Corpses skinned of emotion hang low in this cavern.
Light stubbornly hesitates to round the entrance boulders
A dusting of cool earth covers everything
except the lacy webs with the only sign of life.
Clean it, scorch it, move or go in deeper…
to a place of no invitation.
Mining silky hues to brush a tender heart was easier years ago
I thought I could keep belief alive – solely from within.
That thought was left here- sealed tight in a giant jar
without one single air hole.
Posted in the War of Art
He shadowed his truth
from the front, making it cloudy.
It trailed behind him,
within him like a ring around a tub.
Those rings clog and choke real connection
to the spirit of a loving man.
Choosing my spirit over that
is always the cleanest, most honest plan.
His actions gouged my faith
already creased like steel from a crash.
I needed to be smoothed - mended,
not fed with his blood from my lash.
I chose to face the sun
for warmth and nourishment.
Forsaking every tether
in a singular state of lent.
Posted in the War of Art
You were asleep next to me
as natural as leaves detect sun
I felt you
the instant my mind’s eye woke
•
Our bodies still
lightly suspended in blue
If I moved, I’d touch your knee
millimeters from my cheek
•
I sensed your weight
absorbed your warmth
and I knew
life with you in it
•
Posted in soft and sure
Wine in hand to loosen the mind…
to untie the tethers and drop some ballast.
Can I lighten my heart just enough
to rise up and slither into your best disposition?
Can I float into your warming thoughts,
to brush the quieter pools within you
and float while your pulse quickens my own?
I’m on my tiptoes
eyes closed
arms open
listening
for the softest breath
to carry me to you.
.
.
.
The gorgeous picture is from:
Posted in I love where wine takes me, quiet
Before I fall,
I hear you…
quiet sleeping breaths
that soothe my mind.
Your warm body
kisses my skin.
I press closer.
Touching you lulls my heart.
You nurture my lust
by loving my mind.
Devoted,
I fall
Posted in fighting sleep, I love men, naked thoughts, no writing errors
I am living near my core, close to the mortal staff plunged into the earth at my birth
but I am far from who I am
far from who I want to become
I am far from the hard boundaries I defended at all cost
farther from the soft boundaries, I invited you to rub up upon
I am lost
Lost is a word like a coin
one side heads: charged in thought, thought in charge
other side tails: ass out, clear, backward logic
Flipping hasn’t given me answers to free me
Perhaps spinning that coin on its side
fast enough to barely hear it humming upon the surface
with luck, something new will show itself
made of both sides along with what escapes me now
I know of nothing else acceptable to do
I know that new paths are made by leaving old ones behind
I know that a tenet of my existence has been planted sure
in the truth that persistence and tenaciousness are strengths
Change begins with a different strength
perhaps one greater than those 2 I have relied upon at my weakest
Change demands every gram of trust in free fall – absolutely with no promises
*******************************************************************************
“We hang on because we’ve been taught that persistence is good and we should never give up. Or we’re simply afraid of the free fall, afraid of coming alive as ourselves.”
“Letting go is knowing there is a future. In letting go, we surrender the weight of our burdens and find the lightness of being with which to begin once again. We open a door for the intervention of the divine”
Quotes by Daphne Rose Kingma
Author of:
The Ten Things to Do When Your Life Falls Apart
Posted in processing through
There are always layers
some are light, sheer, soft, soothing in their silence
as they brush the back of my eyes with contentment
as fine as the silt gathering on the bank of a strong river’s bend.
From that bed…
where weight exists in wind alone,
where power rests softly between heated thighs,
I want to invite you to play and purge yourself of the worlds grit
that has gathered around your beating heart.
I won’t though
because you won’t make it through.
It’s obvious but sometimes I lie to myself.
In those few seconds, I open like a prize rose
nurtured under full sun to intoxicate only you.
Night returns
relentless like oppression, known and …feared
Like a guillotine, it slices sure
Thoughts bleed
gush,
beat after beat, drains
Strangled tears, contained,
straggle and drag toward escaping
I harden them before drowning in heartless gains
I do the time, learn the lesson well
sear markers of lessons in that pretty hell
like Pan’s Labyrinth without any spell
It shakes me clean of any sparkle.
Memories unworthy of any remark will
swing in the winds of my abandoned mind
where I always see soft swaying as kind
remnants that dance, tattered and behind
Loving may not die but the life drains sure
Force comes to a halt, silent and demure-
skeletons in catacombs reverent or artifact?
No warmth stays where flesh and blood are lacked
I feel loss as poignancy like a cold, thick needle
shocking me blind to a time of heeding that will
pass pain on into long and longer waves until
I see kind remnants hanging quiet and still
Afar and alone from something I once was a part
Distilled separation – a stronger spirit there’s not
I drink to every chance on love I’ve taken
and I’ll drink to a broken heart in the making
and to this dark side of all love sought.
…………………………………
You’re always in the air
swaying as necessary critical silence between actual notes of a melody.
You’re dispersed – so molecularly distant that I can’t put you together enough to care.
Not caring about you is the most barren thought I’ve worn. It’s a homeless thought with no place to rest.
At first sense of you, I would run and gather you up like wildflowers into my clasping hands.
That was intoxicating… a slow, steady, infusion of an essence that I fed on.
Restraint forms my keel in these new, cool waters.
I’m capable of disengaging my focus on the sexy fringes of days and people and facets of men.
As clear as I can see, I’m good and healthy without dipping my mind into devoted desire to paint images in honor of you.
Walking through life this way, with the warmth of stainless steel, is doable because there are countless other aspects of life full of beauty. I can be risk averse, emotionally self-contained. I understand the benefits and intellectually, it’s wise. Wisdom is safe, reliable and clean.
Still, you’re always in the air.
………..
These people represent the aspects Dr Nash had to ignore rather than indulge in them. I thought of them when I was writing this.
Sometimes not indulging or ignoring things is good. I can’t say how long I can keep this up. Writing about this a dangerous thing because I have to hit some of the same notes of loved drug that I hit to get high.
Already, sensuality is brushing a finger down the back of my neck…wanting words to fill it up and make it dance.
no
I think I’ll be successful when I can dance or write for sensuality without being drugged myself.
I’ll hold you up with feathered words
if I think you’ll feel the weight
I’ll carry you smooth and high
if your bearing kisses my fate
I’ll render you whisked with serene
soaking hot and obscene
daringly soulful and lean
powerfully dripping in clean
sweet arduous daring- unseen
but to me, your one and only insatiable Queen
Truth is – I’m an automated teller machine
no complicated code or thick smokescreen
no qualifying height to maintain
just a simple hungry heart to sustain
by a man who has something of the same.
A basic simple rhyme from a basic, simple dame.
I couldn’t title this because all I could think was this sounds like it was written by a cupcake with words of frosting. You know, those cupcakes turned out every day by every grocery store in every city. I have a title now.
Posted in loving levity
I return like a drunkard to the fragrant pen
that drips in sapphire blooms of sensuality
that caress a constant current of desire
that dances serene as smoke
wafting itself through those velvety alcoves in my heart
Runes of truth stand at attention, protecting me
Yet, allowing me the choice to drown
Intoxicated, I grip the pen, as words warm and rise
This is the spirit I turn my back on
before she does the same…again
She is a sycophant, an addict lost from a kingdom
where words conduct symphonic emotions
that refract me into translucent shades of color-
useless but for a glimpse with a naked eye.
Corpses skinned of emotion hang low in this cavern. Light stubbornly hesitates to round the entrance boulders A dusting of cool earth covers everything except the lacy webs with the only sign of life. Clean it, scorch it, move or go in deeper… to a place of no invitation. Mining silky hues to brush a…
He shadowed his truthfrom the front, making it cloudy.It trailed behind him,within him like a ring around a tub.Those rings clog and choke real connectionto the spirit of a loving man.Choosing my spirit over thatis always the cleanest, most honest plan.His actions gouged my faithalready creased like steel from a crash.I needed to be smoothed…
You were asleep next to me as natural as leaves detect sun I felt you the instant my mind’s eye woke • Our bodies still lightly suspended in blue If I moved, I’d touch your knee millimeters from my cheek • I sensed your weight absorbed your warmth and I knew life with you in…
Corpses skinned of emotion hang low in this cavern. Light stubbornly hesitates to round the entrance boulders A dusting of cool earth covers everything except the lacy webs with the only sign of life. Clean it, scorch it, move or go in deeper… to a place of no invitation. Mining silky hues to brush a…
He shadowed his truthfrom the front, making it cloudy.It trailed behind him,within him like a ring around a tub.Those rings clog and choke real connectionto the spirit of a loving man.Choosing my spirit over thatis always the cleanest, most honest plan.His actions gouged my faithalready creased like steel from a crash.I needed to be smoothed…
You were asleep next to me as natural as leaves detect sun I felt you the instant my mind’s eye woke • Our bodies still lightly suspended in blue If I moved, I’d touch your knee millimeters from my cheek • I sensed your weight absorbed your warmth and I knew life with you in…
Posted in the seduction of expression
Dare I say I’ve missed you
when I haven’t been around
Dare I say I’ve missed you
when I was nowhere to be found
Dare I say I’ve missed you
… your sweet caressing mind
that touched me unexpectedly-
unconditionally…so kind
Dare I say I’ve missed you
Truth is, in my heart you’re enshrined
•
This feeling came to me as I was reading some blogs after what seems like years. xoxo
Night, like a man, back-steps into place
returning again to lean in silence;
wearing designs of my relentless fears.
He’s brazen and cool, so crystal clear.
Like a guillotine, he slices me sure.
Thoughts open and bleed; they gush.
Beat after beat, they drain me.
Tears contained since I refrain
from drowning again in heartless gain
where pieces of gold rarely ever remain.
Learned that lesson well
not nicely penned but seared in this secret hell
like Pan’s Labyrinth without any spell.
Spilt forth, I’m shaken clean of any sparkle.
Edges, remnants unworthy of remark will
stay in a corner, under moon dust ’til
a final beat slithers and over dark, sunrise spills.
Posted in writing
Pour me a sweet shot –
a warm, amber, smooth as silky tears
shot of you
Slip down within me –
with the grace of a summer’s sunset,
glowing in harmony with good-bye
Meet me in this world,
apart from the one we live in
because only those who believe it exists
can create it beautifully…
magically…
out of the realities of who we truly are.
It can’t be pretended and the din of dissonance when it’s off…
can shatter your heart into the pain of ages but…
when done well, it’s worth more than a baby’s first breath.
Posted in beauty
I’ll make claims on you under the radar
where smoke has difficulty reaching
where breathing remains clear
where others are moved to fear
I’ll make claims on you
I’ll make claims to every exhalation
that sprints over your lips
subconsciously and free
heard only by me
I’ll make claims on you
fine like filigree
lightweight and intricate
insidiously delicate
silky smooth and adorning
until I’m shackled
without warning
be steady they say
myths, theology, romance, the gas pedal, nitroglycerine…
like fog, rejection rolls up and over my walls
hovering in its natural place between possibilities and the ground under my bare feet.
It’s lighter than the air I breathe yet too heavy to see through
and although it doesn’t touch my skin, its weight easily oppresses my tears.
be steady they say
be steady
I am steadily less willing
I am steadily less trusting
I am steadily less
Art by Agnes Cecile
This is my response to my last post. Yes. I talk to myself. What about it?
•
She’s not a Major Bitch – she’s a 4 star Colonel Bitch. Strong language for a strong fact. There is no eloquent and civil firm grouping of adjectives and sturdy nouns that would adequately reflect this woman’s fear of living. She wants to contain me, the spark, the flint, the nucleus of change, so she can be sure of life. Sure of the air she breathes as if it was possible to jar it and keep it cool in cellar. She pushes me down with logic because logic is clean. I feel sorry for her because love is not clean so her thoughts are so misguided that I can cry if I held that thought.
My first reaction to her is to cuss her out, to attack her with an overwhelming barrage of fatal razors and barbs to critically rip her apart but that would only prove her emaciated heart right. That would be her ticket to slip quickly into her hell that taunts her every day telling her that her once juicy heart can’t beat any blood through her practically dried heart. I erased the carpet bombing judgements, threats and facts that would have shattered the thin membrane of love that she has left. After her words, I wanted to obliterate her – burn her to the end and leave it to any part of her worth anything to push back up and dare to grow again.
This woman has oppressed me before by putting me underground in her oubliette but we both know that it was SHE that needed to calm down. She’s afraid of making a decision that will take her straight to the realm of complacent (not to be confused with content), nubby nerved, stodgy adults with dead eyes and no imagination. She can sense the border crossing to that place nearer than it ever has been. Giving up looks like an oasis to her because she has no more stores of hope. They’ve been eaten.
She’s been buried and clinging to logic for too many years so she can’t feel the weight of my being anymore. She and I aren’t mutually exclusive but her surrender will weaken my strength and my death will weaken her, taking her to the exact place she fears the most. For all of her hollow knowledge, she’s ultimately a weakling that’s too afraid to risk her own downfall for the sake of progress. A gambler, she is not. I am the part of her holding the power to create and destroy, to love greatly or die within her. She won’t break me. She’s not strong enough. She can’t.
She has dreams of drowning and when death presses through the weave of her soul, she accepts her end, alone and mute without witness only to find that she can still breathe.
I am waiting for her to wake up.
As I tend to do, I use the writing of words to draw out thoughts in my head…like a pumice of herbs used to draw out toxins within. Writing the words sometimes pulls out a whole string of disease. I can’t find concise words and I have to approach my mind sideways. Front on is proving to be too harsh on my eyes. When I do get this process right, answers come closely attached. This isn’t “right” yet but I’m getting there slowly but surely – maybe. Same ol’ same ol’ thing here. I’m sure if you’ve been here at these moments of my blog, it gets redundant or tiresome but then again, this isn’t entertainment. It’s my bloody mess of processing. Also, making this public sometimes assures me that I’m not the only freak and if I am, It’s freeing to hoist my freak flag.
•
Stubborn, stupid, and sincerely
she keeps at it
I have to put firm hand, hold and hellish grip on her heart
because she’s childish to an unhealthy degree. She doesn’t learn quick enough.
She doesn’t want to see that
life takes more than heart
and a blind belief in the good of man.
She believes that almost every man can be golden
no matter how many times in a row that she’s been slapped with hard evidence.
She can’t take the truth
that she’s not strong enough to be so free with that tender organ of hers.
She can’t take the lessons learned as a map of what to steer clear of.
She can’t internalize the facts of her history as proof
of whom to stay away from so she can move on to better circumstances
that will give her more than she has ever accepted as enough.
See! Her persistence starts to invade my own knowledge with her hopes of that male unicorn.
I’ve kept her bound so she can’t deny that the actions of others of whom she’s shared her heart with, prove her beliefs to be wrong.
She doesn’t want to accept that. She makes excuses and blames herself for not being able to communicate which is only partially true.
Her faults aren’t entirely the cause for bad endings or bad beginnings.
I’m forcing her to accept that people are broken and no one is golden…
Accept, adapt and abide
To her, behavioral limits and boundaries are small cages to abhor.
She’s learning that that’s not true.
She’s learning that those things are safe…
She’s learned that no one will move beyond themselves to soothe her heart.
That is her responsibility to get a handle on.
She’s afraid that being 100% responsible for that means she will seal – no, that it will cauterize her mind to numbness…make her an emotional eunuch, lobotomize her heart…
That could happen but no risk, no gain.
Posted in Conversations I have in my head
I bought this new exercise thing that’s basically a prop for pretending like you exercise. You sit on it and it’s for the core. I know – stupid. It’s a toy in my mind. Anywayzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz I used it today and some little switch went off…some soft, warm, inviting, poetically wanting threshold that surrounded me like a tongue surrounds the sweetest parts of a body.
It feels like an erotic explosion
on the verge of release
underground
fully contained
you know, that orgasm that’s held down by pressure
solid, hard -as -steel first wave
that first wave -intent as all fuck
to flawlessly oppress you within its exquisite bite
and wipe your brain of all intellect like a gargantuan solar flare erasing all intellect
reducing your level of communication to sound . . .
if you’re lucky
and if that ability to create sounds is also taken, you’re left floating
in the bubble of racing electrons and spinning neutrons
of every orgasmic cell of your body
and in your ears, you hear high pitched ringing for that moment
as you reach the axis of your desires
suspended
floating luxuriously at the speed of YOU
.
.
.
THAT’S what this toy made me think of. Thank God you’re here. I probably would have hurt myself if I couldn’t write this out. (Insert the devilish horny emoji here.)
I put on music and this favorite song came
ON ; )
It fits so perfectly. (Insert the devilish horny emoji here.)
I took a long road I’d only heard of on the day I was leaving. Wherever the heck I was, this is what I had to pull over and see. I could smell sage and dry grass in the light wind up here and the warmth radiating from the earth felt like home. This is a zoomed in look of a what I believe to be a California fault line. It fit this post of one of my own.
what is it about holding on
to a memory, a moment
you hold it. . .
or does it stay near. . . holding you, your mind, with the tender tips
of caring fingers or caressing lips?
What is it about holding on to some piece of our life
like a newborn does
or rather a preemie – too young to withstand life without you
Do you hold it close to prevent loss?
That Deep Space Loss to the gravity of the empty space in your own mind…
I prefer to think of letting go of moments as a waterfall lets go of a river
I prefer it yet sometimes I scramble to dam the river before it can leap away
It’s habit. Maybe it’s a learned habit or a plain response mechanism of my senses
like the clicking of a cocked shotgun – a seizing of the tiniest touch of the future I cannot know for sure except that it is coming
without any reliance on or permission from
me
I wish to thrash out those moments but my powers only lead to my surrender, which I can do as easily as a meat grinder processing bones…
When it’s done though,
when I’ve let it happen without being involved
when I bite my tongue, clasp my fingers together tightly,
when I stay still and squeeze my eyes closed to feel the air of the event passing me by…
I understand what a freak of feeling I can be
I understand nothing and let it go
It makes no difference to anything or anyone.
The lesson was in the moment
and the moment is long gone.
Weakness scares me
I feel it and I’m aware of it
it’s mine
Is it a natural sensing of wings unfurling
or instincts of fight or flight?
It scares me and I have no other choice but to stare it down
There are words I can’t speak
Giving it form
gives it power to circle viciously in my mind.
It’s reflection holds the curse of Medusa’s eyes
Carefully, I see it
Mindful, I take stock
Fearful, I keep silent and
Constantly, I rein it in so it can’t consume me.
Weakness scares me
Posted in a blind spot of mine
She’s so far off on the horizon that she wouldn’t hear me screaming for her. She wouldn’t see my arms waving and she’s too far away to feel what is lacking in my eyes.
She’s gone…though a soft reverence remains feeling like the inside of an abandoned church of a ghost town.
With her went the sizzle of small moments that burst into memories.
With her went the wild beat of my heart.
With her . . .
that’s all I want to be
is with her.
(it could only be me that thinks this way) A female opening up to someone can be the most vulnerable act, besides standing naked in a prison or standing naked and unarmed between enemies on a battlefield. Is this the inner teenager tapping incessantly on my shoulder or are these words within a skin I’m shedding? Either source rings false, yet the truth of the matter rings so true that if you cut me in half, you’d see every ring just like a tree trunk has. They’re there.
My mind wanders like a mentally ill patient off of reality pills but always I am holding on to some invisible rope that leads forward. Where it leads to, I’m not at all certain except that it’s in the future. The mental patient on the other hand sees no connection – no sound continuous connection between men and women because we think so differently. My experience is that women can feel inwardly in rings and rings of a full spectrum of emotion and I secretly believe that this is a god given, spiritual power, fact of being behind the reason our bodies carry forth the future. This is also the reason why the decision to become a mother should belong to no other than the woman herself. Anyone who has ever been pregnant has no other choice but to weigh the full scope and reality of being a mother. I’m off target and before this turns angry, I’ll go back.
The bridge between opposing structures of thought processes has to be faith in the other person, no? Faith and an open-minded allowance for differences that can be gapped by an intention to be better than we are by choosing to be. That would mean I choose to be accepting and adapting to changes of my own and of whoever I’m with. Nebulous idea right? It’s nebulous because it’s living with the unknown and to live with the unknown I think you have to be ok with what is in the present, meaning, present conditions are as good as you can make them. Present conditions must be more satisfying than not to you, genuinely fulfilling on a deeper level below the dead fallen leaves and dirt covered paths. Everything ages and changes.
I enjoy writing with inside of the idea that there are many people enjoying their nakedness through springs whispering calls and winters slapping storms. I gained strength in loving when I wrote or read words that could march into the middle of a great battle and stand SO glorious in the knowledge that bullets couldn’t reach them. I can still hear a hint of those battle drums but I am dressed now.
*
this is my mind airing out. I have no subject to write specifically about and if you have to know, it’s most likely because I have loose ends tying up that have been around for ever. I write in a nebulous fashion here because many subjects are mixed and this is a way of gathering them all and pulling them to some finish line that keeps moving. I always feel ridiculous explaining things I write because it’s a bit like telling you what you see in a cloud formation. What you see probably isn’t what is because these words are clouds passing in my mind’s sky and …who the fuck really cares except for the transient attachment or likeness to yourself. I guess that’s a good reason to explain anything – it’s for your own fun of reading and relating to this thin slice of the human experience, no? Besides, I know that you readers always have the power to NOT CLICK and NOT read. xoxo, J
WAIT – NOW I remember what got my mental patient wandering. Yesterday I saw something as I drove and it made me revel in the feeling of opening up to someone. You know, that soft unfurling that always makes me feel very feminine. It’s a beautiful ride on an energy that nourishes love into a powerfully strong state of being.
But then I realized how rare it is to find a man to feel that way with and that brought me to our different ways of thinking which is when I rear-ended into Reality sitting at Reasons red light. Hey – this post IS my airbag. Ha!
I’ve almost removed some part of me I can’t name yet
I’ve pulled partly away from an inner current
but I can feel its energy directing my eyelashes and the hair on my arms
I’m removed from the hungriest questions that love to
feverishly suck on my tits for essential sustenance
They’re sinking into the quicksand of absence and a ghostly sadness is being drawn in to take their place. I fight it off with ignorance, disdain and old-fashioned, rock-headed stubbornness
I’m removed as I’ve been made to be by the slit of truth’s scalpel
I create my own anesthetic with isolation. Shells are useful as long as I don’t die within one.
I’m either getting better at removing my self or I’m learning faster.
They go together.
It feels wrong but it doesn’t hurt.
Calloused, tough, cold and hard . . . Manly, I dare say
Oooh, now that’s not nice to men who feel.
No, it’s not but it is the truth for those who don’t.
Wait, I’ll say it in the learned manner in which we women are conditioned to state the reality we see about a man and to a man in a way that doesn’t offend . . . Focused, steadfast,unwavering and sure.
Yes, it is very complementary when I use those words instead.
Tomatoe, Tomato
I won’t say
how I hold on, knowing the right way, while I’m heaving with all of the wrong ways pulling at my fingertips to let go
I won’t say
how I silence myself, knowing that words will light a path to where there is no returning from
I won’t say
how I know that I will disappear forever if I dare to say a word
I won’t
I won’t say
how I deny his heat as it swipes at my resolve. Acknowledgment will mean my own shredding.
I won’t say
how in one instance of indulgence, I ride – no, I fly straight into and through you, learning every tender taste
I won’t say
how this thievery guts me with only the thought to speak of it aloud
No, I won’t say anything more
D i a r y I n c a r n a t e 