This is Home

Have you see it yet?

The mass wall of people. 

It's getting close to the season... or perhaps we're already in it - The jangle of repeat Christmas music, wreaths of varied design, and the endless string of twinkly lights. It's an annoying reminder that shopping will be expected. 

I was out last night with a few co-workers, watching fireworks under a grey clouded sky mixed with spats of rain. The show lasted for 4 minutes, maybe 5. It amazes me that people will huddle close with strangers in hopes to gaze at a man-made wonder. C and I got separated from our group, and when trying to maneuver through the sardine madness, we ended up in a parking garage trying to find a way above ground. 

What leads my heart to write this is not because of last night, or the frenzied crowd of Black Friday shoppers; it's more for the silence of the invisible: the folks that find a spot on the pavement, sitting on cardboard carpet, watching a sea of legs rush by. It's easy not to notice them. I wish I could give them all a gift, like a new start. Who couldn't use a new start. 

I have a home, and a bed, heat to keep me warm at night, and food in the fridge. I have family, cousins (some near, most far away), and a few good friends. I don't need a whole lot to feel content. I also don't know otherwise (pavement livin'), and hope I never see such a day.

But people on the street: kids, adults, seniors. I can't imagine their everyday. No bed to call their own. No heat to keep them warm at night. No fridge, and sometimes no food. 

A week or so ago I was getting to work, pacing quickly up the escalator. It was morning, and rush hour was at its peak. I saw this old man laying on the floor in the subway station, laying like he had collapsed from exhaustion. His hair looked like it hadn't been washed for who knows how long, it was stringy and clung to his face. His eyes half-closed. People rushed passed him, leaving him room. I gave him some money, not much, and he thanked me in a slur of words. I went on, looking back while walking away. I wanted to cry (I did, a bit. Crying now as I write). Where is his family...does he have one? Do they care? 

I saw him a week later laying outside on a heating grate. 

No one should live like this, especially in Canada. Everyone should have a safe place to call home.

Cold Wax

The cold wax grows, it's a disease. Such unease, this disease. It spreads like a cancer, eating through the soul, the spirit, heart and mind. It leaves tiny fragments of yesterday when the sunshine felt warmer and the glint of smiling eyes was for everyone. Cold wax doesn't stop spreading just because it's cold, it needs the cold to survive.

How did we get to this place? Can we ever go back? Have we forgotten to feel that much?

Brother against brother. Blood vs blood. All flesh spoils the same.

The chatter is damned deafening, and such noise will eviscerate discernment - that wee still voice, the inner truth, we all have. Words cut deep behind that smiling face. It pays well. IT pays very well. And silence is the most priceless of all. We've all learned to be silent, haven't we? Yeah, we have. When's the last time you couldn't truly speak how you feel, afraid of retribution. 

So dangerous when a hive serves itself. 

I want to press rewind. The only rewind we have nowadays is to harm, belittle or maim. 

I want to press rewind. 

When love was true, more true than now. Love to melt the wax. Love without judgement. Love without your side or mine (fuck that shit). 

update: a new chapter begins. idk what it will bring. holding steadfast to faith: God.
   

Tomorrow

This fishy (me) must swim elsewhere. I'm not escaping sharks, and I'm not running in search of clear water. My broken fin leads to this departure.  

Being broke is never fun. It fucking sucks. 

Tomorrow, what will it bring: More money, Love, Misadventures... worthwhile adventures. An adventure. Something to scarp away the dull. Ignite something. 

I just hate the ... sometimes  ... sucks.

Last night I dreamed I was sitting on a sofa with a man by my side. I was wearing a beautiful blue dress, dressed for an occasion. He was wearing a tuxedo, something like that. He had his hand on my knee; more than just a first date. He was much more than a date.

Yeah. Awesome. Like, where is he, for real, like in real-time. A galaxy or a lifetime away. 

And I've seen some handsome men lately, this job I'm leaving brings that in: eye candy. 

Before Dust

No one said it was easy... to wake up in the morning. 

The dawn breaks, night falls, and clouds roll over, but the ground has yet to change. Footsteps trample over as strangers pick at the weeds. 

"Oh, look, I found another one," they shout. 

It's easy to spot weeds when they don't grow in your own backyard. It's easy to pull on the ugly when there is never a fear in turning back.

No one said it was easy... to wake up in the morning. 

The sun pushes hard against the clouds, it begs to shine, it wants to give life to everything, everyone, below. But God has another plan, and the harvest must wait. So take a breath and let us turn down the bed for another night.

side note:

I know of this one weed called Sally. She grew in the shade, she never knew another weed. But she was never alone, she befriended many ants and earthworms. They never saw her as a weed, no, they saw so much more. She was their shelter from the rain, and her leaves wrapped them like the warmth of a mother's hand. Sally was and will always be more than a weed. But ask the flowers, and they'll tell you different. Lesson for today: not all flowers are pretty.

No one said it was easy... to wake up in the morning.

When it's dark and the the bridge has torn a part, and the only one who can fix it has walked away. 

"I don't care. I don't want to fix it. Let the wood rot and the nails turn brittle from rust. I've cared enough for the bridge, I no longer want to shoulder it. It's over." 

"What happened to the bridge, how did it break?"

" A storm fell on it. A cyclone. Like a scream it beat down for almost an hour, turning up the earth and the dead in it. It drew blood from many yesterdays, fueled by fear, unable to see beyond itself."

"Will the bridge ever be repaired?"

"I don't know..."

No one said it was easy... to wake up in the morning.

To the woman without water who cries for her children, or the man without a friend who turns to God with fragmented words... I see you. And to the tree once filled with cobwebs, you are now free to grow. Be strong with firmly planted roots (take your time tree, take your time to grow). 

And to my friend, hold on through the sunny days and storms called life. You have no reason to explain yourself to anyone. Never fear, and confide in God if you can, for he can read laughter and understands tears. 

I have faith in you.

Update: My ankle fracture is almost all good (so she says). 

I broke in new shoes, today, and searched the city for black. I love wearing black, any other color makes me a bit uneasy. But this time round the thrill was less than. I'm not buying for me.  

It LURKS

It LURKS. While sitting at the kitchen table, the chair facing the window, the window facing a bedroom - my bedroom. 

It LURKS. 

Is he just super lonely? Cause the silence across the fence is but a dead calm. A sudden calm which has not peeped a sound for many upon many days. Before this calm I would hear a constant flow of chatter followed by a rough smokers cough. Just where has that cough gone?

We wonder...it's a mystery. We've summed up many possibilities, but only God knows, as well as the one who LURKS. Her car still parked in the drive way. Even her dog is nada in sight. 

But he who LURKS is much too quiet, alone in his 4 bedroom home. He mows the lawn twice a week, back and forth in perfect straight lines. I too lurk, mini-lurk, only due to the amount of his LURKness.

What do they say about the ones who end up in prison, having snatched the life of an innocent soul? 

: he was a nice guy
: Quiet, kept to himself


Maybe my boredom and imagination is getting the better of me. That will soon change.


ankle update: getting better with each day. 

Pruning Vines

It's hard to notice when you need a trim. Time can be blinding, dulling all the senses. It's only when life gets miserably quiet, or you finally choose to take a peek under the rug that you notice the muck.

Now muck can be just that: dirt. Dirty laundry. A sink full or crusty dishes. A sticky floor. Or a ring around the tub. But it does indicate something: Neglect

2017 has been illuminating. The real, the fake, the just there, the I don't care, or I will never share. It's tough, having to face "things" like a grown-up, which has little to do with age or maturity. It's about keeping it real, and not allowing to settle. Be it friends, lovers, dreams, all the good stuff that makes sleep delicious and the morning worthwhile. 

I have snipped without regret. I may eat my actions and regret it years from now. But today, right now... my head shakes.

It's quieter. But I've chosen quieter. A good time to catch up on reading. 

Nosce te ipsum. Know thyself. It sometimes takes a lifetime to admit that it does actually take a lifetime to cough up to truth. It hurts like hell to prune bullshit from your life, but courage is its own reward. 

Exhale.

But then there are other vines... perhaps a bit too ignored. Much of it due to pain, heartache, awful memories, and the dreaded fear of failure. I'm chewing on this lately, for the passed 6 months, maybe 8. It's killing me, the inner-inner me. That's the awful thing about dreams. There's always a cost somewhere, a payment due somewhere, to someone. Be it the mind, body or soul. I do fear the cost. It's something I never share with people, just with God. Some dreams, hopes, wishes, whatever, are too intimate to hear out loud.



Update on fractured ankle: I can walk fine, but I can't jump or run well. A few more months. Blah.   

Behold the Nightmare

Shhhh...

Sing me to sleep, will you? 

And the naughty box answers, rolling out hours of what hypnotizes many in a puddle of drool. The chapters and lives of a figment of a helpless man's imagination will strip hours of life if able. But dreamers will dream on, nestled beneath their covers. And though dawn breaks and another day rolls over, they remain in a still and luscious haze. Sleep is amazing; I can recall such innocent days. I envy the silence between the dreamers ears, how I wish I could see what they do: the brightness and rosey glow of life abundant. 

... actually, I fear that when the sleeper awakes, the nightmare around them will far exceed the one I see now. Only a handful can see it approaching, beyond the west and east. It will pounce upon the shores like jagged rocks, storming windows and bone, turning everything green to dust. 

Hold your breath, my friend. Hold my hand and fear not. The lies are too many to count, I know, like a hurricane the history they keep will seem like falsehood, but turning your back will only settle your fate.  

Shhh, there, in the foreground, the talking box gabs on, it waits to feed your every desire. To serve every appetite. There are no limits, so feast on.  

Yet loins will quiver, and not the good kinda shake. I wonder... has our reprieve come to an end? Have the floodgates broken? The next chapter of humanity is just around the corner, ready to rob us further.

Easy is never good. Easy_______ is never good. You fill in the blank.


Fracture update: Healing. Smilin' though it.

Words Live On

It's been a year of healing (healing still), bumps, lottsa bruises, cuts, scraps, walkers (LOL), grandma canes on loan, and couch surfing. 

Note: I'm a crappy couch surfer.  

But this ride will soon come to an end, I declare this because I refuse anything otherwise. My sanity deems it, needs it - freakin' really bad! 

I fractured my ankle while away in LA outside of In N Out. Everyone said "Sue! Sue! Sue!". But I'm not that type of person, far from it. "You're not working, get some money" Yeah, I'm sooo not that person. The fracture sounded like a bad "crunch" and I yelped as my knee hit the pavement. 

R.I.C.E + prayer, praying still. Thankfully nothing got broke. So couch surfing it was for x amount of days. 

I tried to smile, and most of the time I did smile genuinely throughout my stay in LA. Family felt bad for me, naturally, but I gritted my teeth, said it was "cool". Freaking out would be useless and silly. I visited LA not for a vacation but for more deeply personal reasons where thrills and fun were not part of the "must do" list. 

My little cousin passed away and I was there for her. Fun in Los Angeles will be left for another time. When I think of her, my cousin, I get a bit speechless. Her face masking such pain. I can relate, very much... I wish more could have been done. But we all say that after the fact, don't we?

What grieved me throughout my stay in LA was Words. Now, I love words, though words can be played very wrong. The words you speak, hear, or perceive when strung together can be beautiful, but also terribly destructive, harmful, hurtful and cutting, sometimes maiming. Like, if you have no idea, or maybe even if you have a possible idea but you're still not sure, like 100% sure... yeah, you better just shut it. 

Than again, if you say too little where correction is never shared but kept mum, that too is just as harmful. You know you're doing this when pride gets in the way of truth. Pride is a mutherfucker, and we all wrestle with it.   

Words... I'll stick to the pretty ones, for now.