Nice people finish very f**king last.
Maybe I have life all wrong. This could explain so much. Questions that have burned for years - the smoke still waiting to be snuffed out.
I was that good kid. Never liked when anyone was treated unfairly, unkindly or teased like a rabid animal.
side note: I'm sorry D.Kenny when my friends and I caged you between the wall and a hockey net, kicking you with eight pointy shoes. I still regret that to this day. Though I do recall it was for some kind of payback. But I still feel bad I contributed.
But this niceness can sometimes feel like a curse. It's like this giant sign other people can see that you do not that reads "SUCKA". That's the plight of nice people. Other crappy people use it for their messed up, selfish as hell advantage.
When will truth rear its face to hold a mirror to those that tread on others without care.
Mindless a**holes. Talking s**t. Spewing s**t. Eating s**t. It must feel damn awesome to be you . Looking in the mirror - what the heck do you see? I'm curious.
See. I'm not one to defend myself when the lies start to pour down like a hail storm (happens to kind people). I don't play games and refuse to acknowledge crap. I walk away and allow fate/God/life to choose that precise moment for you.
I'm only in your face if you talk crap about a friend and I'm there to hear it. Then it's just you and me. And it don't matter, 5 feet - 6 feet - 10 feet tall - We're going to exchange words.
But back to being kind.
Yeah. It's a raw deal to be kind. It's in me though, like this natural breathing thing. But I'm considering shelving it for a while, just to see. Maybe I'll sleep on it. The morning may change this not so kind feeling.
And honesty is up there with being kind. Like twins, they travel conjoined. Sucks when people mistake a kind remark for something else. I just say what I mean without agenda. I lose nothing sharing compliments and encouragement.
I don't need you that way.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
in the 90s
the dense halls rammed with hormones. everyone knows everyone. there's no place to hide.
you nestle into a flock, safe, but for how long? people are people, and these people still have yet to figure out who they are. some may never get there, trapped in a helpless wonder, never realizing the truth is easy to find when you welcome the comfort of silence.
the bell rings loud. legs run, jump, walk and panic through a sea of nameless faces. they all blur into one when you don't know a soul. they can also appear angry when you don't have a friend.
the person standing at the head of the room commands respect, but do they deserve it? so few are remembered, and many have forgotten the reason they signed up for such a ride. a sicker few get caught in a fantasy - then come the bars.
but it's a jungle, an amazon of people gathered in tribes, roaring in tribes, devoured by tribes. power and beauty stand out, held high on man-made pedestals. but it never lasts.
jocks, goths, preps, geeks, metal-heads, mods, pretty girls, studs, fobs, outcasts - they all have a place, and they know it. a small city crammed for hours and days, commanded to get along and live peaceably. dream on.
but the music rocked on - Lollapalooza screams to the masses - Mosh pits rule.
that's it, for now--
you nestle into a flock, safe, but for how long? people are people, and these people still have yet to figure out who they are. some may never get there, trapped in a helpless wonder, never realizing the truth is easy to find when you welcome the comfort of silence.
the bell rings loud. legs run, jump, walk and panic through a sea of nameless faces. they all blur into one when you don't know a soul. they can also appear angry when you don't have a friend.
the person standing at the head of the room commands respect, but do they deserve it? so few are remembered, and many have forgotten the reason they signed up for such a ride. a sicker few get caught in a fantasy - then come the bars.
but it's a jungle, an amazon of people gathered in tribes, roaring in tribes, devoured by tribes. power and beauty stand out, held high on man-made pedestals. but it never lasts.
jocks, goths, preps, geeks, metal-heads, mods, pretty girls, studs, fobs, outcasts - they all have a place, and they know it. a small city crammed for hours and days, commanded to get along and live peaceably. dream on.
but the music rocked on - Lollapalooza screams to the masses - Mosh pits rule.
that's it, for now--
Thursday, March 22, 2012
pt 2 The Small Door
Watching the door slam behind her, Alice looks to her feet where a path begins. It ends down a narrow stretch to a darkly wooded forest gate. The beastly roar of snarling and snapping wild animals sound, they beckon her to come join them.
"Alice...this way," clouded whispers twirl and dance by her side.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her quakes, rippling like a wave. She surfs above the gravel, then rolls forward before coming to a stop. Standing to her feet, she dusts off her dress.
"Come my child, this way," a soft voice calls from within the forest.
"Me?" she points to herself, looking over her shoulder for another.
She then notices that the door she entered from has vanished and everything else with it. The backs of her feet are standing a hairline away from endless drop into nothing. Alice shrieks, losing her balance. She falls backwards.
Arms flailing, she tries to grab hold of anything, but there's nothing. The rushing wind
screams in and around her ears as she quickly descends. She watches, horrified, as her tresses get knotted and released, braided then let loose. They even play a round of double-dutch with the wind.
"Someone, please, help me! Please!" her plead soars up with equal speed from which she falls.
Alice searches for the ground, anything. Anything to stop this frightening drop. Suddenly, her shoulders lift and she's carried upwards. A multitude of brightly coloured swallows bring her up to the surface, placing her in the exact spot before the fall. The birds sing sweetly flying back into the dim forest.
Alice catches her breath, she grips the solid ground, fingertips shaking. She looks to the drop behind her, then to the unknown in front of her. Standing to her feet she motions forward. The wooded gates part erupting the baleful echoes of the forest. Alice swallows dry and steps in.
"Alice...this way," clouded whispers twirl and dance by her side.
Suddenly, the ground beneath her quakes, rippling like a wave. She surfs above the gravel, then rolls forward before coming to a stop. Standing to her feet, she dusts off her dress.
"Come my child, this way," a soft voice calls from within the forest.
"Me?" she points to herself, looking over her shoulder for another.
She then notices that the door she entered from has vanished and everything else with it. The backs of her feet are standing a hairline away from endless drop into nothing. Alice shrieks, losing her balance. She falls backwards.
Arms flailing, she tries to grab hold of anything, but there's nothing. The rushing wind
screams in and around her ears as she quickly descends. She watches, horrified, as her tresses get knotted and released, braided then let loose. They even play a round of double-dutch with the wind.
"Someone, please, help me! Please!" her plead soars up with equal speed from which she falls.
Alice searches for the ground, anything. Anything to stop this frightening drop. Suddenly, her shoulders lift and she's carried upwards. A multitude of brightly coloured swallows bring her up to the surface, placing her in the exact spot before the fall. The birds sing sweetly flying back into the dim forest.
Alice catches her breath, she grips the solid ground, fingertips shaking. She looks to the drop behind her, then to the unknown in front of her. Standing to her feet she motions forward. The wooded gates part erupting the baleful echoes of the forest. Alice swallows dry and steps in.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Me First
Everything comes at a price. Right?
The pavement hasn't changed, but the people walking on it has. Tunnel vision alley, but that's okay - It's all about me, baby!
I cried today cause it's getting harder to see this life with human eyes. There's pain everywhere - it doesn't matter what's in the bank, what you have, who you are or who the world says you are --
Shhh... The question period has ended.
The constant buzz keeps us numb - buzz from whatever helps distract from reality. The cold hard truth. What matters. What money can't buy. That one day we all have something to account for.
The mirror is an opposite reality of what is - the other side of us that only we (the sole watcher) knows.
Motives bleed in time. The truth behind a smile, a word...sometimes friendship. I have friends in their 80s. I'm so thankful for them. I wouldn't know true kindness without such people - I would probably grit my teeth believing that the world is truly unkind and full of greed, which much of it is. I hate that cold, hard fact.
Me first. You last. Me now. You never. Me-me. Who are you?
The pavement hasn't changed, but the people walking on it has. Tunnel vision alley, but that's okay - It's all about me, baby!
I cried today cause it's getting harder to see this life with human eyes. There's pain everywhere - it doesn't matter what's in the bank, what you have, who you are or who the world says you are --
Shhh... The question period has ended.
The constant buzz keeps us numb - buzz from whatever helps distract from reality. The cold hard truth. What matters. What money can't buy. That one day we all have something to account for.
The mirror is an opposite reality of what is - the other side of us that only we (the sole watcher) knows.
Motives bleed in time. The truth behind a smile, a word...sometimes friendship. I have friends in their 80s. I'm so thankful for them. I wouldn't know true kindness without such people - I would probably grit my teeth believing that the world is truly unkind and full of greed, which much of it is. I hate that cold, hard fact.
Me first. You last. Me now. You never. Me-me. Who are you?
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Wandering-Wondering
Because in this life, it's all supposed to make sense.
There are no mistakes.
There aren't people that will use you for their gain.
And good will always prevail.
The path is never too long when it leads to love.
But how do you know the love is right?
Sometimes love isn't right.
Sometimes love needs to lie down and die.
Words are good when strung properly.
Kind words Rock; Loving words Rule; "I'm sorry" goes a long way.
A wise teacher will teach how to speak properly.
The root of a spoken word is planted in the heart.
Things, waste, stuff...means very little when measured on a scale.
A good heart is priceless - forgiveness is priceless too.
Greed and fear will choke a heart to stop beating.
Better to take a deep breath first, all the time.
** In weeks time I will take a deep breath. In weeks time I will have to find the right words. I will likely have to forgive and move on. Cause life rarely writes mistakes, the only mistake is to disregard and not learn. But one thing I know for sure...Good does prevail. Always.
There are no mistakes.
There aren't people that will use you for their gain.
And good will always prevail.
The path is never too long when it leads to love.
But how do you know the love is right?
Sometimes love isn't right.
Sometimes love needs to lie down and die.
Words are good when strung properly.
Kind words Rock; Loving words Rule; "I'm sorry" goes a long way.
A wise teacher will teach how to speak properly.
The root of a spoken word is planted in the heart.
Things, waste, stuff...means very little when measured on a scale.
A good heart is priceless - forgiveness is priceless too.
Greed and fear will choke a heart to stop beating.
Better to take a deep breath first, all the time.
** In weeks time I will take a deep breath. In weeks time I will have to find the right words. I will likely have to forgive and move on. Cause life rarely writes mistakes, the only mistake is to disregard and not learn. But one thing I know for sure...Good does prevail. Always.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Women Don't
Hey boy. Your pants are on fire. The wolf has run out of its cave. It races for the den of sweetened lambs. Footprints on fire.
Drop those sugary words. Sell it. Sell yourself. Hot stuff. You, Man of buttery steel.
I see through you. I do. Many do. Pooh on you. Be careful, someone's watching.
Enlighten me with honesty. If you dare. Take the high road, if your muscles can take the climb. Oh, by the way, you're knees are shaking.
Girls scare easy. Women don't.
Go on. Chase those skirts. Embrace deep conversations about Jimmy Choo shoes and Jersey Whores.
eeny, meeny, miney, moe -- I hate games.
As my friend Natalie says, "I cross you out!"
Drop those sugary words. Sell it. Sell yourself. Hot stuff. You, Man of buttery steel.
I see through you. I do. Many do. Pooh on you. Be careful, someone's watching.
Enlighten me with honesty. If you dare. Take the high road, if your muscles can take the climb. Oh, by the way, you're knees are shaking.
Girls scare easy. Women don't.
Go on. Chase those skirts. Embrace deep conversations about Jimmy Choo shoes and Jersey Whores.
eeny, meeny, miney, moe -- I hate games.
As my friend Natalie says, "I cross you out!"
Monday, November 21, 2011
Never Just Yet
Not never expected it. But usually I'm oblivious--
Subway was packed, my dogs barking and tired. Standing beside the clapping doors, with every chime before they closed, my hair would catch with the sweeping breeze.
side note: wear a mini skirt, more traffic will follow.
Six feet tall. Dark hair. Ruggedly handsome. His vibe not bad. He was the manly kind. They're either manly or they're not. He looked my way more than need be (much more), but given the place we were at...it was, well...it wasn't a good time for any eye contact, at least not the kind that gives a silent invitation. Or perhaps I wasn't ready to share what I was feeling. He was pretty cute and I was feeling less than stellar, not to mention tired.
...I just get nervous when people stare, especially when you don't mind the attention. I can be a classic Chickie-poo when it comes to the woman-man thing.
Yet on a lighter note, my days are freeing up, which is a gift. Time to write what I haven't been writing. Commit to the next script, or commit script suicide.
Subway was packed, my dogs barking and tired. Standing beside the clapping doors, with every chime before they closed, my hair would catch with the sweeping breeze.
side note: wear a mini skirt, more traffic will follow.
Six feet tall. Dark hair. Ruggedly handsome. His vibe not bad. He was the manly kind. They're either manly or they're not. He looked my way more than need be (much more), but given the place we were at...it was, well...it wasn't a good time for any eye contact, at least not the kind that gives a silent invitation. Or perhaps I wasn't ready to share what I was feeling. He was pretty cute and I was feeling less than stellar, not to mention tired.
...I just get nervous when people stare, especially when you don't mind the attention. I can be a classic Chickie-poo when it comes to the woman-man thing.
Yet on a lighter note, my days are freeing up, which is a gift. Time to write what I haven't been writing. Commit to the next script, or commit script suicide.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Behind The Door
Part 1
As Alice falls down the rabbit hole, thumping and bumping against raggedy edges, her tender flesh scraped and cut on wild twisted roots, she wonders how much farther the drop will be?
After the rocky landing, stars spinning above her crown, pupils rolling like marbles - she grabs her forehead. Words finally stand still.
All is murky and dim. Mr. Cottontail no where in sight. Was it just a terrible dream? One brought on by a deluge of sweets and endless bad TV?
No.
Standing on her feet she begins to walk, following the will in her heart, though fear creeps within a few heartbeats from behind. The only option is the future. The past is already forgotten. Forever.
R.I.P Yesterday.
Ahead a dim light is visible. lt grows brighter with each step. She swallows hard, scared shi*less. She enters a room, vast and endless to the eye.
Beneath a halo of light two doors stand. One is large and ornate, wrapped in gold dust. She sweeps her fingers across the glittery surface. The other is smaller and plain. She sweeps her fingers across that one and gets a splinter. Bloodlets dot the ground.
"Choose Biotch!" they speak aloud.
Alice bites her lip...this may take a moment.
As Alice falls down the rabbit hole, thumping and bumping against raggedy edges, her tender flesh scraped and cut on wild twisted roots, she wonders how much farther the drop will be?
After the rocky landing, stars spinning above her crown, pupils rolling like marbles - she grabs her forehead. Words finally stand still.
All is murky and dim. Mr. Cottontail no where in sight. Was it just a terrible dream? One brought on by a deluge of sweets and endless bad TV?
No.
Standing on her feet she begins to walk, following the will in her heart, though fear creeps within a few heartbeats from behind. The only option is the future. The past is already forgotten. Forever.
R.I.P Yesterday.
Ahead a dim light is visible. lt grows brighter with each step. She swallows hard, scared shi*less. She enters a room, vast and endless to the eye.
Beneath a halo of light two doors stand. One is large and ornate, wrapped in gold dust. She sweeps her fingers across the glittery surface. The other is smaller and plain. She sweeps her fingers across that one and gets a splinter. Bloodlets dot the ground.
"Choose Biotch!" they speak aloud.
Alice bites her lip...this may take a moment.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Private Parts
I used to journal, almost every night. Journals remind us of who we are and how far we've come, maybe even how much farther we still have to go.
But I stopped journaling, which sucks.
side note: last time I was in Los Angeles, I was in a coffee shop on Beverly Blvd. I was sipping java, journaling. There was a guy next to me writing on his laptop. We sorta eyed one another - what we were writing. He journals on his laptop. I journal on paper. We swapped some words about it.
I later realized I was speaking to Dean Deleo. He was nice.
Back to what sucks--
A close family member told me, "yeah, I've read your diary..."
I lost my breath for a moment. I hold many secrets, wants and wishes between those pages. The violation, trust, instantly broken in shards. There's no going back after such thing.
side note: Read it after I'm dead.
So, this is me: a pressure cooker, a lid twisted on too tight, anxious and kinda angry. Pissed from all the crap floating around in my brain, unable to release on the page - a mental melange of sewage. I feel desperate to purge. Don't feel safe to.
There was no honest apology. No word that it was an accident. No begging for forgiveness. Nada. Just a huff and a haughty comment, "I thought you were reading mine."
My skin crawled. Beyond shocked and appalled. If there's one art I get in spades, it's boundaries and giving people their personal space. Also, I'm not that nosey.
I can shrug most things off, but not this.
Journals/diaries are private. Many parts of my journal/most journals carry secrets that aren't meant for sharing. I'm still in shock, and I learned of this in the Spring.
Who the F reads someones' diary?
But I stopped journaling, which sucks.
side note: last time I was in Los Angeles, I was in a coffee shop on Beverly Blvd. I was sipping java, journaling. There was a guy next to me writing on his laptop. We sorta eyed one another - what we were writing. He journals on his laptop. I journal on paper. We swapped some words about it.
I later realized I was speaking to Dean Deleo. He was nice.
Back to what sucks--
A close family member told me, "yeah, I've read your diary..."
I lost my breath for a moment. I hold many secrets, wants and wishes between those pages. The violation, trust, instantly broken in shards. There's no going back after such thing.
side note: Read it after I'm dead.
So, this is me: a pressure cooker, a lid twisted on too tight, anxious and kinda angry. Pissed from all the crap floating around in my brain, unable to release on the page - a mental melange of sewage. I feel desperate to purge. Don't feel safe to.
There was no honest apology. No word that it was an accident. No begging for forgiveness. Nada. Just a huff and a haughty comment, "I thought you were reading mine."
My skin crawled. Beyond shocked and appalled. If there's one art I get in spades, it's boundaries and giving people their personal space. Also, I'm not that nosey.
I can shrug most things off, but not this.
Journals/diaries are private. Many parts of my journal/most journals carry secrets that aren't meant for sharing. I'm still in shock, and I learned of this in the Spring.
Who the F reads someones' diary?
Thursday, November 3, 2011
The Ugly Truth is...
It's been a while-- I'll try to update.
I'm going through this thing...I don't know what to call it? What I do know is that I don't like it. I feel like a flowing river rushing towards a broken dam, just flowing at the mercy of a strong current/tide (Gods hand)- seeping into places that I never fathomed to go. I've not lost my sanity, yet.
I did see this handsome stranger, which is rare, so very rare for me. Good looking people are everywhere- the difference is what holds your (my) attention. I feed more off energy and a vibe. Bad vibes make me flee fast, as if running from a virus or toxic stench. Many of my friends are crushing on someone - I don't even have a celeb crush, which is infantile to share, but who do you think about when it gets quiet...I have many quiet/vacant moments without a thought or person crawling across my mind. Hollow, like a coconut.
I have to Up my black wardrobe, which isn't bad. I love black. My new Addams uniform for a time, and only for a time, I hope.
side note: Why are people so sensitive, as if the whole world is out to get them? Don't we leave such childhood feelings in the past, not tossing them in the path for others to trip on.
Insecurities get mucky when we remain too silent. Share the love--
That handsome stranger- he was tall, dark and handsome. Not sure if he was married...did I see a ring? I never look for rings, which causes many of my girlfriends to gasp out loud. I'm horrible at the flirting, look for the ring-thing. I flirt with everyone, without knowing I'm flirting. I laugh easy, it's a problem.
Yesterday on the train, a seventeen year old boy, a child, was giving me the eye. I look younger than I am, but COME ON!!!! A reverse gross-out.
In truth, the last month has been a crushing blow on many levels. A friend assures - Don't worry, the year is almost over. 2012 is two months away.
I replied, "HEY! I only got TWO months to make up for one of the shi**iest years of my life. I'm not giving up!!!"
A lot can happen in 60 days: I could hear from God on something I've been praying about for 20 years (it's big, and worth the wait). I could meet some tall, mature, kind, humble, creative, sexy stranger - My Eagle. I could hear from this agent who has a script I wrote...still waiting...please sign me...insert puppy whimper.
2011 is still a good year! Truth.
I'm going through this thing...I don't know what to call it? What I do know is that I don't like it. I feel like a flowing river rushing towards a broken dam, just flowing at the mercy of a strong current/tide (Gods hand)- seeping into places that I never fathomed to go. I've not lost my sanity, yet.
I did see this handsome stranger, which is rare, so very rare for me. Good looking people are everywhere- the difference is what holds your (my) attention. I feed more off energy and a vibe. Bad vibes make me flee fast, as if running from a virus or toxic stench. Many of my friends are crushing on someone - I don't even have a celeb crush, which is infantile to share, but who do you think about when it gets quiet...I have many quiet/vacant moments without a thought or person crawling across my mind. Hollow, like a coconut.
I have to Up my black wardrobe, which isn't bad. I love black. My new Addams uniform for a time, and only for a time, I hope.
side note: Why are people so sensitive, as if the whole world is out to get them? Don't we leave such childhood feelings in the past, not tossing them in the path for others to trip on.
Insecurities get mucky when we remain too silent. Share the love--
That handsome stranger- he was tall, dark and handsome. Not sure if he was married...did I see a ring? I never look for rings, which causes many of my girlfriends to gasp out loud. I'm horrible at the flirting, look for the ring-thing. I flirt with everyone, without knowing I'm flirting. I laugh easy, it's a problem.
Yesterday on the train, a seventeen year old boy, a child, was giving me the eye. I look younger than I am, but COME ON!!!! A reverse gross-out.
In truth, the last month has been a crushing blow on many levels. A friend assures - Don't worry, the year is almost over. 2012 is two months away.
I replied, "HEY! I only got TWO months to make up for one of the shi**iest years of my life. I'm not giving up!!!"
A lot can happen in 60 days: I could hear from God on something I've been praying about for 20 years (it's big, and worth the wait). I could meet some tall, mature, kind, humble, creative, sexy stranger - My Eagle. I could hear from this agent who has a script I wrote...still waiting...please sign me...insert puppy whimper.
2011 is still a good year! Truth.
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