I spent so much of my life representing an unheard voice in American politics I’ve almost forgotten which stance I used to take. Continue reading Political Fiction
Category Archives: Art
Driving Back To Portland
I didn’t remember I had use of my center rear view mirror until 45 minutes outside of Portland. Why, you might ask, am I driving back to Portland after making the daunting trek across the country only stopping to eat, sleep and see the Grand Canyon? To see a show of course. Symptoms are playing at a club near my friend’s place.
I need internet at home. It’s the last link in this chain of support I’ve rigged up. I’m on the west coast, I know what I want – now I just have to do it. Driving South for the first time this week, I decided it would be poignant to cue up the Dead Soldiers. The twang in Teddy Gene Mountain echoed off the evergreens around I-5 and I caught myself welling up. By One More Last Goodbye I was bawling like a baby. The Soldiers encompass a musical style that can only be described as Memphis. It’ll take me right back every time.
I’ll be there again this weekend for my official goodbye. It’s not that I won’t ever go back, I just know it won’t be for an amazingly long time. I can already tell that this side of the country is my new home. I know who I am and I get at least 6 months to figure out what I’m going to do with that.
My heart’s in San Francisco
I’m still in Memphis.
Have to be.
Planned to be.
Fear stopped yesterday
Belongings I’m keeping
Outnumber the rest
For the first time in years.
Exes are crossed
Unnecessary dots eyed
Boxes, soulless cubes
Labeled vaguely
Companions for the trip
Semblance of order
Compartmentalization
Compartment syndrome
To ease the pain
Of a lonely journey.
My heart arrives in Seattle tomorrow.
Furniture leaves Friday
I doubt I’m far behind.
Hi, I missed you.
I don’t want to alarm anyone but, while you were sleeping, I dismantled reality.
Thanks to a huge help from the cosmos and a little boost from hallucinogens I explored the macrocosm that is all of creation with the idea that I’m at the center. Once you let yourself believe it becomes an onerous task to keep up with all of it.
I’m so glad someone else was there to help me through it. My spirit guide, my soul mate.
Protagony
I just now discovered which two voices in my head are the main characters in the story. A boy and a girl – obviously.
Leggo
So few boxes left
Packed haphazardly
Given away as an act
Good will takes your shit
And someone else
Broke in those jeans
And Sunday clothes.
Grave
I’m done digging now.
I know from all the stories that I’m the villainess in this equation. I’m white, moneyed and getting what I want.
I have abandoned the only humans to show me any love. The other animals have the good sense to die.
The farther gone I am, the less I will feel this particular pain. The loneliness remains constant.
There aren’t enough pills in the world to fix what’s wrong with me. With luck, there are just enough in this bottle to finish me off.
98% chance I’m going to be just fine. Without Facebook, I’d say 100%, except no one could ever know.
Like I was never here.
Sticks & Stones
Nothing has changed
Invisibility was a joke
Shuns and rumors aren’t.
I did nothing wrong
Despite all I can’t do right
Resplendent in bad timing
Talking to a wall of ears
Eyes searching for a way out
Donkey’s tails pinned on me
For every joke you tell
Is at someone’s expense
I’m glad for the isolation
Take my ridicule, my shame
Wrap your cold egos up tight
I was never meant to teach you
Spilled
Last night I put a dream to rest. Continue reading Spilled