Cellar Door

Cellar Door

A layer at a time you fold back and and what lies beneath makes a dramatic reveal.
The realization sets in and your floodgate act in defense.
For every one step forward we waltz three back. Dancing endlessly around the point.

I fear this will be our last stanza together.
You, me and what could be.
Perhaps I am alone on this page as you suggest.

Living The Dream

Jeff: If we’re going to Sneaky Dee’s on a Tuesday, we should have Fajitas, not Nachos.

Chad: You memorized the night specials?

Jeff: Chad, don’t take this away from me. I’m single, depressed and I live on my mother’s couch.

Post Script:

Nothing at American Apparel fits my Giant 6’4 Body. It always looks like I ate a hipster. 

Sainthood | Tegan and Sara

In the service of relationships we practice being perfect. We practice our sainthood in the hope that we will be rewarded with adoration. As we are driven to become anything for someone else, we sometimes become martyrs for our cause.

Love, like faith, can never be held in an individual’s hands. But the story of a great love affair – especially one that is unrequited or has ended too soon – can be woven like scripture or a bedtime story. And so the themes of Sainthood are tied together by this simple title, borrowed, with great respect, from the lyrics of the Leonard Cohen song “Came So Far for Beauty”:

I practised all my sainthood / I gave to one and all / But the rumours of my virtue / They moved her not at all.

– Tegan & Sara

Giant Slayer

Goliath came crashing to the ground.
Done in by carelessness.
Allowing the simpleton to see his weak spot.

To Earth the giant comes tumbling, pulled by gravity to the floor.
Laying on the dirt exposed.

I am invincible!’
He screams.
The words proven false by the stark reality.

David has won.
The tiny solider now a giant slayer.
The vulnerable giant he has no where to turn.
No where to run.

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My Job is a joke, I’m Broke and my Love Life is actually DOA

I turned 30. So far, it’s not turning out well.  I don’t know where my hairline went. It just went SEE YA LATER then BOOM! Gone.

I’m single, certifiably insane and I just had to reapply for my own job.

Today someone blamed the tree in front of their house for Lupus. Not even 12 and I’m done for today.

So here’s some Lily Allen.

True Blue Girl

These are the moments in our lives where we dare challenge the dawn.
Where we twirl and dance in the shimming moonlight.
We walk the path to arrive at this destination.
In the far east under the twinkle of the stars.
These previous few moments where we can all be together.
Its memory in our hearts for eternity.
Cherish them.
Spin sweet girl. Spin your hearts content.

Colonized Psyches | Through a Mother’s Eyes by Robin Bond

Colonized Psyches | Through a Mother’s Eyes by Robin Bond | Collaborators – Editor Sam Brown, Title Craig Herbert

Walking down the street, I held my daughter Ryan’s hand. She looked at my arm, then at hers, and told me that she didn’t like her colour. She wanted to be mine.

It didn’t really surprise me when she said it; she had mentioned it a few times before. She’s also told me she wants green eyes and hates her gorgeous, nearly blonde curls that most women would die for.

I’ve told her so many times how I used to tan my pale skin darker, destroy my hair with styling products and hot curlers to have what she came by naturally. I have longed for the clear depth of her chestnut eyes in my own dull emerald.

This moment though, was especially sad for me. I’ve had the privilege of growing up white and never really understood the implications of that.  I have, in the past, argued many times that there is no privilege and that these days everyone is viewed equally.

Then, my light skinned, blond-highlighted, curly haired, chestnut eyed mixed children went to school and my viewpoint changed.

I have never understood how such an insanely intelligent and gorgeous girl could have so many doubts about her looks at only 5 years old.

Finally, we reached the park.

A mass of children of every race and ethnicity were playing. From amidst all of this, my son Michael walks off the soccer field in tears. His brown skinned friend explains hastily that Mikey had accidentally tripped a boy while playing, and the child reacted with anger.

‘He’s saying the n word and f word to Mikey’ he explains.

‘Like THE n word?’ I asked, confused.

He says yes, acknowledging that I knew exactly which word he’s referring to.

How ignorant was I for thinking that my mixred children would have it as easy as I did.  How Inconsiderate of me to compartmentalize Ryan’s insecurities by focusing on tanning beds and curling irons.

I have to ask this question;

Why is Ryan convinced that pale skin, blonde hair and green or blue eyes is the answer? Why isn’t she saying “Mom, why can’t I just be Korean?” or, “I wish my hair was darker or shorter?” or, “Why can’t I have Daddy’s skin colour?”

Here’s Why—

White Privilege.

The cultural curse that says you aren’t beautiful because your skin is tinged with darkness; the inherited prejudice that tells children to hate themselves because they aren’t that “ideal” colouring.

Kids see it and—more importantly—they feel it. The most innocent and naive creatures in this world see this shit and respond with self-loathing.  How are we so stupid? How can we let a single image of beauty or “normalcy” create so much pain? How can we pretend white privilege doesn’t exist?

I told Mikey this morning before school that if anyone ever refers to him as the ‘n’ word to say

‘Sure, maybe I am? That’s what they called my great-great-great grand and gram too. Only stupid people think a single word can conquer someone. It’s just a word, made up by people who were so ignorant they didn’t know how to farm, cook or even nurse their own babies. They used that word to make other people do it all for them.’

Ryan will be a lot harder. She’s only five years on this earth, and a lifetime of ancestral grief trickles through her, damaging her barely formed self-image.

I can’t change the world’s view on what beauty is, but damn do we have it twisted.