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.

And . . . It's Gone

Remember T? The guy I've been seeing?

Well, anyone, he broke up with me. Or half-broke up with me. (We weren't officially together so what's the terminology here?)

After we had a nice night where he said he was interested in being my boyfriend, he promptly didn't contact me for two weeks. Finally, I called and set up a date which was scheduled for the daytime (at his request), which should have been the first sign.

He said that he just didn't feel a spark and that it wasn't going to work out. We walked a bit and talked. He went home. After a few ill-advised texts and a bit of prodding (I know I shouldn't, I just can't help myself) he finally said that I was a lovely woman but he just couldn't see a future with me and wanted to cut it off before it went any further.

I feel sad. And also not said. Angry, not angry, and also annoyed that it took him like two weeks to tell me this (and I have a suspicion he just would've never called me again if I hadn't contacted him).

We talked about being friends again in a while. None of my texts were too bitchy, so I didn't burn any bridges.

I feel disappointed. But mostly annoyed. Because I really felt like we had something, and because he seemed really into me and then the first time I let myself think it might go somewhere he just backed way the fuck off.

It's the second time I've been romantically rejected in a month (yes, the first time was way different, but still).

On the plus side I've been listening to lots and lots of Kate Nash. She sings about being who she is and not giving a fuck about what anyone, especially your romantic partner thinks. I'm all for that.

I'm trying to think of my life like one big episode of How I Met Your Mother. Every romantic pitfall just brings me closer and closer to the person that's going to change everything.

And the person I need to change first is me, so it's probably okay it's not happening now.

Until then, I will continue to listen to "Merry Happy" and not give a fuck of what T thinks of my probing texts. You're one of two men who have been in contact with my vagina. You can deal.