iron-clad

you're so iron-clad... always easy-breezy.
i smiled and responded, "of course"

there is no other way to be i thought to myself
but then i recalled a few things

i have lost my ground at times.
i have spoken to soon, or too late, at times. or not spoken at all.
i have felt too much too soon at times
and some thoughts have surpassed logic, intelligence and good-will.

BUT i don't make mistakes.. only decisions, and oh-so thankful i am for those.

Yellow Haze

I gots nothin...so ill post an accidental image that my phone decided to take.
Hence the argument that there are no real accidents.
That's my argument...
Sent on the Sprint® Now Network from my BlackBerry®

spoons of sugar

not like the ones forced at my mouth to stop my anemic shakes or car-sick nauseating spells.
Hmm, but now that we're on the subject, i suddenly feel the need for story telling.

I was about 5 years old, summering in Mexico, when i first realized i didn't like to be in things that moved too fast, particularly, in a circular motion.
The wretched thing was part of a traveling carnival next to my grandmothers house. It was called Platillos Voladores (flying saucers). I sat, waiting, happy, excited, as the mechanical spins began. Regardless of the cool mountain valley air, sweating palms and neck began to come over me. I took a breath holding onto my cousin and the bar on my lap.
Faster it went. Holding my breath i clenched harder, mistaken for fear, as my first cold sweat and nausea consumed me. looking down at me, realizing, she took my head to her chest covering my eyes, saying that would make it better, only seeming to make it worse. Repeating to myself, "this is fun... this is fun... supposed to be fun..."
It seemed like eternity, the slowing down , the oh-so long slowing down of my saucer. looking at the bar to lift. waiting. breathing short. sweating cold.
We quickly walked home, embarrassed of getting sick. my grandmother took one look at my pale face to nearly yank my cousin's arm out of her socket, then dragging me to the kitchen.
I remember being picked up and plopped on the stool my grandfather had made me. I was fed a spoonful of sugar followed by a bottled joya.

Under other circumstances this dinner would have been a great start to my evening :)

slowing down

to a screeching hault
with my heart at my sleeve
and my keys at your feet
i stand bare before you

finally: "Unlocked"

I watched this short film outside, at a park , before Hair was about to begin. My friends weren't impressed by it, but it stuck with me. And I finally, 2 years later, found it, only by LINK.

more from Daryl Wein.

Untitled

By a mile the wind sails

By a league the ocean wails

Until into a river

Until into a stream

Beyond the raindrops reach

Below the mud so deep



It went...

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current book excerpt

subject: tension of opposites

Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing but you are bound to do another..you take things for granted yet you know you shouldn't. something hurts you yet you know it shouldn't.
A tension of opposites, like a pull on a rubber band. And most of us live somewhere in the middle.
"Sounds like a wrestling match.. So which side wins?"
Love wins. Love always wins.
-Mitch Albon

Ok, sure, we all knew this already.
Small steps into starting with light reads. :)

only i can save me

let me just wake now...
into my present
into my now
into truest things

he stands by my side
"one day" sharpied on my face
thimble and yarn at hand
to begin life's work again

tired heart

Im tired. an exhaustion that seems to engulf my days. not cured by the coffee or the fruit.
The tired emotion of over-emotion.
Following me to dinner as my fork clings the plate, the spoon the bowl.
a lazy handle on things.

A need to sleep through my winter months.
Please, let me just sleep