Orbiting:

Orange Dog

Homemade chicken pot pie

Velvet couch

Lemon-scented dishwashing

Rainy day

Death: A Musing on the End

40 hours a week, it works

56 hours a week, it sleeps

7 hours a week, it eats

Sometimes it is in traffic

Sometimes in line,

sometimes in the tub

It processes food and feelings,

it breaths and shits,

it tries desperately to connect

across the lanes,

through the windows,

on paper,

on the screen.

It grays and wrinkles,

the mind and heart wilt,

ultimately, it is alone,

in the beginning

and in the end.

It goes out the way it comes in,

crying and scared,

or shaking and angry,

either way, it goes out

and it is not a magic birthday candle,

it does not re-light.

At some point,

it goes in the ground,

in the sea,

up in the air as ash,

and memory.

It is just gone.

There are no applause,

no red velvet curtains to close,

No period.

No darkness.

No light.

And in an instant,

we are gone,

and the line moves up to fill the gap,

an endless droning,

an emotionless march,

lemmings jumping,

one by one,

into the big nothing.

aw

Sometimes even wood is too rotten to burn.

I've been playing around in my writing with the idea of the ostrich with her head in the sand. As if the routines to which we are all chained is the sand, causing us to bend down, expose our asses, and bury our heads under them. We become automatons to those routines.

Every now and then, I pull my head out of the sand and sniff the atmosphere and realize that the other world is much less gritty....and that my back feels much nicer when it is straight against the wind.

I envy people who can play the piano because on moody days like today, I would like to be able to sit down and pump my emotion into those black and white keys and have them echo back to me what I am feeling in a language I can understand.

A List of Things I Want

(and that would quite possibly fill me with complete glee for a month or more)

Teavana Snow Geisha white tea

some REALLY good incense

a leather-scented candle

Perlier hand creme

those little ginger creme cookies

and some fresh roses. Red, of course.

If there was a giftie fairy in the world and she decided to drop all of this in my lap, I might squeal with glee and never stop.