Sung night eccentric
tender evergreen nectar
Spread sentient liquor,
sweat of eve, revival infested.
anger swims like
Sea dragons in abyssal
canyons; burdens comet onyx
sealed, orange volcanic bliss
Covet our ghostly spirits
drifting unfinished countertops
nod at her, round up
Chivalry and spit wicked
whistle, sentient liquor
storms valhallan guts
Awake in afterlife;
unconscious fights my
Caustic mind regrets,
fight time with swamped
Dimes, lost time and sickened
Seconds, lost to Beelzebub:
God reunites the visage, drink
to disunite the feelin'..
The Positive & The Negative
Sometimes the shape of creativity
is the undulation of a violin
the way the sound
with the silence
of the wood that extends, to tuning keys
up where resonance is contained,
in unexpressed ideals
as loose string
when words fail
and imagery evades,
and a sigh escapes--
from the audience,
Hanging on life's
He was drunk, as usual, and did not see the glass. He stepped through the door and fell amid the shards.
He was bleeding and would soon die. I used a shard to finish the job.
A woman appeared; her face was bruised. She looked at him and then at me, holding a gun,
“You wanted him dead too, I see”
My scars from his last “teaching" were still visible.
“Come with me,” she said,
“We both need an alibi.” Her gaze was hard and honest.
I walked toward her, stepping energetically toward him and then over him.
We joined hands and walked to an alibi and freedom.
Gratitude Journal For The Week of 11/20/2023
A Church I follow has an app (Crossroads Anywhere) where we journal together as a community, and one of the things we journal about are things we are thankful for. I wrote these for this week's prompts from the app....
"What are you looking forward to this week?"
- Thanksgiving with my family.
- A shorter work week, where I can read some Thanksgiving books to my students once more.
- Getting started on enjoying some Christmas stuff after Thanksgiving.
"What are you grateful for today?"
- God's presence during a challenging day yesterday.
- Getting a little writing in.
- Getting a bit more organized as far as podcast listening.
"How did someone help you this week?"
- Another teacher was a great help when classes were combined yesterday.
- Everyone's contributions to our feast today, I am very blessed. Happy Thanksgiving!
Affirmation: "God listens to me."
"Is there anything you would like to thank God for this week?"
Thank You God for an enjoyable Thanksgiving with family and friends. Thank You for fun plans for the rest of the weekend, and the Christmas season to come.
‘A strong sense of self,’ she tells me. ‘You know who you are, and around you are many people who do not have a strong sense of self. You attract them. You centre them. You protect them from their own weaknesses. And that must be a lot to carry, sometimes.’
My therapist and I have been working rapidly over the last few weeks. We work well together, she said. From my side, she is the only therapist that has ever worked well with me.
I told her this early on, marvelling that I was telling her things that I never reveal. Why? It’s not like I’m purposefully dishonest, not like I’ve not had other female therapists. I sought out high level psychiatrists, found someone Oxford educated, too. I wanted the best time and money could get me.
But little by little, I would subtract myself from the equation. The problem with therapists is that they believe you. And I’m too quick to subconsciously decide that they can’t quite handle me. Who can, when I’ve spent a lifetime handling others?
It’s more than just people pleasing. It’s a pathological desire to make sure no one ever has to worry about me. I’m a shape shifter, I could be terrified and still soothe you into believing everything is okay. After a couple of therapy sessions, I’ll tell whoever everything is great and mean it. I’ll decide the fact I’m thinking certain things, doing others, is inconsequential, not something you need to know. You’re only paid a hundred quid an hour, after all.
The shape I take for you is the one you’re expecting to see. The more you need me to take control, to decide the course of action, the more I’ll take it.
‘You’re very compliant,’ my therapist tells me. ‘You’re receptive. People are probably used to you being easy going. People probably think they can make you do anything they want you to do. You’re someone they don’t have to worry about. So the moment you’re not, the moment you say ‘hey actually I don’t like that’, no one is expecting it. They go, woah, who is this crazy girl? And you know you can take it. You know that people can hurt you, and your response is to want to protect them from you, from the hurt, from themselves. Because you know you’re resilient. Because you know who you are.’
My inner shape is carved. Solid. Immovable. I know who I am. You don’t need to worry about what I know to be right and wrong, true and false. You don’t need to worry at all. But for you? I’ll shift shape, because I know I can do so without damage, and I don’t think you can quite handle your own shape, let alone mine.
She kept a piece of putty in her pocket. It kept well in its zip lock baggie. She could discretely unzip it there at any moment and knead it, like bread, like vital release of excess creativity. In a pinch, she could, if she wanted, share it with another body-- maybe an overexcited child, a crying elder, a forlorn stranger. She didn't worry much about germs or phobias, the convoy chariots between life and death, that mock like the hands in blind man's bluff. She didn't think of Freud, or Jung, or Pavlov.
She'd never see others as they see her, really. They'd never be seen as she sees them. The mirror of existence is impartial that way. Shapeful and shapeless. Recognition, of being to being, is what the eyes reflected back even in the most casual of glances.
She rolled the putty. Invisible.
Sometimes stretched, pulled, torn, squashed from pieces. The tan, a color of post-mortem, still lively between her fingers. Only she would feel that. She won her putty in a slot machine--the chain store kind--a quarter in, and out pops a surprise gift.
Yes, life is what we make of it.
Shapeful? Shapeless challenge @MeeJong
A blob, it's been called Melvin. It's been calling itself the only one around, of its kind that it deems perhaps the only. It doesn't seem lonely, and if it is then heavily ignoring to state that as a factor in its approaches. But you can't criticise it too much, for it is soft and seems ashamed of its softness. Much like a misspelled word or an unfinished short story, it's just waiting to get erased, corrected, forgotten. And so
“Symphony of Shapes: Overture to Beauty”
In a realm where lines and curves intertwine,
My spouse stands, proof of a design divine.
Shapes, both straight and curved, in harmony dance,
Enriching our world with a magical trance.
Her physique, a complex fabric spun,
Threads of determination, fortitude, and grace run.
A portrait of lines and curves unfolds,
A tale of resilience and stories untold.
In the geometric world, variations reveal,
Circles of existence, triangles daring,
Curves that flow in a musical song,
Yet beauty confined, a concept gone wrong.
Society's gaze, a limited view,
Narrow boundaries, a distorted hue.
My spouse, like many, in this dance,
Navigates self-love and societal trance.
Let's break free from tradition's mold,
Explore beauty in forms yet untold.
Contours, a cause for celebration,
A unique narrative in each incarnation.
Her figure, not just a physical shell,
A canvas of experiences, a tale to tell.
Contours gentle, warmth and care,
Firmness, resilience in the face of despair.
A silhouette gracefully outlined,
Moments of joy and sadness combined.
In this intricate dance, no missteps to find,
A work of art, captivating, refined.
To those who doubt their form's allure,
My message is potent, steadfast, and pure.
Your physique, an artistry so divine,
Shaped by time, a unique design.
Each curve, every silhouette,
A testament to a journey, a story to beget.
Embrace the beauty in every line,
A celebration of what makes us shine.
Redefine beauty, break the norm,
Embrace diversity in every form.
A vibrant community, free and unbound,
Where self-acceptance in beauty is found.
Shapes of My Things
I come full circle now
Having rounded the bases of the diamond
At times, skewed trapezoidal
Still, I made it home
I began singular, a mere point
But I traveled a line
Until I changed direction at a right angle
And celebrated my life lying wholly but flat
I rose above the Cartesian plane
And I saw the mistakes I made
From on high where depth is appreciated
Then I wanted it to last
From time to time, moment to moment
The temporal dimension offered continuum
I was happy
I ready for the next transition
And anticipate the next supersedence
When time runs out here and now
But I look to even higher realms