I know I haven't been around for a little while, and I hope those of you who look forward to reading what I have to say, aren't disgruntled, but I've been very busy with the most recent reading at El Meson this past Sunday, and have just now found the time to blog a little bit. I believe I've found the love of my life. Her name is writing. There is nothing in this world that makes me feel the way this creative craft does. Getting out in the world and reading my work is one of the most exhilarating experiences I can have. I feel blessed to posses this gift and will never take it for granted. Spreading the written word is a very important mission in these days of techno literature. All I want to say is, hey everyone, keep on bookin!
So, people, please, will someone tell me where and when all of the sudden folks are ordering medium-rare eggs, or medium-well eggs. I implore you people, just order normally. Why is society suddenly, or maybe not to suddenly, so desperate to feel the need for this trivial attention. Because isn't that what it really is. Hey, look at me, I'm unique because I'm ordering my eggs like no other, or I'm asking for lime in my water or ice-tea because I want to be separate from the maddening crowd, even though it kind of tastes like shit, I'm still going to ask for it. LOOK AT ME! I say, if you want to be different than others, than be nice, do random acts of kindness, show someone a little affection if you see that they're down. To me that's the best way of being unlike anyone else. And I say, if you're really that picky, maybe you should make your eggs at home. So there!
As we are all aware of today is the 50th anniversary of the murder of Dr. King.
As a child back then, growing up in the sixties, it was common to hear about a positive public figure getting gunned down out of no-where. I have a dream, voiced Martin, and I'm sure his vision wasn't anything like society is today. The only similarity is unjustified deaths of the innocents, misconceived as being deviants because of the color of their skin. Kill first, ask questions later seems to be the MO these days. When did the act of just wounding a person to detain them leave our system, when did giving a person a wedgy, or toilet swirly dessert our schools, being replaced by children murders, and mentally deranged adults. When did just caring about others get put on the back burner, boiling over and unattended. I ask you, where is my dream, because when I look around, all I see is a nightmare. Will we ever wake up?
I love traveling! My favorite mode of transportation is the car. It gives me the chance to see how many people have no respect for the limits and laws that line our highways. To be honest, I'm surprised that there aren't more accidents on the roads. Especially through the work zones, where drivers fly through the narrow lanes, oblivious to the reduced speed limit, for the safety of the workers, and fellow drivers. Is the place you have to get too so important that the lives of others have no consequence? It makes me wonder! As do most things in this wonderful world we live in. Anyway, the views of nature's ways always make me feel alive and thankful for the beauty that surrounds me. Can't wait for my next road trip across this land. Until next time.
As I strolled through a street in Santa Fe, along the fences edge were empty half pint liquor bottles, followed by a few mini's and a couple beers cans. I thought to myself that someone probably just sat there last night on the curb wallowing in whatever sorrow they thought fit to bring them to this drunken trashing. Is there anything that is bad enough to put your body through something like that. We all know it's a vicious circle, this drinking addiction, because that's just what it is. An affliction, just like a drug habit, or any other addiction that kills you. The only difference is that it's legal, available, accepted. And for the most part, if you don't drink you're considered an outcast, like somethings wrong with you. We all have problems, and I guess it all depends on how the individual handles it. But if you are going to drink on someone's property, at least clean up after yourself. We live in such a thoughtful society, don't you think?
Is it not true what I see when I open my heart?
Sentencing the heroic organ to solitary confinement.
Do I still possess those demons of times past?
Waiting for the moment of weakness.
Can I dislodge the lost and misunderstood messages
of temporary loves and lusts?
Had I even known the difference?
Call me sentimental,
but I can not seal away the tragedies
of my youth without first
Will I not succeed in this never ending quests?
Will I not find my grail?
Sip sweet, golden nectars with Deities of Antiquity,
quenching my thirst, tantalizing dormant taste buds,
rejoicing in the blood of the Goddess.
"Go now," I say. "There is nothing more to be had here."
The stolen corpse has come back to life,
an eternal haunting from buried temptations.
Shall I set them free?
Is it not true
what my heart sees
when I open my eyes?
Can I swallow the ignorance of aging guilt,
wrapped tight around canisters of molten ice.
Glaciers of blue melt in the moon's heat,
while icicles dangle frigidly from the sun's summer cold.
Are we all not just set in stone,
collected pebbles on a receding, lapping shore.
Do I dare move out of place?
Will I tilt the earth off her axis?
Will my life and actions continue
to regret themselves,
as they always do?
Will I recognize insanity when he raises his maniacal head?
Will I know Satan when he shakes my hand?
Or has he already,
and now he's a friend.
What will my heart see,
when she opens
Well, I learned my first harsh lesson blogging. Yesterday I thought I posted a blog call Another Day in Santa Fe, and believed it went through. But today when I get here, to my site, I only see the title. The only thing I recall about the piece is Ceersucker suit. Darn, my words have been eaten by the black hole! Maybe they'll reappear in another life.
Sunny, hazy skies greet me this morning with sparrows, tucked into their Ceer-sucker suits, (called Nola for the correct spelling) tearing bark from tiny fragile branches. It's nesting time. Songs of carefully crafted tweets, non techno, vibrate through the quiet air. I'm comforted! The woes of past days sliding out from under me as I rejoice in the newness of life. The fresh exhilaration of starting something different. The energetic adrenaline flow that races through my blood stream, telling me, whispering inside of me the fragility of life and how not to take it for granted. Am I the strong one for accepting responsibility for my actions, my words, feelings. I am nothing more than a human trying to make it in a non-human world. I am humbled by the shallowness of the ponds I am sustained by, long ago the fruits succumbing to decay. If I don't gaze into myself and see the wrongs I've committed, how can I defend accusations of minimal consequence? Be careful one and all, we live in a thin-skinned society. And on that note, here's a little poem.
encouraged by boredom, eve went in search of an apple, she was tired of bananas
Thank-you for joining me for, A Day in Santa Fe.
There are days that seem like everybody is emotional. I'm not talking about the whimpering, crying, bawling emotions, but the angry, I need to show everyone who's boss, the I don't care who I yell at, emotions. Calling each other vulgar names and then slipping that knife in the back just a little bit more as you walk away. Feel better guy? I try not to get sucked up in the immaturity of people around me, but some times it's very hard, no, most times it's really hard. I try to figure it out, making excuses for others behavior, but not really an excuse, but a logical reason why they're acting that way. Here are some I've come up with: A third day wearing the same underwear. There's a wrinkle in their sock and it's making their feet hurt. A lost mite has nestled in their ear, and is about to lay eggs. When they went to think about some thing, they forgot what they wanted to think about. They looked in the mirror and saw the same face they saw yesterday. Who knows, who cares. People just need to get over themselves! Ya know!
So, for the second day in a row I'm able to get to my blog site and write a post. I've been thinking a lot lately about the ways of the world and how they affect my psyche, and how immune I'm becoming to the tragedies of everyday. Now, I expect to hear about a mass shooting or a bomb going off somewhere, or some accusing someone about something. It's kind of like we're living in a society full of bounty hunters and hedge men. In the floods of the me, me, me sea, we've forgotten the main point of our existence. Compassion! For those who have forgotten the definition to this word according to Webster: sympathetic consciousness of others' distress, with a desire to alieve it. Tell me people, is this such a hard feat?
Mary Maurice wrote her first poem when she was in the ninth grade, and hasn't stopped writing since. Catching the fire at an early age, she continues to dedicate her time to the craft.