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Moving a Life

In by Fannie on March 17, 2011 at 10:32 pm

So much stuff pushed and shoved into so many boxes so that it will all fit in one crammed-full car and be stored in a tumbling pile in a garage somewhere so that it can be unpacked topsy-turvy into a new room with new people but all of the old clothes and bedding and shoes and “miscellaneous desk needs” will remain intact as my old life turns into a memory etched in my apparel.  How do I have so much stuff even though I move so frequently and each time get rid of another deeper, older, more dear layer of…stuff?

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Shark Circles

In by Fannie on March 13, 2011 at 2:58 pm

I’ve been dreaming of sharks swimming in circles above me.  The sunlight that makes it down through their swarming bodies sparkles in ever-changing pockets.  Shark DNA sequences  too swim around me.  I flounder as I reach to grab these sequences and in doing so, try and trace back those letters to one of those swimming sharks.  I’m no water creature though and the more I try, the more the elegant CTGCCAATAGTAs flit just out of my grasp, those double helix devils.   The simple matching game is made so much harder than previously imagined!   Speak to me sharks!  I beg you.

Wondering Outwardly Regarding Descriptive Sentiment (WORDS)

In by Fannie on February 25, 2011 at 12:27 am

So many words running around me all day every day.  In the form of thought or verse, reading or writing…it’s just one long continuous and continuously varying stream of words.  It’s gotten to the point where I can’t possibly take any more in – I’m saturated, overflowing, practically bursting with words – and yet there’s ever more to read, digest, mull over, thesaurize and expound upon.  Is it one of nature’s cruelties to make the cure for too much word-ness be to write out words?   Maybe I have the wrong strategy.  Maybe I should take up meditation.  Others’ words have told me

If I only didn’t hafta pee

In by Fannie on February 23, 2011 at 11:39 pm

I always like working in libraries when I do, but even though after a particularly good library session, I think to myself that this will be the turning point, this will be the day when I start to work in the library all the time, well, it never pans out.  Libraries eliminate so many distractions, certainly not all, but a large number of small ones, which usually build up into uber-distracting noise.  I don’t munch or cook or get caught up cleaning or organizing.  Sure the computer’s alluring nooks and crannies is there, but that’s about it.  Biggest nuisance: peeing.

On God

In by Fannie on February 22, 2011 at 11:12 pm

Sometimes I write to God.  Though, I’m still not sure if I believe in him. He’s no cloud-dwelling dude with a long beard.  Instead I like the idea of him as someone who is greater (in the sense that he is a soul that hasn’t been compromised by being in a human body) and therefore someone who I can speak to and easily connect with.  I always feel better when I think out loud, and who better than someone who is there but not there there.  I wonder though, is God sarcastic? Sometimes I get the sassiest responses from him!

Square Dancin’

In by Fannie on February 21, 2011 at 5:32 pm

In an old barn with cowboy boots, flannel and too much denim to count…it doesn’t matter your age, where you’re from or what you look like.  You swing with the elbows of strangers and jostle against neighbors as you doe-si-doe.  Grins emerge and shouts of joy abound. The temperature inside rises.  I’m holding the leather-gloved hands of a motorcycle punk as we promenade around the room; I’m “barreling” with a group of young hipsters who sneak outside the barn to have a smoke; I’m waltzing with the caller because why not ask an overall-clad character to dance?  This is home.

The Odd Things He Loved About Her

In by Fannie on February 13, 2011 at 11:42 pm

Sometimes her poo smelled like kitty litter.

She always ended up causing produce cascades in the grocery store because she tried to steer the cart with one hand.

She was in the habit of biting her top lip as she searched for exact change, exclaiming in triumph when she had it.

Her favorite color changed biweekly so she had acquired an eclectic mix of brightly colored stuff Craigslisters envied.

She wandered into used bookstores because she loved the haphazard arrangement of books found everywhere.

She collected all-sized jars without lids, to “keep herself open.”

She cried hard and laughed often.

 

Hello world

In by Fannie on February 7, 2011 at 12:16 am

Hello world,

How are you today?

Your kelp tassles tickle me and earthen beds plow me under.

And from what I’ve tasted, you have been oh so productive.

Your trees dance in the light breeze and puddles sparkle with joy.

If only on days like these I could be as vast and fulfilled as you.

My toes miss you on all this concrete

And my eyes are sore from the glory of your sunsets

But oh how happy I am to meet you each day.

With each new view, new smell, new thing you show to me, I am grateful.

Across the Street

In by Fannie on February 2, 2011 at 12:39 am

I walked into the store today, scratched my beard and walked out.  Didn’t have whatever I wanted.  Across the street a homeless man with a mane of unkept beard beckoned.  I shuffled over.

“You got a light?”

I searched my pockets.  Couple bottle caps, loose coins and a crumpled receipt.

“Sorry.”

“You got any change?”

My hand groped back around the pocket.  I dropped some coins into his cupped hand.

“Wanna grab some food?” he asked.

I hesitated and thought about my afternoon plans.  She could wait; the waves would wait.

“Sure.  Don’t have but a couple of bucks though.”

Soap Suds

In by Fannie on January 31, 2011 at 11:20 pm

Her hands were firmly pressed against the sink rim as her arms braced her body, sagging, between them.  She stared uncomprehendingly at the pile of precariously stacked dirty dishes inches away.

She’d had enough.  There had been too many “last straws” in the haze known as “recent.”  First it was the mail, the forgotten groceries, the unnoticed dirt and grime.  The endless dishes that he never touched.  The wailing baby.

“Will you please get her” she hoped with an exhausted sigh.

Newborn on hip and snot-covered two year old clinging to her jeans, she found a crusty sponge and began.

 

 

The 600 kiwis

In by Fannie on January 30, 2011 at 1:04 pm

There were 600 furry kiwis outside my door this morning.  I stood there and tried to resist the urge to trample them into juicy pieces.  They squish squelched between my toes.  Soon the brown fuzz turned to gooey green entrails speckled with little black eyeballs that expanded to everywhere.  They spilled over the doorstep and I tracked them up the door.  Years later I would find dried kiwi scum stuck on the underside of the spare key hidden underneath the potted plant.  What do you do with 600 mysterious kiwis that just show up on your doorstep after unspoken years?

Hunger Pangs

In by Fannie on January 26, 2011 at 4:24 pm

She hadn’t felt hungry in weeks.  She ate during each meal, for sure, but asides from the fact that sometimes the taste was good, it wasn’t anything great.  Eating became a routine, nothing more.  Maybe she shouldn’t eat? And then one day, it came: the hunger.  At first she thought her stomach was growling but then she realized that there was a slight tug on her insides, like some small paw was scratching her because it wanted something.  Food!  It wanted good food!  It seemed strange that she was excited about being hungry while thousands of others were regularly starving.

Winter’s Concert

In by Fannie on January 25, 2011 at 11:24 pm

The lights began to dim.  Hushed murmurs whispered through the audience.  Overhead it grew darker and darker until the glow from the brightness was just a faint memory on the inside of eyelids.   The conductor stood with his baton poised.  The wind instruments perked up and then they began.  It started slowly and quietly – an echo and reminder.  Then they began to build and the wind started to buffet earnestly.  A minute later the drummer was going crazy with a crash of the symbols.  The rain let loose, pounding down on the keys until everything but its music was drowned.

Tired Miles

In by Fannie on January 23, 2011 at 11:45 pm

My world is nothing but this small patch of light I’ve illuminated in the vast expanse of dark.  Even though I can see barely this much of it, the road goes on for miles and miles and miles.  My forever.  Each time I get sleepy, I bop my head that much more vigorously to the music and I continue moving onwards.  I’m steering my videogame racecar for the blaring victory.  It’s hard, at times like this, for me to believe that if I do crash through the railing, I won’t get placed back on the track with one less life.

The first time in a long time

In by Fannie on January 21, 2011 at 4:48 pm

He was unsettled.  Why are you so scared? You’ve done this so many times before!  But it’s different this time… He paced a bit, brow furrowed.  It felt different this time, it sure did.  His body still had the muscle memory for what to do though and how to go about doing it.  He looked in the mirror.  Was that really him?  Guess so.  His bed was unmade.  He went to straighten the sheets.  It’s going to be fine.  You’ll just take it slowly.  But can I do that?  You have an awful lot to live up too… He sighed.

Naked

In by Fannie on January 21, 2011 at 4:36 pm

I walked home barefoot last night.  My feet begged.  They don’t often yell out.  Through the mist I plunged on the cold pavement.  There could be glass around and the walk home was yet far.  One slice and my day’s routines would be hard.  But those feet have carried me far before and their souls are laced with the DNA from countless nameless, faceless creatures.  My feet and I, we’ve had our disagreements but these days we’ve come to some sort of agreement.  In the mist I whisper sweet nothings to them and thank them for all their selfless work.

Green Beans

In by Fannie on January 19, 2011 at 11:45 pm

Mallory waddled into the kitchen.  Clutching her cow, she yelled: “Maaaaamaaaaaaa, where my green beans.”  Obligingly, a small dish of green beans were placed in front of her.  One by one she picked up the beans with chubby fingers and fed them to Moo.  “Maaaaaaamaaaaaaa, I’m full.”  Mallory waited, humming quietly, and then turned around when Mama didn’t respond.  “Maaaaaamaaaaa-”  Moo fell to the ground next to the green beans.  Those chubby fingers slowly inched up her mother’s slouched form.  “Mama?” Pause.  “Mama?  Do you need some beans?”  When her mother awoke, green beans rested on the white hospital sheets.

Shoesday Tuesday

In by Fannie on January 18, 2011 at 11:47 pm

So I walk in and sit on this bench, right, and immediately I see this guy in front of me with like, more shoes than my mother’s sister – you know, the skanky one, yeah, her –more shoes than she owns.  All 3” heels, size 5.  High heels and boots, all of them.  Laces, sparkles, hot pink, satiny green, strappies, fur, rhinestones…even ones with zebra print and cloth buckles. I’m thinking, damn girl except it’s not a girl! It’s this short dude.  He got $884 and that was only a third of what the store was gonna sell them for.

Something like contentment

In by Fannie on January 17, 2011 at 4:49 pm

She sat back and marveled.  The ocean was crashing just there; the fine white sand was squishing up between her toes and there were about as many dogs as people running around down there, below.  And there was sun.  Everything twinkled and it reflected off the waves in irrepressible smiles and countless tracks across the sand.  She smiled when she thought about the scene in front of her. Inside though, she felt still.  There was no giddiness or glee but instead a column of quiet, of strength maybe but really just being.  Life, with its many emotions, fused into something.

What’s it mean to live?

In by Fannie on January 17, 2011 at 4:49 pm

I try to feel excited, invigorated and alive each moment of each day.  If I don’t, I try to change what I’m doing.  But sometimes, I wonder if it’s possible to be so full of life and motion in each second of each millisecond of each slice of a day, of two days, or a week, of three months, of the years all of which slowly pile up like sand particles in an hourglass.  So many of those feel unproductive and tired.  Maybe though, my definition is skewed towards a reality that’s always striving, working and moving towards more.  Perhaps.

A Days Worth of Events

In by Fannie on January 3, 2011 at 10:01 pm

A pelican seen through the classroom window.  A man bundled for sub-zero temperatures worked in a lab with white gloves.  An entire life was unpacked and put away into drawers and closets.  Whales spouted just offshore.  She was applauded for her good choice in beer but it was per the request of a friend.  A man passed a group on the sidewalk and ripped the loudest, longest fart imaginable.  Hot tea scalded the roof of her mouth.  A site on the library resource page provided advice on booking plane flights.  Did you know the noisiest animal is the snapping shrimp?

Emma Bird

In by Fannie on December 10, 2010 at 12:25 am

She held on even when her heart was failing.   The vets called her caretaker in to say a last goodbye – bets were she would be dead by the next day.  But she held on.  As soon as her owner arrived she perked up, ate, and pooped.  She held on for the next couple of weeks at home, toodling around the paddock, scaring the chickens, playing with her sister.  She held on until there was no more hanging on to do.  She has moved on now, that silly goat Emma Bird, but I know where to find her by the lilacs.

Vegetarian

In by Fannie on December 9, 2010 at 4:12 pm

Her name was Gretchen Wiedl and she wasn’t a vegetarian.  But thanks for assuming.  In fact, thank you for the confused glare you sent her way when she ordered the rack of spare ribs.  “Hey, you can’t eat that” were the words I believe you uttered as the waitress smiled and turned to place the order.  What’s that supposed to mean? “I can’t eat that because…I’m fat and it’s fatty?”  The response came quickly: “No, no!  You’re not fat!  I meant the ribs – you don’t eat meat.”  Amazing.  Her presence had convinced another.  That was the third one this week!

Almost Nearly Completely Finished

In by Fannie on December 9, 2010 at 4:11 pm

I’m ready to be nostalgic for today.  Really for today and the 78 days prior to it.  It’s been wonderfully, amazingly fantastic in a way that only experiencing it can show, but I’m ready to be at the part where we giggle uncontrollably as we relive the memory of that one time…  Only a lot of work sits in the saddle between me now, on the program, and me, tomorrow afternoon, pau.  It’s the difference between a lot of only semi-fulfilling adjectives piled up in front of something good and the simple power of that something good sitting there, alone.

The Jar

In by Fannie on December 5, 2010 at 12:54 am

“Yikes!” yelped the frog.

“Wowza” chimed the lizard.

“Yahoo!” yelled the chipmunk.

“Kaleidoscope?” chirped the newt.

“Check it out!” exclaimed the Cray fish.

“Up there?” hesitated the preying mantis.

“Well would you look at that,” commented the beetle.

“No wayzzzzz” wheezed the turtle.

They all looked upwards.

“I can’t see! I can’t see! I can’t see!” buzzed the fly.

“Well ya got more eyes than me” said the blind black snake.

“What zit?” asked the roley poley.

“Look out!” screeched the rat as he scurried away.

The ring around the sun…it moved closer and closer.  Was that a?

“Is that a..?” squealed the mouse

Covered

In by Fannie on December 5, 2010 at 12:53 am

I’m on the floor.  Totally relaxed, totally face down on what I now see to be an impeccably dirty surface.  Not an inch from my nose is a small little dirt clod.  Tiny really.  But it has a friend, right next to it.  A big friend.  This one has a hair sticking out of its muddied complexion.   Over there I can make out a forgotten raisin and a chunk of stepped on brownie.  Poor little dudes.  Everywhere my eyes flit are specks of black and brown and of squishy and crumbly.  Floors are meant to be dirty.  I love it.

The Attic

In by Fannie on December 3, 2010 at 1:56 am

She went to the attic at times like these.  It didn’t cause childhood nostalgia or heat stroke.  No, the attic was just a place to go and escape from whatever scene she had swiftly exited below.  There were dust balls and forgotten boxes and half opened windows.  But really there was just quiet and a stillness that blanketed every thought and feeling.  Downstairs, angry words tumbled from her mouth. And then they were gone.  They had bit just enough to knock things off.  The dust didn’t settle quite right after. The attic had heard it all.  It had no comment.

Raise Your Weapon

In by Fannie on December 2, 2010 at 2:15 am

With both my hands I hefted the stick, aimed, and let it fall (thunk) into the earth.  Heft, aim, drop, heft, aim, drop, thunk thunk.  At each moment during each point of the process, my whole body is to be engaged and focused.  Without that, the hole takes longer, the digging stick is heavier, and rocks appear more often.  Heft, aim, drop, thunk.  The wind buffets us.  Heft, aim, drop, thunk.  Wand extended, suddenly I feel the weight of the past couple of hours.  I am tired, so tired.  The horcrux is ahead.  Must. Smash.  Let it burn, burn, burn.

 

Afternoon Special

In by Fannie on December 1, 2010 at 1:29 am

She sat up slowly.  “You what?”

The little boy cringed and lowered his eyes.

“What did you just tell me young man?”  Her tone was curt.  Furious.  Business like.

The boy further compressed himself into a pathetic ball of knobby knees and puddle eyes.

“You look here.  You look into my eyes and you look real good. Now-” The boy hesitatingly raised his gaze and met her stare. “-Your behavior is unacceptable. Shameful.  Can you imagine if I had been there?  Oh lord.”

The little boy’s gaze began to falter. And silently, a tear ran down his cheek. Not again.

Olive 100

In by Fannie on November 30, 2010 at 2:03 am

“The Olive 100: a sleek bodied machine ready for your everyday olive needs.  High powered, ingeniously engineered, fully functional, this is your new  best friend.  It will slice, dice and de-pitt 100 olives in under 3 minutes.  Not to mention it flies around your house and hovers at just the right height to pop a freshly skewered olive into your open mouth.  Want a challenge?  The Olive 100 will shoot olives in your direction for you to catch!  Why wait?  To get your Olive 100 now with FREE extra blades, call 1 800…”

“Oh, I actually meant All of 100″

Struggletown

In by Fannie on November 29, 2010 at 2:59 am

I’m in bed, on top of the sheets, dead cockroach style.  A voice from the other bed floats over: “Fannie?  Do you need me to tuck you in?” Not moving, I loft a playful “no.”  Movement at this point seems almost impossible.  My shoulders are finally getting to de-hunch after a day’s work in front of the computer.  Content, I smile.  Then it hits me: I have to get up!  I forgot to write!  Do I have to?  My watch says: 16 minutes until tomorrow.  My computer’s off.  Well, I got up.  Looks like that’s all the inspiration for tonight.

Worms

In by Fannie on November 28, 2010 at 1:25 am

I ate worms when I was little.  At least, I think so.  I imagine little me wondering about worms and trying them.  I mean, my current self would probably eat worms for the heck of it.  At any rate, I’ve told enough people (proudly) that I ate worms as a child so it almost might as well be true.  It’s funny how if you say something over and over, it can turn into a real memory. I know how they felt as they slipped down my throat (slimy) and what they tasted like (dirt).  Now worms are my wiggly friends.

Mac ‘n cheese

In by Fannie on November 27, 2010 at 1:00 am

Yummyness in a bowl with added cheesy goodness and noodles of added deliciousness!  You can feel the salty medley tickle your taste buds and slide slowly down your throat.  Even before the massive bowl of yellow-orange goo is half done, you can feel your stomach start to constrict with protest.  The cheese goodness has started to congeal and expand and tie knots where there definitely shouldn’t be.  But the yummy goodness is still there in the bowl practically slipping you in and out of heavenly consciousness.  But the stomach!  But the yumminess and deliciousness!  Oh macaroni you taunt me so.

Thanksgiving (November 25, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 7:09 pm

They rode a bus.  Together they bumped and jostled each other as they made their way down the long winding road.  She gazed out the window thinking about that last caress he had given her before she left.  No idea how long it would be until the next time.  The man behind, huddled in a rain jacket, had his mind fixated on the organizational nightmare ahead of him.  Was all the food even bought?  Next to him, the girl in the hat stewed about the tensions that were straining to tear her family apart.  They swayed, together in their separateness.

Fire (November 24, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 7:08 pm

That rock I chose and hefted yesterday, it is glowing red.  Flames fan out from below in a fiery inferno.  My face wants to succumb to the warm and does, but also doesn’t.  It’s too hot and just warm enough.  Sparks shoot upwards into glowing ribbons.  I can’t tear my smarting eyes away.  But it’s the smell of the burning wood that has me transfixed.  Fires stop you, and me.  Eyes glaze over in a way that peels back the walls you’ve erected. That’s the time you can read the worry lining his brow, the regret etched into her cheekbones.

Star Bed (November 23, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 7:06 pm

I woke up to a dream.  In this place shrouded with stars, there are old buses and small cabins alongside stone paved paths, glass piles and water tanks.  I look in through the windows of each place to find finely furnished living nooks of all types.  Here a steering wheel next to a bunk mattress and there a quilt-covered bed in an old water tank.  As I follow the pathway I find myself next to a fishpond.  A Buddha laughs at me, a deep belly laugh, and I can almost hear it.  There I find my star bed, absolutely real.

Gadgets (November 22, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 7:05 pm

With all of our instruments and high-powered gadgets we were able to understand why the Hawaiians farmed where they did.  Woohoo.  They didn’t have blinking, beeping hand-helds or labs to send things off to and yet they identified the areas with the highest soil fertility and right amount of rainfall.  They were also able to grow food to feed half a million people as we fumble around today, with over 80% of our food being imported, and try to understand their system from the remnants they left behind.  Where did all the knowledge go?  Why do we understand so little?

Night’s Reflection (November 21, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 7:03 pm

What’s there to say when there’s nothing left?  She sat, apathetic, with a blank stare of fatigued concentration.  Her eyes were tired.  If you looked closely, you could see that her eyebrows weren’t totally relaxed but instead weakly raised.  Her shoulders too were tensed in a hunch.  Every so often she glanced in front of her at the words, which may have been trying to form something coherent out of their black squiggliness.  There it was, a word, before everything faded back away into nothing.  No exclamation.  No change.  Nope, that girl reflected in the mirror, she had nothing left.

The hilarity of a blade of grass (November 20, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 7:02 pm

Too much recycled car air, car time, car driving, car.  As we stepped out, my fingers reached for a stalk of grass and slowly brought it to my mouth. Thumbs in place next to each other – a deep breath – and a huge exhale!  The air was pierced with a shrill whistle…and was followed by a lot of other noises.  They were such ridiculous sounds, you had no choice but to try it.  Cheeks puffed and faces reddened: we sounded worse than a tuning orchestra mixed with pre-pubescent bull-frogs learning to croak.  Interject laughing and gasping and – WABAM!  There we are.

I want to be a wave (November 19, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 7:01 pm

How utterly unbelievable would it be to collect momentum before throwing yourself fully at countless urchin-covered boulders and not be hurt whatsoever?  Instead of coming out of the ordeal bruised, battered and bleeding, you would instead smash into a million beautiful droplets that sprayed every which way before slowly trickling back into one.  Imagine the power, the force, the rush, the roar and the freedom you would feel.  Angry?  Crash into the rocks with unrelenting fury.  Gleeful?  Shake with laughter until you just, gurgle, can’t stand it anymore and froth about, tickled by life.  I could watch them endlessly, wondering.

Morning Alarm (November 18, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 7:00 pm

It’s dark except for three holes of light coming through the wall.  Someone is awake and going to the bathroom.  I am awake.  My watch says something like 3:00am when I push the button called “Indiglo.”  Suddenly, at 3:08am, I hear a first crow.  Mid-crow this rooster has a rooster crowing friend.  And another.  A cacophony of cock-a-doodle-doos crescendo into a sound so piercing that I surmise everyone else in the bunkroom has to be awake.  I hear some tossing and turning sleeping bags, then, quiet.  The bathroom light is off.  I guess I never was one to hit snooze.

Waimea: red water (November 17, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 6:58 pm

It’s raining.  It’s dribbling, dripping, pinging, collecting, carving, eroding, freshening, quieting, soaking, and scrambling. It tattoos itself onto the canyon walls and into the bedrock there, carving its initials into the saprolites and soils above.  Soon there is blood: the blood of the land runs from these wounds and over them in a ruddy rogue that only gains in intensity as the rains prick harder and for a long time.  Since when did you take blood thinners?  Drop, drip: the tattoo artist is done; his work finished; the pelting, pricking pain, over.  The blood flow slows to a muddied coagulation.

To the Mountain Goats (November 16, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 6:56 pm

How do I begin to describe the teardrop shape of your oh so adorable face that makes me pine for nothing but a little nuzzle?  And your dear hoofs that are so perfectly articulated that they put jealousy in the tin hearts of cookie cutters – Oh!  Your beautiful budding horns: what form would germinating seedlings know to take without those model perky nubs you have? Even your excrement, all in bundles, welcomes the muse to sing tales of fine confetti.  High tales of thoroughbreds have nothing on your technical prowess traversing rock slopes, oh nimble footed ones. Jump, goat!

Talking Boots (November 15, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 6:13 pm

There’s a point where hiking boots become old friends instead of clingy, abrasive strangers.  Your feet no longer look too wide and bulbous in them (but your sneakers now do) and the leather has creases in it from being laced up so often.  Pulling them out yields a shot of excitement.  Dirt and layers of scraped of mud cakes the front and sides to the point that you can’t remember the original color of the boots.  Were they green?  Light gray?  We met each other half way, my boots and I: my feet have callused and the boots have softened.

Inside out or outside in? (November 14, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 6:12 pm

There’s a strange point between sun burning hot and goosebump cold where you’re simultaneously sweltering and yet oddly cool, calm, collected and controlled.  Don’t get me wrong though, if much more than a leg brush was touching my body, I would have been uncomfortable in that way where nothing my brain said could rationalize and then mask the physical.  How do you do that?  I am this body which I am in and which I chose to be in.  I live and breathe and exist in it, because of it.  And yet I can be elsewhere, instantly come what may.

On the boardwalk (November 13, 2010)

In by Fannie on November 26, 2010 at 6:11 pm

As I get to know myself better, I start to see the patterns immerge like constellations in a sky scattered with stars.  Except maybe not quite that pretty; some of my patterns are so ugly and hurtful and detrimental to both myself and others.  It’s those that spiral through your life until you meet, greet and address them.  How many times do you want to feel unhappy before you wake up?  Sometimes I’m blank for no reason and it’s frustrating and funky! What to do with those feelings from nowhere?  Today, furious, I took it out hiking on the boardwalks.

Inside Out or Outside In?

In by Fannie on November 17, 2010 at 3:23 pm

There’s a strange point between sun burning hot and goosebump cold where you’re simultaneously sweltering and yet oddly cool, calm, collected and controlled.  Don’t get me wrong though, if much more than a leg brush was touching my body, I would have been uncomfortable in that way where nothing my brain said could rationalize and then mask the physical.  How do you do that?  I am this body which I am in and which I chose to be in.  I live and breathe and exist in it, because of it.  And yet I can be elsewhere, instantly come what may.

On the Boardwalk

In by Fannie on November 16, 2010 at 11:21 pm

As I get to know myself better, I start to see the patterns immerge like constellations in a sky scattered with stars.  Except maybe not quite that pretty; some of my patterns are so ugly and hurtful and detrimental to both myself and others.  It’s those that spiral through your life until you meet, greet and address them.  How many times do you want to feel unhappy before you wake up?  Sometimes I’m ____ for no reason and it’s frustrating and funky! What to do with those feelings from nowhere? Today, furious, I took it out hiking on the boardwalks.