember writing it. or thinking it up. i dont remember beig this person or even remembering using hte word paltry (must have synonymed it, when i thought simple words couldnt be as eloquent).

Above all, and simply, I like that I wrote it and that I still have it.
cheers to saving a few things here and there.

a bit manic these days

the feeling of being unproductive. my new apartment not quite feeling like home, my paintings being washed away after 2 days of exploration, unhung mirrors, unframed art, and a dart board that cant seem to stay on the wall. And lets not forget the sour moods that my dear todd (that he does not deserve) has endured as of recent, and then there's the couple of pounds that have crept on me, and finally, having moments of inadequacies at work. Everyone has their insecurities, so I don't dwell on mine. They are no more or less than any other persons, but I have them and mine are all i know.
I can "play" happy really well, because in the end, i wouldn't give my life up for anyone elses. i love my life and the people in it, but its hard work being happy all the time. todd asks "where is my happy susy, you haven't told me a susy story today". he says this when he sees a slight blank look on my face. he knows my eyes will brighten at telling a random, irrelevant story.

Camping

Image taken as I waited for my fellow campers to return from a trip for ice... :) I do love the hiking, the wood gathering, the well-earned exhausted napping.....with todd the most.
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fuck shit stack! hoot!

thursday!
after sadly (completely forgot) missing gil scott heron on sunday.

then, camping!!! need a breath of fresh air.. and cool lakes.
happy 4th of july weekend.

so sleepy

these waves, these surges, they lurk at my backside,
brushing my hair aside to push me
to lunge at me, its invisible shoulders
how brute it can be, my pulse slows
...
tbc

Her name, my gift

The night seems to gather us slowly
this dancers body, it tip toes at my collar bone
And the hammock that squeeks at constant tone awakens us
Laying its breathe of wisdom
"a reflection of you" she says
the stillest airs reframe her girlish meows
Sweet smiles and touchings while the blurs of dreams devour us.
Her name is anneka and this day I know I love her.
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:)

I like the accidental show of my orange bag, perfectly placed on the director's chair. hehehe

I do enjoy my job.

 

happy summer rant

The first day of summer starts with an awesome last day of spring. This summer, like all other summers is about love, sweat, and skin. Join me and all the other happy people, because its so much nicer on our side of the tracks.

too-many-single-girlfriends Syndrome

The lack of being surrounded by so much family, has forced me, it seems, to make more friends. And in hte recent months I have felt like I belong in a season of Sex And The City. The girlfriend brunching, the girlfriend drama, the girl-girl flirting, and all the girly things that go along with a group of girls.
A few things I've learned:
1. Being the only married one, my standards for being married are changing more to a dating scenerio. Quite peculiar phase he and I are embarking on.
2. Drama doesnt touch me and I seem to be the glue.
3. Breasts are fondled amongst girls.. alot.

I like that ive never experienced this before.. the whole girl group thing. Not for any other reason than the fact that its new to me.

spiritually transcendic

she could feel the betrayal of her memories. they were fading, being cruel to her as they floated away on their light ghostly feet. the tap of her own foot at the cafe's barstool, euphonic to the beat of Ray Charles soulful voice in the background.

She sat for a moment, eyes calmly closed as the light found its ways through her lids, forming that alternate moment. She'd go into a dream state and his smell would surround her.

 

note: im not sure why my writing is taking on this narrative "scheme". im not sure i like it. all seeming unresolved in their agenda. the word filament is still very obvious.. as they seem to be snippets of a longer story. before, it was comforting that my writings were snippets of my life, feelings, and fantasies.. but these seem to be more about the moments of a character that i want to meet.

Girl on a train

She wasn't much of a reader but she'd read the books he gave her... As if trying to find a clue to his psyche. Or to simply feel closer to him. To touch the pages he'd once touched before.
She'd read the words with a warm feeling at her stomach and memories of their shared meals would surface, lingering the train car's air.
At the last page, she'd close it knowing it was over, again. And through the bustle she'd leave the book under the lonely newspaper next to her.
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