Hangman’s Blood.

He sat, legs out-stretched;
his drink, known as Hangman’s Blood…
he wore exhaustion…

“I’m a Jar-head, Babycakes…”
blue diamond eyes, a match strikes;
“Of course I still smoke…”

sports bright twinkly stars,
eyes: adorned by shrapnel scars…
lives for deployment…

he carries no clue;
beyond decorative brass…
of how deeply he is adored…

A career Sand-Tank Gunner;
my first Love, look at you now…
I still see so much fire in you.

Min Ven.

night horse

A Toast
from one dead soldier,
to another –
cheers
from one dawning sun,
to the moonlight –
let’s get fucked up tonight;
this life’s been hard,
hard as fuck to survive,
skål
let the tears fall,
my friend –
we’ve been
through it all;
fighting back to back,
through the fires
of living Hell…
seën
to all of our times alive,
to our many defeated
victories stacked up high;
velsigne dig
a key that we found
in the enemy’s pocket,
a while back –
we both knew what it unlocked,
and so it was tossed
into a well as we passed;
min ven:
Moenie bang wees nie,
this too, shall pass us by –
like the many storms weathered
between you and I,
you will keep walking,
right here at my side,
and I shall abide.

day horse

Hangman’s Blood.

He sat, legs out-stretched;
his drink, known as Hangman’s Blood…
he wore exhaustion…

“I’m a Jarhead, Babe…”
blue diamond eyes, a match strikes;
“Of course I still smoke…”

sports bright twinkly stars,
eyes: adorned by shrapnel scars…
lives for deployment…

he carries no clue;
beyond decorative brass…
that he is adored…

A career Tank-Gun;
my first Love, look at you now…
I see fire in you.

Delivered.

I had been complaining about how long it has taken her package to arrive via snail mail just the other day; it had been just about one month…she made the comment that it was okay, that I’d see…the mail would arrive at just the right time – when we were each more in need of the said packages than we knew. As usual, she is right.
Today is Mother’s Day in the U.S.
I have a rough day on Mother’s Day every year because…well, for obvious reasons…
I opened her mail this morning amidst the sadness that I typically wake up to on Mother’s Day…and it made me smile and reminded me of important things that aren’t always so easy to recall during the rough patches in my life: to breathe…inhale and exhale…and everything else falls in line somewhere.
Throughout my lifetime thus far, I have seen many movies and read endless storybooks detailing friendships that seem to be able to surpass the confines of space and time; even life and death through the invisible bonds associated; I never fully comprehended such subject matter until now, more recently in my own life.
There are, indeed, some friendships – bonds – ties – sutures – webs, which are so intricately wound throughout the human elements of the Universe, that even those bound inside the weave do not fully appreciate the depths and heights made available through such cosmic humanity. Those of us who are woven into this fabric know the power and strength to which I refer; those who do not know, can only believe.

Death Song.

How will the final tune play itself through –
as it haunts the halls with melodious cacophony;
as it swirls like smoke from a smoldering flame;
as it tells the truths you’ve hidden from yourself;
it’s no wonder: when I look at the whole of it –
nothing profound or groundbreaking or bold;
nothing novel in the face of my weary stride;
nothing that offers any true shock or surprise
just more of the same of a really long line –
those two steps ahead of your own falter;
those who singed my flesh prior to your stab at it;
those who have been dismissed from view;
erased away from concern and thought of mine –
life is too short and there is no time;
shuffled card-decks and matching footsteps;
another falls neatly and indiscreetly into line;
What does your Death Song sound like –
full of many meaningless fabrications and layers;
reverberations, skipped beats and scratched vinyl;
all the dramatics without the shine of the stage lights.

Things of Importance.

There are things of importance in this world;
things that only come to us one time, at all –
things that we don’t see for what they are,
while we hold them in our sweaty palms,
we look past the beauty at the spaces beyond;
we don’t send them trinkets in the mail,
as we really, really should,
we don’t send them letters describing to them:
a worth that can’t be mirrored or matched,
it’s too easy to get caught in the nets of –
“tomorrow’s tasks” and “today’s necessities”,
we take for granted: what these things mean to us,
what these things are for us – the work that has been,
back-breakingly and unfailingly – out of loyalty;
A loyalty that doesn’t bend or give with pressure,
doesn’t burn under the heat of a torch’s flame,
these things of importance, take heed of them –
they are a gift from a God or Goddess to you,
sent to our lives for specific purposes and reasons,
we too often, become easily aware of their presence;
yet, we come to fool our human minds of the permanence,
of those who stand most staunchly at our sides in battle,
those who bleed with us in the trenches, who deliver us salvation,
we abuse them and deny them of their precious worth –
a worth measured thousands of times higher than the purest gold,
a resource more necessary than water to drink or food to eat,
these things of importance go unseen beneath our feet;
There is one thing of importance, that I have recently seen –
a bear and its trainer have thoroughly shown this to me,
the wondrous ties that bind, and connect some of us,
to a much bigger, much broader and profound destiny,
things of importance that were long ago, handed to me,
things that I’ve lived this long unable to see.

Min Ven.

A Toast
from one dead soldier,
to another –
cheers
from one dawning sun,
to the moonlight –
let’s get fucked up tonight;
this life’s been hard,
hard as fuck to survive,
skål
let the tears fall,
my friend –
we’ve been
through it all;
fighting back to back,
through the fires
of living Hell…
seën
to all of our times alive,
to our many defeated
victories stacked up high;
velsigne dig
a key that we found
in the enemy’s pocket,
a while back –
we both knew what it unlocked,
and so it was tossed
into a well as we passed;
min ven:
Moenie bang wees nie,
this too, shall pass us by –
like the many storms weathered
between you and I,
you will keep walking,
right here at my side,
and I shall abide.

A Full Moon Howl to Marcus.

NOT YOU!Tonight is the year’s one and only “Wolf Full Moon” that occurs each January sometime.

I have planned on beginning a new trend here on my blog in ongoing remembrance of Marcus, WordPress’ recently lost, ever-beloved Pack Leader: A collective “howl” in his name on each full moon of the year. But tonight’s will be special because it is not only the first of my attempts at collecting howls for Marcus on a full moon, but it is also the Wolf Full Moon, coincidentally.

I hope all of Marcus’ pack (as well as anyone else who has the energies to send a howl out into the Universe in remembrance of truly GOOD soul) will join me in this effort to remember someone so special and worthy…someone who will never be forgotten for his true kindness and laughter…someone any of us knew will mourn perpetually.

So here it goes, Marcus…in your name:

Aw Aw Awhooooooooo!

Howling at the Fucking Moon!

You are missed more than words can convey, Marcus.

For What It’s Worth.

When the Bear Trainer rips open an article in describing the nickname she’s been given by “someone whom [she] loves and trusts”, please understand firstly and fore mostly – that these words do not come easily for her; she likes to keep a well-drawn line in between herself and others…she feels safest that way. The Bear Trainer sees herself as “Grotesque”…a mangled and patched together version of what might have been, had she not been physically tortured, and in turn – changed on a genetic level by a man (thing) whose cruelty and sadism matched The Ripper’s in nature and severity. I see something so much more than what might have been when I look at her, when I connect with her…when I listen to her.
Upon knowing the Bear Trainer, my beliefs have been deepened; my fears validated and soothed by a voice of reason; my hand has been taken for the first time in a long, long time…maybe even forcefully, but it was needed. It was crucial, in fact. I do not typically jive so well with females for what I’m sure must be obvious reasons; and so you can know that any women that I am close to are gonna be THE BEE’S KNEES – no stupid beezies ride in my car, truth. So when strange and unfamiliar women send me questions about my passed experience with my ex-husband or, even the current shit with Boo – I typically don’t pay much mind to it; because I typically don’t give a fuck what some dingbat from Upstate New York or Laguna Beach has to snort about my business, to be honest.
Yet, through the bustle and noise of technology and meaningless lines across a screen – there was a fearsome bear standing up inside of a fire to get my attention – to ensure that I listened to its trainer. I wanted to share with anyone who has recently been exposed to the Bear Trainer and her blog; she is fierce and chain-bearing, outspoken and raw – she can make someone disappear with a simple line written in truth, make them obsolete in the Universe…she is larger than life and full of colors richer than the most eye-bending hues…she is the epitome of strength and endurance and courage. She stabilizes “stable”.
But know this:
She is the Bear and the Bear Trainer, aye – but she is a beautiful, delicate and fragile creature that’s been burning white hot forever – and to touch her the wrong way might one day, affect the cooled ashes of an ember…she does not openly accept everyone and let them near her life as I do – she guards her armor well, and rightfully so.
I do not need to ask m y readers to understand this about my beloved Bear Trainer, if any of you should come to know her also…but I’m asking you to try.
Amalija is a VERY RARE FIND…to be treasured and celebrated with a roar.

Notes to Self – Note #99

REPEATED CHALKBOARD SCRIBBLING OF THE DAY:

I WILL NOT RIP THE FUCKING ANTLERS AND RUDOLPH NOSES OFF OF OTHER PEOPLE’S VEHICLES AS I PASS BY.
I WILL NOT RIP THE FUCKING ANTLERS AND RUDOLPH NOSES OFF OF OTHER PEOPLE’S VEHICLES AS I PASS BY.
I WILL NOT RIP THE FUCKING ANTLERS AND RUDOLPH NOSES OFF OF OTHER PEOPLE’S VEHICLES AS I PASS BY.

 

 Dear Self,

Yes, you’re still an idiot.

We’ve gone over this before, Self – you need to master self-control a little – No, a lot – better in the days to come.

Your lack of any “Holiday Spirit” DOES NOT entitle you to destroy public (or private) property and get yourself arrested for a brief time, afterward.

Yes, you’re still an idiot.

Just because you have some mutant-esque allergy to alcohol (rendering you 110% unable to physically stomach the shit) doesn’t automatically slap you on top of some tall horse that stands over anyone else; telling one of your Mom’s sloppy, drunken, bartender ex-boyfriends that he “missed his calling in life” was probably a little much.

Yes, you’re still a mouthy bitch.

Creep.

So…as most of my (both engaged and NON-engaged) readers might know, I am an EA by “trade” – a total paradox in and of itself, being first, and foremost: a half-bred Native American…but here I am.
Generally speaking, the disposition of an EA can be easily interchanged with that of a CPA, MBA, tax preparer from the Old School, and most notoriously – the internal auditor. An EA wears the face of the proverbial “Bookkeeper”: a math brain, with little sense of social awareness or functionality; the average Enrolled Agent is the absolute opposite of the artistic writer…but here I am.
I have always been a walking contradiction, I guess…going all the way back to pre-school, where I was regularly in trouble for beating up various little boys (wearing a tie-shoulder sundress, might I add) that I had witnessed bullying someone smaller than they were…and, here I am.
With these things being said first, it’s no surprise then that my brain automatically creates math equations out of my statistics page here at my blog, is it? Of course it isn’t.
Now, I most certainly understand, and can also relate to the notion of being shy or timid, bashful or even just plain anti-social when it comes to interactions with others – especially strangers – that’s truly not my issue with the deductions that I continue to draw from these basic equations regarding my blog’s traffic. My issue is with TROLLS who feel some disturbing need to “watch” me without ever bothering to engage one time with the Human who writes the shit they can’t seem to unglue themselves from…that’s creepy as fuck, I’m sorry…no, I’m not. YOU should be sorry, if YOU are one of these silent and creepy trolls that make up the 5.0424194815/ 6 viewers who lurk around (and have since day 1 almost a year ago, now) without even a “fuck you – you suck!”
I’m just saying….that’s some fuckin’ BAD MATH if I ever saw it…ya fuckin’ creeps.