Sunday, March 29, 2015

Sunday Song #3: "I Should Fly" By Vermillion Lies


I've been thinking for a while
That I should fly
Tired of walking on my feet
They're so tired
They're so tired

The brown shoes are old
and the ground is hard
and the view is much nicer from the sky

From up in the sky they're just people
But from here they're liars, cheaters and thieves

From up in the sky they're just people
But from here they're liars, cheaters and thieves

I've been thinking for a while
that I should fly

I've been thinking for a while
that I should fly

From up in the sky I can't see your lies
I can't see right through your lies
From up in the sky you are kind you are wise
But from here I'd rather be blind

From up in the sky they're just people
But from here they're liars, cheaters and thieves

From up in the sky they're just people
But from here they're liars, cheaters and thieves

I've been thinking for a while
that I should fly

I've been thinking for a while
that I should fly

I've been thinking for a while
that I should fly

I've been thinking for a while
that I should fly

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Sunday Song #2 "My Body is a Cage" bye Arcade Fire


My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love,
But my mind holds the key.

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love,
But my mind holds the key.

I'm standing on a stage
Of fear and self-doubt;
It's a hollow play
But they'll clap anyway.

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love,
But my mind holds the key.

You're standing next to me.
My mind holds the key.

I'm living in an age
That calls darkness light.
Though my language is dead,
Still the shapes fill my head.

I'm living in an age
Whose name I don't know.
Though the fear keeps me moving,
Still my heart beats so slow.

My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key.

You're standing next to me;
My mind holds the key.
My body is a

My body is a cage.
We take what we're given.
Just because you've forgotten,
That don't mean you're forgiven.

I'm living in an age
That screams my name at night.
But when I get to the doorway,
There's no one in sight

I'm living in an age
That laughs
When I'm dancing
With the one I love,
But my mind holds the key.

You're standing next to me;
My mind holds the key.

Set my spirit free
Set my spirit free
Set my body free
Set my body free

Set my spirit free
Set my body free

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Weary


When I was a child I would wake up to the sound of the wind shaking the house and the glass, and I would stand and creep to the window and look out. I would see a slender woman dancing among the trees. She was graceful and quick, and the trees danced with her. My eyes grew weary and soon I fell asleep; when I awoke I could not see her through the window, so I went down to the garden but she had gone. The sun was shining and the trees stood still, green and growing.
            I would go to school and I would see her dancing and laughing with the trees and up and down the road, and she would wave to me and I would wave to her. When I returned in the evening, as the leaves of autumn blew around in the wind, I would find her and we would dance with her in her red coat and me in my yellow rain jacket. But then my mother would call me in to supper and when I returned she had run away again.
            Later I would be in my room reading my book when the rain began to fall and it pitter-pattered against the window. I looked out and an old man sat on the rocks of the garden, and between his nobly brown knees there was a drum and he would beat against it and laugh. Then the woman came out too and she would dance to his music, but I was afraid of the cold and the wind, so I watched them. The woman waved and I waved back.
            I would grow older.
            I would make friends, and we would go over to each other’s houses and paint our nails and talk about boys. And I entered middle school and became a cheerleader; I entered high school and had a boyfriend and went to the movies; I left high school and entered the real world. Soon it came that I had not thought of the old man and the slender woman for a very long time.
            I would walk and the wind would blow; it would carry off my hat into the woods. I would run after my hat but I could not run fast enough, for as an adult there never was enough time. What a nuisance the wind was, I came to realize, and I would go on to the real world.
            On my way to work the rain would begin to fall and make streams on the concrete. What a nuisance the rain was, I came to realize, and I opened my umbrella to shield myself from the water and I moved on to the real world.
            And I would marry and become busy in the house, cooking and cleaning and doing the laundry. As the years would continue I would have two children who were full of laughter. They became the joy of my life, and their names were Jamie and Lucy, and they were young.
            One day Jamie would enter the house laughing and I would ask him what he laughed for. He would tell me that while he was outside and the wind was blowing, he had met a slender woman dancing and they had played together. Yet his scarf was missing and I scolded him and sent him off to play and stop talking of nonsense.
            One day when it was raining I would realize that Lucy had somehow found her way outside. I would pull her inside and she would be soaked with water. I would ask her what she was thinking and she would say that she had heard drums, but I would ignore her and dry her off.
            I would send them to bed and go to sit by the fire and read. Outside the wind blew and shook the house, and the rain pitter-pattered on the glass. I however would be safe and warm, cuddled up in a blanket and nodding over an old forgotten tale.

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

The Willow Church

Stand
Still
Under leaves;
Don't think,
Feel.
Don't breathe;
Disturbing air,
Still
Since
The natives died.
Worshippers,
Slaughtered.

Light and breeze and muffled.
Songs echo
Above.
Bird cries,
Hymns to
Silence.
She is the old Willow
Bark wrinkled
Head bent low
Still.
Hair
Touching
Sacred Ground.

Lovers
Murdered.
Bones sunk in the earth,
Scorched wood,
Screams and
Children.
Underneath
Sacred Ground
Her friends sleep
Forever.

Birds cry.
Worshipers slaughtered.
Burn her too
Scortched forever
As the bush.
And she
Still
Stands.



Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Reach

I am too sad to write well today and some days are like that. I just miss her.
Outside it's beautiful; the trees are in bloom and the sun is bright. I'm happy too, in a way. Can I say I am at peace with her absence? Close. I still want to bring her back.
No, I cannot change her mind. She always was so stubborn. When I needed her most she was gone, and I should be angry.
I was.
Every night I would visit her in my dreams and reach out to her, and she would run away every time. Those dreams kept me from forgetting and it kept the pain alive when I was ready to move on. She kept digging her thumb into the wound, yet when I awoke she wouldn't touch me when I longed for her hand on my shoulder.
I know I hurt her. I just meant to hurt myself; I wanted her to be happy.
I wish I knew what she thought of me, of the Fight, of the darkness I have entered since her absence. I wish she would tell me. I didn't know I loved her so until I hated her.
I feel like I'm a ghost to her, like I died that morning when I almost died, and to her it made no difference at all. To her, she'd rather I was dead; then she would never have to deal with the shame of bumping into me, or my calls, or my begging for her silence to end. That's what hurts the most.
I want to know the pain I've caused her and make it better. But she has hurt me too, and just as much; she doesn't want to take it back the way I do.
I wish she'd yelled at me. I wish she'd screamed and cried for days, I wish she'd hit me almost and I guess I would have known she loved me. Nothing she could have done or said to me would have been as bad as this. The silence is worse, because all I have is my imagination to understand. I feel like loving her is wrong, but I can't run away. I would be doing what she has done.
She said she wanted to understand why I did it.
I guess it's because she's not the only one who's done this.
A great burden it is, to carry the knowledge that out there someone abhors you, and that they are right to do so.

Monday, March 16, 2015

Unknown

You're not afraid of the dark.
You're afraid that in the end, everything you know is as dark and empty as your room at night. Everything you love can vanish and everything you fear can exist. You have no control. In the dark we are vulnerable; in the dark we are alone. We can look no where for comfort. We can only look inside ourselves, but sometimes we are darker and emptier.
You're not afraid of rats.
Every day you shove the filth of life as far away from you as possible. You drop unloved food into trash bags,  you flush shit into the under-earth, you wash the sweat that rises up out of your skin. We are the civilized ones and our world is clean and white and put in neat boxes. And what of the rat? You have fed him your whole life. Your bastard child can walk into your home, your clean white box, and your wife still doesn't know. Sometimes you seem to forget.

You're not afraid of dying; you're afraid of the unknown, the end.
You're just afraid.
We all are.

Sunday, March 15, 2015

Sunday Song #1: "Drops" by Jungle



When you're so high you don't think.
When you fall from the sky you won't break.

So come down from the clouds.
Come down.
So some down from the clouds.
Come down.

I've been loving you, too long.
I've been loving you, for too long.

So some down from the clouds.
Come down.
So some down from the clouds.
Come down.

When you're so high, you don't think.
When you fall from the sky, you won't break.
I've been loving you too long.
I've been loving you for too long.

Saturday, March 14, 2015

Rattle

Come and you will understand. I didn't believe in magic either, until I felt that moment swirl around me in lights and screeches and wind and stars. In the city she's a damn nuisance, I'll admit. Who isn't a nuisance in the city? Get her alone on a cold night, trap her as she passes through a narrow place, and you will understand her.
How many nights have I made my way down to the river at night--sometimes with friends, sometimes with lovers, usually alone. The planks are too close to walk comfortably; I balance on the rail sometimes if someone is there to hold my hand. My feet mark the snow. The sky is purple from the city far away, the earth white in the moonlight, and the night mine.
I can hear her before I see her. I cannot tell where she is: far or near, north or south. It could be her ghost across the river or coyotes in the distance, until her harsh scream reveals her. Then her light yellows the tress and dazzles the tracks; stand by. Let her pass. Closer and closer, brighter and louder. Stay and feel her pull you in as she flies by. Close your eyes. Feel the wind wrap around you and listen to the rattle, the screeching, the speed.
And she is gone. The trees still feel her wind-trail and rustle quietly, and you are alone.
Now do you understand?

Friday, March 13, 2015

Sturdy

She believed in long walks in autumn. She believed in sturdy men who brought her wood every week and the windmill in the sky that brought her some money every month. More than anything she believed in a good cup of tea now and then with people who knew how to mind their own business.
She was pretty happy.

Long

I should never have cut my hair. It was immodest, though, and constantly flashing my soul out at people when I needed to remain dignified. Because in places it was curly and in others straight, in places blond and red and brown, scraggly and frizzy and thick, healthy and dull and static, it showed what I had myself: absolute rebellion. And it was long too, and it had been with me through some tough times.
I cut it to look like Frances. It doesn't really curl much and it all looks the same, as if to say I too am the same. I put purple in it mostly to remind myself I'm a little different, but it's a mask. I had to put it there, like people put makeup and fancy shoes on to remind themselves they're beautiful. My hair reminded me that in my nature I was beautiful, and not just because of what I put on. I suppose I am too vain. Beauty is not just something I want to have, it is something I want to be: a beautiful person, who barely touches a person's life yet makes them a little happier. My hair said that despite what people thought of me, I would try to be true to myself.