ICR = Death to Blog

I have recently been introduced to Facebook, and reintroduced to IRC. All I can say is, those perpetrators responsible for this assault on my blog time know who they are. When I channel Dr. Horrible (from Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog) this Halloween, the evil League of Evil will visit them all!


That being said, I think I will blither idea rambles again tonight. Work is very, very, VERY busy right now, with no indication that it will get any less busy in the near future. I have high hopes for 2009. Rambles are about the extent of my mental capacity right now.

~

Just when
does enjoyment cross into abuse?
Oh, not for things well advertised
as dangerous. No liquored drops
dewing or narced smoky dreams.
I mean those bright fey joys that
rightfully shouldn't give pleasure
at all. When you sit in fascination
at the click of magnets, together
and apart. Taking the time to lick
to the center of that tootsie pop,
or surf in mindless adoration past
bedtimes three time zones hence.
You would think creeping danger
should step on a twig, letting you
startle in timely flight. How then,
do I wake exhausted and looking
for clues on why everything went
wrong?

Back to editing! I'm going to take a look at another 30 day thing. But first: I am so, so, SO glad that today is my work Friday. Really. I can't even describe it. The weeks slide by more easily. The general tone is still sticky. Tomorrow I have a lunch meeting with my ex, a trip to the library, and serious bonding time with all my game platforms. Please, please, please let this weekend heal and refresh.

~
Original Text:

I saw a butterfly wing today. I picked it up and feathery dust stuck to my finger tips. It seems that my prints strip the wing of glory. It's funny, but the shimmering colors don't transfer to my fingers. The cold gray blotch on the membrane matched the sharded dust on my hands.

I wonder what happened to the butterfly. We don't choose to leave our limbs behind. Was it old age, or lizards and toads and birds oh my. A wing shaped bit of my heart ached too. Such a velvet black and limpid blue will never fly again. My eyes swallow the memory for later.

So many colors on so many things. You'd think my brain would get indigestion from all the things it's eaten. My faltering tongue tries to transfer it, but all they see is gray. Wishes won't spin the words to lapis lazuli or gold. The color stays in my mind; slightly cast with depression.

One day my mouth will hold the colors of butterflies. I'll share it in a kiss if you want to speak in rainbows. A quick
snap will fill your mouth with ashes, so hold it on the tip of your tongue.

I consider this to be kind a poetry bud. There's no plot, no theme. Just images dripping down over each other. It's hard to decide what to do with it.

A cobalt flash and a tip of black
I thought I found a butterfly.
it may have been one once
but just a wing remained
still shivering with wind
and iridescence. I picked
it up and my spirits fell
as it lifted. the jeweled
scrap of sky splotched
dirty grey with my finger
tips. I looked for gems
in the swirled prints and
found only shards of dust.

The pang of further destruction
had me wondering how
it had been left behind.
there's not much you
can trump as a flower flying.
a wing shaped bit of my heart
ached, and my eyes swallowed
it for memory. I wish
I could touch it to my mouth
and take it in, spots and all
to paper four chambers
with sapphires.

One day my mouth
will hold the colors of butterflies.
I'll share it in a kiss
if you want to speak in rainbows.
perhaps the silver lining
of your lips will heal
the ashes on the tip of my tongue
and set the sky free
once again.

Waxing Lassitude

This week's taking melancholy for a walk. At least it's almost half over.

~

Malachite
Mercury
and me mellowing to music.
It's too bad that alliteration
is so passe. The sound MnMing
drips metal down the chords
and limns the notes in pewter.
One forgets the poisoned green
on the other side in indignant
art. To breathe words in
toxinated moue with grammar.
To be drunk in silver triads.
More than any alkaloid star
this merge of melody and
mine drugs pain
into silence.

Munching on a new leaf.

How nice to spend a couple of days not doing much at all. I don't really feel like editing right now, since I spent 10 hours doing quality control on data entry today. Makes me feel like looking at the most glaring error and taking it out for a drink. But I do feel like nattering on, so maybe I'll write something instead.

~

It's a quiet urge. That impulse to punch someone out. It starts somewhere around the stomach, where you're sick of listening to even another word. You repress the yell welling up in your navel. It's not that you couldn't, but the pang of satisfaction pressed against the nausea of results is just. not. worth it.

Or so you think. When the next phrase beats your ears you lurch in vertigo. Your wants have flipped so fast. The sound of your enraged screech falls behind; falls silent. The unwanted advice salts and peppers your swallowed tongue and you gag on the platitude.

If only there was a vaccine for the well intentioned. The corrosive rain eats through every umbrella proffered with a smile, and never notices it brought it's own cloud. Every stretch and slide to sink below their satisfaction. Every dance and glide wrapping their fallacious concern tighter to the infection.

Intermission due to Fugue

This is the longest gap I've had yet. I actually did work on editing on Wednesday, but photos only. I've let myself get over tired, I'm stressed about work, and I feel like bursting into tears for no reason whatsoever. I don't even dare post on Locution right now, I'm so bizarrely out of kilter.

I shall have to do some recovery activities tomorrow, and get started again. It will be juuuuuust fine. I can keep telling myself that. There's not a lot that sleep and fudgesicles won't fix.

Moonlit Laundering

The most wonderful thing about apartment laundromats is the ability to do four loads at once. For someone like me, who procrastinates washing until the clothes pile extends flagella, it is the ultimate luxury. Not to mention the impetus to fold right away or toss everything on hangers - there was also a time when I maintained a prefold laundry life form that migrated from my bed to the floor every night.

What can I say. It takes talent to jump start evolution.

~

It's tinker time on 15. I don't think there's much to do on this one, but doesn't hurt to take a look. ;>

Company Waiting

The weighty slap of water on rocks
falling waves on rubbled coral
I stand on pronged cold lava
over the pinched glare of crabs
it's left salt, the ocean has
a gift for this outcrop
the empty stone bubbles
a memory of fire cupping air
now hold white glittering
nothing so cold as diamonds
but the warm taste of blood
saline and iron where I lick
the palm of the land
kissed by the sea

A child such as I
came from this womb of earth and heaven
under the early sun I climb out again
to watch it rise in volcanic fog
this time the air is warm and the rock cold
but a few pools over the water trapped
is blue and staring at the sky
in what year will that home
send someone forth
someone else with salt in their veins
to meet in the crisp air.


I think the hardest part is thinking up titles. It's like framing a picture. It can enhance the meaning or destroy it. I always have the urge to play it safe and bland. I guess I have more fun watching how people choose to react instead of dictating it to them.

Mourning my Monday

I'm tired. I'm being silly and staying up to ridiculous hours, eating stuff that's bad for me, and generally not taking care of myself. Ah well. I'm entitled to be stupid now and then. You'd think that I would say, "Self, you've got a very demanding day going on tomorrow. GET YOUR BUTT IN BED!"

You know, I think I must have problems with authority. I don't seem to listen to that voice in my head very well. I must not have enough practice.

~

Ok. Here we go in a different direction.

i keep looking at the stars
they're far from this old ocean floor
and hazed in a flood of street lights
just a handful shine; pollux, sirius, bits of ursae
the seven sisters haven't come in ages
i should climb the mountains and visit
where they creep out when you come close
head above the clouds but beneath their worship

i want to convert, and baptize myself in zero gee
far beyond whatever splash of milk may weigh me
to fall down the well. spiraled out the long arm
the law of gravity left dancing in my wake of stars
and vogons aside, the light of ancient days
etching poems on my skin. i want to fight
past the static reflection on my glass door
pushing me in from the night