Category: fiction and poetry

Scrambled Eggs

It’s not that I am dyslectic

It’s that I get excited and jump ahead.

I don’t care about the exact order right now.

It’s not like I don’t understand the analytics of phonetic jig

I just don’t really care.

Does dyslectic entail being too concerned with the entire parade instead of those tiny details of tiny letters?

How did the Egyptians do it with the superbly detailed drawn language?

Cursive, the lazy man’s scribble,

is seriously a lot of work.

Advertisement

Displaced Parts

My heart is in my stomach, and my stomach is in my mind.  My mind is where the heart should be.  Can you help me doc?  I don’t have any money (I have heard of it, never seen it though).  But I will pay you in mini cakes, any flavor you want.  They will be superb, for certain, I will just follow my stomach.

Every Day is a Parade

I am just a silly girl trying to keep a smile painted on my face.

I am a clown trying to dance on stilts.

The puppeteer pulls my strings without hesitation,

My relaxed spirit replies to the jolted jazz.

I follow the joyful beat through the street,

I follow the fantastical floats and the stories they promote.

Ice cream colored confetti highlights the hurricane of excitement,

The stream of music sways us in uniform.

Keep up with charade, its fun to play along.

Keep up with the drum major’s tempo,

Its best to stay in the step where you belong.

My Favorite Colors

I love color.

Particularly natural color, as created by mother nature. I love naturally neon colors, such as the gifted brightness found in ripe produce, in fields cascading wild flowers, in the spectacle of dawn and dusk, in the rainbow prism of the ocean’s sparkle, in the spell of moonbeam’s night.

I love how color can augment the day. How color interacts with other colors to create a mood.  How color demonstrates feelings even if unconsciously.  I love the colors found in the daily life.  Colors harmonizing to express feelings, impressions, moods, dynamics.

Recently I have been asking people their favorite color as a means to get to know a person.  I think it is very interesting as a means of data collection and as a descriptive of their personality.

Ok so since you asked, I will go first.  And of course I do not have a favorite color, I have three.

Teal is first.  I love teal.  Teal is the perfect blend of blue and green.  Teal is a very excited blue.  It is such an electric blue that it has chameleoned to a new spectrum in the color wheel, neoned into the kingdom of grass/greendom.  Teal is a watery green.  Teal takes the hyper out of green, toning down that deafening yellow to a more serene canary.  Teal is the expressive sky meeting the grassy ground.  Crimson evening kissing the verdant hills.

Teal is the color of paradise.  Of that perfectly clear and deeply tropical ocean water view etching along pearly sanded shores.  This bluish greenish wonderland of suspended gravity is held down by round, multi-earth colored rocks piles mountainously onto of each other.  Teal makes blue more exciting and green more level headed.  To me, teal is the color of eager happiness.

Magenta is second.  It is so lively. Verbacious. Pungent.  Demanding.  It is a color that shouts.  Magenta cannot be made pastel.  Magenta is royalty.  It is so bright that it vibrates.  Magenta is an interactive color in that regard.  Magenta is so naturally magnificent that it is surreal with its natural glow.  Magenta flowers looks like they are garden flowers on acid, they have become wildly extraordinary. To me, magenta is the color of love.

Periwinkle is third.  Periwinkle is my pastel color of choice.  After such a loud start to the show with teal and magenta as the opening act, periwinkle is the soothing cream for all that burn.  It is vibrant with its ultra violet gaze, and it is subtle with its sublime mystery.

Periwinkle is a multidimensional color. It changes color around with its ultraviolet gaze. More than any other color, periwinkle is alive.  It creates action in the changing from day to night. It cannot be faked or recreated, periwinkle is a moment, periwinkle is a transition.  It is a magical color because of how other colors behave in its presence.  It is the ghostwriter of sunsets brilliance, its the conductor to the symphony of the suns departure, it is the baseline to the symphony of Mr. moon’s grand entrance.  You can try to mimic periwinkle with dyes and pixels, but it cannot be replicated.  To me, periwinkle is the color of deep serenity, introspection, and simple peace.

I like undecided colors.  I like colors that represents a complicated set of hues.  I can never answer a simple question.

So what’s your favorite color?

Piano Dancer

I don’t have an extremely energetic beat,

I don’t have a particularly deep bass note.

My song is pleasant,

it is sweet

and complex.

My rhythm is not the lyricist

or the part of the bold trombone.

My baseline is not the passion of the ever bouncing drums,

but maybe the thumping of the dancers foot.

My shouts are not the shrill of James Brown

or the enigma of Tom Waits.

I am not the electric guitar.

I am not the snare drum.

I am the secret whistle,

the subtle piano dancer.

Fluttering on top of the notes,

you might just miss me.

I am the melody

with a swinging heart.

Diamond Eyes and the Expressive Hands

They say that the eyes are the window to the soul.  A diamond lens, eyes are each beautiful, mysterious, captivating, and lustrous. The world around is perceived and filtered through this kaleidoscope pattern, giving each person a unique point of view, interpretation of the situation, a foundation on which to form theories.

I, however, leave the sentimentality of the ascetic of the eye at a gesture.  The lens of the eye acts as a concept, it filters the world, it’s a perception.  It’s a very romantic implication, a poetic deduction of the individuality and beauty of that aperture to one’s mind.  The beauty of the eye is too abstract to be the window to the soul.  Soul is found in physical expression and how we impact our surrounding reality.  Its more tangible then that special sparkle in one’s eye.

I think that the hands are the window to the soul.  Everything that I think, all my ideas, intentions, inspirations, and influences are expressed through my hands.  The eyes can only look.  They are merely a lens.  Hands, however, turn the abstract into the physical, they turn thoughts into creations, they turn ideas into a usable product.  My hand create food, my hands create writing, my hands create art, my hands create love.

Your hands can change the world, and your diamond eyes can inspire it.

The Importance of Names

It took me a long time to decide what to rename my bike.  I finally got my dream bike, so it was a lot of pressure to find a name that I like and that is appropriate to the spirit of the bike.  I tend to keep things for a long time, so I know that this name will stay with me for years to come.  Not only is this the bike that I have always wanted and desired to be mine, I dreamt about the bike moments before it came into my life.  I dreamt that I found the bike in a thrift store for $35 dollars, and upon awakening I was very sad when I realized that the fortunate bike was just a mental muse. Not that I expected to get my dream machine for a price that was super fortunate, it was, after all, a dream.

The very next day, my coworker informs me that he has a bike, a split frame mixte Peugeot (no big deal, just the most coveted old school bike style in all of Chicagoaland), that he does not want (too small for him) and that I can have for my very own!  Imagine my excitement.  My dream came true, exactly true, beautifully true.  My dream bike is finally mine to have and to ride and to possess for decades to come.  A new and best companion to share my road time adventures, to be the reason for my trips, to fulfill the need of transportation and exercise.

The bike came with the name Reptar, which is a mighty fine name, but it is not the name that I would choose for my fabulous contraption of a bike.  I spend a lot of time on my bike, so the machine needs a name that embodies the spirit and energy we create together.  I spent a long time thinking about names.  Fillip, Sebastian, Cruella, Pierre, Cosmos, Galactica, Constellation, Alfredo (after my dad), Moonlight, Jupiter, Jack (after my grandpa), Parsnip, Fernet… the list was long.

I finally decided on a name the same day I decided that I was going to pursue a new career opportunity.  After having landed on a name for the bike, I felt confident that I could make a descision about my future.  I needed some sense of permanence, a constant theme, to help me commit to a new environment. I needed to feel secure in a choice, albeit not as important as a job, to feel a personal sense of security.  I felt more clear in the brain.  It gave me a sense of peace, closure, and serenity.

Turnip.  That’s the name.  Turnip Greenz.  The bike is old and the paint job does not have the clean sharp white that it must have worn 45 years ago when it was created.  It has a black seat post, black handle bar post, and black tape wrapped around the handle bars.  Together, this reminds me of a turnip pulled fresh from the ground, covered in thick, life giving dirt.

Turnip is also named after the constant companion in Howl’s Moving Castle.  Turnip is a scarecrow that skips on a stick, following the protagonist around, providing help, company, and joy.  Turnip does not speak, can only bounce to get around, but is my favorite character in the story.  He follows the character around wherever she may go, without asking, without hesitation or invitation, but is the hero of the story.  Turnip Greenz is my jolly, my bouncing and energetic companion, my constant for adventure, who does not speak but provides an irreplaceable role.  Turnip is the unspoken hero to the story. Turnip is the unspoken means to my end.

Unicorn Lights

I  miss the bright neon lights hemming the lake, twinkling unicorn colors under the dark Michigan sky.  The glassy lake reflects the rainbow glow, buffing the already-round edges of the Christmas light camps strung around the lucky lake.  I was so peaceful gazing at the camps full of happiness, joy, wonder, love, and curiosity from the opposite side of the lake.  In the cool seclusion of the dark night, I look across the lake at the slowly changing kaleidoscope scenery, feeling the energy but taking a break from the action.  Everything and anything you want is there, you can have it.  It is such a wonderful feeling to be able to join the party, or just take it all in under the expansive sky full of stars.  There is nothing more to want because it is perfect here.  This was a magical moment, where everything was perfect and there was nothing to desire.

Whimsical Nature

To behave like a child again.  To believe in magic.  To let go of time, forget about money, loose all sense of shame and embarrassment, but still take care of oneself.  Radical self reliance is the concept.  Everyone gives and everyone shares, but you are expected to take care of your basic needs and try to help out anyone when the opportunity arises.  You make sure you are fed and sheltered and happy, then you explore a world where imagination and fun are fueled by fire and energy.  Its a magical place.  Magic and connection exist here.  I felt magic and delight come together in an adult playground.  There are swings that are built tall so that you can swing as high as you did when you were a child.  There are all type of swings:  long pendulums, various bench swings, a large circle swing suspended from the middle at the top that sways slowly in the wind, dancing to the constant drum beat from the loud camps, another circle swing, this one built for just one, hidden in the forest.  There were all multitudes of hammocks, along the shore and floating on a barge in the lake.  I got to swing in a tutu with a long scarf dragging behind me, as I sway high and twirl around the heavy chains, with my toes pointed and legs fashioned in sweeping grace.  I also got to sway in my Indian princess dress, feeling like queen.  Magical.

The swinging was one of my favorite parts.  Another was a giant, throbbing pink heart that you could sit in.  The heart was made out of thin wood with 4 cut-outs ranging from red to light pink.  Behind each heart were rope lights that light up singularly, blinking backwards toward the largest inner heart.  Afar in the darkness, the heart looked like it was throbbing.  Behind the largest heart, there was a spot for two people to sit facing each other.  There were two heart shaped pillows for each person, one for your back and out for your head. It was very peaceful in there.  I had three great moments in there.  One of the best moments was when that magical man appeared out of nowhere just to catch my eye.  He light a cigarette and in the space between the cut-out hearts, his eyes smirked a fiery hello, greeted with my refreshing glaze.  That twinkle is the magic that I seek.  Its more than a sparkle, its a twinkle, a small yet hot spark.

The flame.  Everywhere the flame.  The cumulative burn is on the last night, when this giant, beautiful wooden structure is set ablaze, a literal burning of ideas and concepts that are your own personal restraint, a concept that can free one’s mind to behave again like a child.  To not be burdened by stature, looks, dress code, financial status, popularity, skin or gender or sexuality, hair type, shoe size, breast size, pant size, style, trend level, emotional problems.  Its less complicated then that.  Its like when you were 6 and you wanted to wear mismatched cloths, your friends were all in the neighborhood and nobody had any idea what their parents did for money.  Except here it is better, because you know who you are and how to take care of oneself.  Its magical.

Aside from the magnificent and epic burning of the effigy, fire is a constant theme throughout the camps. It is embodied in many shapes, but mostly coming hot and fast through iron pipes.  Some spit fire balls high into the air, the heat being felt strongly below.  Some are laced close to the ground, circling the dance floor.  Some are the top of an art sculpture.  Another interpretation of flame was slinking along a black ceiling,  creating a fire flower affect.  There were fires in iron barrels that had stencils cut out identifying the camp.  Of course there was a fire pit at the camp ground, which was the base for our camp home.

I felt a smirk of magic there, and I hope to keep some of that feeling here in the real world.  I left that magic man in the fairy tale, because its best to end at the last page in the story.  I will take home the simplicity and the whimsical, the content to not want anymore that what the imagination can provide.