subspace
|
Posted:Jul 26, 2016 9:11 am
Last Updated:Jul 27, 2016 6:42 pm
8734 Views
|
There is a point when the pain ceases to be pain.
Athletes will tell you this. It becomes part of the body’s stride and movement; it exists only as a component of the whole.
The mind is no longer thinking as the mind usually thinks, separating ideas into pieces and applying logic….it has become a gestalt of sensation and utter purpose, moving forward towards a goal without true thought and words have flown away.
Is there sight? Oh, there is a sort of vision I suppose…one sees things.
I once saw a woman crying, her hair plaited long and dark down her back, her feet bare as she stood on a ledge of rock, high above a pine stand. Our eyes met and I felt her pass through me.
And colors, deepest cobalt blue, purple the color of wet velvet aubergines, bursts of color spreading outward like tie dye, one to the next; stunning in their beauty
And always the sounds, the low deep thunder, the airy wind of movement, the sound of contact. But I do not speak for all words are lost to me now…..this place has taken them.
It cannot end, this is everything…I will never be more than this, feel more than this, tears stream down my face and I taste the salt on my lips.
Nothing is mine. I am His.
When He is done with me, He oils my body and brings me figs and dry white wine.
|
|
|
7
Comments
|
|
alive
|
Posted:Jul 22, 2016 11:34 am
Last Updated:Jul 29, 2016 12:29 pm
9896 Views
|
It was deep summer and so hot that you could scrape sweat crud out of your hair if you were given to. The garden was filled with weeds and my back hurt from being bent over all day pulling them out so by supper time I was a mean thing and wanted no part of the joking my uncle tried to force into my ears.
It was 6 when the truck pulled up to the porch where my cousins and I sat like small lumps of nothing much happening and Wes said……in the back. We crawled up slow….the boys and Lee and I laid down like the dead.
When the truck stopped, Jim, he’s the biggest, looked over the side and jumped out. That had us moving. Jim knew something we didn’t. We were at the ice cream stand. We sat on the tail gate licking away with Wes looking at all of us. I had my cone attached to my tongue, the cold making me giddy with delight.
Then,,,,,,,,,,,Smoosh.
I do not believe this….I do NOT BELIEVE THIS. My beautiful cone all over my face and some dropped into my lap; my uncle laughing and yelling ice cream fight…….and with a fury I had never felt before I grabbed the melting mess from my lap and pounced on his back, rubbing the remains of my ice cream into his curly hair. My cousins were stabbing and tossing and smearing and the sweet smells of pistachio and peppermint filled the air. This was insane. This was crazy. This was nothing that had ever happened to me before. I was sure to be punished. Or sent home.
In minutes, the four of us were covered and how we stunk. Wes tossed us into the hay cushioning the back of the truck, rolling us around until we reappeared like 3 miniature scarecrows. It itched like a thousand bug bites. The laughter was loud and long and yes, a little hysterical.
'Stay put you wretched beasts.'
He disappeared and came back with 4 new cones, popped back into the cab and drove back to the farm, singing the whole way. Auntie was waiting on the porch, a worried look on her face. She gasped when she saw us and went straight for the hose. She had to chase us (and my uncle).
When he turned and starting chasing her, we cheered. He stole the hose and wet her good. She never could keep any angry face on with him. Oh lord, what a time it was. We had to strip off; Auntie said we were “disgusting” but she was smiling too. The grownups went inside. We had to sit in our underwear on the porch and “air dry”.
Jim kept us corralled for a while until Wes unlocked the screen door and shooed us up to bed. He kissed me as I snuggled in and said, “feeling better little Irish?” I nodded and slipped off to sleep. I was too.
|
|
|
7
Comments
|
|
the guardian
|
Posted:Jul 18, 2016 11:27 am
Last Updated:Aug 4, 2016 1:08 pm
9377 Views
|
Watching the street from her window, she was often given to wonder about the old man who carried the up and down the street until he fell asleep; the utter patience of it, the small body slung across his skinny chest, the head cradled on one arm, never saying anything….just walking.
There were times when she would look away and not see them enter the house across the street, not know if the walk had performed the tiny miracle or if they continued walking out of her view and this unnerved her, like a story without an ending. The next day she would wait nervously until they appeared.
It wasn’t a very busy street, a quiet neighborhood with families and the occasional car, but there were trees and birds and this summer, rabbits. More than last year so the sounds had changed and now there was giggling and the clicking of cards in bicycle tires.
Still, by 9 or 10 it was quiet and the houses flickered with tv light as the occasional fox flew across a lawn.
Odd. To see a house so brightly lit was indeed a wonder. To almost hear the words from within, tantalizing.
The blinds were drawn so only shadows passed the windows but there were so many shadows. A party perhaps, a celebration?
She slipped quietly up her stairs and into the attic. From here she could look down on the whole street, her kingdom if you will. Curling into a ball in the wicker seat she could see the yard of the brightly lit house and the scurrying people as they hurried back and forth. She watched for a while but soon her eyes grew heavy.
In the morning, the rain was falling softly and she smiled…..rainy days were so helpful. She could tend to chores….. A quick glance….her hand flew to her mouth.
The street was filled with ambulances……
She fell to her knees and wept.
|
|
|
6
Comments
|
|
tryna make his way home
|
Posted:Jul 17, 2016 12:10 pm
Last Updated:Jun 20, 2017 4:20 pm
9074 Views
|
no time ago
or else a life
walking in the dark
i met christ
jesus)my heart
flipped over
and lay still
while he passed(as
close as i’m to you
yes closer
made of nothing
except loneliness e e cummings
what if god were one of us, just a stranger on a bus – the words kept running through her head like some mantra to the roll of the subway car. so tired, her eyes half closed they drifted over the faces opposite her, a businessy man checking his phone, an older woman with her eyes shut and a tight hold on her purse, hair an awful shade of orange…
a mom with a wee baby, sweet baby all smiles and sticking her hands in her ma’s hair, the slap so quick it stole her breath. No god on this subway. Just the world.
She rose and moved toward the door, her stop. The baby’s fierce screaming was slowing slightly, her eyes closing. The mother leaned back and closed her eyes. The doors opened and with one foot on the platform, she leaned over and slipped her hands under the baby’s arms lifting her up and away as doors shut with a slight squelch.
Walking up the stairs into the night, she felt the baby root against her chest. Instead of turning towards home, she took a left towards the stores. She’d need some bottles and formula. She texted her mom to tell her she’d be a bit late.
Her grew up to be a scientist, just like her mother, and her mother’s mother. A family of women, academics, living a life of the mind, brilliant, successful.
Years passed. Then quite suddenly the house they lived in was put up for sale. The University where the women held chairs received gracious notes of withdrawal. Treatises they had written went out of print and were removed from registries. Books that had been in libraries were no longer available and when searched for proved impossible to find.
It was as if they simply disappeared.
Years later while walking across the Longfellow Bridge, I thought I saw the riding a bicycle towards MGH. We were going in opposite directions and I shouted and waved but drew no response.
I choose to believe it was her. That she was free. If indeed she’d ever not been.
Or maybe on the way to see her real mom; forgiven.
|
|
|
2
Comments
|
|
this way lies madness
|
Posted:Jul 16, 2016 12:58 pm
Last Updated:Jul 17, 2016 12:27 pm
8927 Views
|
What is the definition of madness?
A state of being mentally ill, lunacy
A state of frenzied or chaotic activity.
Put them together……what do you have? A three year old on a sugar high.
I spent four hours yesterday herding 3 of them.
They were dropped off by moms who were going to a literary event…….HA
I don’t think so.
I think they went out, did shots and went to a strip club. They ubered……..I know what that means.
Back to my adventure.
I took them to the park before it got dark and let them chase poor old Charlie around. Thank God for a good dog. I thought that would tire them out, but it seemed to just rev the engines. When I was three, my mom had me on a leash, honest, she did. I was not to be trusted. If I’d thought of it, I would have tried the same thing. My house is less than a block from the park….it took 15 minutes to get them back home. How is that possible? I mean, it’s a damn straight line.
We had juice, fruit rollups and then they found the candy……….
I swear, I was just taking a pee.
By the time I got back which was less than a minute, there were peanut M&Ms all over the floor and Charlie was in a race with three toddlers to see who could stuff more of them in their mouths first.
Luckily – no one had a peanut allergy. But that was when all hell broke loose. Organization went south and despite all attempts at,well anything, I just ended up trying to keep them all from dying. We played tag, hide and seek, musical chairs, duckduckgoose, flashlight tag, statue – nope not a winner, and at 10:30 they dropped like stones.
Moms arrived back at 11.
And there they all were, on my bed, snuggled up, little angels with Charlie at their feet. And there I was on the couch with a giant glass of pinot grigio.
Perhaps the definition of madness is not insanity. It’s more likely repeating the same act and expecting a different result. I have them next Friday.
Yup. btw - the picture below is NOT them
|
|
|
9
Comments
|
|
40 years ago.....and yesterday
|
Posted:Jul 13, 2016 12:37 pm
Last Updated:Jul 23, 2016 10:25 am
9525 Views
|
It was late and so her friend gave her a ride home. Nina Simone blasted from the radio and her tuneless humming was just enough to get on his nerves…
Lord have mercy. Just stop. You know you can’t sing.
Laughing, she turned and began to squeal along with Nina, just to see if she could get him riled, this man who never seemed to anger but only to smile and laugh and cajole.
As they pulled into a spot by her apartment, he leaned over for a good night hug and the lights flicked on behind them, flashing blue and white, a short burst of siren sound.
He sighed.
Both policemen exited the car, one with a gun already drawn.
HANDS ON THE WHEEL. YOU, OUT OF THE CAR.
She stood on the sidewalk, heart pounding. The cop asked if she was hurt. As she was telling him that her friend was just driving her home from work, the other cop had her friend on his knees on the street with his hands behind his head and his head on the road. She screamed MO…..and tried to run to him. The cop grabbed her arm and pulled and pushed until she was thrust into the back seat of the police car.
They cuffed Moses. She listened as one cop ran plates and his SS#. Mo’s cheek was bleeding; she could see it as she struggled to keep her eyes on him.
For 20 minutes, as people passed, the tableau of her gentle friend pressed against the street was public fodder. When the police uncuffed him and let her out of the car, they got back into their car and left.
They did not apologize.
They did not explain.
They did not even glance at her and her friend.
Moses took her arm and led her shaking to her door. He was the one to fit the key into the lock, to make tea and hold her in his large and steady arms, to soothe her as she ranted and cried bitter tears. When he pulled the quilt over her and sat on the side of her bed, he answered her WHY simply.
DWB, baby, DWB.
|
|
|
8
Comments
|
|
HNW: the little red dress
|
Posted:Jul 12, 2016 1:04 pm
Last Updated:Jul 19, 2016 2:15 pm
10354 Views
|
The dress clung to her body like paint to a canvas; a masterpiece. There wasn’t a head that didn’t turn as she moved slowly across the room.
A flash of red against burnished oak walls.
The tuxedoed men in stark contrast as she passed. Their women elegant but somehow diminished by her presence.
It was the lady in red that stopped the music.
for NiceLipss
we
|
|
|
16
Comments
|
|
man down
|
Posted:Jul 8, 2016 12:16 pm
Last Updated:Jul 15, 2016 8:39 am
7620 Views
|
how must if feel, a knee in your back, pressed against concrete hands all over you, voices screaming in your face, you cannot think, the sound of your heart choking off your breath. the skin on your head is being pulled by the gravel and your mind goes to your wife who will.......
pop pop pop pop
from above you look down on your body not moving under two men still screaming and then up at a blue sky. your babies. your babies, what will happen to your babies now.
and with the final breath a soft sweet gentle swaying sound lifts you higher and away.
below, the chaos turns to a hatred, rich with anger and a family is torn into pieces.
|
|
|
4
Comments
|
|
dream catcher
|
Posted:Jul 7, 2016 8:14 am
Last Updated:Jul 13, 2016 11:09 am
8175 Views
|
I don’t sleep well. Sometimes I don’t sleep at all but often I sleep for an hour or so and then startle awake, drift off, startle. It’s odd that with this pattern of sleep I seem to have a fairly active dream life but then I always have. There are dreams from my youth that I still can recall in quite disturbing detail; dreams that would repeat and repeat, nightmares of a sort or warnings. It’s why I hate chase scenes in movies and love serial killer books and all things sci-fi.
I dream often of this place of safety where I used to I think I would live but now I think I will go to in death. I see it from above as if I’m in a plane and looking down on it from several hundred feet. The colors are vivid and it reminds me of the movie the Secrets of Roan Inish. Odd to think of that movie now as it’s been years since I’ve seen it but it was the kind of movie that you don’t plan to watch but never forget.
When I was little I used to dream of standing at the door to a room and this man who was seemingly a good man was inviting me and my sister inside to join in a party. It looked like such fun. But inside of me I knew that if we went in, we could never leave and I was tugging my sister away as she tried to go through the door….I had this dream so many times that I can remember the smell of it, the colors of the dresses on the inside and the exact number of balloons that drifted to the ceiling.
Dreams often help us finish the thoughts we fear to parse in daylight. They bring back the dead, they show us our future. According to scientists, they may even be how our minds consolidate memory.
A friend of mine would dream of things that were going to happen….and then they did. We came to believe in her dreams and treated them with great care. She dreamt of my godson wearing blue, face down in water. The entire two weeks he visited me that summer, we kept the away from water. On his birthday night, after his bath, we were cooking and Linda said, where is Kalani?. We found him face down in the tub that had not been drained in his new blue outfit. Now he makes hand rolled premium cigars in Hawaii. A fine man filled with laughter, saved by a dream.
|
|
|
3
Comments
|
|
it's the little things.....
|
Posted:Jul 3, 2016 3:47 pm
Last Updated:Jul 17, 2016 12:42 pm
7457 Views
|
clickclick.
He stood, crossing the floor into the kitchen, following the sounds. They seemed to drift into another space, moving as he followed them, shifting from distinct to muffled.
Wondering if this was something inside his own mind, in his ear canal maybe, he shook his head and plunged a finger into each ear joggling it vigorously.
As he trundled back to his seat and his book, he lit a cigarette, enjoying the bite as the smoke hit his lungs before settling back into his chair. His spine a good 4 inches from the pillowed chair back, he sat stiffly, waiting. The unexplained set his teeth on edge. He needed things to be tidy; dime snap precise.
There is enough that tatters the edges without permitting your own piece of the world to show a lack of regard.
There it was again.
clickclick
This time he was quick to his feet, swiftly moving along the wall towards his office like a submarine on sonar. A shadow, making no sound, his breath barely moving the air in front of him. The room dark, quiet as he slips inside.
An inhale. clickclick. From the far corner. He slid the paneled door closed behind him and spread his feet a foot apart. His exhale leaked out slowly, inaudible even to him as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the ambient light.
The cowering next to the large oak desk looked up at him with swollen red eyes. So tiny, too thin, with unimaginably filthy hair. Impossible to tell if this was a boy or a girl. He moved forward, his arm extended….slowly.
The echo of the shot, the smell of copper, feces.
clickclick
|
|
|
2
Comments
|
|
violence in the workplace
|
Posted:Jul 2, 2016 9:35 am
Last Updated:Jul 13, 2016 11:08 am
8155 Views
|
Working for men is always interesting when you’re a young woman especially if you’re the only woman in the office. When I was young and just finding my way, I worked for group of five architects, all of them married.
They were a “going” firm, having made a name for themselves designing upscale sites for a well-known store and some buildings for Harvard. I was the keeper of the books and their overall sanity. Colin and Dusty were the partners, Jim was the idea man, Arthur and Bob were the nebishy ones. Colin was also the dirty old man, Dusty the family man, Jim the man in the tower, Arthur the sleaze and Bob, well he was just there.
They decided they needed new blood and were interviewing. One day this very odd man with long hair and no shoes came flying up the stairs, grinning wildly asking for the bathroom. Colin was turning the corner when he raced out of the toilet and they collided. Odd Man, lifted Colin (who was a lot short and ever so British) and righted him, then said…..” You the man?”
Meet George. The new blood. Dirty feet, scruffy beard, long hair, jeans, hovering over Colin in his three piece suit. Such a fun day.
Moving along, I walked in the back office where Dusty, George and Colin were meeting to get a signature on a check that had to be mailed that day. They were color coding the duct system of a job. As I leaned over to place the check in front of Colin, he popped two color dots onto my breasts. Without a second’s hesitation, I backhanded him and he fell out of his chair. The British are quite pale and when they get angry, their skin becomes a mottled red that is not attractive. By the time Colin made it to his feet, he was salmon moving towards magenta. I’ll give it to George, he moved faster than Dusty who seemed frozen in place. I had already stepped back a few and as I attempted to tear the stinking dots off, they shredded leaving bits behind.
Colin’s screaming brought Jim from the Tower. Arthur and Bob close on his heels. Gang’s all here. Jim asks if would mind going to my desk……….nope, I don’t mind. I call the ACLU. No I didn’t, but I should have.
About an hour later, I am asked to meet with Dusty and Jim. I get an official apology, and the next day off. I am not asked to sign anything but I can tell that is coming so I say, I will not sign anything saying that this did not happen. They nod.
When I get back on Monday, Colin comes over to me and says he’ll watch his hands if I watch my left hook. We laugh.
And that is the difference between then and now…….eh?
BTW – George was hired.
|
|
|
6
Comments
|
|
mondays bite
|
Posted:Jun 27, 2016 11:38 am
Last Updated:Jul 2, 2016 9:36 am
8494 Views
|
I don’t trust much of anything lately.
Terrible thing to say because I was always sort of a Pollyanna. The one who said, you can do it, it’ll get better, tomorrow’s another day, hang in there. But it seems like my rainbow glow is wearing thin of late.
I wonder when a fighter knows he’s lost the fight. Is it a certain punch, or a general overall feeling of enough? Is it a moment or a cumulative malaise?
Once, when I was about 35, I was walking to the bus to go to work and I stopped short in the middle of the street. It was about 5:30 in the morning. I had an epiphany. This was my life, the life I would be living and the ideas that I’d had for my life, the dreams that I thought were going to be part of my life, well they were not real.
I sat down on the curb and cried.
Then I got up and went to work and lived my life.
And I’ve done good stuff. I’ve known passion and deep abiding love; work that was good work and gave my life meaning and substance. I’m not sad about my life or the people I’ve loved and continue to love but I just don’t trust much of the world anymore. I think now, that if I were to walk the same mean streets I walked even a year ago, I might not survive. Something in me that believed I was safe has disappeared.
I don’t believe it’s age. That’s what Weezer says it is but then she’s a pessimist of the first order and always has been…on a cloudless day, she’ll carry an umbrella. Maybe it’s the collapse of America. The fact that so many people don’t seem bothered by this bloody election. Or that anyone can say anything they want in social media and true or not…..damage another human beyond repair. It is nearly impossible to fight a lie; I read a paper on it……..it’s better to just ignore it because by fighting a lie you simply expand its credibility….even if you prove it’s a lie….i find that mind boggling.
Well, enough of this shit……….y’all have a nice day.
Snork.
|
|
|
6
Comments
|
|
the mole woman
|
Posted:Jun 25, 2016 11:06 am
Last Updated:Jun 27, 2016 9:16 am
7493 Views
|
In the middle of the night, she woke up, heart thumping and wondered where she was. Sometimes it would take minutes before she could remember that she was in her bed, in her apartment, in a place called Davis Square.
The cold nose of her pressed into her hand and his quiet huffing helped her ground herself as she stood and went to pee. He followed her as he followed her everywhere and her hand ruffled his ears as she shuffled back to bed and climbed in, pulling the old quilt up over her then patting the bed so he knew to join her. His landing was soft for a big and he settled quickly, his head on her hip, her hand on his back. The night still night. Hours left before light.
The mole woman who lived across the hall peered at her through the cracked door watching her leave in the morning before she stepped across the hall and getting down on her knees stuffed something under the apartment door, quickly scuttling back and locking herself back inside her mole lair.
At 6, she arrived back home with a bag of groceries. Nodding to the mole woman, she unlocked her door and slid inside. Her ran to greet her and she snapped on the lead, filling her pickets with treats. As they moved back towards the door she spotted the envelope on the floor, picked it up and tossed it on the sofa. Later.
The park was filled with pups and for an hour, it was only about wrestling, running and being one with the wind. People really didn’t matter; they knew the dogs’ names, not each other’s and chatted easily about nothing at all while smiling at the joy surrounding them.
The amble back home included a short stop to pick up milk so it was only as they turned the corner that she saw the churning lights of the police cars, and the smoke billowing from the building.
She turned slowly away and walked with the back the way they had come. In the papers the next morning, the reports said the fire was caused by electrical wiring and an older women on the second floor had died inside. The building had burned to the ground.
Her new apartment was small but they allowed dogs. That was important.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
To link to this blog (wickedeasy) use [blog wickedeasy] in your messages.
|
|
|
| Sun |
Mon |
Tue |
Wed |
Thu |
Fri |
Sat |
| |
|
|
|
|
|
1
|
2
|
3
|
4
|
5
|
6
|
7
|
8
|
9
|
10
|
11
|
12
|
13
|
141
|
15
|
16
|
17
|
18
|
19
|
20
|
21
|
22
|
23
|
24
|
25
|
26
|
27
|
28
|
29
|
|
