May I sit in the warm sand
by the side of the Ganges
as it flows
as does life
as the sun sets
no I do not want that
the setting sun
is so much more peaceful
the smell of a new land
the laughter of a new people
the realization of another self
eyes half closed
in a trance gaze
yet seeing all
and a shot of that
which is pure joy
Today feels like Autumn
the world has been washed clean
in last nights rain
clouds on the mountains
a prayer to live from the heart
surrender is taking it easy
and accepting that things happen in their own time
to just be who you are.
“Well who are some of your favorite authors?”
She said as she stood in front of the bathroom sink
washing her hands at work.
“Hmmm, I wonder if Anne Lamott smokes?”
“I don’t think so, she used to drink it up, smoke do drugs.”
But if she’s not doing everything else anymore, then she
probably isn’t smoking, and she’s pretty hip, pretty bad,
and a good writer, has that artistic tragic yet spiritual look
about her, she has dread locks, she still cusses, I think.”
“Of course there’s Jack Kerouac–but he smoked for sure,
he also died of alcoholism in his forties, and kind of
embarrassed himself in public in his later years, before
becoming a recluse, it wasn’t so funny or ‘yeah man, yeah’
anymore, he got to that age where you either stay the course
and possibly die, or switch gears and wonder if you did
the right thing the rest of your old life.”
Thinking all of this while thinking why it’s a constant
struggle between wanting to be the lady and wanting
to be the bad girl. Do I want to smell like Vodka and beer
and cigarettes and bars with the slight hint of perfume?
Or do I want to just smell like perfume and a good nights
sleep and “normal” life.
“I swear to God, sometimes I feel like one of those
childhood stars, like there were the lights, the glitz,
the glamour, the I don’t give a F*ck, running around
in ripped jeans, with fancy trashy tank tops ordering
up beers at the bar with a side of man. But we outgrow
that, if we’re really honest with ourselves, don’t we?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we do, but it’s a hard decision
it’s like, do you want to get off the plane before you know
there will be a mechanical malfunction, or do you want
to ride it down in flames and hope that your parachute
works at the last minute, and then act like it was your
idea to save yourself, “no-sweat” you’ll say as you pack up
your chute and tell them you’d like to take the bus home now
and don’t think you’ll be flying anymore cause
you just don’t feel like it.”
“Or maybe, just maybe lady, this is all a bunch of brainwash
bullshit, but for certain, no matter how you roll the dice,
it’s a gamble either way. You just don’t know yourself anymore.”
like a huge machine
that chews you up for years
and spits you out the other end
with not so much as a “good bye
you’ll be alright”
the light at the end of the tunnel
and when you come out the other side
you are discombobulated
always ill prepared
for a new environment
but fighting for the soul
within the body
is a valiant undertaking
a heroic task
that is not only done for your sake
and it is terribly uncomfortable
it is some unknown force
that propels you
urges you towards and out the other end
and you stand up
what the hell happened here.
Pardon me masters, I mean no disrespect
but seems to me that there have been many
who have walked this world blessed.
Those in current memory
who did great service to the world
What about Ghandi and Martin Luther King.
What about Mother Theresa.
Their gifts were almost tangible.
We saw them we heard them in human form.
You speak with voices not of your own.
They come through countless people
professing your ancient wisdom
complete with paintings of you
and numerous organizations you have started
from the “other side”.
What about the human who each day
does some good deed.
Who learns something invaluable from the Supreme Being
here and now to pass it on, to each other
in our own voice.
In his voice.
I cannot forget what she wrote
it goes over and over in my mind,
“am I not enough for you?”
And she listened.
We do not need an electric light show
or glowing crystals
when we have the stars
and this beautiful earth.
She is one of a kind.
We do not need channeled messages,
when we have that which created all
in our heart speaking to us
if we would only listen
not with our ears.
William "Will" Halloway
Born one minute before midnight on October 30, Will is described as having done "only six years of staring." (He is described having White-Blonde hair with eyes "as clear as summer rain".) Will is naturally obedient and wary to get involved in difficult situations; nonetheless, he takes on an active role in fighting the carnival's evil power.
James "Jim" Nightshade
Born one minute after midnight on October 31, Jim is brooding and brash, acting as a foil for Will's cautiousness and practicality. (He is described having wild and tangled chestnut brown hair.) Jim especially wants to become older, which makes him vulnerable to the carnival's temptations, but is ultimately saved by his friendship with Will.
I had a dream about you last night.
My car was parked on the street
in front of your house.
There was a winding path
like a scene straight out of
Except you are not Heathcliff
and I am not Catherine,
but somehow Edgar slipped in there,
though he was unseen
his presence was felt
as we were in your bedroom
and you showed me the metal case
you keep your beer in.
And you wanted to tell me something
You wanted to hold me
to have me
but I would not let you.
A part of me wanted to let you.
But providence held me back
in dreams as in life.
You walked me to my car
before you left to play poker
and we said goodbye for now.
I wanted to stay.
To stay by you,
that Edgar was in my heart,
lurking around the nearest corner
and at first glance
my life as I know it
would be over.
I look at you with your 2.5 kids,
and your perfect life.
You went to college, met your wife or husband there.
Bought a house.
Are, or appear to be an upstanding person.
Your life to me looks wholesome,
Maybe the way nature intended.
Do you look at me and wonder what it would have been like
to skip the university
Run amuck for the better part of your early adult life.
Go drinking with the guys and the girls,
living that kind of life
hard and fast
for as long as possible?
Do you have regrets too?
Is the grass really always greener on the other side?
Or have you not given a second thought
to how you have lived your life
because you had the luxury of thinking
there was no other option.
“There are no sun spots on the earth facing side of the sun today.”
That volcano is producing it’s own lightening!
The earth is smokin’!
No one can fly anymore.
George Bush is back for the attack with his foundation thingy.
And don’t even ask about the Solar Wind, it’s irrelevant.
I want some cookies,
I want a retirement fund,
I want a man to take care of me when I grow old,
I want more options than this in life.
I don’t want to ever run out of beauty products again.
I want a dog,
I want to rent a house,
no, in fact, I want to rent a cottage.
A beautiful sea-side cottage in Monterey,
or Carmel with you,
yes, with you.
I want you to take care of me.
I want to take care of you.
In our proper and perspective ways.
I want to look in shops today,
and eat chocolates.
I want to hug a dog and rest my head on someone’s lap.
I want to learn how to cope with everything,
when nothing goes right
and you wake up in a different world one morning.
Different than the one you fell asleep in months ago.
I'm still truckin' with the not smoking. It's so hard though. I feel like the urges and the sadness for my old pal is never going to end, like everyone lied to me, like that stupid book I read a month before I quit "The Easy Way To Quit Smoking" was a bunch of bullshit. At least it prepared me mentally that I was going to become a non-smoker. Now I am suffering from terrible occasional bouts of anxiety that I have read do not go away for about a month or so. Somewhere else it said that smoking relieves anxiety so when you quit you just might suffer from the anxiety everyone else does. Great. Me and my BF have been fighting like cats and dogs. He is quitting too, but plays tuff like he's ok, but I know he's not. We have taken out everything under the sun on each other the past two weeks, which is sooo counterproductive, cause when you have an argument, you definately feel like smoking.
I broke down last night and got some Nicotine Gum. It was either that or cigarettes. Don't get me wrong, it is getting easier, but I know if I want to keep going and be successful this is going to be a long term process and I will need all the help I can get. The gum helped tremendously, I finally felt more like myself again than I did before I started this process, and I didn't feel like I wanted to throw him off a bridge twice anymore, I love him again. The evenings are the hardest so I will be sticking to the gum to take the edge off. Next--Hypnosis, and group support. I will cover all my bases if I have to.
My mother keeps mostly hardcover books in her library
that her lady dusts, I think, as I run my hand over the latest
borrowed one and wonder how the author came up
with such a grand story and haunting characters
in a time hundreds of years before she was born.
She sits in the gold chair on Tuesdays,
and reads them,
one by one.
There are mysteries, fantasies,
medieval times, stories about decks of cards
playing a solitaire mystery and a young boy
who is constantly making things.
And don’t forget the green dragon.
Her eyelids painted with frosty blue eyeshadow
that smells like Halloween.
Half closed as she looks down at the pages.
She has the longest most beautiful eyelids I have ever seen.
Perhaps they go on for miles,
especially when she is reading.
She sits down in front of me and crosses one pantyhoed leg over the other,
and she exhales a long long drag of smoke from her Marlboro Light, 100 or
whatever the f--- it is.
"You don't like it, do you darling?"
No, I do not, the suffering, the wishing I had never started.
The distrorted visions and dreams that fancy ladies smoke.
Real women smoke. You can be made even more glamorous,
by puffing on that graceful wafty stick--wearing a beautiful gown
and apron as you cook and do the dishes.
Or have nights out in bars, perhaps sitting on men's laps
as you throw your head back as you exhale and everyone looks.
In those visions, and delusions, the perfume still smells
above all. There is no stale sweaty scent of the smoke.
Red lips purse around the filter and gracefully draw away.
Children are hugged and deep raspy glamourous laughs comfort
and inspire all.
Aunt Margie was fun, Aunt Margie was pretty. Aunt Margie was glamourous.
But even she who sits here now, feeling pity for me as she draws on her smoke,
and makes it perfectly clear she is wearing high heels at the same time,
knows that the body is corrupt.
It is fragile and prone to rot,
especially with poison.
And what a horrible sickness and death that would be.
She passes in front of the mirror and I notice her reflection.
She has no hair, her teeth are rotting and falling out,
her bones are not showing for beauty, but for disease
her skin is melting off of her arms and her face.
As she sachets away and asks me,
"Darling, would you like a cup of tea."
Why are all things thought of in relation to?
Can they not stand on their own
in our minds.
They always have to be associated with something else.
Like a memory, or a thought, or a prayer.
The past, the present and the future.
What was, what is, what might be, what never was.
Can a mountain with clouds, simply be a mountain with clouds?
What is the feeling attached to all like another limb
growing from our center that touches everything.
I am not a human ashtray
but I feel like one.
I can taste the ashes in my mouth
I can see them under my skin.
I don’t want to lite myself up anymore.
I want to smell like strawberries
like she said I will.
I want my hair to be so fresh and silky and shiny
I want to be fresh and silky and shiny.
It’s almost time to say goodbye.
I am afraid to suffer,
and I am afraid to suffer.
(I wrote this a week ago in preparation for today. This is my first day of quitting the gross habit of inhaling poisons into my body in the form of smoke. My brain isn't cooperating, it still expects to lite up when we get in the car, at break time etc. But I have to gently remind it like a child that we aren't doing that anymore. I feel grateful and relieved at the same time as feeling like I want to cry and run around in circles. It helps that it is raining today, because it really sucked to go out to smoke in the rain. Those were the times I felt the most pathetic as a smoker, struggling with my umbrella while trying to lite a cigarette, or rolling down my car window letting water in so that I could still get my fix.)