I hope Yellowstone National Park does not erupt.
Sunday, August 29
Thursday, August 26
stealing angst
Sunday, Edward Munch's version of The Scream was stolen from an art museum in Berlin (for the second time in 10 years).
This is fantastic. I mean, everyone knows this painting. It would be like stealing The Mona Lisa. I hope some rich chap has it in is living room above the mantle. Could you imagine that piece in your home!? INSANE. I hope there is twisted and cut throat story behind it. I hope it was not stolen solely for the purpose of ransom. Then that would just be disenchanting.
****
New Music Euphoria: Maroon 5 - She will be loved
Even though you can catch this song hitting the mainstream, I still think it is worth mentioning. Fantastic. I wonder if the entire album is as good?
"I don't mind spending everyday out on your corner in the pouring rain. Look for the girl with the broken smile and ask her if she'd like to stay awhile - and she will be loved."
This is fantastic. I mean, everyone knows this painting. It would be like stealing The Mona Lisa. I hope some rich chap has it in is living room above the mantle. Could you imagine that piece in your home!? INSANE. I hope there is twisted and cut throat story behind it. I hope it was not stolen solely for the purpose of ransom. Then that would just be disenchanting.
****
New Music Euphoria: Maroon 5 - She will be loved
Even though you can catch this song hitting the mainstream, I still think it is worth mentioning. Fantastic. I wonder if the entire album is as good?
"I don't mind spending everyday out on your corner in the pouring rain. Look for the girl with the broken smile and ask her if she'd like to stay awhile - and she will be loved."
Monday, August 23
Concrete Feet and Higher Ascension
Cold feet is no longer a needed expression when addressing a nervous bride. Cold feet would imply that they would or could be warmed into movement. Saturday my feet were not cold or even frozen but solid blocks of cement. Planted and affixed. No longer able to move in any direction. That was the morning I told Army boy that I was not marrying him today or ever. The day before I had willed myself into buying my own marriage license (which I would like back for the sole purpose of wiping my ass with – since I technically own that slap-in-the-face piece of government documentation).
Sorry to have left my faithful readers out on the prelude to this disparaging arrangement. I suppose I had already known I was making a mistake and didn’t want to drive the nail in further by telling many people. Why did I even go as far as I did? Despair and fear drives people as much as the assumption of love and frail promises of a good life. In other words, Military families have benefits that looked especially helpful to me and my current situation.
To sum up a sordidly poignant affair a ‘fuck you’ had been hatefully uttered (wait make that 2){me}, a declaration of war {him} and a disgruntled neutral friend in the driver’s seat. I have two final thoughts on the matter. One negative and One positive:
1. The war bit was hilarious for me and pathetically ironic. On a battlefield he may have an over powering advantage. Take away enemy lines, automatic weapons, and militant organization and there stands an Army Boy with no army - alone in a battlefield left with slain memories and bloodied dreams. He will be alone. Just as I was for 18 months while I was abandoned pregnant and then thrown into single parenthood with our child. There was no phone call, no support, no care, there was no thing except for the brilliant memories of him fucking my best friend and leaving me for her. He will feel shamed just as I did when he hit me several times in front of our child. I had to step up to the responsibility of those situations and make them mine. Now he has no choice but to step up the responsibility of the effects of this situation and make them his. Can I justify the outcome of what happened this weekend by past wrongs? No. Can I feel a lot better about them? Yes. Should I? No. Will I? For a short time, yes.
2. I am starting over. Today, as a matter of fact, in an hour I am going to go look at my new apartment in a new town. I am leaving this current town on the account that the mental and emotional abuse of my family can no longer be blocked out, shrugged off, and covered up with a piece of duck tape serving as a band-aid. I will not be stifled and smothered amongst people who like seeing me in a state of despair. This is my choice and I choose to do things on my own and pull out the spoiled bitch stops and face the cold hard truth that I cannot depend on anyone but myself. It is encouraging and I am grateful when I am helped but no longer will I wait for other’s motivation to drive me. I choose to put down the coin and stop flipping for life decisions I have always been too afraid to make. I choose to let fate be a guide instead of a leader of my life. I need to get the hell out of Dodge or I am going to be late for my new life appointment. See you all soon.
Sorry to have left my faithful readers out on the prelude to this disparaging arrangement. I suppose I had already known I was making a mistake and didn’t want to drive the nail in further by telling many people. Why did I even go as far as I did? Despair and fear drives people as much as the assumption of love and frail promises of a good life. In other words, Military families have benefits that looked especially helpful to me and my current situation.
To sum up a sordidly poignant affair a ‘fuck you’ had been hatefully uttered (wait make that 2){me}, a declaration of war {him} and a disgruntled neutral friend in the driver’s seat. I have two final thoughts on the matter. One negative and One positive:
1. The war bit was hilarious for me and pathetically ironic. On a battlefield he may have an over powering advantage. Take away enemy lines, automatic weapons, and militant organization and there stands an Army Boy with no army - alone in a battlefield left with slain memories and bloodied dreams. He will be alone. Just as I was for 18 months while I was abandoned pregnant and then thrown into single parenthood with our child. There was no phone call, no support, no care, there was no thing except for the brilliant memories of him fucking my best friend and leaving me for her. He will feel shamed just as I did when he hit me several times in front of our child. I had to step up to the responsibility of those situations and make them mine. Now he has no choice but to step up the responsibility of the effects of this situation and make them his. Can I justify the outcome of what happened this weekend by past wrongs? No. Can I feel a lot better about them? Yes. Should I? No. Will I? For a short time, yes.
2. I am starting over. Today, as a matter of fact, in an hour I am going to go look at my new apartment in a new town. I am leaving this current town on the account that the mental and emotional abuse of my family can no longer be blocked out, shrugged off, and covered up with a piece of duck tape serving as a band-aid. I will not be stifled and smothered amongst people who like seeing me in a state of despair. This is my choice and I choose to do things on my own and pull out the spoiled bitch stops and face the cold hard truth that I cannot depend on anyone but myself. It is encouraging and I am grateful when I am helped but no longer will I wait for other’s motivation to drive me. I choose to put down the coin and stop flipping for life decisions I have always been too afraid to make. I choose to let fate be a guide instead of a leader of my life. I need to get the hell out of Dodge or I am going to be late for my new life appointment. See you all soon.
Tuesday, August 17
Prompt: 10 min free writing exercise
Martyrdom is a battle that insures a painstaking glory that rarely grants any sort of justifiable satisfaction. For a woman to be given the title of being strong, One must realize the sacrifices and acts of moral compromise that seem to follow like a midday shadow. Her soul is the One that will keep this eternal score card - One her for Two for them. A tally of pain and tears are kept religiously - mirrored with a money back guarantee to never forget a single moment or experience. These events and uninvited experiences will leave their disparaging imprints with a definite uncertainty of how deep of a scar each one will leave as a brilliant reminder. With in the depths of scar tissue One must fight to remember those imprints of love and laughter. But again, One must also have to draw that sword of defense to fight for the things which would appear to be free. A war for anything good in life has spilt across all battle lines. A battle of strength, character, and sanity that One must face every dawn of a new day.
Wednesday, August 11
roots are showing (again)
Writing is an act of hope. Sometimes filled with desperation and sometimes filled with love. Whichever end of that wondrous spectrum where the emotion lies does not matter. Hope is Hope and this will be my saving grace.
***
Today is an unusually fantastic day. The air is crisp and light, this summer day is dancing in an autumn costume. Last night was one of the better nights of the summer. Clinging to childhood urban legends, I went out in search of abandoned farmhouses, ghosts, and the infamous red lantern road. These stories had instilled curiosity and a passion for the unexplained in me at an early age. Not a hint of these paranormal goodies could be found after hours of driving down one-lane dirt roads and small eerie ghost towns. The effort put forth was enough excitement to fight away any disappointment. I was a passenger in a worn down Chevy. The dashboard had a blanket of dust on it, which begged for someone to trace idle doodles. So I did and was scolded for making ‘girly flowers’ on a “Man’s” truck. The radio faded in and out as we crossed the county. I have a bad habit of being a station switcher. I can’t help it. I can’t stand to think I missed a great song on another station. The nostalgic tunes of classic country made a fantastic soundtrack for the night. “Watch out for the boogie man” – the lyrics startled me. At that moment we were sitting outside an old pig farm, unknown to any animals or owners in years. Headlights off. Waiting. I locked the doors and rolled up the window. I looked at Cowboy, he was laughing at me and shaking his head. I had to laugh too, but how did he know for sure that locks could or could not keep ghosts at bay? I was still rightfully deemed a chicken shit for the evening. The stories say to park next to the mailbox on Red lantern road and flash your headlights, then turn them off and wait (in all your terrified glory). You will then see an apparition meandering it’s way down the street, carrying a red lantern in her hand. She is looking for her dead husband. We didn’t see a red lantern, possibly a red light reflector near someone’s driveway, but that was about it. If we had, I am sure I would have been traumatized for life and I probably would have cried. Two deer, two rabbits that barely escaped the wheel of the truck tires, one creepy ass graveyard, miles of dirt road, and two very scary old wooden bridges. How dare him get out and pee at the cemetery. I was ALONE in the truck in a very creepy cemetery. I should have left him there (or at least made him think I had left him) At any rate, I had a blast. This weekend we are going abandoned farmhouse hunting. That is, if I don’t ‘wuss out’.
***
Today is an unusually fantastic day. The air is crisp and light, this summer day is dancing in an autumn costume. Last night was one of the better nights of the summer. Clinging to childhood urban legends, I went out in search of abandoned farmhouses, ghosts, and the infamous red lantern road. These stories had instilled curiosity and a passion for the unexplained in me at an early age. Not a hint of these paranormal goodies could be found after hours of driving down one-lane dirt roads and small eerie ghost towns. The effort put forth was enough excitement to fight away any disappointment. I was a passenger in a worn down Chevy. The dashboard had a blanket of dust on it, which begged for someone to trace idle doodles. So I did and was scolded for making ‘girly flowers’ on a “Man’s” truck. The radio faded in and out as we crossed the county. I have a bad habit of being a station switcher. I can’t help it. I can’t stand to think I missed a great song on another station. The nostalgic tunes of classic country made a fantastic soundtrack for the night. “Watch out for the boogie man” – the lyrics startled me. At that moment we were sitting outside an old pig farm, unknown to any animals or owners in years. Headlights off. Waiting. I locked the doors and rolled up the window. I looked at Cowboy, he was laughing at me and shaking his head. I had to laugh too, but how did he know for sure that locks could or could not keep ghosts at bay? I was still rightfully deemed a chicken shit for the evening. The stories say to park next to the mailbox on Red lantern road and flash your headlights, then turn them off and wait (in all your terrified glory). You will then see an apparition meandering it’s way down the street, carrying a red lantern in her hand. She is looking for her dead husband. We didn’t see a red lantern, possibly a red light reflector near someone’s driveway, but that was about it. If we had, I am sure I would have been traumatized for life and I probably would have cried. Two deer, two rabbits that barely escaped the wheel of the truck tires, one creepy ass graveyard, miles of dirt road, and two very scary old wooden bridges. How dare him get out and pee at the cemetery. I was ALONE in the truck in a very creepy cemetery. I should have left him there (or at least made him think I had left him) At any rate, I had a blast. This weekend we are going abandoned farmhouse hunting. That is, if I don’t ‘wuss out’.