Earthly Swallow

Pages turned to grey
as each moment lost itself
in sand drips of hourglasses,
in floral couch cushions
and in lightless stars
of the Kuiper belt.

Ink ran down our fingers,
bled from the corners
of our mouths, around
mason jar glasses
full of communion wine,
around planetesimal forms
standing eclipsed in our pupils.

Words erased themselves
from Earth's history.
Syllable by syllable they fled
from the underside
of a billion tongues, escaping
off the edges of open umbrellas

and became memories captured
in a firefly's tail, burning out in summer,
setting the space between your fingers aglow.

We were zeroed in,
back to black-skiy square one
when our languages never breathed
and eyes told our stories
like windows thrown open
to rid our minds of all the smoke,
when open mouths were pressed
in lines and bodies learned to say
I need you.

Pages turned to grey
and skies consumed my goodbye,
wrappped themselves around like wax paper
and banished sound
from our moment.

This Week's Begining is Just an End

This morning is a lazy kind of morning. Not so much tired as an apathetic lazy. I've checked out for this week. There's nothing I can really do to bring myself out of four days from now. I'm already there, waiting on the swing in the backyard under my paisley quilt. Mom and Dad are gone for their black Friday shopping and I am just waiting. It is sunny out and a chilled wind wraps itself around the yard. I draw up the quilt and lay down across the seat, swaying lightly. This year seems to be full of moments like this, sighing moments that just deserve to be observed. Human alterations of these moments would be sinful. They are like silk paintings in the wind, caught by a draft in a split second and then sent flying again as time finds itself and remembers who he is. I wait for the sound of a car, for my phone to vibrate in my pocket, but time seems to have stopped. The browning grass ripples in the wind and the trees make no sound but a low moan between their naked branches. I shush them, dropping my eyes to the back door, watching the house glow orange. Finally it is winter. Not many people can say that, but I have always loved the winter. I have always loved the snow and the shorter days, the whistling of bare oaks and bradford pears, hot tea in a snowman mug, pumpkin pie, Christmas candies, the wait for spring. That is what I love the most about winter--the wait between fall and spring. It is timeless. It is frozen. It is a moment to reflect upon the frivolities of summer that needed no analyzation before now. It is a moment to consider who we are, what we are doing and who it is we miss the most.

Still, I am waiting. I am swinging steadily now, resting my head on the bars, curling my toes under to keep them warm. The dog is laying under the swing, snoring. I envy him. I couldn't sleep now if I wanted to. My notebook lays open flat in my lap, a pen poised between my fingers, but I stare off into the distance and let my eyes slide out of focus. That is where I am. Waiting.

Les Leçons Dans Le Media.

Il y a beaucoup de leçons que nous pouvons apprendre des actualités et des événements dans le monde. Nous apprenons des leçons dans nos vies quand nous voisons des actualités et lire des journales. Aussi de même, si nous voisons les événements dans le monde, nous apprendrons les nouvelles solutions pour les problèmes dans notre pays et le monde.

Par exemple, ce mois, un homme qui s’appelle Nidal Malik Hassan tirait 13 personnes à une base, Fort Hood. Il est musulman, un psychiatre dans le militaire des Etats Unis. Mais, la controverse n’est pas qu’il est musulman, mais que ses amis et ses collègues a dit que ils pensent que Nidal était peut être psychotique. Selon les actualités, il y a beaucoup d’évidence qui suggérer que Nidal avait des problèmes psychologique avant de cet incident.

Personne n’ai pas disent qu’il était des problèmes avec Nidal. Il était suivant des sites web qu’il était pour les radicales et les terroristes, mais personne n’ai pas disent quelque chose au gouvernement avant de le meurtre. Aussi, il était entrainé avec des groups Islamiques radicaux. Maintenant, il ferait face la peine de mort. Mais, il était des personnes qu’ils pouvaient prévenir tout ce que ce passe. Il y a une leçon ici.

Si nous saisons qu’une personne a des problèmes dans leur vie, nous avons une responsabilité de dire ca. Pour la sécurité des autres personnes et pour la personne dans son tort, nous devons être conscientes de quand une personne n’est pas totalement d’accord. Ceci ne vois dit pas que nous devons être fouiné, mais quand il y’a un grand problème, nous devons dit ca.

Président Obama a ordonné une révision des agences intelligences des Etats Unis pour savoir s’ils savaient que Nidal avait des problèmes. Il est possible qu’il trouve plus que nous savons au sujet de l’état mental de Nidal avant de le meurtre. C’est triste qu’il était des évidences qu’indique ses problèmes. Peut être il serait libre et recevant le traitement pour sa condition psychotique. Mais, non.

Nous avons beaucoup de leçons d’apprendre quand les évents passent comme ca. Il est importante que nous sommes clairvoyantes et entendent quand il y a un grand événement sur les actualités et dans les journales. Ils nous enseignent beaucoup pour nos vies et pour la sécurité, la longévité et la prospérité de notre monde.

Recollection

She didn't hear him the first time he called. She was wrapped in the blankets like a cocoon and the blue light from the television was floating beneath her eyelids, aurora patterns against the black. Somewhere at the base of her neck she could feel the prick of waking. It crawled up into her brain and invaded her consciousness.

He called again. Soft.

It was her favorite way to wake, in the middle of the night, swathed in an electric blanket and cramped on the couch in the den. She drew the blanket back up over her head and laughed.

“I’m so comfortable.” she groaned.

He called again, this time closer, showering her in his warm breath. She let her head sink back into the couch, sighing, willing herself to open her eyelids and leave sleep behind. His fingers traced the length of her jaw. It was every night like this, every night waking up where she shouldn’t be, him bringing her back to bed. She laughed again.

“I must have fallen asleep.”

He answered in a low murmur, drawing her further and further from her repose. He called once more. She pulled down the blanket, let the full wave of light from the TV hit her, and slid open her eyelids.

And to the room she gave one hollow sigh. She shuffled across the room, shut off the television and went back to bed, twisting his wedding band around her finger.

Atonement

When the moon swells, we’ll all die.
It’s just inevitable, in fact she’s been
bloated these past few days.

She sucks in the night sky and chews
up the stars between her teeth.
And her belly laugh sings us all to sleep.

When the moon swells, she pines
for the ocean’s touch and she’s reaching
out for him to take her back where she belongs.

Moon from water, earth from water,
we are all in love with liquid, longing
to be blanketed in soundless glide.

Paper Rabbits

This past weekend I was standing in my best friend's kitchen when her mother came through, smacking the Herald Leader down and complaining about one or two of the headlines. It took me a few moments to notice that what she had brought in was, in fact, the newspaper I had been selling months ago at my former job as a cashier at Walgreens.

Significantly smaller, the paper didn't make quite a satisfying smack on the kitchen counter, nor did it bulge with adds for local businesses. It was a simple, flat paper, less than half of its former glory. I noted this to my friend's mother who merely sighed, telling me that since they get the paper every day, she's been able to watch the slow deterioration of something Lexington once prided itself on.

It's become apparent that newspapers are in trouble. With Google, Yahoo, MSN and AOL taking over the news circuit, many people believe that print newspapers are in for a heavy hit. With the massive lay-offs on the Herald, I can see they've already been socked a few good times.

Personally, I like the feel of a newspaper. I like to unfold the sections, search for continued articles, read the comics, the editorials, feel the paper between my fingers. Nothing can replace the feeling of a good, thick newspaper under your arm--as much as institutions like Blogger.com are threatening it. There's something concrete about having a newspaper, something I think the majority of the population is faithful to.

Blogs and online newspapers have a place in American society and news today, but I agree with John Carroll when he says in his article "The Future (we hope) of Journalism": Bloggers see themselves as heirs to the pamphleteers who were prominent in the American Revolution. I think they're right. If Thomas Paine were alive, no doubt he'd be blogging away.

There have always been people out their giving their opinions and their own version of the news, but the institution of most newspapers today is just too strong to be wavered by a force like wordpress and blogger. The new technology that has given us these new forms of journalism is really a great thing, but something I don't think will impact the print papers so drastically that I'll have to log onto my computer to read the news every day.

Quite frankly, I don't think the effort is worth it.
A blog, valuable as it is, is simply not an institution with enough heft to stand up to big government and big business. We need institutions of journalism, muscular institutions, not just individual voices. (John Carroll)

1 plus 3

Happy Friday 13th, all.

Today, I advise you to walk under a ladder into a pet shop to buy a black cat who has a deep hatred for mirrors.

Good luck.

Shale

The sheets are stone against the bed,
crumpled in a mountainous rock face
by the footboard, and the blankets
lie spread out on the floor like
a valley at the foothills.

Something in these sheets pricks
the edge of her mind in the night,
a chronic tautness in her muscles
to fuel the insomniatic twitching.

She covers herself in earth each night,
buried alive beneath quilted cliffs.
She hides her face away
in ruffles of eroding lace
while day kisses her one last time,

as he turns out the light,
and locks the door behind him.

Fall Break

We were passing white nights under black skies, and the air froze as lungs expanded, leaving open mouths wide, heads turned to heavens searching for starlight to illuminate the vacant spaces linking our teeth. There are no goodbyes between the half hours around midnight and the layers of 2 a.m. slumber, blue ivory feet sticking to frosted concrete. Winter consumed Lady Fall while night leapt from behind the streetlamp, catching us without headlights on a winding road. Let’s get lost, you said, let’s get lost; let’s find the stars again. But, honestly, I might run away with Orion if you can’t find a more dazzling belt. I’ve always been mesmerized by open sunroofs, night air caught mid-breath, and the prospect of losing our way exactly where we meant to be. I tried to tell you, but when I said goodnight, my voice turned to whispers and the sun dipped behind the trees. I tried to tell you; I found the starlight between my teeth. I told you we don’t have cliffs where I come from, just flat fields and these rolling hills, trying so hard to build up to a wave big enough to earn my suicide. These canyons you brought to me, wrapped up in paper, cuts of land you carved with the groove of your hands, are begging me to be the one who discovers flight. I always knew I’d jump, but I never dreamed it would be off the owl’s eyelashes, from the tips of her talons. She promised to watch over you while I slept backbone to drywall, and I promised to teach you how to fly. I only wish we could both have hollow bones.

Daddy's work shirt was my art smock...

Tomorrow I'll be seeing my dad for the first time this week. My parents aren't divorced or anything, he works the night shift at Toyota--Body Weld department--so I don't see him much at all. It's almost like living in a house all on my own these days with my mom at work or class until nine or ten in the evening and my dad leaving for work at 4. I get home and he's just left and my mom won't be home for a few more hours.

I make dinner for myself.
I wash dishes.
I do my laundry.
I kind of miss my dad a lot.

I remember when I was six, my teacher, Ms. Reedy told me I looked blue when we were getting ready for story time on the reading carpet. She called my dad and he was so upset that he had to get up so early in
the morning to come and get me. When he got to my school, though, he took one look at me and practically carried me home. I had caught the flu for the first time. I think it was the first time I really got to
stay home and bond with my dad. Nowadays whenever my dad and I go out it's usually on errands for my
mom. We think the same way, me and my dad, so, naturally we're completely incompetent in WalMart. I was hoping I would get a chance to go grocery shopping with him again this weekend, but between
Chicken Chow Mein night with Sara and Madi and a visit to Centre, I don't think it's gonna work out.

*sigh*

Sometimes I forget how much I really love my dad. He's the one I inherited my artist-brain from so a lot of times our personalities just meld and I forget how influential he actually was to my writing. Not that my mom wasn't, my dad was just a huge chunk of where I found a love for books, music and movies. I'll go tomorrow to Southland Bowling Lanes to see my dad bowling in a charity tournament with his work. It'll only be about twenty or thirty minutes, but at least I'll get to say I saw him this week at all.

11/12

Good morning all. I hope you've slept well. Today begins another day in the life of a high school senior. Woo.

This morning I discovered six things:
1. Toothpaste is not to be swallowed in large amounts.
2. If you sleep with your hand under the pillow, it might turn blue by morning.
3. If you're going to drive down Springhill Drive at 8 a.m., it's a good idea to have sunglasses.
4. Just because you've been dating someone for four months, doesn't mean they'll take the initiative and be the first one to say, "good morning".
5. Scarves make everything better.
6. Google is the worst place to look for news.

Big news in Grobania (even if I'm a few days late):
Josh Groban's new website is up and running!!!

Ah, another day.
Good morning world, I hope you survive the day.

She Was Day Once

I met night on a subway train

moving east from 42nd, searching
for a lost coin underneath the plastic
seats. She was wrapped in sheets
and fur skin coats, discarded
scraps of blue jeans.

Her eyes were white like star blood
and she whispered galaxy lullabies
saying Orion had left her
in the half hour folds around midnight.

She is a single mother of the moon.

The Milky Way was strung
on the shrunken skin of her left wrist,
clanging against the rings of Saturn
and reflecting Pluto’s blue against her bones.

“There’s no wealth for the night,”
she said, gritty fingernails
scraping against graffiti floor,
“There’s no money for the stars.”

Memorandum

She waits on a star map,

spread across the floor, pinning
blue string in the shapes of
new constellations.

With each drive of the pin
into corkboard she bows her head
in silent prayer.

“I’m mapping out eternity,”
she says, “So we’ll always
have someplace to go.”

There is a sapphire spider
web wrapped around her fingers
and she pulls it into a ladder,
a cradle, a loop knot and
back out again.

“When the string ends,”
she whispers, pushing down
another pin, “that’s where
heaven is.”