A Stark Fall Morning

Love is pure, and deep
like a sharp inhale of cold air:
the pain of love is the brief excruciation
of that cold air parting the lungs
and imparting purity through the body
on its journey and its message.

The message of truth is love,
when spoken in due respect
and bittersweet brevity:
indeed, there is no one to speak
many words, or act, or do in insincerity
when the air is cleared
of all details hashed or ambiguities loosened.

Truth is like that first inhalation of cold air
on the morning following a hard freeze,
temporarily stunning and chilling
all passerby, on a stark Fall morning.
But it is love which keeps the heart
from freezing over, and indeed,
stoking the fire within.

Wildlife Observations: Unemployment and Angry People

This is a serious blurb.

The downswing of our beloved economy dwelt in the heart of every man and woman in America, in a word that dare not speak its name. Our president was told not to say the "R" word, but we all knew in 2008 that everything was already in the crapper. Creedy CEOs were put on trial, their gifts and severances listed like shock n' awe statistics, and major corporations were exposed for their audacious fetes of look-what-I-can-get-away-with-ness. The housing market collasped. And people everywhere were consumed by such negativity and paranoia that hardly anyone was shopping. The once self-appointed land of plenty was now the land of store closings, lay-offs, and bankruptcy. And people everywhere went from civil to personally offended.

I have encountered more people at the end of their rope and poised for a fight right here in "The Triad," where I make my home, than anywhere else. North Carolina is holding tight with rising unemployment rates. People are either having the rug ripped from underneath them or else clinging to their money like a man with a toupee: it is their identity and they cannot be parted from it.

I spent two lovely mornings at the unemployment office this week already. Turns out defering student loans for the sake of economic hardship is a real pain in the ass. I saw every kind of person in line at the ole Economic Security Commission. We were all there at the "new facility," right across from the landfill. There were regular folks, poor folks, and lazy asses who want the county to pay them to be lazy. It was a real slice of life. Highlights included the abandoned country grandma peering in the window, the drug dealers on parole, and the prissy lady who cut in line. You got to go through the line, ma'am, just like a'body else.

My favorite this week are the angry people. A wealthy customer at my store ripped me a new one for not having an answer to her question. She presumed that this was an opportunity to release her pent up anger regarding her peri-menopausal knowledgeability in comparison to incompetent teenage store clerks. She, in short, told me that she was beyond help. I am not a teenage store clerk, and am furthermore more competent than her prickly ass, but I shirked her with quality customer service. Guess the economy made her moody. Oops, not my problem.

A middle-aged man in a flashy new car FOLLOWED me to a store late this afternoon, and rather than parking and going about his business, he waited for me to acknowledge him. So he could lambast me. He began with, "What the F is your problem?" and tried to scold me like a child. He refused to tell me what in fact had made him angry, and cursed me with every word in the book. I thought, this man is going to get out of his car and beat me up or worse, and so I cut him off with, "I'm sorry you are mad," and walked away. He threw in a JC and a "you bet your ass," for good measure before he sped away toward Walmart. I needed to go to Walmart. Instead I went inside a nearby store and called the police. I knew I hadn't disobeyed the rules of the road, or maybe angry guy thought I looked just like the girl he'd recently dated who blew him off. But I'm not a bad driver or the girl who used him for free drinks, and I'm better for it. Guess the economy made him mad and drunk. He was clearly already angry about something else, and again, not my problem.

A special thank-you to the Kernersville Police Department, who were there for me once again, and to the Target Kernersville team members. You guys make it real, and you've got heart.

dysplastic benign melanoma

Ordinary life can be as boring or as entertaining as your perspective lends. You might not have the notion that life is a play, a game, or any other analogy philosophers and writers suggest it to be. Then again, something(s) may happen to change your life indefinitely, such as a suprise pregnancy, a career shift, or a suprise illness/death, and you can trace it all back to that moment. It is the mounting of subtle happenings which mold us most, as we grow and attempt to figure shit from shine-o-la, and may not be worthy of a pulitzer prize winning memoir, but there it is.

It all began for me with a spot, a brown spot, and that spot existed like a simple star amidst the galaxy which is my freckled skin. Two years ago, another spot appeared, as a neighbor to the aforementioned spot, and grew in black hole fashion, gaining space and odd formation. I could whip out the skin cancer chart for you, if you want to get technical. the black hole ate the brown star, and just before its last bite i finally had the damn thing lopped off. Now, i've heard GROSS stories of people removing their own moles and warts (molly moore, you are disgusting), but you really do need a biopsy. I was diagnosed with dysplastic benign melanoma, and i mean it was very close to malignant, but we got it in time. I've had 14 moles removed, 8 pre-cancerous, but that was the worst, so bad that more skin around it was taken to cover all bases. Sounds like a winning goal to me. Cancer, be warned, i'm not interested in a tie-breaker.

to market, to market!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, the cushy feeling of an influx in sales. When you’re in retailandia as your chief source of income, it’s a coin toss. Hilary, Barack, could you lend a hand in setting this recession on its head? People aren’t buying; they are merely trying to fuel their trendy mamouth cars and hoping that things will get better.

Furniture Market began at the end of last week, and with it the welcomed crowd from all over to visit our quiet little city. This is the home of the giant chest of drawers, monolithic furniture showrooms, and absolute silence most of the year. I’ve met Canadians, Japanese, etc in my store buying up clothes like we’ve been stockpiling just for them. It looks like we’re headed for another dustbowl, another decade of depression, what with all of the cheap, preservative-laden products bursting from all fixtures and shelves. Springtime makes me sneezy, but hardly anything turns my stomach like unnecessary excess. Merchandise goes battered and dusty through mark-downs and clearance sales, untouched until the coordinates are gone, mis-sized, and transfigured by finicky customers. I’d consider taking a Claritin for my sinuses this season, but what will relieve our society of plenty in this reluctant consumer market?

taken

i let him go, all and all,
saying nothing as i owe nothing
and pulling the piece of my heart i gave,
back to me
as the one deserving stepped forward.
i didn't know your name, your face
and i was too busy to believe
that you were meant for me.
but i knew it when we met
and you have lead my heart
to forget those horrible, selfish men
whose pains mounted as luggage in the hall,
waiting for someone to put in the car
and drive away, far away
from this home i've been building
for me, my darling, for you.

where is your lover?

"you have no worth;
you're no good;
it'd be better to break free
where they wouldn't have to be
troubled for you,
a little woman everyone loves.
where is your lover?
where is your man?
can you understand
that they all cared, compared,
and left you high and dry,
up on the furthest branch
where no one sees you,
loved and left.
why don't you end it now?
who could be but relieved,
o little woman high and dry.
they might be sad, maybe cry
but the burden of caring would be lifted,
the day you die."

i hear the devil
feeding me a pack of lies
i hear the confusion,
and it's no suprise
my jealous lover's fighting back
and smothering my sobbing
during this lengthy attack
in the valley of shadows,
tipping to the fathomed hell
my color's giving to a lifeless gray.
those sweethearts, they tell
me a thousand rosey compliments
of fifteen years' exhaustion
and i cry into the night, the cloudless night,
because i have so much
and nothing seems right.

a strapped love song

the ones who have
say they're anxious:
they've got a lover
but they miss being free.

the fairy tale merged with fantasy
when reality didn't make it one time
you can strap into a dream
and settle into your covers
in that bed you make,
wake up with a stranger.
you can live in reality,
swallowing truth with your tears
and existing.

there could be someone beside you
but you've never been so estranged
from your heart, your beating heart
to be loved and heard from the fathoms
of all of me, take all of me.

a single person cannot give all
which is needed for a happy heart,
a contented spirit in the dead of winter
in the loneliness of a crowded life.
and yet so many play the game,
making it by with their heads down
saying what's familiar is my comfort,
what more can there be,
for i'm not alone and at least someone's home
to while away these days with me.

apart from this dying world

i close the door and lock the window:
i lie to them;
i die within,
but my mind imagines
who would find this petite woman
strewn and lifeless,
a pretty wretch
who lived to love
and died convinced she was alone.

o, the persuasion took time;
the isolation waxed and waned;
anorexia, bulimia, nervosa nervosa:
eat and don't,
believe and won't,
won't ask for help, won't let someone care
afterall who was there
when i pushed them all away?
run miles, bike more
obsess yourself to skinny:
hurt, cry quietly.

there is no hope, though i've known it.
i've felt your prescence
even in my pity.
batter my heart, o three-personed god
and tell me why i am;
the world is going to hell
and i am deserve the same as well.
why did you make me pretty
and why did you make me kind?
did you have something precious on your mind?
meant to traverse like a nomad,
loving much and dropping sandbags
until i know, i know
i am ascending in understanding
apart from this dying world,
seeking the countenance of your face.