Lost Journals

2011-05-19T08:06:00.002-05:00

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

Chapters Unread

2011-05-13T19:27:00.000-05:00

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

2011-05-12T14:01:00.000-05:00

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

2011-05-02T17:29:00.002-05:00

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

2011-05-02T14:26:00.000-05:00

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

Photo: Iznanka

2011-05-01T02:26:00.015-05:00

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

2011-04-29T23:35:00.000-05:00

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

2011-04-26T21:50:00.001-05:00

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

Photo: blushing

2011-04-20T02:59:00.000-05:00

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.

2011-04-15T15:24:00.001-05:00

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

2011-04-10T15:09:00.001-05:00

“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

2011-04-03T15:03:00.008-05:00

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.

2011-03-30T14:59:00.003-05:00

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

2011-03-29T19:56:00.001-05:00

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

2011-03-26T14:53:00.001-05:00

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

2011-03-22T02:43:00.000-05:00

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

Photo: tinetabulous

2011-03-18T14:38:00.000-05:00

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

2011-03-16T02:33:00.004-05:00

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

2011-03-13T20:25:00.000-05:00

“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

2011-03-03T14:21:00.006-06:00

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

2011-02-24T16:15:00.005-06:00

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

2011-02-23T14:11:00.004-06:00

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.

2011-02-22T14:00:00.000-06:00

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

2011-01-10T20:48:00.003-06:00

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

2011-01-10T20:46:00.002-06:00

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.

Read in 2010

2010-12-31T02:03:00.001-06:00

Chili Queen by Sandra Dallas

The Lolita Effect by Gigi ???

Buster Midnight's Cafe by Sandra Dallas

Good Night Nobody by Jennifer Weiner

The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty

The Lost Quilter by Jennifer Chiaverini

Winding Ways Quilt by Jennifer Chiaverini

Bitter is the new Black by Jen Lancaster

Bright Lights, Big Ass by Jen Lancaster

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

Density of Souls by Christopher Rice

Irma by Robert Trambauer

The Persian Pickle Club by Sandra Dallas

Alice's Tulips by Sandra Dallas

The Diary of Mattie Spencer by Sandra Dallas

Where Men Win Glory by Jon Krakauer

Breathless by Dean Koontz

Relentless by Dean Koontz
One Day by David Nichols
A Child Called "It" by Dave Pelzer
Scarpetta by Patricia Cornwell
New Mercies by Sandra Dallas
Tallgrass by Sandra Dallas
A Lifetime of Secrets by Frank Warren
Naked by David Sedaris
When Engulfed in Flames by David Sedaris
Dress your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris

Disdainful

2010-06-20T08:58:00.000-05:00

As Aislin was tossing her phone into her purse, she noticed a young boy staring at her. He wasn’t really a boy, but he had the smooth features of youth. Judging from his concert tee shirt and polished loafers, he was college age and struggling with the disparity between upper crust upbringing and his working class friends. Their eyes locked for a brief moment before he looked away. She tried to get his attention again, but he avoided looking up by playing with sugar packets.

“I lied,” Aislin said when the disdainful waitress returned with a carafe of coffee. “I’d like a cheeseburger and fries, only I want you to take them to that kid over there.” Aislin pointed at the kid.

“You sure about that?”

“Are you sure you want a tip?”

She disappeared and Aislin returned to the stacks of black and whites. She remained ensconced in the frozen images, trying to construct a story from the pictures, until the kid sauntered up to the table. He tapped a nervous finger on the table.

Mid-day shower

2010-06-19T09:01:00.000-05:00

Aislin and her cowboy ran through the rain, his white shirt soaked through to show a collection of star tattoos peppered across his small shoulders. Aislin’s heels clacked against the pavement with yesterday’s newspaper held above her head in place of an umbrella; hair matted to the sides of her face. She looked to the sky with eyes closed and smiled at her mid-day shower.

She stepped inside the gallery and shook the rain out of her hair as Alfred would shake off a bath, eliciting a peel of laughter from Duke. It was more of a guffaw than a giggle, which surprised Aislin. His every movement seemed premeditated and measured, while his laugh was loud and boisterous. Puddled rainwater gathered at their feet as they waited for a staff member to appear. Red dots marked the placards next to each of her pieces. A sold out show. She’d even raised her prices hoping that some wouldn’t sell.

rediscovered

2010-06-18T08:46:00.000-05:00

Aislin pulled loose, chapped skin off her lips with her teeth. It was a nervous habit lost since childhood, and rediscovered in the last week. She'd avoided driving past the house where it had happened. She was now emboldened, however, by her night with Lex--somehow fortified by a healthy sexual connection--and the time seemed right to confront the ghosts of misery past.

The rambling Victorian sat on the corner in front of the high school like a sentinel to adolescent pain and education. In the decade that had passed some had torn down the large oak in the side yard where kids had once huddled sneaking a few illicit drags of nicotine before class. The lawn boasted new landscaping and the porch swing had received copious layers of new paint.

Aislin recalled the weekend that Gideon had asked her and her mother to stay. It was sort of a trail to see if they could all live together before the vows were final. Gideon had decorated Aislin's room with comic book posters, a mini fridge stocked with Mountain Dew and sweet snacks, a bed laden with downy comforts, and a drafting board with enough supplies to write, draw, and ink ten comic books.

photo: Ixiii

Widow

2010-06-17T08:39:00.001-05:00

Nana Keira hadn't moved in 15 years. The ranch house was a shadow of its former glory. The yard was where lawn ornaments came to die. Each year Nana would get a new trinket for her yard and each summer it was either stolen or destroyed.

Keira when Aislin walked in. The first grandchild and the family's last hope, she was a welcome sight. The other grandchildren were either in prison or on too many drugs to remember this lonely woman. A stock widow, she worshiped her husband’s memory as a martyr might worship a statue.

Normally, Keira was the image of grandmotherly perfection. Today, however, her hair had a weird blue-white glow like snow under a full moon.

Photo: snul

Reversal

2010-06-15T08:34:00.000-05:00

Waking Aislin from a hard sleep, Nora crawled in bed and nestled into her arms. The roles were reversed; Mother was scared, and the child wore a brave face and offered comfort.

Nora’s agoraphobia had started slow with a bit of anxiety while grocery shopping. It was magnified by Nora’s position as an in-take nurse in the local emergency room. She’d seen the pain humans inflicted upon each other. She refused to be vulnerable and refused to leave the house. She still worked full-time at the hospital. However, that was the extent of her excursions outside the house. A cousin—who was struggling to make ends meet—earned extra cash for an assortment of chores she was unable to perform.

Photo: zafdingo

Robin

2010-06-14T08:29:00.000-05:00

Marc’s commute across Chicagoland with usually spent chatting with Lin, discussing his latest failed foray in dating or the frustration of being a student affairs professional at the University. Although Marc was usually able to wear all the hats his job required, this week had taken a larger toll. The idiocy of undergraduates was astounding. It seemed the high IQ was directly proportional low common sense and self esteem, as if the rules of basic human interaction didn’t apply to smart kids.

Robin Grayson, a third year, pre-law student, had disappeared from campus on Monday afternoon. It wasn’t unusual for students to take off for a few days; however, Robin didn’t show up for a date with his girlfriend, missed several days of classes, and left a cryptic note with his roommate. The National Merit Scholar has prone to making bad decisions, but he had perfect attendance and never missed an opportunity to argue with his Political Science professor.

After an alcohol poisoning, Robin was required to meet with Marc weekly to discuss the choices he was making. Like a scene pulled from Good Will Hunting, Robin was silent for the first session. The second session was a diatribe about Nietzsche and nihilists. It was in the third visit that Marc was able to kick the door open. He’d never forget the physical and emotional regression he witnessed that day, although he’d seen it happen once before.

Marc stroked the cell phone in his hand. He wanted to call her, ask her advice about the boy, yet his intuition told him not to dial the phone. The vision that he couldn’t shake was that Robin and Lin were two magnets drawn to each other and if he spoke to Lin the poles would shift and Robin would be repelled and never found.

Photo: Ouylle

contact sheets

2010-06-13T08:54:00.003-05:00

Soon a large family was sat at the table next to her. The youngest daughter prattled on and on about another customer's pea coat and how he must be from England or in-touch with his feminine side. Occasionally, the girl would tried to take sly glances at the contact sheets spread across the table. The three year-old bounced in his seat whining for Aislin’s drawing case, a vintage Scooby-Do lunch pail. Aislin tried to focus on her apple pie, but to no avail. She dug her cell out of her knapsack, dialed Marc, and was sent directly to his voice mail.

Photo: Kalendis

Accident

2010-06-12T08:19:00.000-05:00

Gold Digger

2010-06-11T09:40:00.000-05:00

“I don’t think your secretary likes me,” Aislin said, setting her camera bag on the client sofa in Lex’s office. The office was obsessively neat. Books arranged by the Library of Congress Cataloging system. Legal pads were stacked perfectly parallel with the desk edge. The décor seemed to come straight from an exclusive, east coast country club: deep leather chairs, mahogany paneling, and pleated plaid curtains.

“Elaine is harmless,” Lex said.

“Yeah, right.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s like Grandmommy Dearest,” Aislin said, plopping down in the leather club chair facing Lex’s desk.
“How did you find her?”

“When I was hired, I was issued a secretary. Teresa was a holdover from the previous deputy DA who was afraid to fire her. Teresa was a single mother with a large chip on her shoulder and was dying for an easy meal ticket. I was able to document several of her blunders and fired her. Teresa sued and lost.”

“And Elaine?”

“I interviewed a dozen people and hated them all. Elaine’s husband had been a small town lawyer in Northern Iowa. As a recent widow, she wanted a job to occupy her time. I liked her sassy attitude, so I hired her.” Lex shrugged as if the question were answered.

“She’s a gold digger.”

“I beg your pardon. Elaine is not after me.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Aislin reconsidered her argument. “You’re a prosecutor, so you’re aware of victim blaming.”

“Of course. What’s your point?” Lex was getting agitated. He didn’t like being cross-examined.

“Victims are quick to blame other victims. You’d never put a rape survivor on a jury of a rape trial, am I right?”

Lex nodded.

“One victim never believes another victim because no one could feel as much as pain as the first victim.”

“What does that have to do with Elaine?”

“She’s a gold digger and thinks I am too.”

“Elaine was one of the first people to believe in me. When I came to Newton, I couldn’t even get the cops to talk to me. Everyone saw me as a silver spoon hotshot out to make a name for myself. Never mind the five years I worked as a junior prosecutor in Des Moines.”

“Your secretary believes in money, not you.”

Motivational Speakers

2010-06-10T06:40:00.000-05:00

I prefer to embrace life rather than listen to someone tell me how to embrace my inner self, suck my toes, and gaze into my navel.

Photo: monosolo

Tarnish

2010-06-09T09:34:00.000-05:00

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 tousled 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.

Again she pulled the hair out of her face. Talents and gifts aside she, felt herself die--not in a tangible way that can be easily explained or described in some long monologue constructed for cathartic heroin. It was her heart that perished. That small part of herself Maddy had held back all these years, held in faith, died that day.

I can't write about love anymore. I can't write about something I no longer believe in. I can't write these stories about hope, because I've lost my voice. I've lost my hope. I've lost my love. I lost... I am lost...

Maddy cried into her shaking hands.

I'm broken in some irrepairable way. All the king's horses and all the king's men can't put this back together again.

Off the Wagon

2010-06-08T09:30:00.001-05:00

Aislin faced the bar ordered a vodka tonic--the drink no bar could get wrong--and stared at the neon domestic beer signs casting the patrons in an eerie red glow. Familiar faces from high school telling familiar stories, each marked by bad marriages and multiple kids. Lining the wall were NASCAR plaques, famous pictures of baseball's history, and small placards denoting fried delacasies served in red plastic baskets.

The bartender looked like an ex-boyfriend and probably was. Aislin had been popular with the opposite sex in the days before college--a lucky combination of five miles a day and large Irish baby feeding breasts. Furthermore, Aislin hypothesized that most men fantacized about red heads, although her red locks were now the result of monthly salon appointments.

Duke drank his Guinness like a drunk recently off the wagon. In two swallows the pint was gone.

"I'm sorry," Aislin said.

"Do you apologize for everything?"

"I suppose I do. I'm Irish Catholic, guilt is all I know. What's your excuse?"

Duke stared into his glass as if the answer was hidden in the foam at the bottom, started to talk, but Aislin interrupted him. "You know I never hear confession when alcohol is involved. Let's just enjoy our beverages and take in the atmosphere."

Dysfunctional

2010-06-07T09:26:00.001-05:00

"What's the deal with your family?" Duke asked.

Aislin peered down at her hands, picked at something under one of her nails, and tucked her hands back into her coat pockets. "You mean the fact that they're crazy?"

"Whenever you run into any of them it seems like you can't wait to leave."

"It took me awhile to realize just how dysfunctional my family was."

"Every family has it's own quirks, but they're still a family."

"I thought it was normal for every kid to spend Saturdays at the dog track with grandpa; all moms had panic attacks at the mall; secret grow rooms in the basement; moonshine in the garage. My first childhood memory was of my uncles getting high while babysitting me. I was three. Three, for god's sake!

"When I asked where my dad was, I was told that he was a bad drunk and ran away. My mom acted like this was the most evil thing a person could do. Yet, I've watched every one in my extended family turn to the bottle and run away from responsibility. I learned it was okay unless you were my father, in which case you were an evil, evil man worthy of the wrath of god.

"There was never any cough syrup in the house, instead I was handed a shot of Jamison and told it would put hair on my chest. A bad tooth called for a shot of vodka. For a headache, the prescription was a bong hit and a nap."

Hiberation

2010-06-06T09:19:00.000-05:00

It was fall and the world had begun to hibernate. The aspen’s shed their green in favour of more vibrant shades of yellow. Frost clung to the trees as a lover wraps himself around his beloved.

The high mountain bed and breakfast was nearly empty in the mud season—the stretch of time between summer tourism and winter sports. The owners’ days were spent doing some late fall hiking before snow closed their favourite trails.

The weekend was intended as Aislin’s mini vacation away from her family and a celebration of Gabe’s successful first show away from the college stage.

Aislin was curled up on the porch swing, editing her latest fiction piece, sipping a mug of jasmine tea, and awaiting Gabe’s arrival. Theirs had been a hidden-but-not-so-secret relationship. They’d tried to keep their attractions and nights together a secret, but their friends always knew. They’d see his car at her apartment or watch as they orbited around each other at parties.

Aislin recalled the first time she’d felt their relationship solidify into something nearly tangible. She recalled the day it rained. A string of moments strung like pearls—watching him read Charles Schultz in the literature section of the bookstore, running through the torrents to a sheltering restaurant, and intimate moments in a low-rent hotel room. Each pearl a moment to be stroked and held in her mind.

Photo: midnight00

Mercury

2010-06-05T09:12:00.000-05:00

I stirred in the night and reached for Jonas only to have my hand mired in mucus. I reached for the bedside lamp with my clean hand and discovered that his pillow was covered with snot and phlegm and vomit. His night clothes left a trail from the bed to the door.

“Jonny!”

“Here,” he called from the hallway where he lay swaddled in heavy quilts. He rocked and shivered despite the warmth of the night and a dormitory’s worth of bedclothes.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he stammered while reaching for my hand.

“Hold still, baby,” I cooed before dashing back to my nightstand for the thermometer. My bedside table had become a mini triage kit and medicine cabinet: Vicks Vapo Rub, soft Puffs Plus, various pain killers and fever reducers, thermometer, albuterol and steroid inhalers, and a thermometer buried under latex gloves.

“Jonny, please don’t bite this one. We don’t need to add mercury poisoning to the list of ailments,” I said as he accepted the glass thermometer under his tongue. He’d broken the last digital thermometer between chattering teeth.

In the bathroom I scrubbed my hands clean with antibiotic soap and scalding water not to appease my state of mind but his. I was drying my hands when I heard him wretch and vomit.

“I gagged. I’m so sorry,” he said.

The thermometer now swam in puddle of bile and blood. I bent to retrieve it.

“Don’t touch it!” he tried to scream but it came out hoarse and cracked. “Don’t touch the blood!”

“We’re going to the hospital.”

“I’m naked.”

Back in the bedroom again, I pulled on a hooded sweatshirt to cover the fact that I was without a bra and gathered sweats for Jonas. I dropped the sweats beside Jonas and wet a towel in the bathroom.

Back in the hallway, I knelt beside the heap of blankets and wiped his face. I could feel his fever as it warmed the cool towel. His eyes fixed me with a gaze that would have brought me to my knees if I weren’t already there: green eyes full of pain, innocence, and apology.

“Can you stand?” I asked turning from his eye line.

He nodded and stood shedding the layers of warmth. I hadn’t seen him naked in weeks and it took all my courage not to recoil. He looked like a skeleton sheathed in a fine veil of white gossamer fabric marred by deep purple Kaposi’s sarcoma lesions. A deep violet and crimson lesion stretched across his hip bone clearly visible on his emaciated frame. He grabbed my shoulder while I helped him into his sweat pants careful not to let the waistband irritate the cancerous lesions.

Photo: u-shy

Title

2010-06-04T09:07:00.001-05:00

"What’s the title?"

"Res Ipsa Loquitur."

"The thing speaks for itself."

"Someone paid attention in law school."

Riley shook his head briefly but violently as if incredulous then dismissing the feeling.

"I hang this piece at every show in lieu of an artist’s statement."

Photo: yellowcaseartist

Rumpled

2010-06-03T21:08:00.001-05:00

Aislin rumpled his hair and motioned for him to look at her show. She felt like an older sister that refused to let her brother grow up. The exhibit seemed to loom in the silence. Duke patrolled the frames, looking at one with a discerning eye. He would stand back at first then slowly moving into the canvas and scrutinize each pen and brush stroke.

“Where’d you go last night?” a masculine voice asked startling her. “You disappeared before I could say hello.”

“Uh… I’m sorry,” Aislin said, turning to face the man. “And who are you?”

“I’m the owner of this place.” He waved his hand around, and then offered his hand to her. His firm handshake and an expectant gaze held Aislin in place. Thick, blonde curls framed his round, ruddy face and a goatee ringed his thin lips.

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Aislin studied his grey eyes and placid features. She reached for the most obvious explanation. “Did we go to school together?”

“I was a freshman when you were a senior.”

Aislin shifted her eyes. He remembered her name in headlines, not the girl she’d once been.

“We were in Art Club together. You also student directed a play I did lights for.”

Aislin remembered a chubby kid in thick glasses and compulsively clad in flannel shirts. Her memory was far from the man in front of her. The flannel had been replaced by a tailored button-down that highlighted his eyes, the colour of a tarnished nickel. “I’m Robert Kane.”

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay. You didn’t really talk to underclassmen, but I remember you.”

Irrigation

2010-06-03T09:05:00.000-05:00

After a very wet spring, Brigid enjoyed the sun on her forearms. Cheery yellow daisies and purple thistles painted large swaths of the median. Billowy clouds stacks up along the horizon—the bottoms dark with vibrant white tops—mirroring the mountains diminishing in the rearview. They passed a patchwork of cornfields, soybeans, and hay occasionally interrupted by a deep green irrigation circle.

Stripper

2010-06-02T21:04:00.000-05:00

“He’s about to be homeless and he’s dating a former stripper from Atlanta that hasn’t figured out that he’s racist.”

“You can take the stripper out of the bar, but she’s still a stripper. She’ll always find a reason to take off her clothes.”

Law School

2010-04-26T07:49:00.002-05:00

"What’s the title?"

"Res Ipsa Loquitur."
"The thing speaks for itself."
"Someone paid attention in law school."
Riley shook his head briefly but violently as if incredulous then dismissing the feeling.
"I hang this piece at every show in lieu of an artist’s statement."

Photo: eivaj

Wall Drug

2010-04-25T07:42:00.001-05:00

Signs poked up from the cornfields advertising small chain restaurants Brigid had never heard of and billboards beckoning tourists to Pioneer Village stretched I-80 from the western border of Nebraska to the Missouri river. The contrived pressure to visit this manufactured destination was akin only to Wall Drug in South Dakota.

Photo: saintgreen86

Choas

2010-04-24T11:35:00.000-05:00

"I don't want to be your chaos and I can't conform to your insane rulebook. I can't eat maple and brown sugar oatmeal every Saturday for the rest of my life. I don't lay my clothes out a week in advance. I don't want a Palm Pilot to run my life. I hate that I own a cell phone. I hate that I'm attached to world every minute via email. I love my chaos."

Lex glanced around as if the perfect response was adrift on the cold night air, somehow tangible like the plumes of smoky, white breath filling the air between them.

"I don’t want to be your pierced, alternative, artistic, girlfriend that you drag to dinner parties as an attraction or conversation piece. I'm not a sideshow freak."

Aislin met Lex's eyes as they flashed with an appology and faded into regret.

"You'll just turn into another thing I have to survive."

Prison

2010-04-24T07:37:00.001-05:00

They stopped in Sterling, Colorado for gas and a toilet/sniff break for the furry one. Brigid sneered at the hulking prison just off the interstate. She understood the industrial utility of the structure, but thought the state could at least make the outside of the building pleasing for the rest of the world rather than emphasizing the presence of this marginalized population in a marginal place.

Photo: joaoloureiro

Liquid Fingers

2010-04-23T10:55:00.000-05:00

The sun had put on work clothes and was headed for a day tending to the Iowa crops. The eastern horizon blazed pink and orange was the work day began. Brigid could feel the sun's approach in her veins like a tidal pull calling the ocean up the beach. As the tide rose, her foot grew heavier on the gas pedal urging the BMW over 100 mph. She wanted to be home before daylight's liquid fingers stroked the earth.

Photo: Justin14100

Fire

2010-04-23T07:32:00.000-05:00

Lex pressed his palms into the tiles,

let his head drop,

allowed the water to run

down his shoulders and back.

Showerhead massaged tense muscles.

He thought about the woman

asleep down the hall:

vibrant yet reserved.

Maybe the restraint

was a good thing.

If he were to live to the fullest

he may spontaneously combust,

but this girl would set the world on fire.

The early hour and hot water

conspired against Lex.

Blood pressure dropped,

inhibiting oxygen flow to the brain.

World blurred into steamy drifts of clouds.

Nausea washed over him,

undulating in his stomach.

Sundress

2010-04-22T19:27:00.000-05:00

I fiddled with the hem of my favorite sundress. Red and covered with yellow and white daisies, the dress had shrunk and grown softer through the summer until it was more tactile than modest.

Photo: DeProfundis-Art

2010-04-22T09:59:00.000-05:00

Photo: leelloor

Beckoning

2010-04-18T20:15:00.000-05:00

He curled his long, lean frame around her: his forehead pressed to hers, noses touching, lips only millimeters apart, and breath in sync. It was the most intimate sex she’d enjoyed—two bodies and two souls singing to each other with no words but the gentle strokes of limbs, heated kisses, and gasping breaths. Yet the morning light peeking around the quilted window shade told her that their time together would soon come to an end as the world beckoned. The offer of a cereal breakfast was refused as she couldn’t allow herself to be further seduced by his charm and tender caresses.

Photo: silendriel

2010-04-01T14:38:00.002-05:00

Broken but Undamaged

Lola lacked the yearning to:

seek another soul,

share intimate details,

frolic as if each day were

made of blessings and insights.

Built of desirous flesh,

Lola sought comfort in

compatible carnal constructions:

lipstick, thigh highs, leather,

and the gentle snap of a

riding crop.

Outside

2009-12-22T06:16:00.001-06:00

Lucy hesitated as she reached for the doorknob. It wasn’t that she was a homebody or phobic about the citizens of the world beyond her front door; it was, however, the first time since primary school that she’d left the house unescorted during the day.

Open the door. You’re being irrational. Open the door.

And she did.

Lucy stepped out on to the expansive wrap-around porch and was shocked by the silence of things. No crickets chirped in celebration of the on coming dew. No nighthawks bleating to each other in the pursuit of moths. No drag queens screaming at each other as they wandered out of the colorful local bars. No cicada winding down his song as the temperature dipped in the witching hours.

The day world was full of sun and the rumble of traffic from a nearby freeway.

Lucy wanted to turn around and go back inside.

Only one day. It is only one day.

Shrimp

2009-12-21T05:47:00.000-06:00

Marc watched her nimble fingers at work: mincing garlic, chopping parsley and de-veining the shrimp. She possessed the quick and economical movements of a practiced chef. Aislyn place the fresh herbs into the melted but not boiling butter and olive oil mixture in the copper bottom skillet. Marc watched her hands as though she were a culinary magician poised to pull an herb roasted rabbit out of the seasoned air.

“How do you feel about Chardonnay?” Aislyn asked, holding up a bottle of deep green glass with a hand written label across its front.

“Nothing by Night Train in my house growing up.”

“You’ll love this,” she said adding a splash of the wine to the skillet.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?”

Aislyn smiled at the amazement in his voice. “I slept with many, many wealthy men and acquired a taste for the finer things.”

“Seriously?”

“I dated a lot in college and most of them were from well-to-do families. The men that found me attractive usually had savior complexes and endless resources. At the time, the only way I thought I could pay them back was by blowing their mind or other things.” Aislyn added the peeled and de-veined shrimp into the bubbling oil and shrimp.

“You sure do seize the moment.”

“If you can’t be honest about the past, how can you be honest about your prospects for the future?”

Marc rubbed his eyes and peered into his soda, watching the carbonated bubbles float to the top and burst in celebration. He wanted to be that jubilant.

Marc couldn’t meet her eyes as she flipped the shrimp in the skillet, using her wrist to keep the oil, herbs, and crustaceans in constant movement.

“What about those who don’t want to be honest about the past?” he asked.

Bad Night

2009-12-20T17:45:00.000-06:00

Brown flecks mingled with thick yellow bile in the white porcelain bowl. Her stomach undulated with the tides rolling in the basin as she held auburn curls out of her face.

Alfred whined and yelped from outside the door. After four years of living with this regimen, Alfred still hadn’t gotten over the shock. He paced and pawed at the door each night she

She flushed the toilet watching dried blood and vital potassium disappear. The only light illuminating the antiseptic bathroom was the blue glow of an Indiglo alarm clock. 10:34. Aislin’s stomach was faltering and twelve minutes behind schedule.

Cool water felt delicious against her face. She was thankful that it hadn’t been a bad night. The force of the past had pressed stomach acid through delicate nasal passages.

Hula Hoop

2009-12-08T16:14:00.001-06:00

Aislyn stopped atop Monarch Pass to let Horatio run around and toilet. This was easily the worst driving of the entire trip. Monarch was often closed due to heavy snow or rock slides. Aislyn always stopped here to stretch and laugh at the pedestrian crossing sign with a hula hoop painted across the man’s middle. The first time Aislyn saw the sign she thought it was a comment on how pedestrian the pedestrian signs are like they should be doing something other than walking. A friend, however, explained that it was a reference to a favorite jam band that had aided in reviving the popularity of the hula hoop, but Aislyn was pleased to see the mundane sign infused with humor.

No Phone

2009-12-06T20:46:00.000-06:00

"You don't wear a watch?" Riley asked.

"Or carry a cell phone," Brigid said.

"How do people get a hold of you?" Riley asked.

"You don't. If I want to talk to you, I'll find you." Brigid picked the lint off Riley's armchair, frowning at each thread and hair. "I had a cell phone once. My agent kept calling me on my vacation so I tossed the phone into the ocean. I may have killed a few fish, but I'll never have another cell phone."

Research

2009-12-06T18:00:00.000-06:00

"There's a pub two blocks from my house in Colorado that has the country's greatest buffalo burger. I know because I've done the research."

Happy Pixi Day!

2009-12-01T08:56:00.001-06:00

My new Palm Pixi arrives today! Hooray for mobile blogging.

Not Broken

2009-12-01T07:56:00.000-06:00

"When I was with him, I didn't feel broken. I'd lived through so many tragedies. I'd loved men but it was never the kind of love that puts a smile on my face day after day," Aislyn said into her beer as she traced the peeling label on the Fat Tire bottle.

"I've always felt like something was wrong with me, like I was lacking that part of my psychology which motivates the soul to seek love. I prayed for love with little faith that God would provide. When I met Riley, I began hoping for all those things I never dared to dream."

"What the hell happened? Why did you leave Iowa?"

"There is no redemption in the past only pain and confusion."

Photo: Ophelias-Overdose

Cerulean

2009-11-30T07:08:00.001-06:00

Aislyn studied his every movement as if constructing a character sketch in her mind. She drew his face and coloured in his eyes: cerulean flecked with green and ringed by dark brown. She caught herself before she began colouring in the freckles that faded up his fingers. Aislyn had to remind herself to live in the moment.

Photo: silentspring

Scar

2009-11-29T18:53:00.005-06:00

A wide, waxy scar ran from his left earlobe, below is jawline, and terminated at the tip of his chin; four inches of imperfection not caused by a careful scalpel, rather something more threatening.

Photo: liquidkid1

Fatal Imperfection

2009-11-29T07:07:00.000-06:00

Riley talked about building houses and fixing cars like they were skills every well-bred lawyer possessed. His confidence and bravado were enticing. Under his suit and what some would consider effeminate qualities, he was a real man. He knew much about the world of men: camping, fishing, motorcycle repair, plumbing and the maintenance schedule of a vintage Jaguar. Aislyn kept waiting to find his flaw: the fatal imperfection that sent her running from the relationship.

Photo: DigitalRuin

Society Wife

2009-11-28T19:45:00.002-06:00

Aislyn slipped inside without being noticed and let Horatio off his leash. The Great Dane slid among the crowd with he stealth of an alley cat. When a guest noticed the mammoth dog, Horatio bowed his head in chivalrous mockery; however, the vain canine was merely showing off his new red collar studded with faceted cut glass. The old boy flashed his jewels like a society wife wiggling her wrist to get everyone to notice her new bracelet.

Suspended above the Earth

2009-10-30T08:32:00.001-05:00

Darcy leaned her head against the cold window, wishing she could fly back to Colorado and crawl back into bed with Albert. Happiness was a good man to come home to even if he was a dog.

Her boarding call sounded. Darcy walked to the gate, handed the gate attendant her boarding pass and ID. She smiled and said that Darcy was the last to board.

After takeoff, I couldn’t read any longer. I stared out the tiny window, watching the Great Lakes recede. I was always sad while in flight. Those hours spent suspended above the earth are the worst and loneliest hours: waiting to leave one place to arrive in another. Some small slice of misery served on a platter of transportation.

Graffiti

2009-10-30T07:53:00.001-05:00

Trains rumbled through the pre-dawn light. The rail cars marked by the graffiti of distant cities. The gang tags were unreadable to an untrained eye yet Brigid admired the colors and lines. A set of railroad tracks paralleled Highway six across Iowa. Brigid passed small towns sustained by the fruits of the land: corn, hogs, cattle. Old men in feed/seed hats that sit around small cafes discussing Co-op politics. She wondered what would happen to these communities and farms when the greatest generation left this life. Global economics, boardrooms, and the corporate lifestyle were more seductive to newer generations rather than the prospect of throwing on a pair of overalls and fixing the John Deere. Brigid figured living on a farm must be a study in patience and faith: wait to plant, pray for rain, pray for sun, wait to harvest, wait for spring. Brigid had the patience to out weather granite and strength to move a mountain, yet farming seemed so tedious.

The sun had put on work clothes and was headed for a day tending to the Iowa crops. The eastern horizon blazed pink and orange was the work day began. Brigid could feel the sun's approach in her veins like a tidal pull calling the ocean up the beach. As the tide rose, her foot grew heavier on the gas pedal urging the BMW over 100 mph. She'd wanted to be home before daylight's liquid fingers stroked the earth.

Cinnaberry

2009-10-29T08:27:00.000-05:00

Two a.m. and the small mountain valley had tucked itself in for the night. The sky, which was never one color, peered down upon the frozen night. One lone and crazed elk wandered the streets in search of love and food as all mammals tend to do.

Margot stealthily entered the mansion by way of a missing windowpane at the back of the house. She was not yet accustomed to the horrendous odor the house emitted. The source of the pungency had not been determined; however, Margot had planned to arm herself with some bleach and water this weekend to rid at least the servant’s quarters of the vomitous smell. In the meantime, dozens of cinnaberry car air fresheners would have to do the trick.

Margot undressed in the dark and looming silence of the hulking house and slid into the sleeping bag. Her eyes immediately shut out the world searching for a much lighter existence. Sleep would come easily tonight. The day had been filled with theory classes, meetings with advisors, and hours spend hammering on a keyboard perfecting the last assignments of the semester. The night was filled with coffee and conversations with Connor.

Amends

2009-10-28T08:23:00.000-05:00

Brian and Lexi lay tangled in a heap in the back of the Outback. A small quilt was all that separated their naked bodies from the cold night air. She lay facing him with her eyes closed and a small smile tickling the corners of her chapped lips. Brian held Lexi’s hand to his chest and pounding heart. “I’ve had an incredible night.”

Lexi looked around the small car, and realized that he could only be speaking to her. She fixed him a sideways smile. “So have I.”

“Why didn’t we meet earlier? Why did we have to meet now?” he inquired.

“Because the time wasn’t right.”

“And it is now?”

“I think so.”

“So do I,” he said leaning in and kissing her neck.

“Why me? Why are you attracted to me?”

“Why not you? Is there something wrong with you that I should know about?”

“Nevermind,” she whispered holding back the tears that threatened to betray her. Brian’s shoulders gave a little shiver signaling the sexual adrenalin rush had worn off.

“Why don’t we get dressed?” Lexi asked

“No, I just want to stay like this for awhile. When am I going to see you again?”

“I fly out on Sunday at 5. I can see you tomorrow night for a couple of hours but I have to pack.”

“I look forward to it.” He closed his eyes and pulled her in close. There is an electrochemical reaction when two naked bodies collide: an electric kiss.

This is the last time I will ever feel this, Lexi thought. After her flight back to the mountains of Colorado she made plans to end her life. Seven years of self doubt and loathing were too much to bear anymore. She had sought solace in church, street drugs, and the beds of many men; furthermore, Prozac, Xanex, and lithium could no longer make amends.

Art: R0ssi

Joy

2009-10-27T08:19:00.000-05:00

"The thing I've learned from you is to find the beauty in every moment," Cormac said as Darcy shifted in the bed. "No matter the struggle you find the joy."

Darcy was scared of men who thought they had insights into her. Cormac had said that she'd always been honest and tonight her fear was sincere. She didn't like it when people knew too much about her past. But this time he was right.

Darcy and Cormac had been spooned tight most of the night laughing at the ghosts of their past relationship. Now the conversation had focused on Darcy. Cormac had focused on one of her strengths, an asset she'd worked years to perfect. Life had handed her many tragedies and she learned to smile through the tears. Darcy hugged him, wrapping her body around him feeling vulnerable and beautiful and invincible all at once.

They talked on through the night about things that were inconsequential to lovers seeking a night of refuge: friends in common, laughs remembered, times shared.

Darcy was slipping into slumber and looking forward to waking up to a warm body; however, Cormac disappeared into the small hours. "I promise I'll spend the night again," he whispered with a breathy kiss.

Darcy preferred to have him stay the night. Waking up next to someone made her feel like less of a whore, made her forget the passion of the night before. Waking up alone with strange tastes in her mouth and smells in her bed reminded her it was only one night.

Vigor

2009-10-26T08:10:00.000-05:00

"Nervous?" Darcy asked aloud, her voice echoed in the empty apartment. Her hands shook, her stomach tied into knots that would make any Kelt proud, her heart leapt under her mother-in-law's first communion cross.

Although she made professional decisions every day, she was making an active decision about her personal life and was terrified. She couldn't remember a time when she'd been so consumed with nerves - not jumping off a bridge in Idaho with a rubberband strapped to her midsection, not her wedding day. The closest thing she could compare it to was her birthday eleven years ago when she was sitting in a doctor's office awaiting a diagnosis that would change her life.

Tonight, she was taking charge. She'd made up her mind and was pursuing it with a vigor she usually reserved for intellectual pursuits. Books, theories, and ideas could not fail her or disappoint.

However, if she couldn't have what she wanted this night she wouldn't consider it again. It was a one time opportunity. She didn't have the energy to be this nervous beyond a few hours.

Darcy showered, smoked a Russian cigarette, downed some Alka-Seltzer and brushed her teeth. Now, there was only time to wait.

Prologue

2009-10-25T20:07:00.000-05:00

Setting: Empty stage with full lights

At Rise: SHILOH enters with blackboard. Written on the black board is, “We can do no great things only small things with great love, Mother Theresa.” SHILOH positions the blackboard center stage, steps back and studies the board.

SHILOH
Blasphemy.

(SHILOH erases board and exits.)

Sunset

2009-10-16T10:43:00.000-05:00

I met him in a crowded restaurant. He walked right up to me and asked me if I’d seen the sunset the night before. I said no. He said he wished he could have shared it with me and that his name was Wilson. He kissed my cheek, handed me a slip of paper and seemingly walked out of my life.

I stared at the note all the while eating my grilled McChicken sandwich. On the piece of paper was written:

In your eyes I see a love of life
I can imagine you’ve faced much strife
Into my mind you twirled
You danced into my world
I want a place in your vision
Outside all of this derision
Away from this fast food
Call me if in the mood

Gambler

2009-10-14T10:41:00.000-05:00

Searching for a winning lover in this deck of cards,
And constantly having to fold.
Just a toss of the dice you say.
I’m ready to toss the dice out.
I’m no longer in Lady Luck’s graces.
She gave me a taste of a winning streak.
But the house always wins.
Now, I’m poor, broken and jonesing for a game.
Most can see that this old gambler needs to lay down her cards.
Yet I wait for the right hand to go all in.
The final hand to be a winner…forever.
Maybe the next hand…
Maybe the next hand…

Descent

2009-10-13T10:40:00.000-05:00

“I forgot to put on underwear this morning,” I muttered.

“You what?” Leah responded.

And this is how it started: my slow descent into depression. Isn’t funny how we can narrow it down into one sentence. I stopped answering the phone. The only time I would bathe would be when I could smell my feet even though they were tucked deep in my covers in the midnight hours. I neither left my apartment nor had the desire to.

I would cook my favorite dinner then refuse to eat it, no longer hungry for curry or garlic shrimp or naked pasta. I would spend days organizing my CD collection or alphabetizing my canned goods.

Whore

2009-10-12T10:36:00.000-05:00

Languidly mounted upon human criticism she sits,
chaos and order dancing, she screams locked in madness.
Masquerades of naked dramas fill her nights,
by day she plays with the stars.
Spitting sputtering spewing she breaks her promises.
She curls up around your loins leaving you screaming: more!

Destiny has not been a lover nor a friend.
She has beaten me until I have cursed her name:
sorrowful screams in the dead of the night.
I have bared myself raw and naked under her heavy lipstick.
You love me, rob me and leave me.
Fortune is not to be known by any virgin.

Destiny has cast me out of her graces.
She has thrown me out of her bed without a blanket.
The bitch has ripped my dying lover from my arms.
Fate has eluded me down back alleys.
Faith has damned me for my place in her arms.
Fate you are a wretched whore.

Open Water

2009-10-11T10:35:00.000-05:00

I fear
his forgotten laugh.
Sand and pebbles
retreating to the ocean.
A sand castle of memory
crumbled,
scattered
out to sea.

I fear
weeping.
Consumed by salt,
undulating body
washed by waves of sobs

I fear
grief.
It tears and bites
like jagged rocks,
sucks me
down with undertow.
Shocked and numb –
jellyfish sting.

I fear
love.
Standing ashore,
I watch
boats drift.
Scared of open
water,
I refuse
my ride.

New Orleans' Dawn

2009-10-11T10:34:00.000-05:00

Sounds of sax, trumpet and snare lure me away
from the shotgun shacks of childhood years.
Horns wail like a concave scream.

Parched mouth yearns for smoky night clubs.
Loins lust for men of gin and vodka and lies.

The small morning hours fade
in a whiskey-ruined whisper
Lady Day welcomes me into the waking world.

If I Profane

2009-10-10T10:33:00.000-05:00

What light through yonder…

I want you to glow,
to shine, to luster
not for me, but for passion -
lust for the aspiration of lusting.

O’ daughter of Capulet,

I want no devotion,
no rapture, no dedication.
No lover’s ecstasy,
only an appetite to please.

Speak again, bright angel!

I want virginity,
innocence – chaste and sour.
Physically undeflowered,
burning for celibacy.

Be my rose.

I want your saintly
kiss to my pilgrim’s hand
Lips taunt and tongue shy -
do not kiss, but palm to palm.

Fighting Pillows

2009-10-09T10:32:00.000-05:00

Pillows tossed, covers turned.
Books scattered across the blue clad mattress.
Quilted Irish Chain crisscrosses her pale naked frame.
Scars slash flesh in white spots and stripe

Nestled, she slumbers upon a field of hallucinations.
Snatches of reality twirl with violent visions.
The past revisited – mystified by a dreamy veil.

King-sized and meant for multiples, yet she wakes alone.
Stroking the solitude next to her,
Floundering, she finds a beckoning sketchbook.
Words rip the page recapturing forgotten memories.

Fair Maureen

2009-10-08T10:31:00.000-05:00

“Married my father,
I should turn into my mother.
Right?”

No affirmation offered.

“Alcoholism is the fate of Irish Catholic
women with abusive husbands
and they’re all abusive.”

Take her snifter.

“Mom, started with cooking sherry,
then cough syrup,
then Jamison’s by the bottle.
I’ll show her.”

Drowned in Hennessy.

“Fuck confession,
I’ve got a toilet.”

Awaiting

2009-10-07T10:30:00.000-05:00

Boards jump as she ventures across the rustic structure.
Rough-hewn timber trusses creak and moan
settling into deep pilings. A train rumbles
in the distance, a whistle blowing across wasted farmland.
Silver frost drapes the cottonwoods, winter’s embrace.
To the west, the sky is alight – flames of pink, purple
blossom. To the east, a flock of night’s ravens
swoop and dive nearing her, drawing
darkening pewter sky.
A hawk screams in the night. A soul in pain,
prey falling victim to talons.
Water glides on to the mighty, muddy Mississippi.
A sullen girl awaits love’s return.

2009-10-06T10:22:00.000-05:00

Twilight had just fallen on the South Park valley. The clouds were gradually shedding their pink colour. The ride back to school was always the worst, leaving Doug behind with only homework to look forward to.

The nearly full moon at zenith, the world was lit with an eerie light. Nancy’s face illuminated by the dashboard. Kim sniffled and struggled to breathe through a raging sinus infection. Myself, watching the ends of another colourful Colorado sunset. I noticed a couple of buffalo walking close to the road and missed Killian. He would have loved this drive through the twilight, the buffalo, and the countless tomorrows in the future. Yet he was robbed of his promised tomorrows.

Photo: tigerofjesus

Regret

2009-10-05T10:26:00.000-05:00

Scarlet began to wander around her life in a daze. No physical pain or catastrophic event could distract her from the hell that played over and over in her mind. Although she hated the word, regret was now part of her mental vocabulary. Too many midnight scandals found at the bottom of a tequila bottle. Too many mornings spent searching a strange bedroom for her underwear. Too many times she’d prayed that the stranger in the bed would not wake to ask her questions or even her name. Too many hot showers spent trying to scrub the sins of the night away.

In the past, Scarlet claimed not to believe in Catholic guilt; but here it was. Contrition was no longer the right word for the scar she wore at the pit of her stomach. Sunday mornings, before entering the narthex, she paused and drew a deep breath to muster the courage to enter God’s house a whore. Scarlet cried through the Our Father: lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Could she really with any conscious take communion? Scarlet carried her rosary with her at all times now. Somehow by holding those beads she hoped to be absolved of her transgressions. But could praying to a virgin really be that helpful?

Scarlet had broken the one promise that she had made Declan. She had participated in the same indulgence that had killed him: unprotected flesh. Above all else, this is what was killing her. That one moment of drunken idiocy, was the parasite that gnawed at her already tattered heart. How could she recover after breaking such a promise?

2009-10-04T10:18:00.000-05:00

The half winter’s moon peered down from his lofty perch amongst the stars. At 2am the sad moon was nearing the horizon thereby casting it in an eerie red color. The frigid Iowa air formed a sound insulating layer over the gravel road. Nearby, an owl scoped her nightly feast. Here at the edge of town only possibilities could be seen without the negative forces of Newton blinding any glimmer of hope.

Brian and Lexi lay tangled in a heap in the back of the Outback. A small quilt was all that separated their naked bodies from the cold night air. She lay facing him with her eyes closed and a small smile tickling the corners of her chapped lips. Brian held Lexi’s hand to his chest and pounding heart. “I’ve had an incredible night.”

Lexi looked around the small car, and realized that he could only be speaking to her. She fixed him a sideways smile. “So have I.”

“Why didn’t we meet earlier? Why did we have to meet now?” he inquired.

Photo: Boo756

Rambling

2009-10-03T10:10:00.000-05:00

Waking Aislin form a hard sleep, Nora crawled in bed and nestled into her daughter’s arms. The roles were reversed; Mother was scared; child wore a brave face and offered comfort.

Nora’s agoraphobia had started slow with a bit of anxiety while grocery shopping. It was magnified by Nora’s position as an in-take nurse in the local emergency room. She’d seen the pain humans inflicted upon each other. The symptoms became crippling before Aislin left for Colorado. Nora refused to be vulnerable and refused to leave the house. She still worked graveyard at the hospital; however, that was the extent of her excursions outside the house.

Aislin snuggled into Nora as a child holds a doll. “Are you coming to my show?”

“I’ve been showing your work since you were four,” she said. Although Aislin couldn’t see her mother’s face, she knew that Nora was smiling as her words turned up like the corners of her mouth. “The refrigerator was never big enough for you.”

This was all Aislin needed to hear. Her mother would stay home, rambling around the small house, talking to Albert, and ignoring all else. The weight of the rest of the world seemed to be pressing down on the house trying to find a crack or open window.

Lucky Charms

2009-10-02T10:06:00.000-05:00

Lack of sleep, an odd bed, anticipation, and hunger all conspired against me. Sleep would not come tonight.

I rose from the bed, pulled on the flannel pants, rolled the bottoms up as not to trip on the stairs, and wandered down to the kitchen. The house took on a whole new character with only the moonlight creeping through the windows to illuminate the space.

The kitchen was spotless, not even a water spot in the stainless steel sink. Each of the canisters that sat out on the counter was perfectly spaced from each other. Even the contents of the fridge were perfectly aligned with each other. The apples were sorted by type.

I started opening cabinets in search of some snack food. Chips, cookies, or candy would have worked wonders to calm my nerves. I had just tucked into some tortilla chips when the door swung open, startling me. Jon entered wearing only flannel pants identical to the one I had on. He didn’t look remotely sleepy and his pants were not wrinkled.

“Hello,” I said through a mouthful of chips.

“What are you doing up?”

“Hungry.”

“Me, too,” he said pouring a bowl of Lucky Charms. He sat on the counter next to me eating only the marshmallow pieces.

Night Terrors

2009-10-01T10:55:00.000-05:00

Aislyn woke in the night with tears streaming down her cheeks. Yet another nightmare of sexual transgressions left her crying in the night. Instead to recalling horrible images of the past, her subconscious was creating new terrors. The first dream was the maintenance man in her condo and Riley had been the knight riding in on his white jag to save her. Tonight's dream was a female security guard at the mall where she was buying nail polish.

Aislyn curled under the down comforter, but couldn't get warm. She touched the sheets where Riley had been the day before. She'd been crying for him in her dream, wanting to be comforted by his tender presence. Now she was overcome by fear of what the dreams portented; what demons had been set loose in her fragile psyche.

Photo: crvena69

Bakhtin

2009-10-01T10:01:00.000-05:00

Outside, the sky was alight with the fire of night’s advance; blue, pink and yellow mingled in ways only seen on truckstop postcards. Inside, Peri perched herself in front of the television, behind a stack of ungraded papers, beside a bottle of chardonnay, and under a log cabin quilt. The high mountain summer night wasn’t cold enough to warrant the quilt but it was a happy remnant of the past.

She hated being to be the professor to assign papers discussing the ramifications of Mikhail Bakhtin on modern writers because she was the professor that had to read and evaluate each paper; however, it paid the bills no matter how contrived the essays were. At least it wasn’t Calvino.

The phone pulled Peri from her loathing. “Hello?”

“We’re coming over,” Bridget said. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Who’s we?” Peri asked jumping from the sofa looking down at her boxers and Surf Colorado tee.

“A few of us from the department. Got any wine?”

“Of course.”

“Good. We’ll be there in a few.”

“Damn it!” Peri said hanging up the phone. She ran up the stairs tripping on the top step. She tore through her drawers throwing on a pair of dress pants and a black tee – simple, understated but semi-professional. Her new colleagues were used to seeing her in a business suit among the academic halls full of jeans and oversized sweatshirts.

Crier

2009-09-28T12:17:00.001-05:00

“Maybe you can answer this for me,” Riley said.

Brigid waited for the question, but Riley had fallen silent.

“What’s that?” she asked. The question was quick and her tone was upbeat. They’d discussed so many emotional topics over the weekend, she was anxious to keep the conversation light.

“Why can’t I cry when I’m supposed to? I didn’t cry at my daughter’s funeral, but I’ll cry at a random movie. I’ve been to five different counselors and not one of them could answer this question.”

“Grief is a funny thing. It twists you in ways you didn’t think were possible.” Brigid paused to consider her own grief and the years of learning to cry.

“I was in a terrible car accident when I was sixteen. The doctors don’t really know how I was able to walk away with only a few cuts, but anyway that has nothing to do with my point.”

“I think I remember the accident. But what does that—“

“Hold on, I’m just trying to illustrate my point. They took me to the hospital. The doctors and nurses in the emergency room were really freaked out, but I remained calm during this whole time. I didn't cry, I answered all their questions as if I'd suffered no maore than a paper cut. It wasn’t until my mom walked into the ER that I finally broke down. I bawled and bawled when she was finally there.”

“Okay?” Riley asked as if skeptical that Brigid would get to the point.

“I always hold it together until someone is there to take the burden from me. I’m guessing that you are very similar, only you don’t have to support system that will allow you to cry in times of great grief and pain. Your parents are gone, your grandma isn’t doing well, and your wife ended many of your friendships without offering you the comfort that friends would have provided. You had to be strong for you and your family. There was no one to help you shoulder that tremendous burden, so there wasn’t chance for you grieve and cry.”

Brigid paused and considered her next words carefully. "I believe the most amazing part about being in a relationship is finding someone that will help carry the weight and to support each other even when the burden is overwhelming."

Basking

2009-09-27T17:30:00.005-05:00

The gunmetal grey sky rained down on the gloomy Saturday. Riley roamed around the bookstore researching his ambitions. Brigid found a quiet corner and sketched him from an armchair. Black ink exploring and illustrating the wave of emotions and new connection to the landscape of her negation.

While she sketched, Brigid considered how she wanted this rainy day to stretch into a lifetime. Brigid simply wanted to bask in the affection of this beautiful and complicated man, like she was at the beach for the first time and bathed in the sun and sea.

Photo: Ronaaa

2009-09-26T10:54:00.000-05:00

Jon gazed into the fire. The light illuminated the beautiful bone structure of his face: high cheek bones, well-defined brow, and patrician nose. I could imagine his ancestors as the Lords of England being waited on by my peasant, Irish ancestors.

He stood, took my glass, and placed it with his on the bar. “You must be tired,” he said. “You should find ample toiletries in your bathroom. I’ll give some pajamas.”

Jon led me up the oak stairs into an expansive hallway. We passed an open door leading into a book lined study, another open door revealed a small room littered with exercise paraphernalia. At the end of the hall, Jon opened a door to reveal a palatial bedroom. At first I though it was the master bedroom, but by his body language I could tell it was my room. A large oak four poster sat prominently in the middle of the room. It was adorned with a white down comforter and enough matching pillows to cushion a fall from the highest peaks of the Rockies.

Photo: reiko-stocks

Perfect Seduction

2009-09-25T10:45:00.000-05:00

“Vodka tonic…Got any music?”

Jon nodded. He walked over to a roll top desk in the living room, lifted the roll to reveal a bar and small stereo. He hit play and mixed two drinks. I was nervous in the quiet. Louis Armstrong calmed me but couldn’t dispel all my unease. I hadn’t encountered such a perfect seduction scene in many years.

Jon turned back to me, two drinks in his hand. He looked at my hands which were playing with his tie.

I took the highball glass from Jon, thanked him, down it in two swallows, and asked for more. He stared in disbelief, and then mixed another drink.

“I’ll go easy on this one,” I promised, settling into one of the overstuffed couches. I savored the warmth of the vodka spreading through my body. Louie finally lulled me into a relaxed state.

Photo: elgabo

Intersections

2009-09-24T19:33:00.003-05:00

Deirdre drove through morning rush hour traffic. At stoplights she'd rub her chapped lips and remember Riley's passionate kisses. Her makeup was still smeared from the sweat of both of their bodies meeting in tender and erotic intersections--a twisting of limbs and gasps of pleasure.

As side streets gave way to highway and to interstate, she conjured visions of a bright future with Riley--a man with whom she had dark and sordid past. Although fictional, it was a love story she wanted to believe in, one she wanted to invest in, one she trusted.

Photo: sporto

Sandman

2009-09-23T10:42:00.000-05:00

Lola watched Walken pad up the stairs and heard him enter the bedroom overhead. Lola could just picture him sitting there looking from the bed to the door and back to the bed. His large black face panting in anticipation as he was waiting for her to give him the signal it was okay to hop into bed.

In the downstairs bathroom, she downed two Tylenol PM with a glass of Alka-Seltzer, and brushed her teeth. Years of insomnia led to a slight dependency on sleep aids. The average person can fall asleep in 15 minutes or less; on a good night Lola could find slumber after two fitful hours.

Walken watching, Lola crawled into bed, settled in, and whispered his name. On cue, he bounded into bed and curled up next to her back. Lola had designed the space herself. The queen-size bed was elevated above the rest of the furniture. Decked out in deep purple and sky blue velvet the bed faced a large bank of windows. She’d intended the space to be the ultimate in comfort to entice the sandman.

There was something to be said for sleeping with a dog. He warmed the bed, rarely stole the covers, and there was little chance he would leave any bodily fluids aside from drool on the sheets. Sleep, however, was not possible.

Photo: Adam-Pieratt

Palisades

2009-09-22T10:39:00.000-05:00

Walken and Lola watched the sunset behind the Palisades. Lola loved those cliffs, soaring above the high mountain valley. The rugged rock face was vertical against the crimson sky.

Walken watched Lola as she gaze at the dazzling skyline. Lola found it odd how much her dog studied her. The Great Dane was her constant companion. He reflected many qualities of his namesake, Christopher Walken; the dog was dark, brooding, and sometimes self involved. Furthermore, Walken was the only man she’d ever loved.

“Woof,” Lola said trying to distract him from his intrigues. He cocked his head in a quizzical manner. Lola woofed again. Walken finally realized the game and joined in barking.

Photo: ooberooberstrange

Freckles

2009-09-21T10:31:00.000-05:00

“Why were you attracted to Jonas?”

“Initially?”

“Sure.”

“He had freckles on his eyelids. I’d never met anyone with that many freckles. And his would turn bright red whenever he was embarrassed or when he laughed. And he had the most ridiculous laugh. Big, boisterous and high pitched. Being around a laugh like that, you could help but join in.”

Photo: valelectronik

Grandpa

2009-09-20T10:29:00.000-05:00

You'd think he was a saint, the way my grandmother talks about him, but from what I remember, he only ordered her around or ignored her.

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.

Photo: wwit

Lost Journals

Chapters Unread

Running with Sharp Objects

Puzzling Frat Party

Ty

Smart People

Stench

Massage

Drive Home

Shower

Bike Ride

Pretty Woman

Memory

Read in 2010

Disdainful

Mid-day shower

rediscovered

Widow

Reversal

Robin

contact sheets

Accident

Gold Digger

Motivational Speakers

Tarnish

Off the Wagon

Dysfunctional

Hiberation

Mercury

Title

Rumpled

Irrigation

Stripper

Law School

"Res Ipsa Loquitur.""The thing speaks for itself.""Someone paid attention in law school."Riley shook his head briefly but violently as if incredulous then dismissing the feeling."I hang this piece at every show in lieu of an artist’s statement."Photo: eivaj

Wall Drug

Choas

Prison

Liquid Fingers

Fire

Sundress

Beckoning

Outside

Shrimp

Bad Night

Hula Hoop

No Phone

Research

Happy Pixi Day!

Not Broken

Cerulean

Scar

Fatal Imperfection

Society Wife

Suspended above the Earth

Graffiti

Cinnaberry

Amends

Joy

Vigor

Prologue

Sunset

Gambler

Descent

Whore

Open Water

New Orleans' Dawn

If I Profane

Fighting Pillows

Fair Maureen

Awaiting

Regret

Rambling

Lucky Charms

Night Terrors

Bakhtin

Crier

Basking

Perfect Seduction

Intersections

"Res Ipsa Loquitur."
"The thing speaks for itself."
"Someone paid attention in law school."
Riley shook his head briefly but violently as if incredulous then dismissing the feeling.
"I hang this piece at every show in lieu of an artist’s statement."

Photo: eivaj