A Confirmation Scene.

Yeah, my title has nothing to do with anything. I'm currently reading 'Life in the Middle Ages', an arousing tome, and it has the greatest little phrases and chapter titles.

Anyways, I never update my blogspot. You should totally just add me on myspace. myspace.com/dayofamalia
Tons of my verse (shitty and not-so-shitty) is on there!

Playground Ponderings

From birth our children have an amazing ability to feel. Anger, joy, love, hatred- they aptly feel it all. As they grow older they use this ability to form a 'worldview' that directly reflects those of the adults around them. We don't teach them to weigh and decide for themselves, only what 'is' and what is acceptable according to society. Our preconceptions, prejudices, irrational judgments are all passed down to children who are taught to just know.

A few weeks ago while my class was playing outside, my cute four yr olds decided to hunt for worms. The hunt was well underway when I noticed some of the children in a heated discussion. (They're adorably earnest at this age…J) One of the boys with a stick for digging had just found a worm under the mulch and dirt and wanted to spear the little thing; a few of the other kids didn't want the worm to die. I asked the boy why he wanted to kill something that had done nothing to harm him or his friends. To this he replied,
"Well, what do worms do for us?"

Is harmony such an out-of-date idea??

In another instance, my attention was drawn by a fellow teacher on the smaller playground next to me. She was chasing the two-year-olds around with a towel on her head, fashioned into a turban. When I asked what she was doing, (amused at her silliness), she simply stated,
"I'm pretending to be a dirty Arab."

No fucking joke, man.

Confession 8: the words of a pagan

When I grow up I want to be A bird. A beach bum. porn star. nun/monk. poet. mad scientist. madame in mexico. sleeping beauty. mother. mermaid. moonshiner. evil genius. the virgin mary.
secluded.
happy.
FREE... real.
Sated.

Hallelujah.

Amanda is...

Amanda is...


A list. Because I love lists.

Amanda is...

Irritated.
Because? I don't want them, I want you. And what you want makes me want to scream.

Flattered.
Here's the line: "you're not like other girls. you're better." If only.... *sigh*

Lucid.
Why is this notable? Because I would rather NOT be lucid. I'd rather be drunk as fuck in some stranger's bathtub.

Dirty.
So, so dirty. Unfortunately, I'm not sharing the details. I'm tired of sharing. Fuck sharing.

The End.

Oh yeah.

Call if... a) you're the stranger with the alcohol and bathtub b) you'd like to fuck sharing with me, or... c) you've found my lost imagination.

Crash

The open space rushes around us
And I'm wide for you
Sitting under a tree like gypsies
Our souls increasing pressure
For that moment when our starved bodies collide
Like two blazing lights
Releasing an explosion of sensation
Light, fire, pain, oblivion are all one
The joining men pay whores to forget
Culminating into one crash

Love

I'm magnificently aware of the sun on my face, warming my legs, caressing every inch I give up

My hair is free and dancing for the breeze, every movement a show of submission

My skirt creeps farther up my thighs, acquiescing for the sun, inviting the breeze to whisper against the bare skin

My lovers are discovering my hidden birthmark, urging the wetness with a kiss from the sun, a touch from the wind

An oak tree towers over me, embracing me beneath the sky

Ideas Mangled Sexuality

Ideas mangled sexuality.

Materialism hanging like ropes from teen bodies

Conservation buried beneath all the plastic

Conversationalists discover duct tape

Mangled ideas.

Sexuality idealized.

Mangled.

Swell

Entertain me.

A touch on the back to confirm my suspicions.
The repetitive, nagging ones forgotten till I'm in this spot again.


Cunning. You are.

Scared. I am.

Looking. and...

Leaving.


It's all a joke, but...

That swell makes me forget why I forgot.

Insert 'whore' as you see fit.

For Every Occasion

Fuck easy friends.

Fuck feeling stupid.

Fuck having cum in my hair.

That's all.

Meditation Happens

When I'm at that point where I can't stop tortuously up heaving thoughts or red-faced tears, I turn out all the lights, go into the shower and curl up, letting the water run down my hair, my face till it trickles down my legs and pools beneath me for a moment before escaping.

Once I've assured myself there are no scary spiders or boogies ready to pounce on me in the darkness, I let myself revel in whatever tumultuous emotion prompted my emo-kid scene. Just for a second, I believe my tears are completely deserved until I really feel the water beating down on me. I think... it must be streams and streams of tears from all of the people who have felt the effects of homicide, genocide, rape, starvation, violence, utter hopelessness.

Again I feel the water flowing down my form, this time as the world's tears, and everything is quiet inside me.

I'm completely calm now, smiling at the oneness of the universe.

I turn off the water, tears, revelations and turn on the lights to look at myself, soaking wet, and smile with truth.

Till We Have Faces

I am Orgual.

I hate the Ungit flowing through me and hate the gods that steal my selfish love.

I have my sick Bardia fantasies that betray Ansit and feed my rotting soul.

I blindly nod my head at Fox's teaching while knowing (I've seen proof through the clouds) the gods exist, however unjust they make themselves appear. I believe that makes me a hypocrite... practicing the Birthing while thinking in Fox's greek way.

I write my foolish book of complaints against the gods, all the while not knowing what I'm really saying.

Pretty much, C.S. Lewis is a genius. Here's an excerpt you must read:

'A glib saying. When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of your soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you'll not talk about joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?'

God, my mind is exploding with the amazingness... borrow/buy/steal this book!

Currently

Because I love lists...

Currently reading:

The Book Nobody Read: Chasing the Revolutions of Nicolaus Copernicus. This book makes me sad that I won't be taking astronomy in the fall. Damn the economy!

Till We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis. It's basically retelling the story of Cupid and Psyche.

Currently watching:

Blue whales give me shivers. The good kind. :)

Currently looking for:

A second job.

Another car... that I can afford with or without the second job.

A decent fuck buddy that doesnt come with all the stressful strings attached... something I'll probably never find.

and.... of course what we're all (constantly, obsessively) searching for. Love. Something else I'll never find....

I think I'll settle for celibacy and a hammock. Oh god that's impossible... Nevermind.

Revision: I think I'll settle for the sulking/meditation combo followed by a determined step in the right direction. Yeah... that's do-able.

Also! Sometimes... you just have to say a cleansing "Fuck you."

Flushing and Tennessee

True story:

I'm at St. Michael's Hopsital in Texarkana visiting Stephanie's grandma.I go to the restroom and as I'm flushing I turn around, obviously a little too quickly, because my phone flies out of my jacket pocket. Where does it go? Guess.

Stephanie walks in to find me completely freaking out in the first stall. At this point my phone has just been swallowed up by St Michael's plumbing. I'm laughing, wailing, and crying simultaneously. To the ignorant bystander I probably seemed insane. I've only had this phone for two weeks... after I washed my last one in the laundry. Argh!

So. Last night. The Lonely Hearts. Well played. Eric Wilson and Empty Hearts.... amazing! You have to check them out. Their song 'Kentucky You're My Lover' made me cry. Really. I'm Tennessee... only a little easier to leave.

She curls into the fetal position and asks about the cat

Apparently this is out of character for me, because Steph feels the need to point it out. Lying on the floor in the fetal position comforts me and I really love the cat. Ok?

When I think of everything I want to say, or everything I'm feeling at the moment... one word comes to mind. GAY. I'm sure there are plenty of other words that more accurately describe my life at the moment, but no. Gay it is. Okay. Here's the idea. I could so use a smorgsaborg of these things:

chips and salsa,
a blue sky,
a few starry constellations,
hot hot sex,
D'Artagnan (the cat),
Jack Black,
Monty Python and the Holy Grail,
extremely raunchy 'your mom/last night' jokes

Just put them all together... in a blender maybe.. and spoon feed me my beautiful, happy-making serum. Now that I think about it, you COULD add a few more bits of hot hot sex. You know. If you wanted.

Let's escape to Mexico?

Moan.

Maybe this is how the sane lose their mind, or maybe it's the way to find something. I'm open for the sky and chanting, chanting away.

Lover,
Lover,
Lover.

It's what I keep telling myself. That's all I have to be or… find. Finality. The Note that is always escaping me.
You know best how to use your sublime abuse, and my knuckles are thrashed red from it. That certain way you touch me leaves me tingling, wanting for more. Waiting for more. Aching is a better word for it, but I wait still.

Waiting,
Waiting,
Waiting.

It all comes down to this. What comes after is nothing. Or everything. I've never been there because I've always been here waiting. For what, you ask? The note before The Note. It's all too logical for me to understand. The way you tell me you don't want to go 'there' with me is all I can think of. All I cannot think of, too. Are you understanding me yet?

Summons,
Summons,
Summons.

Like the ringing of a bell, the thrill of a shiver… mouth open and eyes closed. I look at myself one last time before I undress. I know that my eyes aren't filled enough for a whole life with you. Maybe they never will have the glimmer you want.
I tell myself to put on the dress. Just put on the damn wedding dress. Something will leave, I know it.

Leaving,
Leaving,
Leaving.

That desire is leaving because it must. I need my sanity. I need to get away from wanting emotions. I want an absence of faith to clear the sick feeling in my head and stomach. I want God. Which is...

Ridiculous.

Because He left.

More than anything, I think, I want you to moan for me. In my ear. Across every inch. So I can know that it's all we are. A moan.

"The Terrible Thing"

Settling. Fucking settling. I want to smash the papers back in your face. Make your own numbers, assign your own tasks and do them while you're at it. Dragon. Witch. Derelict beast of a woman.
Put four plates in front of me, piled high with your inane bullshit. Bullshit! I can't use any of them, but I have to use them all. You're rating me... raping me with your numbers. In the ass. Ass!
The tomatoes are gone. The beeping is constant... I can't get the tomatoes, I won't. The words are here now, they're here, and I can't deny them. You're interrupting me, and I can't stay here.

Sunday Drive... and it owns me

A Pen. I need a Fucking Pen. Anyone? I find one, cradle it in my hand, and the calmness rushes through me.

Music. The trees want Cake. The grass is sleeping fitfully. The sky and road just want it loud. My shitty radio sounds are up all the way, violently shoving out the beat. The trees gather closer to the road, to the music, urging the road to narrow it's intensity.

Planes strike the sky and it doesn't notice. It's turned to us, enthralled by the beat and the life moving slowly in a line. The sky hold us up to it's blue nostrils, willing the smell.

The grass wakens near the road, smiling greenly at us. 'Rouse the cows!' it turns to shout. It's just like grass... always thinking of the cows.

The lime green house with matching lime green chairs ask me if I'd like to sit for a while. It nods noncommitally when I decline, going back to it's lime green porch. The glistening pond begs for a swim, to be caressed and penetrated, but I can't satify the water. The road owns me today, and the trees have me in a close embrace.

They would love to blame it on drugs

They would love to blame it on drugs.
Today I woke up with a snake on my face. Heat and pain are together, according to the paper. I believe I'm entirely sane.
The way you looked when you crumbled the sky that told me I should cry out... no, maybe try out for the opening as God. I hear he's vacationing, leaving his station for a year or so.
Those tears that haven't dried must be running somewhere still. Colorado? No, down your chin till they disappear. Now you've got them under cuff.
What did you call that bluff? By it's name .. and ít's only a syllable away from mine.
My position is with churning with want of an overthrow. I'm being directed towards Goddess. There's not enough romance in God, they say.

The Satire of.. (edited for the public eye)

If I were a really bad ass monk I could probably find a way to scream out every word I've ever heard or said all at once... and get it all out. I'm not a bad ass monk, though... just random. (Emo eye shift..)

The week ends with my apparent inarticulacy. A few people must have picked up on this because they decided it was a good time to attack my 'moral standards' as well as point out my 'imminent path of... doom.' I don't know how 'they' managed to pick up on this seeing as how 'they' just see what they're told to see, and 'they' make sure 'their' ideas are all copied directly from some ridiculous code. Chants...

How can you expect someone to explain their complete composition in five minutes flat? It's ridiculous, and you only have the upper hand because it happens to point fingers.

Horoscope reading for the day:
'You've been temporarily endowed with superpowers. The ability to turn mere sounds into poetry, music and mesmerizing stories will be yours for the next 24 hours or so. Better carry throat lozenges, because once word gets around, you won't be able to turn the fans away without a demonstration.'
It was a cool day but I didn't get the 'superpower' vibe. Maybe the 'repressed sexual tension' vibe. I may not have sudden goddess-like powers today, but Steph definitely had a nice proposition. A sure thing is a great feeling.. and movie. I need a really good ... to brighten my mood. I take it back. Today sucked.

Whatever. I'm going to stop second guessing myself and becoming harrowed about... you.

Snakes and Steinbeck

I'm in a terribly introspective mood tonight. If there's a bad-luck quota somewhere in the depths of our screwy psyches, mine is definitely getting on just fine.

Four or five lengthy conversations about human behavior later, my mind is just about bursting with outrage at how devious and hypocritical we humans are- especially women. No wonder I'm not a lesbian. (Don't say anything to that guy, though...) Oh, did I mention I'm infinitely paranoid tonight as well? It's all true...

Containment is key... I don't want to rant about how I hate the motives behind marriage and monogamy, or how the supposed 'fear of God' completely cages both men and women into things like.... monotonous sex. Mediocre convictions. Mainstream thought processes. Are you noticing a common tread here?

I know I'm pretty ridiculous most of the time and, yes, an unabridged dork, but I can't help but wonder why life has to follow 'the Plan' according to convention. 'The Plan' is dictated by straight-laced preachers, cubby-holed teachers, and unhappy mothers. Okay... I don't know why I'm trying. If you want to live... live. The was is over if you want it. Do what feels right.

Life in General loves Stevie Nicks

I'm driving in my (shitty) car, watching a train go by. I don't think about where the highway leads or even the lines on the pavement. I think about the marlboro man and the world in general as a Cranberries cover comes on the radio. The train trails shadows and with it- light. Then the road curves, and I curve with it.

I've decided that rap is a dirty, pesky, un-yeilding, convulsive disease. Yes. A disease. A dirty one. You can't just listen to one song to, you know, indulge periodically. IT won't let you. IT stays in your head for weeks... WEEKS! IT's not even the good stuff like The Beastie Boys or MC Hammer... no. Think the chickenhead or hell... the chicken-noodle soup. Blech.

I've got a feeling...

I've been meaning to pay my student loan, but I had no clue who to pay. You'd think the bank that supposedly loaned it to you. No. Four 800-numbers and 45 minutes later, I finally track down my debt. You'd think they'd want to be more accessible, right? At least send annoying letters or call once in a while. The student loan system needs revamping... along with mainstream porn.

I feel like I'm standing at a crossroad. I can do what's right for my coin purse and continue to travel the corporate realm and more than likely jepoardize everything I am right now, or.... I could seek a more bohemian lifestyle. I could start a commune! I don't know what I'm to do, but work is scheduled for mañana. Ugh.