claiming none

Coasters and hard wood tops
of the bar
not THE bar
but a bar
where the tender converses intently at the end while my empty beer calls silently to her.
I don't call her
Her mom died recently, I hear her say
and I wonder at the loss
of parents
Grandparents and blood lines
thick and tireless
year after year
Not death itself
that's a thought over done
but the loss of presence
the loss of those thoughts
in the minds' spine
"I should go see so and so"
or
"I need to get mom a present"
or
little trickling memories of occasion
of times in youth when
one "used to"
How many "used to's" will be lost on those who opt out of parenthood?
There's a subtle checkbox at tax time
Claimant's?
I'm claiming two as mine, how many are you?
None.
I claim none.
Though my thoughts and actions are still mine, may I write them off?
The ones always on my mind or the ones I'm forever responsible for better or worse?
'Tis a rambling nature
these worlds spread amock
and they come forth
from a rambling mouth
fit to run far more amock...

your own stench

It's amusing how spending time in your own space renders your sense of smell immune to its' surroundings. How you may be cooking or have candles lit all day and smell nothing, but leave for 10 minutes and re-enter to discover pumpkin spice and garlic cumin chicken.

There are so many things in life like this. Including the self and really good friends. If you leave yourself for too long, the internal exploration feels completely new. But it also mimics others' experience of us. We're around our own stink for so long we don't even know what we smell like to other people.

A friend recently described my blog and writing as "effortlessly honest and poignant (can't think of a better word for humorously sad)." I laughed, loudly in a humorously sad kind of way, because I know exactly what she was getting at. I am humorously sad. Not sad in the 'wah wah cry baby' sort of way or the 'oh that's pathetic sad' array either. It's hard to describe, but hearing this was one of those exacting moments as to describe my own stench to me...

It seems unfair; this inability to use this sense to strategically assess the self in new and in the flesh ways. Almost the notion that it makes sense to stub your toe every now and then so you know what pain feels like to you (specifically) and have that shock back to the here and now.

So in a humorously sad kind of way, I ask you, "do I have a point?" I don't know, you tell me what it smells like and maybe we'll both know.

befuddled by commodity

The laws of commodity hold a certain befuddlement. Imagine a world where the new and magical is introduced to the elite until it can be cheaply replicated, at which it's released to the 'masses;' well really the middle class and then maybe onto the poor. Then realize this is our world.

In a world where we sift online through profiles and pictures of people to date, looking for that perfect one as though people themselves are a commodity, but the perfect ones have all been snatched up by the elite. Or a world where you may be interviewing for a job with over 150 others equally as qualified; you are definitely a commodity.

picture is from this website

What is the reduced quality of this lifestyle where value is momentary and life convenience. Where is meaning within this consumption or rather is our meaning in the eye of the creator where we are the consumer. There lived a time where we evolved to distribute written material to the masses so we all had materials available to learn to read. Where those who stood for something wanted humanity to learn and further inventions were prompted to grow the economy and the world; albeit often with unexpected consequence to the existing craftsmen.

This sounds preachy, and maybe it is. But how do we as the '99%' enlist the hearts of the powers that be and bring them to a level of understanding of normal existence and poverty so they want to enrich our lives instead of enriching a handful of pocket books. Especially when perspective is based on the reality of ones experience and of those they know, often within ones own caste.

And truly with this mass growth, where bars and buses are of a few things unchanging, when do we reach that point where we scarcely need to move to be thought for? Like scenes from Back to the Future, with rehydrating food, hover boards and screens we talk to (wait, we have that one.) Or Idiocracy where we live next to mountains of garbage and have no clue how to grow crops and have lounge chairs with built in toilets as to be able to take a shit from a seat in front of the idiot box.

Blah. Basics. Stripped from our hearts there's no space for reflection, it's filled with LED, LCD and HD. It's not sad in a certain way because it's natural to evolve, but who will step in and protect the sacred smarts that live in all of us before it's too late?

Los Angeles at 22, Act Deux

So, there I was sitting on the sidewalk searching for an avenue that wouldn't end in destruction, when who would walk up to me? A gentleman with the looks and attitude of Eddie Murphy and his middle aged, average, normal white friend. Eddie Murphy proudly presented his 'I just got out of jail card' to me. I admired the honesty. He went on to start jabbering up a storm, but the short and skinny is he wanted some cash.

I told them my situation (probably against any 'sane' persons judgement) and they were purely sympathetic. In fact, they told me the subway station was just a few blocks up and if I paid for their fare they would get me all the way to the airport, safely. And so we did. It was a rambunctious experience for a 22 year old girl from Ham Lake, MN. It turns out 'average normal white friend' was renting a room to Eddie Murphy. They told me all kinds of stories as fights and utter chaos broke out around us, they shielded me from the effects.

I ended up spending $40, which included fare for all 3 of us and a transfer fee for Eddie and friend; which left me just enough for a much needed cocktail at the airport.

In reading over this story, I feel I didn't even come close to doing it justice, but some feelings and experiences just aren't translatable. It was like this amazing dream ride where although the characters seemed completely wrong for their parts, nobody else would've sufficed. I've had lots of experiences of being in the flow and just riding whatever comes as opportunity, versus a more judgement decision based approach, but this one has stood out the longest.

That being said, in the flow one finds what one needs without actually looking for it. All one really has to do is be open to what comes in and say yes...

If this made no sense, see Act I. 

Los Angeles at 22 Act I...

My minds been on overdrive and I lack the ability to capture any original thought, but in order to keep this going I'm going to tell a story. The story also happens to be true. Being someone who is all about the flow, hopefully this will demonstrate what I mean by that.

So, there I was 22 years old, in a very naive, adventurous and altruistic point in life. I'd been reading books about near death experiences and past lives; woke up one day and decided it made sense to book a trip to L.A. and have a past life regression session with a woman who wrote one of the aforementioned books. With a rather stringent budget I sifted orbitz.com and found an affordable flight and hotel and away I went.

Things I didn't know:

• Los Angeles is huge
• There are some very shady parts of Los Angeles
• Cab Drivers in these parts of LA may or may not be snorting cocaine from a necklace as they transport you.
• Cabs in LA are extremely expensive and potentially life threatening (see previous bullet)

Oh well, so I slept on top of yesterdays clothing in the scariest hotel I could imagine at the time, woke up with the sunshine and took a cab anxiously to the woman's office to find out about my past lives. It was certainly nothing like I expected. I found out the following:

1. I was an orphan boy somewhere in England many many many years ago. Family members and friends were characters in the plot. I died of starvation when my sister (my brother now) and I fled the orphanage, she was younger and I gave her all the food I stole.
2. I was some sort of rabbi or religious figure many many many years ago. I abused power. I was beheaded in public, by a man who is now my father.

I could elaborate, but I will save the interesting deets and ponderings for L.A. at 22 Act Deux.

When it was over, I told the woman I wanted to go to the ocean. She said she would drop me off at the Pier and that I could make my way back, considering my orphan past life history, I was scrappy and it should be no problem. We picked up her 2 little ankle biter dogs at the cleaners (random) and she let me off seaside. 

holistically (un) cool...

There was a biker waiting on the light
he looked like you
but could never be
you'd never act that cool
His impatience and head held high
where you'd wait patient
gazing off at nothing
He took off like a bolt
where you'd meander
both hands off the bars
where you'd have a basket
makes me smile
your uncool coolness all a non-blowing in the wind
your lack of glamour makes you glamorous
i guess they'd call it 'devil may care'
but who is looking
who cares
you aren't paying attention
and i wonder
why i can't be more holistically uncool
like you.

intrusive glassware...

an intrusion
or an excuse
what difference would it make
outside similar in affair
inside the immersion

there's always something of a non-abyss
or the one to fall into and become a lesser whole
in the price tag of life

the lacking freedom of something washless
just a series of glassware entering the dish spinner
waiting their turn
take it slow and steamy
all in a sudsy progression of discount soap
feels good as it dries the softness from your skin
leather a face
to be placed
on a hanger in a stash
with the rest

the drunkard's arm
you're loose and dangling
waiting to be assisted by whatever

but the state of alone
in its entirety
is solid in footing
rooted in some unique and encompassing form of humanity
where one relates to all things and nothing
all at the same time.

paper doll

Paper doll, how'd your face get so flat?
Your cheeks hollow nor sunken
just flat
Eyes without dimension

Where'd your thoughts go?

Further from dead
there's no definition
in your body or head.

Were all the feathers once ruffled
from your dutiful corpse.

Where'd your shine go?

eye get lonely just looking at your walls...

i like my mushrooms like i like a libra...

A mushroom takes on the flavor of whatever it's cooked with and yet it also shrinks in size as it absorbs the juices around it. Yet a mushroom has a rather faint flavor all its own but like Venus, so interesting to look at.

I realize I write about food and astrology a lot. I find they have a lot in common, no really I just never have a plan for writing, I just usually follow the jet stream with whatever I'm doing. If you're still reading, never fear, my posts will get more humorous and lively as I sink into this internet writing thing...

So, as I was cooking mushrooms into a garlic, mushroom, onion, greek yogurt sauce to smother spinach with, I couldn't help but think about Libra's. Like mushrooms, Libra's tend to be gentle in their flavor and mix well when they sponge and mingle with what's around them. Like their fungi friend they do shrink in size with all this absorbing, but not in a fraudulent way, more or less the ego evaporates as they mix with the other whole. 

But there's a conundrum to this Libran complex. 

'til you wise up.

As an amateur astrologer of 12 years I often get to pondering over Saturn; the great teacher and Chiron; the 'wounded' healer. Saturn's lesson are cold and calculated and make me think of the Aimee Mann song 'Wise Up.' As this song casually strolled into my minds' music, it brought me full circle to this topic of much loathe and love.

"It's not going to stop, 'til you wise up."

Saturn can be cruel in his teachings. So fearful of losing his power he swallowed his own offspring to keep from being overthrown. Of course this is mythology, but sometimes myths have a lot to offer. Chiron on the other hand is considered the 'wounded healer,' but some deem Chiron a higher octave of Saturn, thus maintaining the teaching aspect of the planet.

What the hell am I talking about? I don't know, it's my blog and I'll rant if I want too.

I got to thinking about harsh lessons in life and wising up. I've known many a teacher in my 31 years, most of which were quite cruel and often intentionally so (at least that's how I recall it.) I think it leads to this 'wise up' in a variety of paths. Some wise up in that they refuse the entrance of pain into the previous and precious wounds. While others allow it to come in and heal themselves through empowerment of self care. Others are just unresponsive and shut down. And some flee.

sifting for some kind of gold...

After you watch people for awhile, their hidden softness becomes so apparent. In nearly everything they do there's these tiny molecular bits of evidence hanging where we wouldn't think to look. These little gems reveal themselves as the most alluring, natural and admiral pieces of the person. Like sifting through sand for the shining gold flecks, the trouble is we're often looking, wanting, hoping for these riches to appear we are lost in the business of shaking the pan.

But still, like a good deep breath, every once in awhile, it all slows down and that glimmering remnant beneath the skin suit catches your pupil, distracting, lighting and leavening the rationale to survive and the reflection of your forgotten humanness returns like the slight smile on grandma's face. Nothing grand about it, just knowing, reflective and silently nourishing.

Butter is and Butter does...

I was thinking a lot about butter. When was the last time you saw a commercial for real butter? I did a search and it brought up Crisco, Move Over Butter, I can't Believe it's not Butter and so on. Butter is perfect as it is, it truly makes everything better. It melts, but it also softens, it spreads, it clarifies, it's delicious and its chemical induced substitutes do not outweigh butters 'vicious' fat content with health features.

So more, really what more? It brought me to a ponderous state of wonder. About how so many things in life need no explanation, but somehow with the aid of Aphrodite, Ares, Zeus, Hera and Poseidon we were brought down this path of exploitation. Albeit their intentions were at once pure, now everything needs advertisement and everything costs more as a result, yet is the end worth more valuable? I fear Hades would beg to differ. Hades, God of the Underworld, ruler of that 'un-planet' Pluto. He hovers below the ground with the treasures of the Earth and the unwanted garbage and souls that were cast aside by Aphrodites figurative hands. Hades would take it all down to this butter level with the quality in tact.

All this to say, I decided yesterday to strip it down. In this 'odd' numbered 7 year, I strive to be like butter. To rid the self of the sell. Allow worth to speak for itself with the knowledge that in perfected state our innate humanness will do all things butter like, melt, soften, spread and clarify. All the while maintaining the ability to make everything better.

a little intro to this blogger...

Having spent a large chunk of life behind a moleskin with a feverish pen, you'd think blogging would be so natural. But there's something about the structured template environment, with all its begged intentions, that bumps my mind into a slate, blank and seeming without potential. Regardless, here's a rough attempt to set the tone in motion.

I've set out to blog for a single primary reason. I've rummaged Google for answers to heartfelt questions only to cache into the mind of some other internet writer who soothed me for a time with their shared experience. If there's any chance I can repay via another who finds a phrase when in need, mission accomplished.

An Odd Numbered Life? What's that about? Well, 2012 ushered in sweeping transitions and being inclined to all things mystical, I leaned to the aforementioned Google caching for sound advice. I discovered it is a 7 year for me in the energetic world of numerology. Being an 11 energy, it got me thinking more about odd numbers. Who decided they were 'odd' anyway?!

Well, it inspired the name and hopefully this initial briefing will gather its own momentum, and bury the fear of structure to rest.

If you wonder about your own numbered year, check out this site. It's written well, whether one is inclined to numbers or not.