More (Scattered) Thoughts.

I’ve written about it before, the way the shine went out of my mom’s eyes upon the death of her mother; I’ve written about the extended period of mourning and bereavement that she experienced (and continues to experience in many ways, even now); I’ve written about the weird things she did after her mom passed away late one night, i.e. refusing to take off the sweater that belonged to my grandma for at least a year afterwards, or the taking up of chain-smoking cigarettes like it was a sport and she held the title of Champion (she is now paying for those solo marathon smoking fests that sometimes lasted throughout the night on the front porch of her former home). I have written about all these intricacies belonging to the grief that seems to have drained the life right out of my mama in the end; and I have picked apart the ins and outs to the responses and behaviors attached to my (former) mom’s processing of it all. I can now say that I honestly and thoroughly understand and comprehend on a deep level: how and why the shine left her eyes with the emotional blow of her mom’s death – I can see the shine going dull in my own eyes little by little too, if I dare look into a mirror. My skin has changed in texture and color, my mouth perpetually wears a frown – my shoulders sag, I sigh a lot, and deeply.

I have also been on an emotional kind of high-alert in regard to my mom’s feelings and her personal level of overall peace throughout her recent diagnosis of cancer (her death sentence) and the subsequent nightmare-esque circumstances that have become our day to day existence. I have been watching her stiffen her lip and put on the dog through it all, telling herself and everyone else that she doesn’t think cancer is going to kill her, and things like that. I have been able to sympathize with her and what she’s going through all along so far for the most part; but I still can’t seem to bring myself to imagine the world after she’s gone…

I have written about my many longstanding issues with my mom stemming from childhood; I have written about the many years we let pass by hardly knowing one another at all; and the things we knew about each other were not born of fond sentiment (on my own part, at least). I have always been so afraid to turn out like my mom did – the way my young brain has molded her in my recollections from early on – raving and spitting mad, a foul-mouthed Squaw, the drunken breaker of my mine and my brothers’ hearts. I spent so long in judgment of her for how she dealt with the loss of her youngest child, my brother JJ; for how she never allowed me to even mention him in her engaged presence after his tragic death; for how she never acknowledged his hurt and pain, even after he was gone – like I am anyone pass judgment on anyone – look at my kid, for Gods sake. I see so many things differently nowadays, and am glad that I have had the chances to accept her as she is while she was still able to comprehend that acceptance and appreciate what it all meant to both of us.

It’s a weird jumble of thoughts that have been swimming been around in my head and heart lately; and it’s all rather hard to put into words, if not impossible, but I want to try:

I see that we are each, indeed, creatures made of the same stardust – all of us.

I see how it’s a fact of Life – the very essence of Life – everything we do and everything we are is seeded by our parents; each thought that we have, even subconsciously, somehow and on some level ties back to the ones who bore us, nurtured us or contributed to our young lives; the moments when we think out loud and say things that we don’t even completely understand to ourselves, or when we quietly chuckle at a distant memory  from our childhood – it’s all loosely, but surely woven into the very essence of the many individualized notions of love, of being loved, of loving the best we know how to love, to the bitter end of Life…be it ours or our parents’ end, it will be the most bitter taste that the other has ever had to swallow. I know that the sun will not cease to shine on the day after my mom lets go of this world; I know that things will carry on like they always did: cars will drive people to work, and people will get married and babies will be born and my family will eat dinner together somewhere and drunkenly celebrate my mama’s Life…I just can’t picture it.

 

On a lighter note, I got a new job at the cemetery/mortuary today. And I’m not being horribly un-funny either, I am serious. I’ll be keeping books in the back offices, but I think it’s rather fitting all the same…a place where you are encouraged to wear black or dark colors to work EVERYDAY; a place where you aren’t allowed to laugh in the hallways for any reason, a place where you get kudos for the most sullen look in the office. I thought it was perfect. And apparently, so did they.

A Fucking Rant.

I swear to the Gods: I get no relief from ANYTHING, NOT EVER. I am so crushed into a little, teeny ball of angst that remains plastered up against the wall at all times. I NEVER get space to myself for any amount of time that does me any good – enough time to replenish my frenzied brain or my anxiety ridden body…my roommates are both fucking slobs without a care in the world for anyone else’s comforts or preferences; they both carry on as if they live completely alone when it comes to things that effect all of us; and I am fucking sick of it. I am fucking sick of the way that they seem to almost work in unison to deprive me of alone time – one leaves and the other comes home, etc.

I’m sick of their faces right now, sick of looking at them both with their carefree expressions every day; I am sick to death of the way that one of them watches the same fucking shit Television shows and the same two or three James Bond films over and over and over. Or how he insists on playing his music with the bass turned up so loud, I cannot concentrate on my own tasks in my own bedroom. I am sick of how little common sense gets applied to situations when it comes to either one of them, too…instead of sliding the empty pizza box on its side BEHIND the recycling can, stupidly and mindlessly opting to COVER THE ENTIRE CAN by setting it over the top, instead…wtf sense does that kind of shit make???

Or how my house looks like we’ve been camping in the living room and billiard room for going on 3 months now, as my roommate is also too fucking lazy to put his gear away after using it. The cycle goes like this repeatedly, too:

He pulls out all of his gear and goes camping

he comes home and literally dumps his shit in the billiard room (the room that the front door leads directly into)

he leaves his shit strewn all over the fucking house until he goes camping again

repeat

repeat

then he gets some wild hair up his fucking ass sometime in early December or so to clean up the fucking indoor campsite at random and puts the shit into the garage (but doesn’t put it up where it all belongs though)

before long, it’s time to go camping again and it all starts anew.

 

So fucking tired of it. Tired of the way that I can’t keep even the tiniest piece of space for my own use without it being pirated somehow by one of them…tired of how I have to stay shut up in my room because the useless birds are driving me insane, or if they were magically being quiet, the one roommate would be constantly in my doorway trying to show me something on youtube or socknet or Instagram –

“I’m fucking busy, dumbass!!! Can’t you see the document open on my screen and don’t you notice my full attention focused on it???”

Jesus, it’s like pulling teeth to get a mother fucker to just leave me the fuck alone for a chunk of time….always being bothered by the stupidity of their ways, even when I make a point to remove myself from it.

“Dude…I have REAL problems, REAL troubles and strife…you’ll forgive me if I don’t sympathize with your meager and pathetic excuses for reasons to be upset…come back and talk to me when you’re a parent, or when you lose your kid, or when your mother is hospitalized for being insane again, or when your father gets beaten almost to death downtown over your hooker, drug-addicted daughter, etc. Don’t cry to a beggar about having no money or whatever, you seem so miserably shallow when you talk to me about trivial horse shit like you do, when I have REAL struggles to suffer through…damn.”

Why do you slam the front door (that shares a wall with my bedroom, right where the head of my bed is) when you leave for work every morning at 6:30? It’s not as if you aren’t aware that I am sleeping there. Why do you fail to lock the front door upon leaving, while I should theoretically still be asleep? Why do you treat the front porch as a trash receptacle for your garbage from your car? Why do you ever bother with an ashtray at all when 99% of your butts end up on the fucking ground?

 

 

Of My Court.

The line is clear,
your voice is true –
when you inquire,
if I still belong to you…
my response is sure,
as the day is long –
when I assert,
that I belong to no one…
though, in spite of such,
the flame that we produce –
continues to burn,
the hottest shades of blue…
the whitest heat,
the love runs deep –
like a river’s mouth,
feeding directly into…
the vastness of oceans,
the vacuum of space –
the grip of your fingers,
the look on your face…
you remain my Hero,
the Champion of my court –
whittler of my wooden heart,
fixer of my broken parts…
you’ve caught my tears,
and scrubbed away,
in total disarray –
the stains left by my blood…
you’ve carried me,
screaming and kicking,
cursing the heavens,
from the top of my lungs –
you sat me down,
when the day was done…
and reminded me of how,
redemption would come –
someday, somehow,
you say, let’s focus on,
this moment right now…
and the future to come,
but the truth is,
when good nights are said,
and the laughter is gone –
I still love you as much,
as I’ve always done…
the distance that has,
always plagued –
the wedge between,
any regular touch,
that much needed spark,
a transmission,
the ignition,
a link that strings invisibly –
between yours,
and my own skin…
it is still this way,
for the same reason today,
as it always was back then –
you’re there,
and I’m here,
love can’t make,
the void disappear…
no matter how true,
or how real, or pure –
I know it hurts you so much,
that I need to be touched,
I need to be felt,
heard, and related to –
up close and personally,
not electronically,
not through text messaging…
you can claim me,
the day that I finally –
say “fuck it”,
and come home to you.

Misery’s Metronome.

I find that often

during times

when I reflect

back down the line

A saddening

has indeed been

a constant thing

to cruelly

pre-define

a trend

in the bending

of a tragedy

misery’s timeline

when I look

more closely

at the heavy

weighing down

dragging the line

of my ever-darkening

own, grown legacy

the only thing

then, that truly seems

left for me

to dare perceive

as belonging to me

to conceive or believe

as I also lose

and also find

my mind, in time

I find that

I’m at borderline

just temporarily

it’s all so clear

fleeting moments

fully aware

heavy torment

I can hardly bear

the darkness here

or the sunshine there

I always sink

atonement

beyond every brink

fathomless

bottomless pits

dark omens

where blackness persists

among settling bones

misery’s metronome

tick – tick – tick

within the inner hollow

Life’s slowing drip

no more grip

on tomorrow

the present moment

is all of my sorrow

silt settling on bones

dirt shoveled over

our buried loved ones

a human component

the final atonement

the weight

from the shoulders

too late

and it’s over.

 

 

Of My Court.

The line is clear,
your voice is true –
when you inquire,
if I still belong to you…
my response is sure,
as the day is long –
when I assert,
that I belong to no one…
though, in spite of such,
the flame that we produce –
continues to burn,
the hottest shades of blue…
the whitest heat,
the love runs deep –
like a river’s mouth,
feeding directly into…
the vastness of oceans,
the vacuum of space –
the grip of your fingers,
the look on your face…
you remain my Hero,
the Champion of my court –
whittler of my wooden heart,
fixer of my broken parts…
you’ve caught my tears,
and scrubbed away,
in total disarray –
the stains left by my blood…
you’ve carried me,
screaming and kicking,
cursing the heavens,
from the top of my lungs –
you sat me down,
when the day was done…
and reminded me of how,
redemption would come –
someday, somehow,
you say, let’s focus on,
this moment right now…
and the future to come,
but the truth is,
when good nights are said,
and the laughter is gone –
I still love you as much,
as I’ve always done…
the distance that has,
always plagued –
the wedge between,
any regular touch,
that much needed spark,
a transmission,
the ignition,
a link that strings invisibly –
between yours,
and my own skin…
it is still this way,
for the same reason today,
as it always was back then –
you’re there,
and I’m here,
love can’t make,
the void disappear…
no matter how true,
or how real, or pure –
I know it hurts you so much,
that I need to be touched,
I need to be felt,
heard, and related to –
up close and personally,
not electronically,
not through text messaging…
you can claim me,
the day that I finally –
say “fuck it”,
and come home to 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.

We Went to Unsecret, Different Schools Together.

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NOTE: Even at a post-wedding-ceremony party, S is snapped crying while J just wants to get down and cut a rug

Beginning as far back into life as either of us can remember, we have somehow genuinely been: thick as thieves. At one time, she had longer hair and seemed much taller than me, even donned dress flats to make her Mama happy once in a while…although it was I that sucked my thumb until I was five, she cried often and was sensitive – surprise, surprise. Her skin thickened later on in life, but during childhood, she was kind of a sissy.

Bruce Springsteen – CHECK.

Handcuffed together inside of a high security paddy wagon – CHECK.

1980’s eye crystal blue eye shadow and feather bangs – CHECK.

Teddy Ruxpin (and cassette tapes) – CHECK.

Piercings in unspeakable places – CHECK.

Ever-Revolving door of chaotic Life-Phases ranging in severity – CHECK.

Direct Tissue/Organ Donation – CHECK. CHECK.

Secret Matching Tattoos – CHECK.

Disturbing and vague shared recollections involving a drunken exotic bird and many, many bottles of Tequila – CHECK.

(CIRCA 19–)
Here, you can easily see the perfect demonstration of our days together in childhood.
(We are at either end: I am the blonde piglet and she is the snickering shithead)
Directly after this was snapped, I was nearly beaten to death by my playmates (S included) for “eating on the clock”.

(CIRCA 19–)    S had a traumatic jellyfish experience at the beach early in life, rendering her perpetually in malcontent on any shoreline, anywhere. This photo was taken only a matter of hours prior to her attack, and clearly captured my evil fatmouth full of lies and false assurances to her of her safety.

Our days as friends had no beginning, and will never end.

We've been solid since back when your "bikini" left tan lines that made no sense at all.

We’ve been solid since back when your “bikini” left tan lines that made no sense at all.

(CIRCA 19–) One time, the two of us agreed that we’d made a trivial mistake…soon afterward however – we realized we’d been wrong.

When we became bored with finger painting in preschool, we whisked ourselves away to religiously shrouded monasteries of truth and light, barely visible off the Eastern coast of…some place that was very far away;

we learned to write in Latin… to shoot like the archers from times long dead to history books and chainmaille legends…we gladly taught them to eat with their hands like savages – a few steps back towards their pastel colored roots.

We always eventually overstayed our welcome, wherever we went – and were either escorted beyond the perimeter or politely asked to be on our way.

Drunken Sailorettes – CHECK.

Military AirSupport Dropouts – CHECK.

Shitty Low-Budget Horror Movie Extras – CHECK.

I could go on, but need to save something for future volumes of the Unsecret Chrons…

More of the fictitious story of “us” to come…maybe.

(CIRCA 19–) NOTE: We are seated on the far left end of bench (I am holding a net wtf?) Immediately after this one was snapped, we made history by leaping up from the bench and affecting a medieval style catapult, launching the three remaining girls as well as the creepy, freeze-dried cat well over the internationally recorded current best of 59.05 m into the air.