...quiet, about a lot of things...
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Out of This World...for Sunday Scribblings
I love finding the repeatable patterns of the infinite in shells and snowflakes, clovers and seahorses. Break it down, and these patterns remain, break it down more and still they are there.
The pulse original. The Alpha. The root of the root.LIFE!
So just like the expandable universes in the Discovery Store...what goes in Deep to the core, must conversely go out beyond my meager imagination.
But still I tend to stare down at the ground under my feet, and contemplate what is Close. I have always been a nearsighted girl.
Let's go looking for Alien perspectives over HERE.
Beam me up?down?through?parallel? Scottie.....
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Call Me Crazy...
I decided to shake things up a bit. Even though my husband teases me about certain "enhancements' that might be nice..I'm sure he doesn't want to send me in for an overhaul..yet.
This Christmas,I bought him a cheesy Sports Illustrated desk calender..flip a different bikini bimbo for each day. He hemmed and hawed. Our girls nearly threw up...However..The calender did somehow make it to his desk...and miraculously, seems always to be on the current day. huh. Me thinks he doth protest too much.
In a middle aged act of lunacy, I set up a photo shoot...you know the ones I'm talkin about...and yesterday was the day to be VAMPED.
Smoke and mirrors..and one shot for each pose...I smell disaster brewing. Below is one shot I took of my self when I got home. The photographer in me couldn't help but check out the paint I had on my face..through my own lens.I was even sporting fake eyelashes! I think I looked like Elsie the cow. I did not replicate the wardrobe....
I have a funny feeling this will have a more comic effect than I had intended(though down deep..I think I knew it would end up funny). But I must say, every woman deserves to do this once. Believe me, when they are twisting you like a pretzel..telling you to arch your back MORE, you certainly realize that the SEXY of this, is pure fantasy...This profound truth comes to you,as you begin to sweat as you balance on one foot and point your other toe.
But the plan is, that when Michael leaves on his trips..he can take a little of me with him to keep him company. I was hoping for warm and fuzzy..OK maybe even a little hot...But in "hind"sight(snort)..I may just make him giggle..and remind him that he's married to a nut..whose trying really hard to balance on her toes....
I'll keep you posted.
Monday, March 17, 2008
A Lovers Quarrel
It worried me because it feels so much better NOT to work out..than TO workout. So much that I could see myself letting the whole thing go, like a delusional phase..like the platinum blond hair phase in the 80's.
So what got me up off of my well padded ass..and back to the gym? Well, it's one of those weird life paradoxes. While it definitely feels better to be snuggled in at home, rather than on the recumbent bike at the gym...The moment AFTER the work out is done..is well...almost better than sex. That's when I walk a mile to "cool down".
Now, suggest I walk a mile to the store for some milk...without the endorphin buzz..and risk your life. But after delicious exertion, as a dessert, so to speak..it really feels like I could skip the whole way. Odd, huh?
So there I was skipping out to the Camry after my intense, pent up work out. Boppin, because, oh yes I DO BOP...to Mary J Blige... I fiddled in my pocket, to find my key "fob" and listened for my car to chirp in recognition. But it didn't.
What a drag. I had to actually pull the fob out..(now why does that sound dirty?) and hit the button to unlock the door..hum.
*NOTE TO SELF: Automated cars are creatures of HABIT. Take any change of behavior as a sign of DANGER.*
The door unlocked and I slid in. Now I must tell you that hybrid's have an odd starting system. You push a button. That's it. A big button on the dash. No key. No turning the key in the ignition. This is called "A Smart System."
Well, God in his/her infinite wisdom and or bully humor...must have known that I have some small talent in working with challenged kids...so he/she decided to give me a challenged fob..or car..(or perhaps...most true..a challenged DRIVER..but I digress).
The car turned on... YAY...but so did the alarm system, which went off, honking every 2 minutes...for a minute at a time....with me sitting in the car....and the car running.(Let me just interject here that my favorite curse word is F@#k. Do we all have a clear picture of this?)
All the while the dash board flashed "key not detected" at me..and flipped the bird to the fob I held in my hand. Yes, I even rubbed the fob on the dashboard in some feeble attempt at connection. Lame, huh. This went on for MUCH longer than it should have.
How did I make it stop?
Like any sane hysterical woman would have. I got out of that damned car, slammed the door.I pushed all the buttons..hoping that somehow translated into "F@#k YOU..YOU PIECE OF SH@#" in hybrid-ese...and walked away. Just then, like any good lover, my car...scared, I suppose, that I might just decide to become a pedestrian once and for all...finally chirped in recognition.
"Please come back..I didn't mean it. I'll be a good hybrid now..I'm sorry.."
Ughh. I couldn't help myself. I caved. That car makes me weak. I was in and on my way home, just like it used to be; back when everything was new and thrilling. Back when it was simple..and we didn't have to try so hard.
Back when I was the key...and my car was the ignition.
Ah, those were the good old days.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Experimental.... for Sunday Scribblings
And I see my self on the more adventurous side of life. Lots of things I consider normal...or at least close to the realm...others may dismiss as ridiculous.
Ah, but poets are ridiculous, aren't they? They speak in tangents and invite mis-interpretations. They are Lives courting disaster. The Poets note the feeling of the fall..and wish only to survive so they can document it.... in, what was that last phase the muse offered? before they hit the bottom. And in the doing, break their hearts..spirits..bones..livers..souls..or minds.
Poets know there is a price to pay..Yet fully being aware of the price of admission..I fear, may be giving a tad too much credit. No. Rather, I think, poetry is an experiment in obsession. A practicum in balance and the loss of...and a thesis on the aftermath.
An experiment of insanity, perhaps. Paring down of words and thoughts and justifications, to the point where all is so bare..that a even a comma or period can stand alone.
An experiment in deconstruction. Life and love as mere ingriedients. The poet as chef, unflinching..fearless...losing all perspective to the boil and the simmer. For now no longer A rabbit, or A chicken or THE buck; exsits. No,now there is nothing but meat melting from bleached white bones,into the stew. Pulled into the stew.
All that remains; this reduction. These hidden flavors of the marrow. The root of all. Leaking through the rigid pores of this structure. This life. My marrow mixing with his marrow. Different animals. Same soup.
No more than food. For today. Hunger for tomorrow.
Well now..that was certainly interesting....riffy and unexpected...truly experimental!
Let's see what's cookin in other labs....shall we?
PS...quote was Helen Keller..of course. Played her in Miracle Worker...in High School..but a whole different story....
Friday, March 07, 2008
Orson Wells Knew....
Colds suck... And just imagine if you were an innocent man eating alien predator..with no knowledge that after a day or two, you usually feel better..just imagine how you would feel..
Probably desperate enough to end it all..with one swift sharp sucker thingy...right to the head!
Don't worry about me though...I know the drill..Cough cough..sneeze sneeze.
Plus, I don't even have a sucker thingy..and I know for damn sure...it's not sharp.
So I'd only end up poking my self in the eye.
PS.. There's a name you don't hear every day anymore...Orson....