Baby, I never
turn down a challenge;
and I love
a good fist fight.
I'm the kind of girl
who'll throw punches
at the bedroom walls
when they press
too tight.
(I've got the scars to prove it)
Are you sure you want to toy
with me this way?
I've got a granite cool
exterior;
but inside,
I'm all mist
and constellation.
I know you see
the damsel in distress;
neon arrow above my head.
That's why you kissed me that night;
your inner hero complex led your armor
to my magnet core.
(to be continued...)
Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
fall bliss
Ophelia rolled her neck as she stumbled out of the parking lot. The ten hour drive had not been kind to her muscles. But it was well worth the trip, here she was, back in the city she loved, ready to pick up her keys and move in to her first studio apartment.
She squinted as she approached the front door of the apartment building. There was a boy smoking a cigarette next to the ashtray she'd spent many hours perched against in the past. He looked familiar, but it couldn't be...
"I hear you need some help moving in." he said with an adorable smirk.
Ophelia's face stretched itself into a smile. Oliver.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind it." she said, giving him a hug.
He wrapped his arms around her; and she felt safe for the first time in months.
They let go and he pushed the end of his Marlboro smooth cigarette through the slot of the ashtray.
"After you." he said, motioning towards the door.
He took her hand as they walked into the lobby.
Ophelia retrieved her key and a packet of information from the front desk.
"Have a good day." Melissa, the receptionist from her hometown, smiled.
"Thanks. I will." Ophelia said, leading Oliver back outside. There was no way she couldn't, now.
"I have to figure out what my parents' plan is." she explained.
"Fair enough." Oliver nodded.
They walked back towards the parking lot.
Her family, (mother, father, and three younger siblings) crowded around their mini van and her uncles leaned against the truck that held the majority of her belongings.
"Okay, what's the deal?" she asked when they approached the group.
She saw her mother's eyebrows knit in question over the boy whose hand was twined with her daughter's.
"Well, we need to get your stuff upstairs, obviously." one of her uncles said.
Ophelia nodded.
"Why don't you take the kids down to the park or something?" she suggested to her mother, "it's straight down 8th street, once you cross Michigan, you're in Grant Park. There isn't enough room for everybody upstairs... The guys and I can handle
the moving stuff. Or, if we unload the van first, you and daddy and the kids can go to Target. It's down State, then right at Roosevelt."
"That sounds good."
"Okay."
Ophelia opened the back of the van and began pulling out her suitcases.
"Got enough stuff, babe?" Oliver asked.
"Nope."
"Girls." he sighed, picking up the bags.
Her father followed suit, and between five of them (Ophelia, Oliver, her father and her two uncles), they managed to empty the car.
"I guess we'll take this stuff up." Ophelia said.
She led the way, Oliver following closely behind.
They rode the elevator up the twenty floors and Ophelia opened the door of the apartment.
"Where do you want this stuff?" Her father asked.
"I guess all this can go in the bedroom for now, that way we can put all the boxes in the living room."
When everyone had put down their burdens, they headed for the door. She let her father and uncles go first, stopping Oliver after their exit.
"What's up?" he said.
She kissed him.
"I couldn't wait any more." she sighed.
He smiled back.
"I missed you too."
They headed out the door after the others. It was a good day.
****
Several trips later, all of Ophelia's belongings were in her apartment and the group headed for the lobby one last time.
"You're back!" her favorite security guard, Rosie, exclaimed.
Ophelia laughed.
"Of course I"m back."
"And look at you, with all these men."
"Aw, Rosie, you know me, just the usual. Besides, this is my dad, those two are my uncles and this is..." she paused. How did she describe Oliver?
"I'm her boyfriend." Oliver supplied.
"You are?" Ophelia said, turning to face him.
"Yep."
Ophelia smiled again.
"And this is my boyfriend, Oliver, so you'll be seeing a lot of him."
"Good for you, girl."
"I'm a lucky one alright." she grinned.
Her father and uncles had left them in the lobby sometime during the exchange, so Ophelia leaned up and kissed Oliver.
"Boyfriend?" she asked, as they walked outside.
"Well, I was going to ask, but this worked out, so why not?"
"Good plan."
She squeezed his hand.
This year was off to a perfect start.
She squinted as she approached the front door of the apartment building. There was a boy smoking a cigarette next to the ashtray she'd spent many hours perched against in the past. He looked familiar, but it couldn't be...
"I hear you need some help moving in." he said with an adorable smirk.
Ophelia's face stretched itself into a smile. Oliver.
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind it." she said, giving him a hug.
He wrapped his arms around her; and she felt safe for the first time in months.
They let go and he pushed the end of his Marlboro smooth cigarette through the slot of the ashtray.
"After you." he said, motioning towards the door.
He took her hand as they walked into the lobby.
Ophelia retrieved her key and a packet of information from the front desk.
"Have a good day." Melissa, the receptionist from her hometown, smiled.
"Thanks. I will." Ophelia said, leading Oliver back outside. There was no way she couldn't, now.
"I have to figure out what my parents' plan is." she explained.
"Fair enough." Oliver nodded.
They walked back towards the parking lot.
Her family, (mother, father, and three younger siblings) crowded around their mini van and her uncles leaned against the truck that held the majority of her belongings.
"Okay, what's the deal?" she asked when they approached the group.
She saw her mother's eyebrows knit in question over the boy whose hand was twined with her daughter's.
"Well, we need to get your stuff upstairs, obviously." one of her uncles said.
Ophelia nodded.
"Why don't you take the kids down to the park or something?" she suggested to her mother, "it's straight down 8th street, once you cross Michigan, you're in Grant Park. There isn't enough room for everybody upstairs... The guys and I can handle
the moving stuff. Or, if we unload the van first, you and daddy and the kids can go to Target. It's down State, then right at Roosevelt."
"That sounds good."
"Okay."
Ophelia opened the back of the van and began pulling out her suitcases.
"Got enough stuff, babe?" Oliver asked.
"Nope."
"Girls." he sighed, picking up the bags.
Her father followed suit, and between five of them (Ophelia, Oliver, her father and her two uncles), they managed to empty the car.
"I guess we'll take this stuff up." Ophelia said.
She led the way, Oliver following closely behind.
They rode the elevator up the twenty floors and Ophelia opened the door of the apartment.
"Where do you want this stuff?" Her father asked.
"I guess all this can go in the bedroom for now, that way we can put all the boxes in the living room."
When everyone had put down their burdens, they headed for the door. She let her father and uncles go first, stopping Oliver after their exit.
"What's up?" he said.
She kissed him.
"I couldn't wait any more." she sighed.
He smiled back.
"I missed you too."
They headed out the door after the others. It was a good day.
****
Several trips later, all of Ophelia's belongings were in her apartment and the group headed for the lobby one last time.
"You're back!" her favorite security guard, Rosie, exclaimed.
Ophelia laughed.
"Of course I"m back."
"And look at you, with all these men."
"Aw, Rosie, you know me, just the usual. Besides, this is my dad, those two are my uncles and this is..." she paused. How did she describe Oliver?
"I'm her boyfriend." Oliver supplied.
"You are?" Ophelia said, turning to face him.
"Yep."
Ophelia smiled again.
"And this is my boyfriend, Oliver, so you'll be seeing a lot of him."
"Good for you, girl."
"I'm a lucky one alright." she grinned.
Her father and uncles had left them in the lobby sometime during the exchange, so Ophelia leaned up and kissed Oliver.
"Boyfriend?" she asked, as they walked outside.
"Well, I was going to ask, but this worked out, so why not?"
"Good plan."
She squeezed his hand.
This year was off to a perfect start.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Rust and Gangrene
His hair was the same color
as the rust on the railing of the balcony.
Red-brown
and the way it hung over his eyes
reminded Kate
of the flakes of paint
around the spots of rust.
Maybe that was the rum talking.
as the rust on the railing of the balcony.
Red-brown
and the way it hung over his eyes
reminded Kate
of the flakes of paint
around the spots of rust.
Maybe that was the rum talking.
Debut
The curtain opens.
Heavy scraping sounds that could be the beginning
of a thunder storm.
Spotlight
Falls
On a solitary
Figure.
Center Stage.
Androgynous.
The figure’s eyes
Are
Focused.
On the floor.
A tiny squeal
From the mike
Before
A whisper.
The story begins with
I never though I’d be here, still alive, today.
Heavy scraping sounds that could be the beginning
of a thunder storm.
Spotlight
Falls
On a solitary
Figure.
Center Stage.
Androgynous.
The figure’s eyes
Are
Focused.
On the floor.
A tiny squeal
From the mike
Before
A whisper.
The story begins with
I never though I’d be here, still alive, today.
To Be Continued.
“You’re eighteen, you don’t know what passion is.”
“Maybe not. But I know what inner turmoil is, and that’s close enough.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t?”
“No.”
“Okay. Sure. You’re right.I'm just another melodramatic teenager.”
My social anxiety disorder makes me back down. But I'm screaming a monologue in my head.
“Maybe not. But I know what inner turmoil is, and that’s close enough.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t?”
“No.”
“Okay. Sure. You’re right.I'm just another melodramatic teenager.”
My social anxiety disorder makes me back down. But I'm screaming a monologue in my head.
I've got the Crazies
Kate slid toward the edge of the two seater porch swing as it jerked forward. She swung her arm out to reach for the edge of the cushion but grasped Vince’s arm instead, her fingernails trailing across his skin as she continued to fall. Vince caught her and pushed her shoulder to the back of the seat. Then Kate wriggled herself into position with drunken, exaggerated twists of her hips and torso.
“Alright there, Ma'am?” Vince teased.
Kate giggled and bent over so she could look down at the dusty green boards of the porch floor for her purse to get her cigarettes. She squinted her eyes in the dark, or as dark as it could get in the city.
“Yep. Fine, fine, fine.” She giggled again, head between her bare knees.
She stretched to reach for her purse, nearly falling over again. This time, purse in hand, she recovered by standing up and tripping the three steps ahead to the railing.
Vince watched her fight with the zipper until she finally got it open and drew out a cigarette. She dropped the purse at her feet and began flicking the dial of her lighter. Her shaking hands were no where near the cigarette—not that she was producing a flame anyway. He shook his head, getting up to join her at the railing, and attempted to take the lighter out of her hands.
Kate started to protest, whining around the cigarette between her lips and hiding the lighter behind her back, until she realized he was going to help her. He plucked the green plastic lighter out of her hands, flicked the dial once, sparking a steady flame, and cupped his free hand around it while Kate leaned in and inhaled until her cigarette was ignited.
“Thank you.” She rested her hip against the railing.
Vince nodded, pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit up himself, before handing Kate the lighter.
He propped his elbows on the railing and watched as cars zoomed past on the city street below them. They heard the familiar honk of impatient taxis and the occasional far off siren.
“I’ve never seen you this drunk before.” Vince said.
“I’ve never needed to be this drunk before.” She squinted again. Without her glasses, she couldn’t see the traffic below, and the many mojitos in her system were making the world even blurrier.
“Oh yeah?”
“Besides, I’m not drunk. I’m not drunk until I’m making out with somebody.”
She gestured out past the railing with her cigarette, as if to summon one of the drivers for her cause.
“I think you might need to reevaluate your definition of drunk.” Vince laughed.
“Nope. That’s how it works.”
“What happens if there’s nobody for you to make out with?” he asked.
“Then I’m not drunk.” Taking the last drag of her cigarette, Kate tossed it off the balcony.
She spun around, tripped over her own feet in the process, and fell to the floor, her yellow cotton skirt sliding up her thighs.
“I think that proves my point.” Vince sighed, looking down at her.
“Nope.” Kate protested, but also making no move to get up.
“C’mon now. Let’s at least sit on the swing, not on the floor.”
Kate pushed herself up with her hands, but didn’t make it more than an inch above the boards before falling again.
“I think I’m good here.” She giggled.
Vince wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her up, her back leaning against his legs so he could half carry- half drag her over to the swing.
“That better?” he asked, when she was sitting again.
Kate leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“ I think so.”
“Good. Now what’s wrong?”
Kate kept her eyes closed. She shook her head back and forth against the seat, and felt her blonde hair scraping against the fabric.
“Nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”
“You said you’d never needed to be this drunk before.”
“People say silly things when they’re drinking.”
“Yeah, they do. But, there’s usually some truth in them, the kinds of things people won’t say when they’re sober.”
“This isn’t one of them.” Kate stretched her legs out, sliding her feet across the floor.
“I think you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Look me in the eye and say that.”
Kate squeezed her already closed eyes shut.
“Can’t. Everything’s spinning.”
“Kate.”
“If I open my eyes, I’m going to throw up on you.”
“Well we don’t want that.”
“Exactly.”
“Kate,” Vince started, “you don’t puke from drinking unless you’re upset about something. You know that, and I know that. So if that’s the direction you’re going in, something’s up.”
“Maybe I finally found my limit.”
Vince laughed. “I’ve seen you kill a fifth all on your own, without a hangover to speak of the next day. If a couple girly drinks has you sick, something’s definitely wrong.”
“Stop.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“No, I mean stop moving the swing.” Kate moaned before falling forward again.
She choked and heaved in the direction of her feet, her hair spilling over her face. Vince brushed it back and rubbed her shoulder as she gasped, though still not vomiting.
Kate sat up, leaned back again and took a few deep breaths, eyes still closed. The wet streaks on her face reflected the streetlights. He couldn’t tell if it was from the dry heaving or if she was crying.
“Well?” Vince asked.
“Well, what?”
“What’s wrong?”
Kate bit her lip. This meant one of two things. She was turned on, or she was anxious. Usually, it was both.
“Nobody’s ever going to love me.”
That was not the answer either of them was expecting.
“What are you talking about?”
“Vince, I’ve got the crazies. Nobody is ever going to love me.”
He reached over to wipe away the tear tracks from her face, more to buy himself some time than out of affection. Things just weren’t that way between him and Kate.
“Everybody’s got the crazies. You just have to find someone who can deal with your particular brand and vice versa.”
Kate shook her head, vigorously at first, so her hair danced around the silvery white straps of her tank top, then, more slowly as the motion aggravated her inebriated brain.
“Damn it, I’m not talking about cute little quirks and eccentricities. I mean, legit crazies. I’m sick.”
Kate heard the familiar click of a lighter. Vince lit another cigarette, taking a drag and blowing it out before answering.
“So am I. So are a lot of other people. You’ve got the looks and the charm to even it out. So what if you need a little extra help getting through the day, there isn’t a famous person out there who didn’t have some kind of crazy in ‘em.”
They’d had this same conversation before. Sober. They were both more than a little messed up. They couldn’t be together, it would be too awkward at this point. The initial attraction had come from finding someone who understood. But now they knew they each had to find someone stable—someone who could balance the crazies, as they put it.
“If I could open my eyes, I would punch you in the face right now.”
“Yeah, but you can’t. Totally empty threat.”
“Then I could punch you and puke on you. It would be double the revenge.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. But I don’t want to move.”
Vince took a drag of his cigarette.
"So I win by default.”
“You don’t win. We just have to postpone this debate for a time when I’m not dying.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Nope. Not that lucky.”
“Kate.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. She peeped her eyes open, but avoided looking at him.
He got angry every time she mentioned dying. She had this stupid ten year plan that called for her being healthy, financially sound and in a stable relationship before she was thirty or she was going to kill herself. He hated when she referred to it. Not just because he cared, but because he was jealous that she had that kind of determination.
“Do you? What do you know? Because I don’t think you know what a catch you are.”
She tried to glare at him, but couldn’t make out more than her eyelashes, so she shut her eyes again.
“Yeah, well, neither do you, mister, so shut the fuck up.”
He knew she was right. Self-esteem was not either of their strong points.
“Fair enough.”
Kate was too drunk to fight, she hated fighting with Vince to begin with. He was the only person she really trusted.
“Truce?”
Vince took the last drag of his cigarette and dropped it to the floor, grinding it out with his shoe.
“I need a drink.” Vince sighed.
“Go for it. I think I need another cigarette.”
She started to lean forward, then fell back, turning her head so her cheek was resting on the cushion.
Vince pushed himself up off the swing, shook his head and leaned down to kiss Kate on the cheek. With her eyes closed again, she smiled, and the rum began to pull her into sleep.
“Alright there, Ma'am?” Vince teased.
Kate giggled and bent over so she could look down at the dusty green boards of the porch floor for her purse to get her cigarettes. She squinted her eyes in the dark, or as dark as it could get in the city.
“Yep. Fine, fine, fine.” She giggled again, head between her bare knees.
She stretched to reach for her purse, nearly falling over again. This time, purse in hand, she recovered by standing up and tripping the three steps ahead to the railing.
Vince watched her fight with the zipper until she finally got it open and drew out a cigarette. She dropped the purse at her feet and began flicking the dial of her lighter. Her shaking hands were no where near the cigarette—not that she was producing a flame anyway. He shook his head, getting up to join her at the railing, and attempted to take the lighter out of her hands.
Kate started to protest, whining around the cigarette between her lips and hiding the lighter behind her back, until she realized he was going to help her. He plucked the green plastic lighter out of her hands, flicked the dial once, sparking a steady flame, and cupped his free hand around it while Kate leaned in and inhaled until her cigarette was ignited.
“Thank you.” She rested her hip against the railing.
Vince nodded, pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit up himself, before handing Kate the lighter.
He propped his elbows on the railing and watched as cars zoomed past on the city street below them. They heard the familiar honk of impatient taxis and the occasional far off siren.
“I’ve never seen you this drunk before.” Vince said.
“I’ve never needed to be this drunk before.” She squinted again. Without her glasses, she couldn’t see the traffic below, and the many mojitos in her system were making the world even blurrier.
“Oh yeah?”
“Besides, I’m not drunk. I’m not drunk until I’m making out with somebody.”
She gestured out past the railing with her cigarette, as if to summon one of the drivers for her cause.
“I think you might need to reevaluate your definition of drunk.” Vince laughed.
“Nope. That’s how it works.”
“What happens if there’s nobody for you to make out with?” he asked.
“Then I’m not drunk.” Taking the last drag of her cigarette, Kate tossed it off the balcony.
She spun around, tripped over her own feet in the process, and fell to the floor, her yellow cotton skirt sliding up her thighs.
“I think that proves my point.” Vince sighed, looking down at her.
“Nope.” Kate protested, but also making no move to get up.
“C’mon now. Let’s at least sit on the swing, not on the floor.”
Kate pushed herself up with her hands, but didn’t make it more than an inch above the boards before falling again.
“I think I’m good here.” She giggled.
Vince wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her up, her back leaning against his legs so he could half carry- half drag her over to the swing.
“That better?” he asked, when she was sitting again.
Kate leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“ I think so.”
“Good. Now what’s wrong?”
Kate kept her eyes closed. She shook her head back and forth against the seat, and felt her blonde hair scraping against the fabric.
“Nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”
“You said you’d never needed to be this drunk before.”
“People say silly things when they’re drinking.”
“Yeah, they do. But, there’s usually some truth in them, the kinds of things people won’t say when they’re sober.”
“This isn’t one of them.” Kate stretched her legs out, sliding her feet across the floor.
“I think you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Look me in the eye and say that.”
Kate squeezed her already closed eyes shut.
“Can’t. Everything’s spinning.”
“Kate.”
“If I open my eyes, I’m going to throw up on you.”
“Well we don’t want that.”
“Exactly.”
“Kate,” Vince started, “you don’t puke from drinking unless you’re upset about something. You know that, and I know that. So if that’s the direction you’re going in, something’s up.”
“Maybe I finally found my limit.”
Vince laughed. “I’ve seen you kill a fifth all on your own, without a hangover to speak of the next day. If a couple girly drinks has you sick, something’s definitely wrong.”
“Stop.”
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“No, I mean stop moving the swing.” Kate moaned before falling forward again.
She choked and heaved in the direction of her feet, her hair spilling over her face. Vince brushed it back and rubbed her shoulder as she gasped, though still not vomiting.
Kate sat up, leaned back again and took a few deep breaths, eyes still closed. The wet streaks on her face reflected the streetlights. He couldn’t tell if it was from the dry heaving or if she was crying.
“Well?” Vince asked.
“Well, what?”
“What’s wrong?”
Kate bit her lip. This meant one of two things. She was turned on, or she was anxious. Usually, it was both.
“Nobody’s ever going to love me.”
That was not the answer either of them was expecting.
“What are you talking about?”
“Vince, I’ve got the crazies. Nobody is ever going to love me.”
He reached over to wipe away the tear tracks from her face, more to buy himself some time than out of affection. Things just weren’t that way between him and Kate.
“Everybody’s got the crazies. You just have to find someone who can deal with your particular brand and vice versa.”
Kate shook her head, vigorously at first, so her hair danced around the silvery white straps of her tank top, then, more slowly as the motion aggravated her inebriated brain.
“Damn it, I’m not talking about cute little quirks and eccentricities. I mean, legit crazies. I’m sick.”
Kate heard the familiar click of a lighter. Vince lit another cigarette, taking a drag and blowing it out before answering.
“So am I. So are a lot of other people. You’ve got the looks and the charm to even it out. So what if you need a little extra help getting through the day, there isn’t a famous person out there who didn’t have some kind of crazy in ‘em.”
They’d had this same conversation before. Sober. They were both more than a little messed up. They couldn’t be together, it would be too awkward at this point. The initial attraction had come from finding someone who understood. But now they knew they each had to find someone stable—someone who could balance the crazies, as they put it.
“If I could open my eyes, I would punch you in the face right now.”
“Yeah, but you can’t. Totally empty threat.”
“Then I could punch you and puke on you. It would be double the revenge.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would. But I don’t want to move.”
Vince took a drag of his cigarette.
"So I win by default.”
“You don’t win. We just have to postpone this debate for a time when I’m not dying.”
“You’re not dying.”
“Nope. Not that lucky.”
“Kate.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. She peeped her eyes open, but avoided looking at him.
He got angry every time she mentioned dying. She had this stupid ten year plan that called for her being healthy, financially sound and in a stable relationship before she was thirty or she was going to kill herself. He hated when she referred to it. Not just because he cared, but because he was jealous that she had that kind of determination.
“Do you? What do you know? Because I don’t think you know what a catch you are.”
She tried to glare at him, but couldn’t make out more than her eyelashes, so she shut her eyes again.
“Yeah, well, neither do you, mister, so shut the fuck up.”
He knew she was right. Self-esteem was not either of their strong points.
“Fair enough.”
Kate was too drunk to fight, she hated fighting with Vince to begin with. He was the only person she really trusted.
“Truce?”
Vince took the last drag of his cigarette and dropped it to the floor, grinding it out with his shoe.
“I need a drink.” Vince sighed.
“Go for it. I think I need another cigarette.”
She started to lean forward, then fell back, turning her head so her cheek was resting on the cushion.
Vince pushed himself up off the swing, shook his head and leaned down to kiss Kate on the cheek. With her eyes closed again, she smiled, and the rum began to pull her into sleep.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Vintage Melodies
Pour me a simple whiskey and water
I'll sip it slowly
while we banter.
A little jazz
or acoustic indie
is the perfect
background soundtrack.
Me in that little black
cocktail dress--
the one that brushes my knees;
I'll have a cigarette in one hand
highball glass in the other.
You wear those jeans
a black band tee
and your fedora.
Baby, we'll sit at the bar
then talk to the stars
that freckle the perfect
ball point ink sky
as we walk down the pavement
your fingers twined with mine.
Back to your place
put on a pot of coffee;
we won't wait until it's done brewing.
Your lips drift to mine
raspberry on strawberry.
My fingers find your hair.
I'm home.
I'm home.
I'm home.
Because you're there.
I'll sip it slowly
while we banter.
A little jazz
or acoustic indie
is the perfect
background soundtrack.
Me in that little black
cocktail dress--
the one that brushes my knees;
I'll have a cigarette in one hand
highball glass in the other.
You wear those jeans
a black band tee
and your fedora.
Baby, we'll sit at the bar
then talk to the stars
that freckle the perfect
ball point ink sky
as we walk down the pavement
your fingers twined with mine.
Back to your place
put on a pot of coffee;
we won't wait until it's done brewing.
Your lips drift to mine
raspberry on strawberry.
My fingers find your hair.
I'm home.
I'm home.
I'm home.
Because you're there.
Evolution
What's keeping me alive?
No, this is not a cry for help. It's a philosophical exploration. I'll explain.
Everything supposedly has a purpose in life. Most people are content with the fact that they've been born and that there are conventions to be followed as a result. Simply progress through the checkpoints that society has structured until you die. No questions asked. That's just the way it is. But, if you take the time to think about it, completing these tasks is just filling the hours. You're going to die regardless of what you've accomplished or not.
Animals inherently know that their only purpose is to reproduce. They only fulfill the tasks necessary to keep them alive long enough for this to be done. Eat, sleep, find a suitable partner, procreate, raise the offspring so they can in turn procreate and continue the species so that the food chain remains in balance. Some creatures don't even live long enough to raise their offspring, once they've reproduced and given birth to the new generation, they die, because their purpose has been finished.
Humans have complicated this cycle by introducing, among other things, modern medicine, and as such, extended the life span far past the age of reproduction. By doing this, as a species, humans nullified natural selection. Everyone is given the opportunity to live, despite the fact that they may not be able to produce offspring, let alone genetically favorable beings.
To justify this, goals were created to fill the extra time (accumulation of possessions, hobbies, social conventions etc) but in terms of relevancy to the life cycle, these goals mean nothing. Petty conflicts such as jealousy of property, war, etc are just manifestations of subconscious boredom. The mind hasn't rationalized that we've structured society to surpass the natural instinct of reproducing simply to maintain the species. This frustration channels itself into constant conflict with both the environment and between ourselves.
As as species, humans claim to be so evolved because we've accomplished all these 'great' things, that no other species has done. We see ourselves as superior because we are 'capable' of tasks beyond survival. But does that really make us superior? Or have we really just complicated the concept of life? If we are indeed superior because we 'can' do these things, what is the point? What are we supposed to do with this knowledge if our purpose is beyond to reproduce for the sake of ecological balance?
Call it an immature existential crisis, but do you have any better answers?
No, this is not a cry for help. It's a philosophical exploration. I'll explain.
Everything supposedly has a purpose in life. Most people are content with the fact that they've been born and that there are conventions to be followed as a result. Simply progress through the checkpoints that society has structured until you die. No questions asked. That's just the way it is. But, if you take the time to think about it, completing these tasks is just filling the hours. You're going to die regardless of what you've accomplished or not.
Animals inherently know that their only purpose is to reproduce. They only fulfill the tasks necessary to keep them alive long enough for this to be done. Eat, sleep, find a suitable partner, procreate, raise the offspring so they can in turn procreate and continue the species so that the food chain remains in balance. Some creatures don't even live long enough to raise their offspring, once they've reproduced and given birth to the new generation, they die, because their purpose has been finished.
Humans have complicated this cycle by introducing, among other things, modern medicine, and as such, extended the life span far past the age of reproduction. By doing this, as a species, humans nullified natural selection. Everyone is given the opportunity to live, despite the fact that they may not be able to produce offspring, let alone genetically favorable beings.
To justify this, goals were created to fill the extra time (accumulation of possessions, hobbies, social conventions etc) but in terms of relevancy to the life cycle, these goals mean nothing. Petty conflicts such as jealousy of property, war, etc are just manifestations of subconscious boredom. The mind hasn't rationalized that we've structured society to surpass the natural instinct of reproducing simply to maintain the species. This frustration channels itself into constant conflict with both the environment and between ourselves.
As as species, humans claim to be so evolved because we've accomplished all these 'great' things, that no other species has done. We see ourselves as superior because we are 'capable' of tasks beyond survival. But does that really make us superior? Or have we really just complicated the concept of life? If we are indeed superior because we 'can' do these things, what is the point? What are we supposed to do with this knowledge if our purpose is beyond to reproduce for the sake of ecological balance?
Call it an immature existential crisis, but do you have any better answers?
shower
My skin's stiff with a/c dried sweat
from that walk around the block
that was meant to clear
my head.
Now all I want to do
is climb into
a dim-lit, hot shower
with you.
Think about your skin
sliding across mine
friction gone
from the soap and water
hickeys growing
that much darker
from the heat.
Unfortunately;
this is just me
imagining.
You're not here
and I'm not there.
I'm destined
for a lonely shower:
curtains left wide open
for luck.
from that walk around the block
that was meant to clear
my head.
Now all I want to do
is climb into
a dim-lit, hot shower
with you.
Think about your skin
sliding across mine
friction gone
from the soap and water
hickeys growing
that much darker
from the heat.
Unfortunately;
this is just me
imagining.
You're not here
and I'm not there.
I'm destined
for a lonely shower:
curtains left wide open
for luck.
First Post
Hey guys, I decided to start a new creative writing blog for this long, lonely summer. Last year's Writing with Matchsticks is gone for good, so if you enjoyed what you saw there, please come back here on a regular basis!
What you should expect to read:
I have a short story collection titled Worse than the Bermuda Triangle: The College Love Triangle, in progress.
Many, many pieces and drafts of Half Glass (the play I'm trying to write for next semester)
And lots of spontaneous boredom poetry.
If you're looking for my emotional, "life" blog, please click the livejournal link on my Facebook.
Welcome to If Ophelia had a Second Chance!
<3 Steffani
What you should expect to read:
I have a short story collection titled Worse than the Bermuda Triangle: The College Love Triangle, in progress.
Many, many pieces and drafts of Half Glass (the play I'm trying to write for next semester)
And lots of spontaneous boredom poetry.
If you're looking for my emotional, "life" blog, please click the livejournal link on my Facebook.
Welcome to If Ophelia had a Second Chance!
<3 Steffani
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