sheets

3 day bus trip cross country. learning the hard way.
Struggle is the food from which change is made.

Anything in life that is worth having will cause some inconvenience before you get it.


the mountains and evergreens are soothing
but it still stings
if pain is weakness leaving the body,
and blue sky is my weakness,
then I'm purging.
eerie:
we pass tanks and army trucks on the country roads,
the heads of camo clad men peep from the tops of green clothed tops
ready for action
all systems go...going where?
it's snowing/the sky is pure white,
the world is opening up, on the verge of swallowing me whole.
the roads are slippery, throwing old moisture,
like my skin
dare i say it would have been safer to fly?
but he was right
the drive was breathtaking: like a dreamworld
akin to the ethereal train ride through the Alps
yes, I think I needed it, again...
solitude. soul in flight& fleeing something unnameable
with powdered sugarcapped giants-
the crest of God's breast
behind mere window panes,
wrapped in feathered green pines
that have surely been holding their breath for all time,
just so that we may oxygen thrive and evolve.
he would say they are invisible...
thoughtless and absorbent
soaking up excess ego driven ponderings.
in order to truly see them for what they are
to completely revel in their beauty
we must go invisible too.
there are cabins smoking in the belly of the woods/
I'm at a loss.
and I can still smell it on my skin, my clothes,
the scent of surrender.
ghost fog shrouds the birds flying east
blanketing the hilltops
penetrating the earth,
my heart opens its eyes
crusty with smeared mascara and sleep.
I want to be invisible.
wrapped tightly under an invisibility cloak,
listening to tv news coverage about pirates.
They still exist?
I'm lingering on steam rising from potholes,
barefoot in a corset, a stranger on these streets
wandering for hours
finding release in the unfamiliar territory that's leering at me-
I can sense it even hiding beneath
those damn Winnie sheets.

falling into overcast oblivion.
there are no trees whatsoever wherever we are now,
none,
just wide open plains
(or maybe they've just gone invisible,
and I'm too lost in memories to find them)
gray depths,
i am faceless. the silence speaks to me here.

People from my bus journey:
*Towering man with grey beard and kind eyes in the restaurant of the Amarillo bus station: we talked politics over tea, his huge one filled with nondairy creamer, mine small and bland. We agreed that America is headed for a revolution- common man v.s. the bureaucrat. He said he was getting too old to stand the cold.
*Bus driver that tried his hardest job to do his job better than average, took pride in driving us to Denver...kept telling us repeatedly he wanted those hours to be the best of our journey, and would do whatever it took to make it pleasant and enjoyable. We were behind schedule, which wasn't his fault, but the driver before him... so he hurried, took short rest stops, and was apologetic because of it- when he got off and switched drivers, he kept insisting he tried his best, was sorry for whoever missed their connection. Only a couple of people thanked him...no one seemed to give a damn that he was giving it his all, and wanted to stick out from all the others in the sea of drivers. I felt a little sad, thinking of him going home feeling unfulfilled. I regret not hugging him.
*Crazy old foreign man with no luggage but a plastic bag of alcohol- which no one was aware of until he started stumbling around, reeking of liquor, then pissed and shit himself, his seat, and the entirety of the bus bathroom. The lady bus driver with the long braid down her back cussed at him and quickly "removed" him from "her" bus- I was relieved, he had been hacking for hours in a disgustingly wet manner and was almost right across the aisle from me. I was still a little weirded out, being so near the soiled seat...
but she proved herself a great driver, getting us through the snow ridden, just re-opened streets (barely missed the snowstorm). I admit, at first I doubted her ability,
how sexist of me-
but it's not my fault our first woman driver seemed to think it was appropriate to brake every 3 seconds.
*Semi-friend found in the "thug" who looked the part but didn't act it- baggy black everything, shaved head, but with a kung fu panda blanket wrapped around his neck and shoulders. We watched HotRod together on his mini dvd player- ridiculous movie but it still made me laugh, maybe I needed that.
*Little adorable black girl with the head full of rainbow barrettes wanted some of my bread...I wanted to give her some, but was afraid her mom would be overly cautious...don't take candy from strangers and all that jazz (when I was younger I had a shirt that read: "Strangers have the best candy." What a slut.)
*Bald man in grey sweatshirt, white denim jacket, and matching (kind of) khaki-white jeans- he couldn't bear to leave his Xbox for his thanksgiving trip home, so there it was- boxed up and ready to board next to him. His style and Burt Reynolds mustache made me smile and mean it; he read my mind "Reminds me of a bad movie. With the way I'm dressed, you'd have thought I stepped off the cover of a corny old 80s film." I laughed but didn't mention I completely agreed: (he talked and talked and talked, cracking what i wouldn't quite call jokes) I did almost slip up and say, however, that it was a good thing he was unwilling to pay 2 dollars for the Pepsi he wanted so badly- after all, why pay such a high price to damage your teeth, when I could punch you in the mouth for free?

No, I'm not violent. Just ornery, sometimes.
*On the bus to Dallas- my fellow passenger was a thin haired, poncho clad guy with dark facial stubble and a woodsy smell. We talked about transcendentalism; he said he thinks the worst kind of slavery is the kind we put on ourselves, in everyday life. As his icebreaker, he asked me if I had been writing vertically; and he had never seen a cotton field before. I thought all elementary schools in the South did that for a field trip- visited a cotton farm? Well, I guess St Louis isn't considered South, anyway..

It's the times when I feel most lonely that my love for myself grows in strength the most. Regardless of the creepy things I learned from the security guard in Denver during my 4.5 hour layover, ("If you saw the types and amounts of weapons I've confiscated in a days worth time, you wouldn't ever take a bus again.") I don't regret my choice to ride Greyhound....it was both a self inflicted reward and punishment. Walking alone in downtown Denver- 7 blocks to the Cheesecake Factory to eat a delicious meal and drink green tea by myself on a Friday night- was exactly what I needed after my Seattle mishap. I watched the well dressed couples and groups stroll the holiday-lit streets, happy and rosy cheeked; I breathed in the brisk air, free of makeup and aware of the slight yearning and sadness that washed over me- but I didn't feel empty, not nearly. I was ok with myself, happy with the world...and that was plenty satisfying for me.

[haiku]
Deceitful quiet.
Drunkard ranting, flying cool
Brown mopheaded brute.

[to do list]
channel negative energy into warmth for others,
the world.
new living arrangements asap
get my sheet together (and a new comforter to complete my fantastic chocolate brown sheets)
get rid of unnecessary stuff, ie CLOTHES=
i want to live more minimalistically.
pursue BALANCE
don't eat a whole box of german sugar cookies when upset/stressed
ever. again.

maybe more meditation.

**Dante says that God is not merely a blinding vision of glorious light,
but that He is, most of all,
l'amor che move il sole el' altre stelle
the love that moves the sun and the other stars.

i'm (very slowly) trying to learn to quiet my mind.
(the things that are hardest are the best kind)
**from the Bhagavad Vita. the most ancient text of yoga:
"Oh Krishna, the mind is restless, turbulent, strong, and unyielding...
as difficult to subdue as the wind."

You are what you think. Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts,
and you are the slave to your emotions.

Of course, knowing these things and heeding them are two totally different things.
My thoughts are swaying like kelp in the black ocean current of night.
Especially after considering one of my worst fears could be an actual truth.
(C'mon optimistic gene, don't fail me now.)

the honey bees are dying

a street sweeper at this time of night only makes the bleeding skies more eerie.
reflection hazy.
worn out is as lonely does,
i feel like i could close my eyes for decades,
and when i lift my eyelids i'll have missed nothing.
nothing but a little smudged mascara and a 5 am phone call,
echoing from an empty car
while freshly changed sheets turn over in their sleep.
spring will come as usual, only this time my grin will be toothless
like a jack o lantern,
only less square. still a little empty and rotting
i am fluffy like pumpkin pie filling,
you roll it around on your tongue and murmur "hmm. interesting.."
only it's not quite your style,
so a few bites into it you quit and abandon your sweettooth,
fondling the crust edges aimlessly,
the taste of familiarity.

i keep catching myself hiding in the strangest places,
like a creepy subconscious game of sardines.
if only i could pack all the masks into a trunk and swallow the key,
and then when my plane goes down
you can bite into the fruit of my ash-tree
and savor the metallic taste of finally. finally free?
once there is no more skin to disguise.

the static snowstorm of dreams is a small solace
when you're too indecisive to choose a winter coat.
the warm, oozing embrace of a comfort laden bed brings less ease
when you wake up in cold sweats, chasing breaths and ghosts
that haunt visions of lands that you can't recall
as real at all, anymore.

i don't think i'll have turkey this year. i would feel too guilty.
for once in my life i thought from their point of view
the kind of creature who looks up into the heavens when it rains,
astounded by the miracle, so flabbergasted by the sensation
and caught in the moment,
that they forget to close their mouths-wide open in amazement-
and drown themselves.
i feel like we're kindred spirits, you see...
scatterbrained and too curious for our own good
and when i look up, turn my gaze skywards..
whether out of desire (to be washed clean and pure),
fascination,
optimism,
reverence,
etc
i just lose myself in the madness and end up choking
on the beauty of it all.
plus,
i'm sure i would taste just as delicious if i were full of cornbread
instead of organs (or lack thereof).

summer rain or whale semen?
it's all the same when you can't read the code anyway,
when the emblems could stand for something
less meaningful and more laughable
the pretty intangible symbolism suddenly becomes
the butt of your own joke above your butt
(slightly to the left.)

maybe i just need to get the celery out of my ass.