Monday, December 22, 2014

How I Feel About Life Today

I have been going through my writings the last few days. A big thick manila folder, and that's not even counting all the stuff on my blog, or the countless journals I have kept through the years. I'm going to start posting some older stuff and see how it goes. Stuff that has never seen the light of day. I would like to write a book, if I could get my shit together about it. This is a dream I've had for so long, and after talking to a good friend today who was there through most of my adventures, and I told him I'm just trying to figure out what to do with my life right now, he mentioned that I should  write a book about my life and all the crazy relationships I've had and everything I've been through. He said it might help somebody. It's already written in those journals, I just have to find a way to put it together.

How I Feel About Life Today
August 4th, 2008

I see a guy today walking up the street crossing the railroad tracks drinking from a bottle encased in a brown paper bag. He is wearing business casual clothes, not really a bum. The look on his face is not  one of despair, happiness, or agony, it is nothing. It's that look that says, Fuck it, I just gave up...and I'm Ok with that. I pass him while I'm driving and I think, maybe that should be me. Maybe right now I should just ditch my car, buy a bottle in a brown paper bag, and be the non-happy but not unhappy. I forgot this is an option, just not a very good one, and like my Kerouac, lying by the side of the railroad tracks in San Bernardino in the 50's, alone, broke and crying, there is a price to pay for everything.

But, my friend, which breaks you worse? The daily grind of trying to figure out how to pay your bills, put a roof over your head, where your next tank of gas is going to come from, what to do after you loose your job, all the while getting up each day, going through the motions, grabbing your coffee and heading out to work in a world that is not built for the vulnerable? Or, saying fuck it, walking up a busy highway, with a bottle in a daze, leaving it all behind, if only for a while. When Kathy Hilton criticizes John Mc Cain today for his insensitive humor in his recent ad campaign due to "millions of people losing their homes and their jobs," maybe it's time for us all to grab a fucking bottle and paper bag and make our way to the railroad. If the rich start caring that much, you know we're screwed.

~Jenny Miller

Saturday, December 20, 2014

The Actress

Set Scene:
Here we have a dimly lit booth

With chair in a marble setting.

Enter actress, queue spotlight

Upon seat, head down.

 

The actress in a lesser role.

Starving artist

Starving from the soul.

 

She forgets her lines

The audience waits in silence

Pensive silence.

She forgets her lines

Not because she is a drunk

This time

But because sometimes

Those with complex minds

Have difficulties

Doing the simplest things.

 

Behind stage one night

She cries

The director asks what is the matter

She says that in all this time she has

Never so badly wanted a drink

“Why?” he yells

“What would that solve, why do you

Want to drink again?!”

“Because I’m an alcoholic” she screams.

 

There is no drink that night

Just sullen silence.

 

She gets into costume the next day

The scene is set again.

Booth, soft lights, marble, fellow actors

And actresses entering

And exiting stage

The audience watching

 

Yet no one knows, this is not

The play itself

This is not the grand role

She was meant to play

This….is a dress rehearsal

If only the critics understood that

As they give their reviews

 

No one knows what goes on

Behind the scenes

No one understands

The true character

Of the actress

 

~Jenny

  

 

 

Tuesday, November 18, 2014


Some may have heard of practicing a program of rigorous honesty

Me, at the cusp of 40, trying to practice a program of

Rigorous selfishness

I have to remind myself of this on days like today

When something doesn’t feel right

When I don’t want to do something

Because inside I know it’s all bullshit

And just for appearances and such

I have to ask myself

Is this in line with living an authentic  life

Cause after all this time

You owe yourself an authentic life

That means no fucking faking

Cause your afraid of what people will think

And you want to keep up appearances

And someone’s feelings might get hurt

It’s time to lay all that to rest.

If people really knew, they would thank you

For being genuine.

A program of rigorous selfishness

Means I still help the people I love

I am helpful by nature

It means that I don’t do optional

If it feels like I will not be true

To myself and others

I have quit my stage job

I’m just an unemployed actress now

Looking for a new profession

~Jenny

Monday, November 10, 2014


There will be many choices

On the way to your destiny

Choose wisely

They all lead to the same

Destination

The question is

Will you choose the road

That is rocky

Difficult

Hope testing

Or will you choose the road

That offers the most beautiful

Scenery

The smoothest ride

With the best travel

Companions

There is no shame in that

Too often in this life

It is touted to take the road

Less traveled

Well I say,

It is ok not to

take that road

There is no valor

In being a hero

For the simple sake

Of being a hero

Heroic lives

Happen accidentally

Choose the easiest road

And enjoy the ride

All roads lead

To the same destination.

~Jenny

Monday, October 20, 2014


I’ve been sitting here in the home office
Looking up what happens to pets after they die
After my parents have lost a 2nd dog
In a 2nd week
According to psychics
Dog utopia, it says
 
And I look over
At my cat
Laying on the window sill with
A back drop of beautiful blue sky
And ever so subtly changing
From green to autumn colors
Leaves gently blowing in the wind.
 
He is watching them,
My cat, then he looks at me
And says, in his greenest eyes
“of course I know, I know everything,
And. I’m sorry.”
 
 
And I wonder what really happens to them,
And to us after we die.
 And as I was looking out
At my cat gazing through
The screen
And we both looked at
The peaceful trees
And I thought of Roy the dog
Who we just lost
Who I was with on his last night
Being sick
Who we all took to the vet in the morning
who looked kind of like a puppy again
the last moment I saw him
on this planet
as they wheeled him into the room

I thought this, in that quiet moment

as I looked at my cat

and the trees and the leaves

blowing gently

against the blue sky:
“Maybe there is a world I left before this one
And the people there miss me
But I just don’t remember
Because I’m not supposed to”
~Jenny

Monday, August 25, 2014

Things Always Change ~ (journal entry June 25th, 2006)




Things always change.  It just read a book, a childhood book that was my sisters when she was little -- "Johnny Lion."  I opened the book and saw her name written in it and dated 1977 -- it was in my mothers handwriting.  Even my mothers handwriting has changed over the years.  I can see how she looked back then when I see that handwriting now.  It was so complicated before -- the way she wrote "Miller," the M was almost impossible to duplicate when I used to try and forge her signature on school notes -- impossible without countless tries and so much time devoted to perfecting it, I never did, I could never perfect her signature, could never fill it in.  Now her handwriting is so much simpler--less complicated.  Maybe she got tired over the years -- maybe some things became not so important anymore, maybe our handwriting evolves with us and as we change -- it changes--our signatures--the way we write our thoughts, fill out our forms, write our notes.

When I saw my sisters name in that book I could see her as she was back then-- there is a distinct photograph that comes to mind.  She has long hair and half pig tails--she's wearing a turtle neck and a red, black and some other color I cannot recall stripped vest, she's smiling.  I don't remember her that well back then--I was too little--but I know that picture, it's etched in my mind--in my heart where all those was and used to be, and back then things live in their own private heaven.

I smelled the book--I remember that smell so well--it's almost impossible to describe it--it smells like the attic where we all used to play--like rainy days, like old clothes, wax, paper, beauty.

It never stays the same. Where have those children gone.  What happened to the days when me and my brother would go hot dogging down the ski slope fearlessly, laughing, chanting, "hot hot doggin." What happened to the huge van we went on vacation in together with the jars of peanuts, fruit and cheese, banquet fried chicken, Carly Simon, Lionel Ritchie, Laura Branegan tapes.  What happened to the big white house--the slip n' slide and grandma coming over in the summer.  The side porch where we played and listened to Neil Diamond records and watched the afternoon thunderstorms roll in.  The thunder didn't bother me at those times because we were all together, we were all comfortable and safe--I liked it as a child, as an adult I find I loved it.

The feeling, the sound and the smell of running around the house closing all the windows when it started raining unexpectedly in the evening--everyone closing the windows--the sound of the rain--the smell of it--the lights in the house--the occasional bloodcurdling scream if an especially loud clap of thunder happened to catch one of us, my sister in particular, closing a window or putting away toys alone--at which one time my poor brother, so frightened putting away bikes and big wheels said he saw Jesus in the sky.

I know that people can read this and more than likely get a picture in their mind--but only me, my mother, my father--my brother and my sisters can smell the smells, feel the feelings, truly know--and wonder--where did it all go?  But it is forever, even beyond death linked in our hearts--it binds us--it loves us--maybe it is heaven and we will go there again someday.

My sisters and my brother have children--they will carry on and add to all of this--their children will have their own smells, books, feelings--a time where they themselves grow up and ask--where did it all go.

The greatest comfort is to finally realize this is not unique to me.  Maybe its not that everything has changed--something has maybe gone terribly wrong--everything is so confusing and upside down and different--this is the human condition.  I am convinced that each human goes through this as they carry on in life--some just simply cope with it differently than others--some think there is something wrong when in fact everything is perfectly normal because its supposed to be this way for everyone.

Still I will carry on and forever have burned in my heart these images--of my sisters--my brother, my parents, the love, the greatness of it all--and me--forever wearing my "I Don't Want To Grow Up" purple Toys R' Us sweatshirt on the inside.

~J.A. Miller

Monday, June 23, 2014

She stands there
silent and still
in the quiet
summer afternoon

Summer vacations
she would run wild
all over the neighborhood
playing all kinds of impossible
roles
impossible for adults

she was a builder
of cardboard houses

the president of a clubhouse

the boss in the office of her bedroom

she was her royal excellency
Miss Pippi Longstocking

She stands there
outside the office
under the sun
smoking a cigarette
staring off into space

thinking
that she should just
get on her 1980's
pink Huffy bike

and ride
“ride, like the wind”

~Jenny

Friday, June 20, 2014

There has been the
grafting
the grooming
the trimming
the pruning

the forcing a shoot
the small pot for root

opening my blooms
by day
closing by night

a bag over my branches
to prevent frost bite

no more
no more I say

let me grow
and open my blooms
by night and by day

let me grow wild
in rocky soil

cut off the top
and start again

these buds are not mine
they are where you began

let my own buds grow
spread as far as I please

wild thorny shoots
wild spreading roots
growing so far
opening to heaven
under the stars

I am a wild thing
no more pruning
priming
or grafting their
things
its mine
its mine

I am a wild
and natural
thing.

~Jenny

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

How It Feels To Have Chronic Fatigue

I open my eyes early
Monday thru Friday
to the classical music
station.

Usually a cat is lying on the bed.
I try to muster my strength.
Everything hurts.
Old age? Or, Chronic Fatigue?
I feel like a failure.
I feel like an old lady at 39.

I shuffle in for coffee,
my boyfriend is one of those
morning people
I try to be nice,
but some mornings
even to speak,
is a challenge.

The very act of pushing
the air it requires out
of my body to make the sounds
to communicate
is in itself
debilitating.

So I have taken up whispering
some mornings,
or just waving an apologetic
hand while shaking my head no.

Then comes the inner debate,
when was the last time I called in
sick, last week? 2 weeks ago?
Is this serious today, will there
be a worse day ahead I will need it more?

I feel guilty that it hurts too bad
to stoop down to pet my cats
to say good morning. It breaks
my heart.

I gather myself for make-up
clothes, walking to my car
which is sometimes too far away
for hurting joints, or weak muscles.

I tell myself, I can pull this
out of my ass today.
I can create a fucking miracle
and pull this off just today.

I can crash when I get home.
So I get home, and there is
no time, no energy for anything
more other than dinner,
and the basics.  There is no time.
Because there is no energy.

I wonder if I will be able to do
anything on the weekend.
Or if I will feel like shit then too.

Now mind you, this is not
everyday, and perhaps not
even every week,
but when it hits, it hits.
And there is nothing I can do.
It robs my life. It robs the people
and things I love.

~Jenny

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Death was nothing to me then
as I sit here in a mundane life
typing away meaningless shit.

I am brought back,
something brought me back to it
and my ears started ringing.

I am very young.
And that day comes again.
Riding in my grandfather’s pristine
car with the white interior.
My grandmother’s mother has died.
We are going to her funeral.

But, it is not sad.
But, it is not happy.
It just is.
As I watch it all out of my
little girl movie camera in my head.
I see us pass by the trees and green
green grass on the road in Ohio.

We
are all together.
I know it is for something special.
But that is all I know.
We are all together, in our souls even
and it is a beautiful day outside.
And other people are in charge.
I always liked it when other people
were in charge.

And the white leather of the seats
is so soft. And the grandma and grandpa
smell is beyond comfort.

We get to a church.
I look up at big glass windows
in the wooden tower
streaming in light.
I think some people are crying.

This is something for great grandma.
But I do not feel sad for her.
I just observe.
I somehow know she is not here anymore.

At the cemetery, there is a tent,
and a casket is lowered,
and a priest says some words.

I will never forget.
“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.”
So it is to the dust we return.

We can throw some dirt on her coffin
in the hole to remember this for her.

It is my turn.
I take my handful.
And I let go every last bit
and brush both my hands together
like one would after gardening
to get all the dirt off.
To make extra sure this was
good for her.

I do remember this.
This was death
to my little girl mind
to my little girl soul
who was not so far away
from her source at that time.

~Jenny











Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Every once in a while
I see one of my people
It is not often
because we are in hiding
hiding from the world

Like this morning
pulling out of the gate
on my way to work
I saw a little red headed
guy
his face mostly covered
by his hoody
as he fought the wind
while walking his dog

Just a glimpse
of his elf face
sparse red beard
shy eyes
littleness

I could just tell
he was one of us
and it made me
not feel so alone
it made me feel
happy.

~Jenny

Thursday, April 24, 2014

I am sorry
things turned out this way

I read your stories
the ones you wrote in school
you’ve been to the North Pole,
Mars, and even other dimensions

Your heart filled with wonder
& hope.

But I must now tell you
a secret
a terrible secret

Life.....eats childrens souls

It chews on the hope found
in your bone marrow
it slurps the stars & galaxys
that float around in your blood
& then it devours
your child soul
& cleans its teeth
with your little rib

So you are left with
an adult soul 
& we all know
that adult souls
are defective

Adult souls
are filled with fear
of things sillier
than boogy men
under the bed

 Adult souls
are slaves

~Jenny





Monday, April 21, 2014

I am thinking of deleting
every...last....one
of the philosophy books
I have on my kindle
every...last...one
of the positive thought books
along with ALL of the books
on spirituality, self help,
and how to thoroughly
mind fuck yourself until you
are so wrapped up and miserable
by trying to find out reasons and
solutions to things
that you forget the value
of ignorant bliss and just try
to be happy where and when you can
and to quote a friend, who when years ago
I was drunk and crying about how miserable
I was, told me to "just be happy and try to
enjoy your fucking life"
Perhaps the wisest words ever spoken.

Maybe life just is
and while I am trying to figure
it out, life itself may be
passing me by.

Has anyone ever dissected a flower
to find out what makes it beautiful?

Has anyone ever performed open heart surgery
to find out what love looks like?

Has anyone ever captured tears to find out
where they come from?

Probably not.
The experiment begins.

I will be reading stories, novels.
I will be going places,
to look at flowers and enjoy
their beauty,
I will find moments of Love,
and embrace them.
I will sometimes cry,
and not worry about it.

Adieu Plato, Socrates, Hermes,
Gurus, teachers, self help books.
Bye Bye.

~Jenny

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Jack

Jack teaches to choose your words carefully
to pick out each one
beautiful open mind thoughts
catch each one carefully
as they flutter by
like butterflies
only certain ones
go together

and Jack teaches
have only true thoughts
true thoughts
are not judged
they are just thought
and its ok
because you can’t help it

No pretending
while you carefully
wade into the stream of conscious thought
while once thought haphazardly
writting down
from mind to hand to pen to paper
carefully let out
like water through the hose
so you don’t just end up
getting everything all ruined and wet
only water what needs to be said.

Jack teaches this
as in his ma’s house
he carefully mulled over
his words
his stories
his books
so sure that they would be
published
so sure they were what people needed
and we did need them
so desperately

“Everything is always alright, all the time”

Jack teaches.

~Jenny

North Carolina

It would storm in the afternoon
in North Carolina
Right after you stood at the end
of the dirt driveway
looking towards the horizon
guessing what color of car
would come over the hill next
testing your psychic powers
like a baby snake
tests its venom
uncontrolled
learning
testing
and after
the sunny sky would darken
as you all stood there
in the outside summer sauna
sweat dripping off your bodies
clinging to your shirts
so you would have to change them
frequently
to fresh clean dry new ones
crisp ones
only to get drenched again
under the southern sky
in the land of your forefathers
whose shirts got drenched before you
in the fields
in the farmhouses
where there was fresh milk
and breakfasts, and suppers
with whole families after a hard
day of work
only to awaken the next morning and
do it all again

Yes, the sky would darken
and it was welcomed
though the damp and heat would remain
there in the rain
it was a comfort to see the storm move in
the black chasing the blue out of the sky
like a wave

and you would all go inside
and sit together on the davenport
talking, sewing
just being together
until the storm ended
and it was time
for supper.

~Jenny

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

As the clouds darken
outside
with the beautiful green leaves
blowing, billowing in the wind
carry me home perhaps
beyond the storm.

~Jenny

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

New Rules

New Rules:

Do not put energy into things where there is no return.

In matters of duty at the moment, do the bare minimum
where there is no return.

See things for what they really are, not what you want them to be.

There are people out there that would like to see you stay
exactly where you are because of their own insecurities
and fears. This...is not ok, have as little investment
and interaction with these people as possible. If you
have to be around them on a daily basis, IGNORE THEM.

Accept reality, embrace logic.

The solutions you come up with are sometimes
not the only solutions. There is not always an
A or B solution. Sometimes the universe has
a solution that you cannot see at the moment.

Never, never, let someone else steal your thunder,
or your sense of well being.

Do not bet on outside sources or other people
for circumstances to change or to “rescue” you
from your situation. Sometimes you
have to take the bit out of your own mouth, if someone
else or you have put it there, or take matters into
you own hands for change.

You may have to be temporarily uncomfortable
if you want change and to make a better life
for yourself.

If all else fails, remember, in the words of the
great Muppets, “Minah~Minah”, Sometimes
this can get you through the day.

~Jenny

Monday, February 24, 2014

An End To Providence

I can no longer rely on providence
my old friend
sometimes it gets so hot
under this big sun
that you just have to put on
your bathing suit
plug your nose
and jump in
to cool off
and you swim to
the bottom for a while
in the deep end
like when you were a kid
and just sit there
and it's quiet
just you and the water
and everything looks different
from down there
until you can breath air again
and come up to the surface
cool and refreshed.

~Jenny