Withering wisened widows watch wunderkind
Knowing the maid doesn’t make her your friend
Wombs wantonly whispering western works
Next on Broadway: Aborted Baby Monologues
Wrinkled women wistfully weep while wasted
Heavy pour for my dead dogs and aching knees
Whales willingly wallow weighted with wanderlust
Rent is the cost of sleeping closer to happiness
Category Archives: Random
Sauntering by, so sure
The gang of boys
Good boys, old boys.
If you only knew
I see you.
The weak you.
The wanting you.
I see you in a dark room before you fall asleep.
Cuddling. Comfort. Care. Caress.
I can provide these things.
But first you have to do me a service.
Touch me where they said don’t touch.
Wiggle my squiggle with soft attention.
Let me know
That you know
I’m different.
Not you.
Just into you.
Hoping I’m the one.
The prize mare
You choose to breed
And feed
Unbridled affection
For your hopes dreams and desires.
The desire unfulfilled
Yields more empathy
And the story not told
Suspends empty disbelief
Relativity Speaking
Here’s what I think.
When it comes down to it, we don’t get to choose very much. From birth, thousands of decisions are instantaneously made for us.
Age, sex, location.
Name, address, SSN.
Size, weight, color.
Income level, insurance company, citizenship.
DNA map, eventually.
Seemingly unimportant, mostly indisputable, these are the tiny clear rods that Doozers use to build our fragile identities.
After that is just years of abiding by the choices of your literal guardian. Can’t choose your parents, can’t choose your siblings. Stuck with whatever blood you have in your veins. A ticket in the mandatory lottery of existence. By the time you’re old enough to have dreams most of them are out of reach. Cultivating a culture devoid of artists, minds numbed by aptitude tests and network television. Remake everything until you can’t remember whose idea is was in the first place.
The medium doesn’t change the message, just how powerfully you get to ram things down throats. Choking on tropes stuck in the back of my throat. Holding high standards is relative to your idea of rock bottom. I giggle at funerals but didn’t murder anyone.
Finished always looking over my shoulder. God gets to judge His children and I hope not to be here when that happens. Nothing personal.
I, Gumbo
As the year winds down I’m artificially encouraged to summarize the past 12 months. That feels like summarizing every movie at a theater with one sentence. A horrific comedy of fantastic scenarios spread across space and time.
Ever since my non-new-year resolution to embrace change I feel less like a protagonist in my own one-dimensional story and more like a special guest star in various other tales. Sure, my story is still happening. I just feel like it’s best to let it simmer on low for a few while I go explore what existence means through the eyes of others.
From time to time, I’ll come back and add to my crock pot of identity. I’ll let other people get a taste to see if I’m ready. Once the gumbo I’ve used to recognize myself nears perfection, I can serve a feast for everyone to read and enjoy. I yearn for a time when I can sit across from a friend still prodding bits of my story with a toothpick, my personality on their breath.
Yogcrastination
I need to clean the floor. That’s when I notice how much floor I have. Finally unloaded some ancient cardboard boxes full of books, tapes and crinkled memories. Each Disney animated movie released in the 90s holds a gift basket of connotations and aspirations in my heart. At this point, I have them committed to memory. Clam cases are destined for kitschier art than mine.
The floor is dry. It turns out the best way to start a home practice is try and plan a yoga lesson. Every day of that week you will do at least one of the poses you look at. Or maybe it’s another one of my nervous tics – like singing along to country music. That said, I will teach a group of people what I do to keep myself feeling good. Standing in front of people and asking for their attention is scarier than skydiving. This might be the only time I ever do it.
Honestly, it’s hard being alone with myself. I won’t keep my hands off me. Last month, I started to worry about other people’s opinions. I’m not really sure why, but a few swift kicks to the metaphorical groin fixed that. Freedom is a little too fresh to start playing with social pressures. All my gauges are level. A rare moment of stillness before the challenges of 2016 crash down. Enjoying the view in both directions.
Home Practice
I just want everyone to know. I’ve done yoga for myself nearly every day this month. It’s how I keep making such good decisions for my future.
-Ro
Southern American Princess
I am very interested in this rental. I am planning a move from Memphis, TN to the Seattle area in January. I’m able to visit expressly to sign a lease for the right apartment.
I’m an excellent tenant and have a savings in place to support myself for at least 3 months. I am confident I can find employment within that time. I am looking for 6-12 month leasing terms that allow cats.
Please send me any information you have available for this rental or any similar to it. Thanks!
Foot Fetish
I’ve made a day of my legs. Sitting in dandasana. Legs up the wall. Supta padhangustasana one to two and back again. Upavistha konasana. Virasana. Baddha konasana. Grabbing my toes like a 4 year old I absentmindedly notice my muscles tighten and relax. Toes spreading, my feet grow wider pushing against my fingers. I wasn’t really doing any yoga, just hanging out on the couch watching TV. Relaxed, I stretch my legs in all the directions they can go because it feels good.
In other news, the penguins might be plotting something.
Today I…
took my medicine
went to my job
emptied the back seat of my car
did my laundry
cleaned my bathroom
swept
increased satellite coverage to all of Africa
ate a fried egg on a bacon cheeseburger
took my vitamins
spoke with a distant friend
enjoyed some chocolate cheesecake
shared my day with you.