Two days ‘til i can kiss you again

These feelings won't wane

If only Friday came quicker

You, me, a bottle of liquor

Laughing your hand in mine

we can cross every line

CHORUS

Saturday night and a NASCAR race

I know you'll feel out of place

My goal--to put you at ease

As we bask in the fueled breeze

Meet all my red neck friends

Cheering Dale Jr. around the bends

CHORUS

Sunday morning spooning in bed

Hung-over? I'll hold your head

Sharing the paper at the coffee bar

This American Life on NPR

Giggling at cartoons on Fox

This weekend with you will rock

CHORUS

CHORUS

Chapters Unread

Tonight in my bed

Her head on my chest

Nothing left unsaid

Could we be this blessed?

No chapter left unread

Joy and sorrow confessed

She’s bruised but not broken.

I’m tattered not torn.

Only love can be spoken.

Each breath whispers a pledge,

A promise in each sigh.

Arm in arm we walk this edge,

Avoiding the perils we spy.

Hand in hand leap from the ledge

Aside ‘til our last goodbye

She’s bruised but not broken.

I’m tattered not torn.

Only love can be spoken.

Did our stars finally align?

We may finally get our dance.

After a night of wine,

We rewrite our romance;

The past is far behind

Moving forward and not by chance

She’s bruised but not broken.

I’m tattered not torn.

Only love can be spoken.

She’s bruised but not broken.

I’m tattered not torn.

Only love can be spoken.

Running with Sharp Objects

Can’t catch my breath at all

Didn’t have far to fall

Friends say, “Take heed.”

I must follow not lead

God grant me the serenity

To handle this perplexity

Going too fast to be smart.

Time with you has strange affects--

Like running with sharp objects

Pointed at my heart.

Future out of my hands

Lost my best laid plans

No chance at self-preservation

This won’t be my negation

With you I am vulnerable,

But love isn’t comfortable.

Going too fast to be smart.

Time with you has strange affects--

Like running with sharp objects

Pointed at my heart.

Logic wants t run away.

But my soul says, “Stay.”

We are organic and unfolding--

Cannot be withholding

Completely unprepared

But I’m not scared.

Going too fast to be smart.

Time with you has strange affects--

Like running with sharp objects

Pointed at my heart.

Like running with sharp objects

Pointed at my heart.

Puzzling Frat Party

I stated earlier today that I had no comment on the  events dominating the media today.

I lied.

Something just doesn’t feel right about this moment in American history. I’m disturbed and concerned.

Aaron Sorkin via

The West Wing episode Isaac and Ishmael 

Regarding his desired fate for terrorists, Josh Lyman says, “I'd put 'em in a small cell and make them watch home movies of the birthdays and baptisms and weddings of every single person they killed over and over everyday for the rest of their lives. And then they'd get punched in the mouth every night at bedtime.”

Watching the coverage regarding the death of Osama bin Laden, I was struck by b-roll shot outside the White House. It looked like a frat party to celebrate the execution. Ten years ago radicals danced in the streets to celebrate the thousands of deaths orchestrated by Osama bin Laden. Today Americans are dancing in the streets like zealots. 

This doesn't compute. I understand that Aaron Sorkin's solution isn't nearly as psychically satisfying as Osama's head on pike. But I do think that death was too simple a punishment for bin Laden; conversely, I have a hard time accepting hate into my heart.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

Photo: oO-Rein-Oo

She carried her Prada purse as the spoils of a divorce; however, she was not the victor. 

Photo: Iznanka

Her mood was quickly lifted by Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl. The bouncing melody reminded her of David and dancing in her small dorm room Freshman year. Drunk and slurring the lyrics, they'd spin around until nauseous and cackling with laughter.

Photo: MotyPest

Aislyn loved nights like this. There seems to be infinite possibilities. The chill of winter was gone and the tepid wind promised to usher in a glorious summer. Although Aislyn knew this feeling was fleeting at best, but tonight she had life by the tail--or rather tucked under her arm like a purring kitty.

Short auburn locks flew about her placid face as she watched the wind ripple the water casting the streetlamps' light in a million directions. She thought of the camera tucked in her satchel, but a photo on this night would never convey her bliss. Instead she captured the shadows cast by sculptures and the outlines of couples finding a quiet moment in the twilight.

Photo: RyanXR1

Ty

A voice from the past transmitted of cell towers in two states harboring laughter and levity.


Photo: blushing

Without the grace God gave a slug the girl pulled her miniscule shorts from her crotch. Aislyn thought it might be a stretch to call that particular article of clothing anything but underwear.

Madison burned for a smoke. The day had worn off the tarnish, rubbed her so that the wounds looked shiny and new.

She ran her hands through her already touseled hair and mahogany curls fell back into her face to soak up the salty remnants of her last wave of grief.

It seemed no one cared about her happiness, overlooking each small injury they inflicted, and pushing her on down the path. Everyone wanted her to be sucessful so that they could go along for the ride on her coattails. 

"Maddy you've got talent and a gift and you'll have a profound impact on those who read your work."

Encouragement felt like pressure. If you don't publish, you are a failure. If you can't find the words to set the world alight, I won't love you anymore.

photo: HaleyCage

Smart People

“FDR was reacting to the economy of his time. Today we need to consider Friedman’s flat world theory, globalization, and the end of the cold war.”

“Do you think the single mom of four living in the projects just outside town gives a shit about how NAFTA is paying laid-off middle class factory workers to become nurses and computer programmers? She’s worried if the food stamps are going to last the rest of the week because her meager paycheck has to pay for little Billy’s penicillin because he has another ear infection from sleeping in a drafty bedroom in their run-down, government subsidized apartment. Little does she know, Billy is developing an allergy to the antibiotic, because of his repeated exposure to a moldy bathroom, because the slum lord won’t pay to replace the vent fan. And the guy getting a grant to become a programmer doesn’t realize that the job waiting for him after graduation is being sold to India at a fourth of the American salary.” Brigid paused and fiddled with her medical alert bracelet. “I like smart people who disagree with me, because I need to know my opposition before engaging in an argument.”

Sid studied her, searching for gap in her logic or a twitch of doubt. "You're really good at this."

"I f#$ked the debate team in high school."

Sid's mouth dropped open.

"Silly boy, that's a movie quote."

"Ah."

Photo: kasprzak

My grandfather was only a nice man when it was to his benefit. He'd feed me hot dogs and sweets so I wouldn't tell my mom he took me to the horse track. Everyone once in a while he'd place a bet for me. We'd wander down to where they kept the horses. I'd look at them and pick one - the one that looked the best with his little blanket on. I won a few times and we'd buy cotton candy with the earnings. But most of the time I'd sit with a pad of paper and make-up stories about my dolls.

He was the one that taught me to be quiet. He taught me not to exist. He taught my grandmother not to exist, too. She was a radiant beauty in love with life and in love with a bad man. He didn't make her a proper wife; he was never able to buy a house because of his gambling. They lived from paycheck to paycheck and were never able to make it a Merry Christmas for their children. When the grandchildren came - I was the first - Grandma started sneaking money out of his wallet in the middle of the night and tucking it in a coffee can hidden behind the washing machine where he'd never look.

The woman next to Madison was reading Internal Auditor Magazine. The feminine navy pant suit with bright pink tee shirt was out of place among the other Midwestern passangers. Her rubber-soled navy loafers were a testament to her practical career choice as a CPA or actuary. Accounting wasn’t sexy and no amount of lipgloss or inches of patent leather stiletto would change this fact.

Madison glanced down at her own attire and smirked. Her V-neck sweater, torn Gap jeans and black ballet flats did little to convey her personality or career choice—college student or Wall Street consultant. The ink stains on her finger tips, oversized sketchpad, and traincase full of art supplies rather than toiletries belied the truth. Madison used to carry her pens, pencils, stencils, arasers in a fishing tacklebox, but with new security standards for flying she started to get dirty looks. With the train case—even under x-ray—it just looked like an eyeliner addiction. 

Photo: PinkyMcCoversong

The kites dove, swooped, and called to each other in shrill shrieks. Cicadas tried to sing louder than the locusts that work up on the wrong year. Grasshoppers thumped against the sides of the car angry at the intrusion on their quiet gravel road.

Photo: tfavretto

He was the find of guy with whom the she wanted to drink beer, smoke too many cigarettes and shoot pool before seducing him in the alley outside the pub.

He introduced himself as Paul and she hoped he wasn't named after the least favourite of the saints, but rather a kindly Irish uncle.

Photo: runningWithsissors

Stench

The woman had the shape and smell of burlap sack of grossly rotten potatoes. Aislin literally gagged from the stench of her. 

Photo: tinetabulous

Driving through New York’s Mohawk valley listening to Ryan Adam’s melancholically beautiful voice, passing general stores, miniscule hay farms, and sites where history radiated from the soil.

Photo: mikechro

Elderly lady with hair the color of a vodka cranberry after the ice has melted, thick sunglasses, Rockies jacket, a purse that saw its best days 20 years prior.

Massage

“Where does all this passion come from?”

“Repression.”

Drew cocked his head and frowned. Instead of answering him, Brigid took his forearm in her hands and stroked his skin from wrist to elbow adding pressure with each pass. She cupped his elbow, lifted his extended arm until it rested on her shoulder and continued her gentle massage up his bicep and tricep.

Drew’s sharp features relaxed as tenstion drained into her strong, nimble hands. His lips parted and his breath slowed and deepened.

Brigid watched as each part of his body loosened and slackened: his face, head lolling on a limp neck, then his shoulders dropped.

Photo: oO-Rein-Oo

Drive Home

I preferred to take the back road out of town to avoid the rush of car and truck on interstate 80 but also to let my mind wander across the valleys, pastures, shallow ravines lined with cotton woods and ditches bursting with yarrow and daisies. All the windows down so the music has room to breathe. Hair occasionally tucked behind an ear to avoid looking too windblown. Now that law enforcement’s mission refocused on protecting and serving municipal funds rather than the people, this lonely highway wasn’t patrolled.

Photo: qwert10101

Shower

The bathroom was the epicenter of all life’s grief: a place to cleanse wounds, wash away the evidence of sexual transgressions, and purge toxins. A place to replace the face before returning to the world.

Gigi curled into a ball at the bottom of the shower stall, cradling her bleeding fist. Sobs undulated within her body while not a whimper escapes her quaking red lips.

The night before she’d been drinking from a warm bottle of Riesling still in the brown paper bag and staggering the midnight streets like a wino. The bottle was only one method to quiet her racing mind. Sleep was no longer possible as her thoughts did not stop falling from one dark dream into another.

This morning Gigi had tried to gaze into her own pale green eyes wondering if they displayed her torment. She’d put her feeble fist through the medicine cabinet when she imagined a cloud passing through the depths of green.

Red ribbons of skin hung from her fingers. Gigi knew she needed stitches to hold the delicate skin together; however, a hospital asks too many questions. Gigi stood before the shattered mirror, wound gauze around her hand, and watched her fractured reflection.

Bike Ride

I was fourteen when the accident happened.  I was riding my new road bike.  So proud of my shiny bike, I let go of the handlebars smugly enjoying the balance.  In that instant, Jonas and his dad backed out of their driveway for Jonas’ first driving lesson.  The next instant, I was lying on the curb bleeding and shaking.  Jonas was distraught; his first time driving he’d nearly killed someone before he’d made it out of the driveway.  His parents rushed around me checking my head, bringing me water, and waiting with me for the ambulance.  Jonas and I locked eyes before I was put into the ambulance.  The matter of our relationship was decided in that moment.

Nebraska’s landscape was marked with war: the Heartland Museum of Military Vehicles, Strategic Air Command, and nearly every car had a yellow ribbon magnet stuck a bumper or fender. It seemed violence made for excellent tourism.

Somewhere outside Lincoln, Aislin spotted a large homemade billboard in a cornfield that read, “Outlaw Sodomy.” Alfred scrambled for purchase on the passenger seat as Aislin nearly drove off the road. She corrected and eased back into her lane.

“How happy do you think that guy’s wife is?”

Albert whined.

“I just imagine her laying on her back, her heels pointed to Jesus, and wondering if beige was the right colour for the ceiling.

Chuff.

“I supposed you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Bark.

“Most people think sodomy is limited to anal sex; however, most foreplay favourites are included under that heading.”

Albert licked Aislin’s face from chin to forehead as if to punctuate her statement.

The ribbon of highway cutting across the Cornhusker and Hawkeye States was an easy drive with plenty of rest areas for Albert to frolic, squat, and sniff.

Photo: http://sycamores-and-cedars.deviantart.com/

Pretty Woman

Brigid was tired of feeling like Pretty Woman. She was treated like a queen for a week, made love to, and then shoved back on the street.

Memory

That’s the funny thing about memory. Although I’m always the one left with a broken heart, my former lovers view me as the one that got away. Every few years one of them will ponder, “Why not give Brigid a try again?” Then they’ll remember that I’m crazy and impulsive.