Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Thursday, June 25, 2009

It's Been Awhile

I have refrained, as of late, with my postings. Why? Mainly because of my mood and attitude. I have not been the world's most cheery person recently, and I hate to inflict that kind of negativity into the world. God knows, there is enough in existence already.

But I have felt... empty. Sad. Alone. Other words that impress upon the reader of a child sitting in the rain on a dirty street, feet in a puddle, face in hands, head lowered, and crying. And writing things and publishing them here only makes me dwell on that negative feeling.

So I stopped writing. At least on here. Because, let's all be honest, if I ever completely stopped writing, I'm fairly certain I would perish. And it's just not time for that yet. So I write on napkins, and used envelopes, sometimes in my journals. But almost everything recently I write is something I wish to throw away so I don't have to look at it again.

More or less, just get it out, then it's on paper. It no longer resides inside of me, and I don't have to deal with it.

Life trudges on. Even when all seems hopeless. Hopefully I find my foothold I'm searching so hard for soon. Until then, kids, wait for me.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Church Signs

Normally, I hate church signs. They are preachy and self righteous, and the most they can do is irritate. But on my way back to Murfreesboro from my parents' house, I saw one that I liked. Maybe because it had nothing to do with God, but whatever.

What you love and what you hate shows the world who you are.

And I like that. So now I will go into a long rambling discussion about my likes and dislikes. Then you (the blog world) will know who I am.

I love:
-Peace and Quiet
-The Outdoors
-Old Country Houses
-The Feel of Freshly Dried Laundry
-The Feel of Grass on My Bare Feet
-Going Barefoot
-Enjoying a Glass of Wine
-Laughing with My Friends
-Planning My Future
-Holding a Baby

I hate:
-People Who Speak in the Third Person
-Sorority Girls
-Most People
-Organized Religion
-Not Being With the Person I Love
-Feeling Empty
-Taking My Pills
-My Body
-Living in A City
-The Self Righteous
-Kool Aid

These lists will most likely be altered over the next couple of days. Keep checking in.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009


I'm glad the card companies are finally being very specific about what their cards are intended for...

Tuesday, June 16, 2009


If I have ever let you down - I am sorry.
If I have ever disappointed you - forgive me.
I am not the best person.
But I'll keep trying.

Sunday, June 14, 2009


I am not the carefullest of girls...

I Want It Like This

Say I'm a bird! Say it!

You're a bird.

Now say you're a bird too.

If you're a bird, then I'm a bird.

Bully Me, Huh?

I wonder sometimes what it would be like to look at food without the eyes of my eating disorder and body dismorphic disorder. What is it like to eat a meal without trying to rid yourself of the guilt afterward? Rid yourself of the food? Can people really eat three meals a day without the fear of gaining weight? Because I can't. Every meal is a burden for me. Every morsel of food that passes my lips causes me pain.

I have to force myself not to get on the scale each day. Because if my weight goes up, my day is ruined. All I can imagine is that everyone is staring at the pounds of fat moving gelatinously around my body. And yes, in my rational mind I know this is not normal. But my irrational part wins every time. Its tiring.

So tiring. Just because I'm afraid of being fat. What a stupid fear.

I've tried therapy. I'm on pills. And yet my weight issues still exist. Perhaps my problem is that I have no patience for these "treatments." And the fact that I put quotations around the word "treatments" should show you how much faith I put in them. Maybe they're like fairies. You have to believe in them for them to work. I don't believe in fairies either.

I just want one meal, one meal without that nagging bit of guilt and a picture of me as a fatty in the back of my head.

Saturday, June 13, 2009


He dutifully encircled his masters' feet, making figure eights and infinities between them. They clung to each other on the front porch, and he knew something was amiss. But then, he was a cat. And cats know things. Sometimes before the humans even do. But people are quick to judge a beast's intelligence, relying on its silence as proof of a lower being. Not necessarily true. At least, not in his case.

For instance. He knew the female master was expecting a litter. She probably didn't even realize it yet, but he could smell her change in scent. It hadn't been for very long. He wondered if that would put an end to the cream he got in the evenings before bed... Little ones always were a burden to his kind.

He watched as his owners parted slightly, the female clinging a little longer to the other's arms than necessary.

The male master bent down and gave him a good scratch behind his ears, eliciting the purr from deep down within his throat, his back arching and leaning into the owner's leg. It was his way of saying goodbye.

Friday, June 12, 2009

I Like This

The verticals of this picture pleases me. The fact that the top is much heavier than the bottom is also a treat.


I dreamt last night I joined the military.

My Demon was there, ready to be deployed, training, and I was put in another platoon. A bunch of misfits and wannabes. I did not tell him I was only joining, only going to take his place so he could stay home.

I knew I was going to die. I knew that if I was sent overseas I would not return. But I also knew the same fate would be placed upon him. So I trained. I trained hard. I took his place.

The night before I left I went to him. Sat on his rack. Told him I would miss him. He said he would miss me, too. Thinking he was the one leaving. And I kissed him goodbye.

made my leaders promise not to tell him until I was already shipped out that I had taken his place. That he was free to return home. That he was free to live. That he was free.

I was going to die for him. And I was ok with that.


I am hard and uncaring: But I feel guilt when I hurt someone

I wish to sever my ties with people: But if I could bring my papa back, I would

I want to be alone: But a sappy love song can be my undoing

I have lost faith in humanity: But I still look for hope in the faces of children

I am spiritual: But I think christian and hypocrite are synonymous

I hate my body: But I love myself

I am sexual: But I do not see it as necessary for love

I am tolerant: But obstinacy encircles my arguments

I am scared and annoyed by children: But a part of me wants one

I refuse to ever marry again: But sometimes I think it would be ok

I want to have a place to belong: But i want to run as soon as I find it

I am kind: But I have a toxic personality

I am the girl you bring home to mother: But I am not the same girl in the dark

Don't be fooled: I will bite

Thursday, June 11, 2009


They want to keep me safe

Locked away, little box, hidden

The world is dangerous
People are unkind

No one trusts my safety

In a universe of uncertainty

They want to save me

Save me from evil

Save me from mistakes
Save me from Life

Little box gets locked tighter
Can't find the key

But I can't

I can't stay that way

The more they cling

The more they lock

The more they protect

The more I want to run

The only person I need saving from

Is Me.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Remember Millie

Millie wanted ice cream.

That woman loves ice cream more than any other person who has ever existed. And she isn't picky about the type or kind either. In fact, she'd just as soon try a new flavor or topping than get a standard old favorite.

We sat in the living room, as two old people in their December years do, watching tv game shows, yelling out the answers when we knew them, mocking the other when we were wrong. We still hold hands. Sixty-two years of marriage, and I still get a surge of electricity by taking her hand in my mind. Its just as soft as it was when we were sixteen. Just as wiry and full of life. Just like her.

We were sitting there, holding hands like a couple of teenagers, and she turns to me.

"Ernest, can you get me some ice cream? Something full of chocolate..." And she gave me that look. The one that makes my heart completely melt. And of course I had to go. I was her eternal servant. Willingly.

"I hope one of these days you learn to get your own ice cream. You do still have a driver's license you know..." She laughed and I smiled. I kissed her forehead gently, then the tip of her nose. Hearing her giggle, the same sound she made the first moment I met her, makes me happier than if I were that Gates guy with the Windows business. Money isn't always the most important thing.

So now I'm shuffling around. My old man feet don't want to work as well as my teenage ones, or even my middle age ones. I still have my balance, which says alot. My friend Pep (his given name is Leon and he hates it) can't walk at all anymore without one of those metal and plastic contraptions out in front of him. You know the ones I'm talking about. With the tennis balls stuck on the ends. Yeah. Thank the Lord I'm not there yet. Yet. Old age is as uncertain as a ball balancing on the top of a flag pole during an earthquake. Except for the death part. That is fairly certain. And ironically enough, a relief. I'd hate to know I had to live forever.

I've still got the green and white truck, 1962 Ford, that I drive everywhere. Its reliable. I don't trust all the new cars, with their emission standards and computer chip operating systems. I'd much rather have my old Ford, with working parts I can see and fix easily. It's lasted this long. I've lasted this long. I sometimes wonder which one of us will go first.

The super market is barely five miles away. I wish I had brought Millie with me now that I pull in the parking lot. She is alot better at crowds than I am. I don't like to talk; sometimes I even pretend to be deaf, just so everyone leaves me alone. But Millie, she loves to talk. She bubbles and giggles and makes conversation like its going out of style. She may look like an old woman, but once she starts talking or laughing or even smiling, you'd think she was a teenager again. Just watching her at those moments entrances me. I still can't believe I'm the lucky bastard that gets to pull her into bed every night and hold her close.

"Mr. James! What are you out doing?" The only bad thing about Millie is that with her friendly demeanor, everyone thinks they know me as well. And she gave away my name. I turned to face my adversary, the manager, a plump blonde little thing, with watery eyes and too much lipstick.

"Just getting some ice cream. Millie needed a treat." She stopped walking toward me then, nodded and walked off, grabbing the walkie exploding in static at her hip. Thank God. As much as she moved, I could never understand how she managed to keep all that fat in her torso. Some women have talent I suppose.

It seems to take longer and longer every time I walk to the frozen foods aisles. My feet. I blame my old man feet. But I'd rather it take forever as long as I'm still doing it. The different varieties swam in front of my eyes. Chocolate... she wanted something really chocolatey this time...

Five minutes later, I was shuffling back to the front, ready to pay for my Double Brownie Fudge, when that manager came flipping around beside me again. I hate her.

"Mr. James, I called your daughter. She's on her way to get you."

"What in the world for?! I'm just getting ice cream. I can still walk!" See why I hate her? She's ridiculous and stupid.

"She's been looking for you. She just wants to talk." So I sat down and waited for Angela to get here. Poor thing. She ended up looking more like me than Millie. She got my dark hair and eyes. And my stubborness. At least she came by it honest.

"Dad! Dad, what are you doing out."

"Well, I was getting your mother some ice cream, but thanks to you, it is now Brownie Soup." Her eyes watered. I didn't mean to be so abrupt. I just say things before I think about them.

"Sorry, dad. Let's go home, ok?" I let her take my arm, and we walked outside. But my truck... my truck wasn't in the parking spot...

"Angie, where's my truck?"

"Oh? Your truck? Oh, Dan drove it home for you, don't worry." These kids. Thinking I'm so helpless. This was a bit of overkill, though.

We drove in silence the rest of the way home. I double bagged the ice cream. Millie's ice cream. But it was still leaking all over my slacks, making my hands sticky. Millie would not be happy. I looked up, and realized we were nowhere near my house.

"Angie! Why aren't you taking me home? Your mother is already going to be mad enough!"

"Dad... you live with me now, remember? You moved in a year ago." My mouth went dry. I lived with my daughter. I didn't have a truck now. They sold it, to my every protest and hidden tears.

And Millie...

"Angie, your mother lives their too, right?" I remembered, but I didn't want to be right. Her eyes watered again. I hate life.

"Dad, mom died a year ago. That's why you moved in. You forget every now and then. You walk over here to buy her ice cream. Its happened more than once. You disappear. But you always go to the same place." A lucid moment. I knew this was not common for me anymore.

"She wanted ice cream that day. Extra chocolate. I went to the store. Came home. And she was slumped over. Hand to her heart. If I had been there, or made her go with me..." Hot angry tears slashed down my face. How dare they remind me. I wanted to fall into senility, believing she was still here.

We were both silent again. Angela was crying. So was I. Reality was not where I wanted to be anymore. I closed my eyes...

The green and white truck started right up for me this time. It never does that. I put the Double Brownie Fudge beside me in the seat. Millie had never had it before. She was going to love it.

It was ice cream. And that woman loves ice cream more than any person I know.

Realizations at 90

The speed, not the age. Because gods know I am not quite to 90. At least physically. Emotionally... maybe.

I hate strong emotions. More importantly, I hate when people see me experiencing these emotions. Happiness can be tolerated, until I start behaving like a giddy six year old. But my friends forgive me for that.

I forgot my medicine the last couple of days. And where I'd like to think that forgetting to take 40 mg of a white pill would not be detrimental to myself, I start getting overwhelmed anyway.

So last night I felt stressed. Full of negative emotions. And I deal with these things as I'm sure alot of people do. I drive. Windows down. Night air pouring in. Radio blasting. Speedometer steadily climbing.

And instantly, I feel better. Only country winding roads will do at these times. I smelled hay fields, heard the tree frogs. I stopped at a creek down a gravel, with a concrete slab as a makeshift bridge. I listened to the water rushing, baptized my feet and hands. Stared into the trees and tried to find the stars.

I got home calmer and happier. I was ok.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Swear Off Love

You make me feel vulnerable.
You make me hurt.
I hate you for that.
And I love you at the same time.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009


Sometimes I think,

I wish I could go home.

Then I remember,
I don't know where home is anymore.

Barney's Words

Leaving your family is hard. But sometimes you're the toxic one, and you have to leave to give them a chance, a better life.

My son was barely six when I left. White headed. Just like his ma. God she was a beauty. Righteous. And I let her down all the time. So I had to leave to give her a chance. Find someone else worth loving. To raise our son. That little boy who wanted to be "just like daddy."

I would never let him be like me. I was a bloodier. Trash. I lived two lives, to protect them. I'd give my life to protect them.

I found out my wife never gave up looking for me. Dragging our son along with her to different places and different states. Any time I heard they were near, I'd pack up and leave. I hoped that eventually she would give up, marry some other guy. But she never did. Then I found out she died not long ago. In a fucking free clinic. And I still don't know anything about my son.

He's probably around your age. Maybe.

I'm not even sure anymore. I'd like to be able to find him someday. Ask him to forgive me for leaving.

If I had it to live over again, I would have stayed.

Fuck, kid, I just saw headlights pull into the parking lot.

Barney drew his gun from the nightstand, ready to die.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Piece Of Childhood

It's nice to walk around in the back fields of your grandparents' property and surprisingly find a piece of your childhood sitting there. Amongst towering weeds and imposing trees.

Rusted all to hell.

Seeing it this way, I'd rather it have been trashed.