Second life

Image from
http://www.bretculp.com/gallery/bwLandscape/content/BretCulp_Sycamore_SM_large.html

If I had a second life and it could be anything, I would be a tree. No kidding. I would want to be one of those sycamores you see along the banks of creeks. In fact, there is a specific sycamore I would want to be. Unfortunately I do not have a photo of the exact tree, but I can recall every detail. It is in the country near where I live. It is majestic and obviously really old. Its roots grasp the bank of the creek and its canopy umbrellas both the road and the creek. Its branches arch gracefully into the sky and creatures live all over her. Squirrels and birds nest in her branches and insects burrow into her bark. Holes in her trunk house owls and foxes. She harbors life and is connected in a most intimate way with the entire cycle of nature. Her arms support life and her roots recycle the dead. The knots and fissures on her body are the map of her existence and she has witnessed generation after generation come and go. She has seen the fury of floods, the agony of drought, and the icy grip of winter. Her branches toss and bend with the current of the wind but she remains rooted; a sentinel of the ages. I would like to be a tree.

Best. Tattoo. Ever.

Maybe we should be a little less specific...

http://oddlyspecific.com/

National Inner Child Day

I hereby proclaim November 23 as National Inner Child Day! To celebrate this illustrious event, I created a goofy (and oddly disturbing) video... What uninhibited (but safe and legal) thing can you do to celebrate this day?

Later I plan to spin in circles with my arms out and see what the world looks like!

New work

The Talisman (11-2-09)

I washed you away today.
I marched right in there
and gathered your things
(it’s only been seven months
since you left me last spring.)
Like a good girl
I turned every pocket
and searched every cuff
for a stray golden locket
or any small thing
that might go ker-clunk!
I shoved a determined
and boldly unclad hand
into a smelly old pocket
and locked my fingers
not on that locket
but a crusty old tissue.
Oh my GOD – ewwww!
But then… everything stopped.
I was holding you.

You always had this funny way
of using Viva paper towels
instead of a Kleenex,
like everyone else.
My heart raced away
into the past.
How long could this moment
possibly last?
Here was incontrovertible proof
that you really were there!
I clutched my newfound treasure
tightly in my hands
and held it, this sacred talisman
that could fight off
the coldest darkness of night.

Then my logical mind broke
this spell I was under
and said, “Put your faith
in a snot rag? Well geesh,
it’s no wonder!”
I chuckled and went on
with doing my chores
but before I closed the
laundry room door
I found that old snot rag
from down on the floor
and carefully smoothed
it on top of the washer.
Just in case…

My bliss led me to this...

I decided to break the cardinal rule of Photoshop - NEVER UPSCALE AN IMAGE!

Here is what happened (I am very pleased, FYI!)
http://www.spyroterra.com/evil-ninja-chicken/start.html

Bliss

For my bliss I sat in a swivel rocker on my porch, basking in the early autumn day, reading a novel and just hanging out with my dogs!

A poem within a poem - layers, baby!

invasion/Evasion (9/18-21/09)

drilling through
this tiny shield
of mitochondria and hair
my thickened skin
proves utterly defenseless
when blood and bone
are finally laid bare

Again

tentacles spread
and form a dense web
of tangled conversations
and throw away glances
probe and prod
searching inside
until a tiny sucker
finds the perfect spot

I hold tight

wrapping around
and squeezing small
splitting the marrow
and my fabric of being
sucking my life
and slithering inside
the hollow tubes
of my very bones
lying in wait

Just run away

stretching and tearing
I fight this invasion
fleeing this nothing
that’s deep down inside
buried below
in a watery pit
but roiling and turning
catching the light

Drowning within myself

just a deep dark impression
of worlds lit with actions
that collide and splinter
leaving a trail
of chaos and pleasure
painted with pain

My beautiful hidden canvas

this alien presence
devours, consumes,
and concocts worlds
from this dark palette
a delicate faerie land
spun from the sugar
of sweet words
and gentle actions
cracking dry tunnels
with shafts of pure white

Enticed to this light

I watch as my eyes
(blind in this sun)
send out tentative
search parties of their own
tender tentacles
slipping through
paper armor
in a dance as primal
and ancient as stone

I remember

some animals regenerate
if a limb is cut off
it will grow back
with time
as my gaze trails down
to my bloody stumps
with their
stillborn tentacles
dangling limply

Previous assaults

pulsing and throbbing
I still feel the itch
of the amputation blade
severing the ties
between might and is
while this phantom limb
grows heavy in the light

Habitual denial ebbs and flows

as a new tendril sprouts
from a place deep inside
and follows this tenuous
bridge pouring forth
from my eyes
as my bones ache
where the tunnels of other
curious tentacles bore
long forgotten channels
through which emptiness
enters

Into this ill forged fortress

I love to hate
this familiar rampart
trembles with cracks
and just when
my body succumbs
and steps to the rhythm
of twining and touching
I wake screaming
all covered in sweat
only to find
that no one’s there
my bones are still hollow
and my stumps
are still dangling
their aborted attempts
mocking this prison
I’ve built for myself

I don’t understand
How to be what you need

Creative advertising that causes hellfire and brinstone

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hell_Pizza

The steps of fear...