Two black gloves.

Two black gloves.  They are calm and sure.  And deadly.  Or they were.  Two minutes ago.  In the lower level.  Where screams of agony would go unheard and cries for mercy unnoticed.

There is a spot of blood on the left wrist.  It will dry and become a part of the black leather.

In the elevator now.  The right pointer directs it up to the surface.  Now they fold and rest.  And wait for the elevator to glide up a few floors.  Plain beige walls slip by in the windowed box.  Then the atrium appears.  Pink granite floors graced with leafy plants.

The gloves unfold as the elevator dings open.  They swing towards the closest revolving door.

Not a soul left in the building.

Gloves grasp the chilled bar of the door and push.  Turn, turn, turn.  The chillier air greets and the gloves are enveloped into the black of the night.

The Mountains

Okay, so I should probably be honest.  I saw a picture in a store with this quote, and thought I could do that.  I could do that with a picture I've taken.  So I did.  

This is the view from the hostel I stayed at in Queenstown, New Zealand.

Fantasy

Another designed quote.

- George R. R. Martin

Disdain - Perfected

She has the look of disdain

perfected

Heavy lids shield her eyes

from me

and my antics

Boredom seeps from her visage

And her often animated,

bright, yellowish-green eyes

are dull

The rest of her body

is curled up

guarded

None of my frivolity

will affect

She turns her head away

as I croon

mock her stance

She is unaffected

I reach to chuck

under her chin

playfully

She will have none of that

She sashays away

her fluffy tail

up in the air

like her nose

Most Things Are Looking Up

I wanted to title this post Everything Most Things Are Looking Up, but blogger doesn't let you do strikethroughs in titles (or maybe it does and I couldn't figure it out, didn't I do that in an earlier post).

Whatever, moving on!

Things are good. I'm getting used to the 40 hours a week thing and this job feels doable. I looked at an apartment. My parents saw it and weren't crazy about the neighborhood, but honestly, I think I might go for it.

It's a block away from the library and bus station which is the "sketchy" part of where I live, but also I would be living with two other woman (one being my elderly land lady who lives by herself), and the city where I live is pretty safe in general. I think my parents are overreacting. I'm going to dry by at night and see what the neighborhood's like. I really want to move like yesterday.

My computer was broke and now it's back (yay). My debit card got lost, I cancelled it, found it, and then got my new one. (Yay!) Work brings me down somedays because NO ONE TALKS TO EACH OTHER SOMETIMES, but it's been feeling better.

Everything is fine. Great in fact . . . except . . .

Fucking love life. Fucking romance. I should probably take a love life vacation since I've got other shit to figure out. And I would, except for two things.

1. Mr B. from my last article never texted me back which makes me feel annoyed and angry and pissed at him. Can we say the word "flakey." Whatever, over it.
2. I found out recently that T facebook chatted with one of my friends during that week he was deciding to call things off with me. She asked him if we were still hanging out and he said, "ish." Prick. Whatever, over it.
3. L. The guy I work with. Oh L.

At work yesterday everybody left early because it was Friday and no one gives a shit. So it was just me and L. During that time L told me lots and LOTS about his ex.

He wasn't really oversharing because I encouraged it (because I'm nosy as fuck). I won't get too into it because I don't want to violate his privacy, but here are the basics so you understand the situation.

1. He and his ex went out for six years.
2. He and his ex broke up in April.
3. He's currently dating another girl he met online and feeling nervous about it.

To which I responded, you're feeling nervous? No shit! You were dating someone for six years and just broke up! Jesus.

None of this would be a problem except that my wounded, crippled little heart seeks out guys like this in a Venus Flytrap-like manner.

I'm about to say something that's going to make me sound all bitchy and shitty, but goddamnit, when am I going to stop accepting strays into my heart? They never give back what they take.

I talked about this to my friend M who told me to stay away from him. He's a nice guy, but he has questionable judgment. Not to mention some pretty open wounds.

Also, another guy from work? Jesus fuck, didn't I learn my lesson last time?

I'm going to talk about this with my therapist in our next session. I don't know how to disengage feelings like this (and, to be fair, it's still a little crush, not a big one), and I'm really scared of ever falling for someone that dysfunctional again.

Working on it. We're going to get through this. I need someone who's got their shit together who's going to be super nice to me. But I also just need to admit that this is happening. I think it helps.

Besides that, everything is looking up. I'm going to be adult very soon goddamnit.

So close. So, so close.

Work Poems

So here are two poems I've written.  One is about the former place I worked, and the one I'm at now.  The difference is pretty stark, huh.

March 2013

It's a sort of hollowness

      a melancholic empty

Things aren't going right.   Nothing has.

And it's going on two years.   For a full 

twenty-two months there has been little constant

and even less certain.

But something comes into focus not.

I'm not satisfied.  Not here.  Not in this job.

Not at this company.  Not with these people.

Laid out like that, it seems harsh.  An exaggeration.

Deep down, though, I'm afraid it isn't.

I can do more, offer more, be more.  And

unfortunately there seems to be no moving up

from what I'm doing now.

Zero advancement.

I can't see a long term future here.

Of course, after 6 positions in 2 years,

long-term seems like it's hardly possible at all.

Nearly all those running production when I 

started have decided to bow out, or have been sacked.

I just wonder

should I leave 

before I'm next on the chopping block

8/21/13

Relief

It's a warmness that starts at my center

     near my heart

And expands

When I went into the office of my boss's boss

I didn't know

     why

But there was the contract

On her desk

A glance reveals the highest in the salary range

     stated by the temp agency

Giddiness 

I've made it

Two years and three months

And I finally feel 

I'm in the place I should be

Change, Men, & the End of Puberty 2.0

I've cried wolf on this before, but I've decided that this is the year I become an adult.

I've been changing a lot of things lately. Some small. Some big. All hard. Being twenty-three was a big old basket of crap. Lots of marking time and getting all of my angst out of my system. Being twenty-four hasn't been any easier, but it has been a lot more constructive.

Recent changes include:

1. Finding an apartment- Made a few calls today, we'll see.

2. Find a therapist- I scheduled an appointment in about week with this one agency, but I think I'm going to call somewhere else on Monday. It's in a city that's twenty minutes away from my house which makes it a good forty places away from where I work, and I don't know if I want to make that drive once a week.

3. Getting hired full-time at my job- Have I mentioned this was happening? Well it is, and it's almost just about official. My "first day" should be Sept. 16th.

4. Finding time to write while working full-time- we're working on this one.

5. Asking a boy I like to hang out.

Number five is the one that was giving me trouble today. Not that anything that dramatic happened. Last week I asked this guy who's a friend of a friend if he wanted to hang out sometime. He said he did and gave me his number. I gave him mine. Then I texted him and, after a couple of days, we decided to meet for coffee later this week.

The reason it's hard is because of not anything that actually happened, but because whenever I do anything I feel anxious about it and I feel guilty and I start playing worst case scenarios in my head over and over again.

It's not even A DATE and I feel nervous. I feel angsty. I feel like I should be listening to Evanescence and Skillet like back in high school. (Don't make fun of my Skillet days. It's how agnostic daughters of pastors rebel.) 

But even though it sucks and even though I feel tired and annoyed and vulnerable and like I want to sleep with everyone everywhere (Jesus, I need the opposite of an aphrodisiac), it's good. It's good because I'm dealing with shit.

I want to be an adult and, by god, I'm going to make myself be one whether I want it or not. Goodbye Puberty 2.0. You're on notice. The countdown starts now.

Music Video Masochism

Image Source.

I know I shouldn't care (and I'm sure you don't care), but Lady Gaga's new music video is pissing me off because it represents everything that's wrong with her.

If you have seen it yet, you can by clicking here. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Done? Good.

So if you didn't take time to watch it (I'm shocked), here's a brief recap. This video features Lady Gaga "dancing" around (really more writhing) in different ridiculous outfits.

 . . . oh, I thought I would have more to say about it, but nope. That pretty much sums it up. That's the whole plot of the video. It looks a little something like this-

1. Hand Bra

Image source.

2. Painted Face Which I Thought Could End Up Interesting After Seeing Concept Art But Wasn't

Image Source.

3. I Can't Fucking Even With You Sometimes

Image Source.

What's most embarrassing about this whole ordeal for is that I actually got excited about this video for half a second. I know, I know, after years of slowly coming to the realization that Lady Gaga isn't nearly as artistic as she pretends I should know better. It's just, well . . .

Do you remember the first time you ever watched the video for Bad Romance? I fell in love immediately. It blew my mind.

Not only did it fit with the song, it added another level to it.The costumes and sets were amazing and there were actual characters and a build and a climax.

If music videos aren't going to have a good story, that's totally fine, but they need to make up for it with a fascinating/distinctive concept or impressive visuals.

These visuals are cool, but they piss me off. They remind me of her video for You And I more than anything. Disjointed. Bizarre. Nonsensical. Ultimately, they're jarring and go by so fast and contrast so wildly it's hard to get into that.

But what ESPECIALLY pisses me off, is the way she flashes enough skin to get the PTA all hot bothered while still managing to be censored enough so you can play it on TV. The first time I watched this video I swore to god I saw her nipples, but it turned out to be a special bra made of a melted tinfoil.

She's like a sexy Marilyn Manson, except I've seen Marilyn Manson's boobs! Granted, he didn't have any nipples at the time, but still.

Do you know what I most want to see from Lady Gaga? Just a ten minute video of her singing an acoustic on an empty sound stage while bare-ass naked. All respect regained immediately.

But she'll never do that, because she's not a performance artist. She's a cookie cutter pop star indistinguishable from Katy Perry or Taylor Swift. This song is pretty much Lady Gaga's answer to Circus by Britney Spears.

What it really comes down to is I'm mad. Not mad at Lady Gaga. She's a pop star and she's good at it. Mad at myself for paying attention to Top 40 bullshit rather than taking the time to seek out and find real art.

Goddamnit, I need to go read something. I'll be back.

Under Construction

Still working on my sci fi novel, but here is a sampling of something in construction I have been working on:

This place among the stars; centered among the infantismal. It populates the great powers, it manages order, it exists for the purpose of power. This place among the infinite cosmos has chosen the ruler who will bring them to glory. For every ruler brings glory. They will be crush the detractors, whom dare speak against the burgeoning line in the wake of the end of the previous line. For generations the new line will bring sustenance to the people.

She is our Queen Hope. Commence Hope Year One of her glorious reign and the reign of her line!

It's unofficially official

I have a job.  A real one.  Not a temp thing, not a contract, not a goddamn internship.

I will be transitioning to a full time permanent employee with a salary and everything, probably by next Friday.

I hope this news finds you all well.  And soon perhaps, I will be able to take a vacation to see each of you.  Yes, you too Ada.  Though, I may wait until next year when you are in Oz.

Cheers and much love,
Allya

Cue the OK GO

 . . .
 . . .
 . . .
 . . . I'm getting a crush on a guy I work with.

He's nerdy and awkward and into computer stuff (he's our programming guy), and I thought he was in his thirties but he recently revealed that he saw the first Pokemon Movie in sixth grade which I think makes him just a few years older than me.

We like all of the same TV shows (Doctor Who, the IT Crowd, Spaced, Metalocalypse, Venture Bros). He also seems kind of immature (he's talked A LOT about his ex) and said he didn't want to have a daughter because he was worried she would grow up to be a slut. (That was a weird conversation.)

I can't help it. Nerdy guys are my Kryptonite.

I ALSO have a crush on this super, super, super, super nice guy that works at the record store. He has long, straight brown hair down his back and wears nothing but metal shirts. (Yeah, I know. Look familiar?) We had a huge storm recently and I sent him a message asking if they were okay (the power was out for a day and a half).

He said they were, and then said, "I hope you're okay too, lady."

Did I mention he's like the nicest fucking guy? And has tattoos. And wants to brew his own beer.

I don't know what the point of this post is. Except maybe that I never learn. Also, I think I need to get laid. I'm about to jump on the next guy I see.

JuneBug

5/30/13

So obviously, I wrote this a while ago.  It's kinda weird.. as in not very similar to most of my writing.  Or at least that's how I feel about it.  It was a little in relation to a book I was reading at the time.  Btw, I will try to start doing my book reviews again... or at least mention when I read a good book.  The one I was reading was The Innocent by David Baldacci.  Then I read the next book in his series, The Hit.  Both we very action-oriented, and great reads.  (The main character is a hit-man.  And a BAMF.)  I would recommend them both.  Anyway, on to my random poem....


JuneBug

You're my little JuneBug
my little sweetie pie
I'm gonna love you
love you till the day I die

She sings it soft
she sings it low
she sings even though the man
tells her no

He yells real loud
he screams and shouts
he's got the barrel pointed
what's this life all about

She holds her JuneBug
she holds her sweetie pie
she whispers little one
it's gonna be all right

He can make it stop
he wants to make it stop
there are tears in her eyes
he will make their dreams pop

There you can see the trigger
and there is the pull
a junebug is screaming 
the world spins out of control

Cradled in small hands
cradled is her face
he stopped her heart
something that cannot be replaced

But something new starts
something new begins
the little JuneBug starts singing
dark won't win

Emote

Prompt:  Pick an emotion. But don't say what it is. Describe it. How it feels, what it looks like, how it acts.


 - 1 - 

A tightly clenched ball.
A jaw grinding. 
Breathing quickens and eyes dart.

It's dark grey.
Like storm clouds.

But this lightning 
is shocks of red.

Really it's a headache.
Unclear.
And unreasonable.

Tapping incessantly.
Twisting.
Building.
Hounding.
Pounding.

It creeps up.
A small snowball
grows
as you roll
it gains momentum
it's unstoppable.

Heart pounds.
And suddenly
there's a pressure
in your chest
constricting 
and piercing.

An endless stream
a list of to-do's
less have-done's
more due dates

Are you finished yet?

You're late
You're rushing
It's not finished yet

There's 8 more things to do
And you're paralyzed
Is it right?
Can't answer the questions
if the concept's not understood
But that was covered
last week 
weren't you here?
What have you been doing?

Haven't you finished?

There's 16 more problems
And your friend
still isn't 
talking to you
What went wrong?
Can't this be fixed?
And your grandma is sick
nothing in your power
Is there nothing to be done?
And your brother 
he's in trouble
what's he doing with his life?

Aren't you going to finish?

Wait there's 32 answers needed
What to wear?
How to speak?
Where to go?
What to be?

Are you finished?

Because 
time
is 
up.



 - 2 -

I am searing 
I am white-hot
I am burning

I am bundled
I am mixed-up
I am twisted

I am mindless
I am Cro-Magnon
I am primal

I am red
I am blood
I am slashes

I will find
I will take
I will posses

And then I will destroy

A Poem (And An Assignment For You!)

I wrote this shortly after my last post on POW. It's a sort of response. I don't want to say too much about it until after you read it, so here goes.

The Belligerent Goddess

I fell in deep love with a divine presence.

Scowling spirit of indisputable beauty.

Who could resist her charms?

She is a woman of size and fire,

of passion and swear words and love and

bullheaded hope she does not buck for a moment.

Thinness does not become her,

nor long-legged-ness nor

a button-like nose for, for you see

she is not a

goddamn doll.

Instead she has curves,

a wit that fells royalty

and draws in men

like so many

rainbow trout.

One large mouth, she possesses

often loud and often open,

Some say too much, but, being an adult,

she is polite and merely

disembowels them.

                                   

I fell in deep love

with a glorious sprite of water and noise

champion of the masculine and feminine

one who celebrates food            

and intelligence

and the bright broad spectrum of beautiful bodies.

It just took me twenty-four years to realize

she was me.

This is my self-love poem. Your new assignment (should you chose to except it) is to write one either about your internal goddess/spirit/whatever, or about how fabulous and wonderful you are. You pick. :)

Completely Transparent

Age twenty-four is shaping up to be an odd one in my life. Lots of rebuilding an ego that's a little more healthy these days, but still prone to bouts of self elation followed by wallowing in misery. This sucks at times, but it still feels like progress considering twenty-three was such a fucking shit show.

Sometimes I get struck by bad feelings for no reason in particular. Sometimes they come and go very quickly. Sometimes this happens late and night. I wonder if I need more sleep.

It's not okay to be transparent and needy on Facebook. Or maybe it's exactly okay to be that way there, but  it also feels manipulative and the last thing I want is to make people worry about me.

But I don't care about being transparent here, you guys know me and love me. So, here it goes. Transparency time-

Sometimes I worry that everything I write is stupid and that everyone hates me.

I honestly don't know why. Does anyone else ever feel that way?

My friend M talks about how everything bad we go through is just a part of growth. It's a very positive way of thinking, but it doesn't move fast enough for me sometimes.

I wish I was strong and confident and sure of myself, but I'm just not. I want to find a way to change that. It's my goal of age 24. Finally get a goddamn handle on this stupid self-hatred I've been wrestling for as long as I can remember.

I'm open to suggestions.

Because this needs to be a longer discussion

Cerasi, in one of your recent comments you asked me which of the HIMYM men I would prefer.  And I thought we should make a thing of it.

So here we go!  ... cue the plinking piano music (when Barney does something in the playbook)....

My first choice when you asked the question:
Barney Stinson

My reasons? Obvious.  Look at the guy.  I mean, bang, bang, bangity-bang...

Ahem.  He's hot, he's suave, he's smart, he makes good money doing something at a bank?  Okay, that last bit might be sketchy.  But on a surface level, Barney's my pick.

Until you think about how much of a player he is, and how not okay you are with that.


Then, I was thinking, as your comment prompted, what about Ted?
(Have you met Ted?)
Ted Moseby

He's cute, and smart and an architect.  That's pretty sweet.  I almost went into architecture.  I'm sensing a modicum of compatibility.

He's looking for someone to spend the rest of his life with.  Hey, me too.

He's also telling his kids every detail of his sex life prior to meeting their mother.  Hrm.  Kinda eww.

And despite being a tad geeky (which is a plus!)  he's also more emotional than one of the ladies on the show and pretty needy.  Maybes not for me.


So then I come to...

Marshall Eriksen

Is that really how you spell his last name google? I had no idea.

He's adorable and hilarious and a lawyer.  Everyone wins!

But really, if these people actually existed I think I'd get along with Marshall the most.  He's a little geeky, and sweet.

He's also the only one that's proven he's capable of a committed long-term relationship.


But then I think about the women these guys have actually ended up with.  And I realize I'm probably more like Robin than Lily.  So really, I might be able to end up changing the horn dog into a respectable human being.  Because I really do like Barney when he's being all nice and cute with Robin.

I throw it to you, ladies.  Who would you pick?

Flash Fiction

I wrote this for Paper Darts and then realized it was probably more creative nonfiction. And then didn't win anyway. Oops!

Anyway, it's been a while since I've posted actual writing, so here it is!

The Terror of “Bloop”

            Summer 1997. A sound is recorded on the Equatorial Pacific Ocean autonomous hydrophone array on multiple sensors at a range of over 5,000 km. Scientists cannot trace the origin but theorize that it is not man made in nature.

            Translation, something big makes a big fucking noise in the ocean and everyone freaks out. The noise is given the name “Bloop” and becomes a mystery. Theories range from “gigantic undersea monster forgotten by time” to “but-seriously-it’s-probably-a-monster-forgotten-by-time-why-even-entertain-other-ideas.” H.P. Lovecraft’s gigantic, winged, octopus headed, be-tentacled monster Cthulhu is implicated. It is terrifying. Ever present danger. Unsolveable mystery with endless possibilities.

            Until it is solved. Not much later in conspiracy years (like dogs years, only more tinfoil hats). November 2012. A scientist from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration says that the sound from the “Bloop” is consistent with noise made by giant glaciers breaking away underwater. No monster. Only ice quakes. Disappointing.

            Unless it’s not. Because scientist or no, National Ocean and Atmospheric Administration or no, the fact remains that there’s a big fucking ocean underneath us and a big fucking universe above.

            And the thing that made the big noise may just have been ice breaking, but what made it break?

            Just kidding, that’s not a question. Wanted to stir the pot. Bad science. Manipulative writing. Scientists know what they’re talking about. Ice from glaciers. Glaciers do that. Making an argument where there is none, ripping holes in a tight tapestry and saying, “Look but you forgot this!” The “Bloop” was not Cthulhu. We remain in a world devoid of one more mystery. Chalk it up to boring ice doing boring things. C’est la vie and que sera sera and all that jazz.

            Except. Except. Except.

            Probability. That’s where things get scary. Ignore the ice for a second. (Easy, it’s so boring.) Think about everything that has ever happened. Done? Good. Now think about what will happen and how likely it is that those things would and will have happened in that specific order to bring you here now. There is no fate. It was not destined. Think about that and how that makes it all the scarier. Things are random, but also measureable and predictable. Some people win at casinos because they can count cards. Some people were in the right place at the right time and you are in this place at this time as a result.

            Zoom out. Endless perspective. Cthulhu may not be real, but there must be at least one creature swimming beneath us that no one has ever seen. It might be large or just deadly. I haven’t forgotten about the above either. Aliens may not be real, but if they are we might be able to have sex with them. Either way, it’s scary. We’re alone or we’re not. Nuclear proliferation was bad enough with just one planet.

            Terror.

            Back to the universe. Think about death. There’s no god. Terror. Cruel, violent, meaningless existence. Think about death again. This time, there is god. Or maybe many gods. Equal terror. Cruel, violent, meaningful existence. What about no god but still meaning? Terror. Or god but no meaning. Morality. No morality. Double terror. You are going to die and be wiped from existence. You are going to die and be transformed into a creature beyond your own comprehension. Terror cubed.

            Is your heart beating now?

            You are not unique. Terror. You are just like everyone else and there may or may not be a Cthulhu (terror) in the mix to worry about. Consider. Terror. Death. Terror. God life death infinite finite everything either is or isn’t happening perhaps now or at all moments and terror and one moment and one thing terror skull terror love terror sex terror terror terror! Terror becomes you if you give it enough power.

            Now, stop! Take a moment. Look outside. Doesn’t it look nice? Go for a walk.

            Terror subsides.

            Perhaps love isn’t real, but goddamn if it doesn’t feel good. Perhaps Cthulhu isn’t real either, but even if it’s just ice making a ridiculously loud noise in the ocean, doesn’t it feel grand to know there can be so much known and unknown at the same time?

            Either way, remember this. You are so incredibly loved. People can share and hear your story but there will never be anyone just like you in all of history and in all of existence. Remember that. It makes you better than some dumb “Bloop” any day. Besides-

            We all know it was Cthulhu. I don’t give a shit what some fucking scientist says.