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 |  A Blog of ramblings from yours truly.
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It’s simple enough to do And nothing at all to prove Just got to find your Swoove. Hold a little shrub in your fist Add swoops with a flocky wrist It can be great even looking like … THIS!!! It’s simple enough to do But please don’t use your pooh Go find what truly moves you! Participant/Member: "Give It 100!"  [13+] "The Soundtrack of Your Life" [18+] "Welcome To My Reality Forum" [E] "Anniversary Reviews" [E] "Newbie Welcome Wagon" [ASR] "Superpower Reviewers HUB" [E]"Weekly Goals" [13+] "The Book Club" [13+] "WDC Addicts Anonymous" [E]"disABILITY WRITERS MOUNTAIN LOG CABIN" [E] "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" [13+]** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| Single Girl Sway-sway-sway My hips go back-and-forth I was dumped lamely today But I ain't questioning my worth No, I am more than just a girl who's part of any boyfriend's world Yes, I am more than just a toy The post needn't anymore notches My tale has lost it's way with words I haven't got the right ones to say Had I played a guitar, with chords to help my guide a heart's way I'd have swooned his cold heart into mush, into heat, maybe be gay I'd have swooned a man's heart into more, into love, maybe to stay |
| Next Thursday morning I am going up to NYC for a follow up disease Study visit at a really big hospital. I am excited to donate my time, thoughts, and blood to science. 33 vials of blood, 30+ minutes of interview/quiz like questions of creative and various formats. It's fun. What can I say, I'm strange. Every other visit like this was fun with my parents in tow. This time it will be my Dad with me. My boyfriend wanted to come with me so that I wasn't all alone. But I am not so he's okay about it now. ;) I started again at GREY by E.L. James. I like this version of the story much much better than Ana's version of F.S.O.G. I just can't deal with the entire "my inner goddess, etc" bull crap. It just didn't sit right with me. (Like, did Ana have multiple personality disorder?) I haven't been writing stories or poems, but I am working now on a song re-working for a friend/boyfriend's band. My brain on lyric invention is a great anti-drug. What drugs have I done? A Little this a little that.. and Sorry but I am not into manipulative people or substances. Speaking of manipulative .. When does being a parent cross into being a Control Freak?! I am in a nervous tangle of pain and depression and oppression and hate with my dear old old-fashioned-nearly-extinct-mentality-composed parents.... When will this end? When I move out finally? I can only wait impatiently for that to happen. I feel like I am a good for nothing waste of space because I am just getting back to work after nearly three years of unemployment without much state aid what.so.ever. I can't keep going on in this life with the way it's going. I am not content yet. And I don't see contentment in the near future. The future is a mystery and I know that I shouldn't be projecting horribleness into my future, but I can't help it at this point. I need to go back to see a therapist. My mother thinks that I have low self esteem because I pick guys that are not her idea of a good catch. I pick friends that are not her kind of people. and Well that just means that I am the person messed up... I suppose that it has nothing to do with how she looks at the world around her, and all to do with me. Yup, End of story there. Can't/No use arguing. Mother's know best. Hm, well Rapunzel's mother was a fucking crazy witch that was trying to control her and stole her from her real parents. My mother didn't steal me from anyone, she fought to have me as her daughter and treats me like I have no life, mind, heart, body, circumstance of my own. It sucks. I am thirty and I feel like I am three. I can't do this life anymore. There's no easy way, everything costs money and time and patience and I don't have much of any of those anymore. |
| BCOF Prompt for DAY 977: Monday, July 20, 2015 ▼ I am just not old enough to remember the actual event. I am only 30. I can jot a little ditty down about what I feel this has meant for our society as an entirety regardless of age... 1.) There's nothing too trivial or outlandish to conquer. 2.) Shoot for the moon, because even if you miss you'll be among stars. Well nothing short of amazing is what this day represents. Amazing. It was simply amazing for someone, anyone... just one person... to land their well protected appendage on the moon. THE MOON! And I like corny sayings... IF you can tell me who said it, you get a cookie...  |
| U30DBC VotMS Prompt ▼ Going outside my room of my little slice of paradise, seems stupid. I don't think there's anything anyone else on this ship can do for me that my artificial, hydrolic-controlled grass meadow, wolf in a plumeria field door hollogram, and my special requested cave/closet designed especially for me and my self-discovery journey. This voyage was supposed to be for me to discover the woman inside of this vessel. However, I am beginning to doubt my choice in this voyage. I can make out faces of those who happened to wander into my small dwelling who have been overcome with the intentional magic of it all. I can't help the smile that forms over my face when I see those people that have been inside my room and have no memory of it all. I can only speculate on the memories of those that have evaded my room's defenses. Both intentional and not. I can't begin to express the confusion that they must feel. I don't socialize to help them on their way through this world. They socialize with my dwellings, regardless of where they happen to be at any given moment. I don't control it at all. It happens naturally. Yet seeing them in the light of day, off the ship entirely, is an entirely different can of worms all together. (Poor worms.) |
| André looks up at the eclectically clad lady and says, "Hooo hooo haaa haaa haaa haaaa hoooo hooooooo." The woman blinks and without warning grabs the monkey by his narrow breakable neck. As she glares at the poor hapless creature she grits her teeth and whispers hoarsely, devilishly even. The language is neither monkey or human. Whatever it was the effects of the threat were instant. André bowed and whimpered in universal cross-specieal submission. The lady smiled, but only for a split second before pressing her lips into a tight thin line. No doubt mimicing her devious threat to the poor monkey's demise--oh, shoot, that wasn't supposed to be known yet. Oh, heck, whatever. And the bent over monkey raises his head tentitively to the creepy woman. Her eyes are full of warning, but his aren't. The woman softens and waves her hand to dismiss the little thing from her sight. André quickly leaves to the sounds of scurrying. The woman frowns as she watches him head towards the captain's sleeping quarters. The woman focuses on the back of the head of the animal before lying down in a nearby lounge chair and closing her eyes. The monkey and the lady see together, the insides of the captain's room as if looking through the same pair of eyes. (O right, they are.) As expected from both, the captain and his best second in command have disappeared into thin air. The woman projects a message towards the monkey in the ancient demonic language of forgotten times. The effect is delayed as the monkey first realizes that it's not his own thought, which are mostly banana and mischeif related, and the woman's voice and not his typical thought pattern of pictures people, actions and events. But he obliges and heads towards the woman's room. The wolf on the door gone! The monkey starts to panic but calms down as the elegant creature steps into the middle of the stained glass door panel, also made of glass. Instead of running off scared, André bows his head as the woman instructs from within his head. The wolf settles into the picture usually seen gracing the door panel of the mysterious young lady's room. Lying down in the playful looking meadow of plumerias, and finally lowering it's magestic throat into the field into it's lovingly action of nuzzling the flowers. The door freezes all movement, then. Then splices in a jagged line down the middle opening inward. Tentitively at first, André enters the grassy room and sees a light off to the side; which looks like it's coming from inside a deep cave-like structure. Which would not make any sense, because caves would not fit on the ship. At least, not logically. But André understood illogical things more than most people. So he entered it slowly, eyes darting around for his master and friend, and the kind lady who always gives him peanut banana smoothies. André didn't realize he was daydreaming until the creepy voice of the weird lady chopped through the whipped topping of his mental smoothie. "Find Joel and Elaine. Quickly." André seems to sigh before entering the cave in search of his master and his master's most trusted advisor who feeds him so well there are times that go by that he wishes Elaine was his master instead of Joel. But it's only a dream, and it's not reality. What's reality right now is finding Joel before something really bad happens to him, or more than likely the ship without it's Captian and Co-Captian. What this voyage doesn't need is a whole slew of x's on eyes. The cavern glowed as if alive as the monkey slipped by the entrance and traveled it's depths. (to be continued) |
| Writing.Com Hub Prompt ▼ I should have known better, you know. I mean think of Cerebes dogs with three heads. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets anyone? That's not necessarily a bad thing. I know that if you just play it a little music... It goes right sleep. Unlike me, play me music and I like to sit there and disect it down to individual instruments and sound waves. Definitely not a relaxing feat most of the time. However, play me a loud mini industrial strength fan and I'll be asleep shortly. Contrary to my mother of course. She told herself that it is just "white noise" and it didn't help any. She had to leave the room. I told her that needed it to drown out Dad's snoring (that he doesn't do as loudly as we say he does, according to him). I mean clear 'cross the house through walls and the boiler closet. Seriously, I need my own place. Which lucky for me, is just round the corner! |
| I love art. It's really everything around everyone. Art is everywhere. It's everything. Or at least, it can be. I love going to museums ... It's no wonder "muse" is in the word, becaues going there is like opening the floodgates of the already over flowing waters of writer's block or something similar. There's just something about the whole concept of a giant collection of stuff on display for our pleasure. Pure and simple. Nothing more and nothing less. And it's a beautiful thing. And it doesn't have to be an art museum either. Any and all of them will suit my fancy just fine. Maybe some more than others. For example, air and space usually trumps historical ones. Just saying. I am an aerophile. Or whatever the word is for lover of flying things. I can enjoy most of it though. I am just a member of a family of people that are not really enthusiasts and don't really get to go to many unless it's alone. Which, I don't really mind all that much going to these places by myself. I am pretty good at getting around alone. It's fine. I don't mind. I don't really like going with other people either, because then I have to worry about whether or not I am making them stay longer than they want to or not. And I don't want to seem rude and be like, "I am going to go off and look at things that you aren't looking at. OK?" That would seem rude, I mean I went with them, doesn't that mean I have to hang with them the majority of the time. I don't know. I guess I am still so socially immature it's stupid. Anyway back to museums. I don't think I have to state that Art Galleries are a great past-time for me. Well, I did anyway. I guess that is fine though. I think that small galleries are sharp and warmer than the giant cousins. The one gallery at my alma mater was pretty decent. It was cool to see my girlfriend's show when she had it. Though, I have to admit that knowing someone makes looking at their stuff different than if they were complete strangers. Maybe because they don't stick to what I had in mind. My little assumptions are either confirmed or denied and either way (a catch 22, I guess) I am disappointed, a little. I don't think that is any longer the case, because I am older and wiser and more open minded (because I am learning to be.... ) I would love to see any kind of painting demonstrated. I have to admit that I was an avid watcher of Bob Ross as a kid and would probably still be if he still did that show. (Pappyland anyone?) So, I have trouble growing up. But so what? My stress level is lower than many adults. (Well, after my pituitary gland madness, of course.) **** So I want to publish coloring books. If there's anyone out there, young or old, (I am thinking of doing both kinds, for kids and for adults) please leave your thoughts about kid and adult coloring books (not activity books, just coloring pages). Thanks for your imput, oxoxo |
| The moment the words are out of your mouth you realize that you should have come by sooner. Months sooner. Years sooner. Even though the voyage that you are embarked on has only been recent. That there's no possble way that you could have come upon the dwelling (permanent or otherwise) of this curious creature. She smiles before you. Angelic, yet wild. As the floor begins to ripple as if covered or made up of water. You start and are quickly hushed by the wild angel next to you. So you grab handfuls of the clothing covering your legs and sit as rigid as possible, waiting for whatever happened next. What did happen next was difficult to explain. But afterward seemed almost predictible given the situation and circumstances; and the woman before you. The rippling grew, growing more defined and taller as if errecting a labirinth of sorts, then the thin trail of a line of substance spliced inward, pushing material outwards from the perfect winding line, snacking around and around itself. It spliced again and again until it looked like an infinite amount of pins clustered together, wall to wall. The floor didn't feel pinny or prickily though. The ends of the floor pins extended outward toward the ceiling in various directions as the floor turned thin slices of various greens and some yellows too. The appearance was just like that of grass. Wild grass. Nothing more and nothing less is to be expected of course, though, right? Not from our Lone Wolf, now, right? This is greatly and highly expected and once you realize what is happening, you can't help but to smile and reach, fingers spread wide, down and outward into the lush blades of REAL grass. Now that is not as likely expected, though. Makeshift, yes. REAL, no. Real grass would take more than just manipulation. That would have to require creation. And that is something that was not shared beforehand. Before you shared your life's story to this strange, wild, beautiful woman in rag-tag clothing including a bright pink knitted sleeveless sweater. The pink almost blinds you as you go to stand. Until you realize that you aren't wearing any shoes. The grass feels amazing under your feet. The Lone Wolf smiles and stands, barefoot as well as she motions for you to wonder through her closet. Her CLOSET was not just a closet but a lavish little hut covered in more grass and dirt. The sliding, or more like roling, closet door is a wheel shaped slate of the most beautiful cut of stone you've ever seen. Thinking that it must weigh a ton, you hesitate. Not to worry, friend. It is not heavy at all. Please do not be put off by appearances. Please do not take anything for granted. Please press onward through. A sing-song voice titilates the edges of your mind as you look back at the only other soul present in the room. You breathe deeply, placing your hand on the stone door and pushing it slightly to one side. It gives equally in response to your touch. In no time at all, the opening of the little cavern is in full view. Time is of the essense, friend. After you. The lone woman motions for you to go inside, first. But before you have a chance to enter the mysterious cavern, a force of nothing smacks into your chest cavity and knocks you back. Your balance saves you luckily, and you stumble but stay on your feet. "Wh-what w-was that!?" I'm sorry, friend, Cushie like to be sneaky. The voice in the head thing hurts this time, and you instinctively press your palm to your temple. Squeezing your eyes shut just in time to feel the warm wetness paired with slurping sounds on the oposite side of your face. "Hey!" You try to move out of it's way, but being stealth, or more like invisible, you misjudge and the action collides you into the creature responsible. Warm thick fur meets your body by touch even though you still see nothing. You clear your throat loudly, squinting at the woman behind you. My apologies, friend. You watch the woman move towards the direction of the fur feeling and wetness, she claps three times and points to you. Then, claps again and points down to the ground at her feet. As the woman performs this ritual, a panter of an animal with a lush black irridecent coat appear and plants it's back side next to the woman. The woman looks at you and for the first time since you sat down in her room uninvited-but-invited-nonetheless you see her not smiling. She's not frowning either. But she's not smiling. You suddenly feel uncomfortable. Like you have overstayed your welcome and ask to be shown the way out. But the woman ignores you and turns smiling to the giant cat. |
| She moves with a flowing of knowing as you near where she's sitting. Moving a cushion in the direction of your approach from the door. It's a sure sign of welcome and deserves a butterfly flutter within your guts. Saying however silently, Stay a while, friend. You sit and adjust accordingly your rump on the dainty cushion. As you do so your fingers brush against the elaborate embroidery. By touch it feels as though you dipped your fingers in warm milk, a silky smoothness that grasps your full consciousness for a moment. But you order yourself and look up at the woman before you. Balanced yin and yang of nature sits before you. She catches your eye, hers milk chocolate and full of warmed beyond her years. It is so plain to see the wisdom oozing from those windows of the soul. You start talking because you feel a need to fill the silence. And you are met with pure unadulterated audience of the woman before you and the room around you. You know there's nothing alive, per se, apart from the woman in pink and neutrals seated there on another elaborately designed pillow. But the room is life. Her life. She may migrate ashore, coast to coast, at a drop of a hat (or feather, like the purple-blue hued ones poking out from a pencil holder on the windowsill.) But these few but precious possessions go with her, and carry all that has come before you... wherever they go. Your story becomes part of them too. You sense this and more, without question or you think that you would possibly teeter on the edge of insanity if delved deeper. The woman smiles as you conclude your tale of misadventure and lose, everything that amounted to this moment in time. Up until this very moment you figured this meeting was happenstance. Though, as the woman continues to smile over you, lips a pink cupid's bow lighting up her cheeks and into her chocolate eyes (or sparkling coals!), you feel a sense of calm and centeredness that you haven't yet felt before. A place of belonging, if you will. And all at once you know that you are where you are supposed to be right now. |
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