Wednesday, May 01, 2013

A Gesture of Being (excerpt Simplicity of Dying Chap 5)



Mason's voice


The wind wisps across the yard. Kicking up the leaves, we have still yet to rake.
"We" and "rake", as if I had ever raked.
The hours numbered and all I can muster is to sit here, in this old decrepit chair writing. My fingers are sore today. My biggest battle was to decide to type or to write with ink and paper. I chose the latter.
My words tumble about, rushing to escape my mind.
My humbled realization that they shall stop soon.
Trying to wrap myself around that concept, as I watch the ink pour out onto the paper. Not paying attention to what I am writing anymore, just watching the ink as it falls to the paper. I am the master of it. Creating it. Curves and lines and splotches too.

Jezzy walks out in the yard. I fear this has all been too much for her. I have to lay here, sit here and just be present waiting for...
For when I truly have to say goodbye.

What an impending doom.

For her.
Her hair floats in the wind, and my eyes travel the length of her body.
Her body. How could I ever utter the words of the depth of my love for her? That my very core was stolen the day she handed me her business card.
I can still smell her as if she were laying here in the room. Her face content, her body relaxed, or as she would say, “I am just blissful" and her eyes would be small. Almost squinting to look at me across the room. Her chest heaving, lifting her breasts slow and deliberate.
As I sat at my desk, trying to put words onto paper for the next book or next article.
Instead of enjoying the high of getting laid.
Everything about her, about us, was all her. Her essence.

And I chose, consciously to stomp on that essence.
The brutality of living. Existing to?
Exist, a strange word today. Irrelevant.
Everything is just not that important anymore.

As Jez bends to feed the ducks out in the pond, my heart feels what is important.
A master of words, as I have been critiqued and I have none. None that could sooth her mind. For she shall go on with out me.
Why does this bother me so? She has done so without me for five years. Quite well.
What stops me from giving her that kudos? What has stopped me, created me from doing anything.

This house reeks of life. Sickens me. I can gaze out now, into the yard and see days of the children swimming, fishing or just laying about the yard. Teen angst, bitter fights and drunken foolish ideas.
All for my written word.
For naught.
It holds nothing now. Immortality.
Stella said this to me the other day, “You are immortal now Daddy.", as she flipped through one of my books.
I'd give all the notoriety back to be nothing, just to have those years back now.

How come I realize now, today, right this very fucking minute of all that was important?
She picks flowers from the edge of the pond.
That, that is what is important.

A simple gesture of being.

No story has ever captured this, for me. I have lived it.
Tossing it about, as if...
I would be here forever. Immortal.

That makes me chuckle through salty tears.
What I would give to feel her again. To lay next to her and feel her chest against mine as her breath slows.  She is here out of kindness. Her heart always soft for those underdogs in this world.
Never would she, be able to live in good faith knowing. Knowing that the father of her children died alone.
A drunken sot. Worthless and full of shit. Her simple goodness.
She'd mutter that I was “a man who could make the world see the beauty in the world through one sentence and yet I was too harsh in my reality."
Her truth.
Mine as well.
Her peace comes from being.

The clouds loom dark. Hovering.
Threatening. Foretelling.  And yet she still sits there. At the edge of the water.
Even from here, I can see the blue of her eyes. I can smell her soapy skin. Even taste her.

Nights we spent in this room. Moonlight seeping in, her favorite moments, she'd whisper in my busy mind. When she was able to convince me that it was her skin against mine that I needed.

(in progress, to be continued)




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posted by Jod{i} at 5/01/2013 06:56:00 PM, | What say You?0 comments
Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Parallel

I am going to let you all in on a part of my mind I rarely will share. Little intimate thoughts, episodes of seconds, contemplations.
An attempt to write about the chatter in the matter.
Just keep in mind, I am a freak and my perception of life, Karma and fate lead my thoughts to realms, some would not tread.

 The other day, was like most other days. Muddling about, completing my endless chores. One room to the next. Bending, picking up scattered items of children's joy. Placing them all neatly in their assigned dwellings. Moving methodically and then returning to the beginning to start at the end. In between, stopping to chat, writing thoughts and avoiding the chore of life.
When my Houdini side decided it was time.
Time to escape the ritual.
The geek within took hold. The cravings permeated my thoughts. The itching of yearning for a fix{no not coffee}. I longed to leave my humble, yet rambunctious abode. Announcing to the members of the household, I was running away. I would return at some time.
One by one, each requesting an invitation to attend my addiction.
One by one, I relented. Caved.
Off we went, the children and I.
My addiction? Books. I needed to escape the mundane into the pages of different worlds. Someone Else's mind. The smell of books, the feel of the pages, the touch of the typeset, the art of the covers.
*Sigh*
I find my joy returning, as I approach this heaven of mine. I love getting lost in the books. I am grateful to the powers that be, for all the children are awed, just as I.
They find it to be a world or worlds. All their dreams sated. All their questions defined.
My only stress, is deciding where I want to begin.
The older boys jet off to find their space. The diva and I stroll about, finding something that intrigues her...ahhh...a book of trucks and she is smitten. I toddle off with her, her and her smile, her hand in mine. Passing Otto, as he looks over magazines.
Stopping to look over the shelves of "Best Sellers", dreaming of a day I may be looking at my book there, right there in that spot. Continuing on to the "Best picks", all varied in taste, style and genre. Personal picks of staff. Interesting, yet not intrigued. I am an off the beaten path reader.
Looking ahead, the Teen stands, scanning through various volumes of poetry. He appears enamored with Poe. As I snag the restored Plath.
Moving on, the books that I came for on this quest, were not in stock. Saddened for a breathe. Then quickly, regaining. A plan, yes a plan. I will buy some others and order the ones I came for on Amazon. Yeah...that's what I will do.
I never rush for time. I love this place. Surrounded by many outstanding writers. In admiration and understanding of the hours poured into these pages. Comforted. Peaceful. Serenity.
Alas, we must return to the world. When all have decided and content with their choices, we venture to leave. All said and done. Now warmed within. Rounding up the children, calling for a sound off. #1 is with #3, #2 is meandering about, sputtering to himself, #4 walking at my side.
The Teen exits first, being the kid he is, an older lady waits to enter. Impressive to me, the brood of mine, all stepped aside, as the Teen held the door for her. The children wait as she passes.
I watch with a smile. Pride in their display of respect, without it being requested.
The woman walks towards me, a smile slips from her face,"Beautiful young man you got there."
I return the smile, "Yes I do thank you".

 Now, I must describe this lady. She was ever so much a lady. Her age I would approximate at 75ish. She was my height(5'5"). She wore jeans and a simple heather gray classic sweater. On her feet, a pair of black lugz(hip, big heavy heeled shoes, clunkers, I have a pair...soooo hip lol) and a light long overcoat. Her hair silver white, in a twist secured with a clip. I'd take a gander by her coloring she was a natural blonde. Wearing simple light make up. Very simple. Yet rich. Rich in her appearance. Strong features. Strong lines. Beautiful. She carried a leather tote embossed with a daisy on it. Books and papers overflowed. Another leather satchel, only visible were pens, papers and notebooks.
Her smile contagious. Her blue eyes infectious. Sparkled.
This whole interaction lasted for only mere seconds. Yet she captivated me.
As she worked her way into the store, my crew and I resumed our departure. The Teen then turns to me, deadpans me, "Ma, that lady?"
Curious, I reply, "Yes, what of her?"
"That'll be you when you're that age."
I stopped dead in my tracks. My God! He's right! As I turned to look through the glass of the closing doors. At that moment, this lady turned and her gaze locked mine. Seconds of a felt eternity. She smiled again. Turned and disappeared within the stacks.
Wow.

 I know it sounds too out there, never said I wasn't. Yet my son was right. It was as if my future had just intersected with my now. That these parallel worlds, those lines had just crossed.
Damn.
I continued to the car, looking at the Teen, only uttering, "I can only hope that's me at that age."

 PEACE
Jo

 *side note...How often do we have opportunities to see our future selves, only to be too cluttered, too blurred to see it? That to be so involved and at the same time so removed, we fail to recognize a moment. A signpost.

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posted by Jod{i} at 4/30/2013 04:00:00 AM, | What say You?2 comments
Friday, April 26, 2013

The Simplicity of Dying: A Book(excerpt)



I am okay with sharing this...it's already out there for the world to see...


Chap. One

Mason grows tired.
It is Fall here within my mind. As the summer heat permeates every corner of this room. Heavy pressing. As if to hasten his departure.
His body frail. Withering before my eyes.
This man. This bed.
Moments scroll past as if I am living them and he just sits and watches.
He is sleeping now. His breath labored his fingers twitch now and again.

I have come to realize, I miss his wit. That, too, has withered away. Even his biting sarcasm.
He always said he'd die in the same bed that he produced life. I thought it strange at the time.
And now, his circle is about complete.

Choosing to sit here and watch.
He abhors this. He finds a sadistic payback for all the wrongs he may have participated throughout his life. Those that his perception was wrong or against all that we were.
At one time.

Like I said, his perception.
Maybe there is a sadistic quality about it. Maybe I do want to watch. Justice due? Or just letting go all of which we thought was evil. When it comes to this point, it all appears so silly.
So dramatic.

He hates my hair today.
Inside I could only giggle. On the outside I blamed the lady at the salon. She wouldn't listen to me.
That was enough to send him on a creative commentary on the ills of society.
I knew this.
I enjoy listening to him.
It fills my very being with life. Hearing his voice as it resonates.
I make up scenarios. Just to hear him bellow. To capture the man in my head. Wanting to remember his voice. So that it may never leave me.
I have decided that when it is my time, and lay here, I want to hear him calling my name.
I am not quite sure of an after life. Hell or Heaven.
I like to think we will meet again.
Does that make it less painful? Am i creating a justification to ease my loss?

He is leaving me soon and there is not a fucking thing I can do.
Fuck this. Fuck that. Then he grabs my hand as he naps and squeezes. As if he could feel that tension even more so as he prepares.

Mason would always be a dutiful father. He was the friend. The one the children climbed upon and told all their secret wishes.
Mason would tumble the ideas in his head for weeks at a time. Lo and behold there was a creative story in the sentence of a five year old.
I wonder now if the children even realize that his books were taken from those chats.

His eyes are blue. So blue I want to dive in and swim in his mind. From the moment they caught me in his gaze.
I still can not figure out what he saw in me. There is no beauty within this body. No outward strike a pose...and yet we were drawn together.
Women of all stations would hover around him, he'd gaze up over them and just give a look to me.
My heart still skips when I think of those moments.

Those moments...our story begins here.


verba volant, scripta manent: "words fly away, writings remain"

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posted by Jod{i} at 4/26/2013 02:52:00 PM, | What say You?0 comments

Simplicity of Dying Excerpt...

A trigger of memories, lets the damn spew. The overflow....All that was hidden behind the wall, oozing over. Not fast. As it should. Yet creeping, eeking its way toward you. Becoming flashes. Back to moments. Moments that turned the journey from a bright country path to a dark musty hallway. Narrow, almost crushing. Yet only one direction. One only.
Forward.
The light barely illuminating. Dull.
Air thick, heavy on the lungs.

 Triggers-the simplicity of a common object, or sound.
Slams one upside the head.
The mood is indifferent.
Like a gallant knight, sword in hand. Fighting the beasts that dwell.
Remembered by a sound.
A sweet sweet sound.
Preferring a retreat. THe ambush is relentless. Hammering. Hammering at those walls. Desparately...a struggle, to cease the bombardment of the images flashing.It is not a dream.
It is not a nightmare. It just is.
The air pushes, forces the body forward. Yet the feet stay still. Slowly lifting and dropping the dead heavy weight. One step. One only. THe air now cold. Frigid.
Flooding, now permeating all routes of any hope for escape.

 Ever have a moment, that the realization about yourself...Just bitch slaps you?

 Ever felt like you were tumbling? Grasping at anything to end the freefall?

 Where at any given moment, the deluge of emotion just overwhelms you?
Kicking your legs out from under you? Dropping you to you knees? The irony of that image. As if forced into prayer. Begging for it to all just go away.
~Live in the sway
Jodi

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posted by Jod{i} at 4/26/2013 04:00:00 AM, | What say You?0 comments
Wednesday, April 24, 2013

No Junkie here

This post would have been funnier about three hours ago. Well, hmmm maybe more interesting anyways. You see, I went to a conference today. Not that it was funny in of itself, truly it was very interesting. It's the observations that struck me as, as odd? Strange? Queer even?
And of this would have been one long ramble, with jibs and jabs...and just plain ha ha's in between.
Okay, more ha ha to me from the perception I was forced to endure.
I did realize that I really would not be a good junkie.
At. All.
I did something last night around 10pm that I just knew I shouldn't have done.
I paid for it.
Still paying for it.
Just so happens that Mr Histamine is in town. And well, I don't particularly care for Mr Histamine.
Additionally, I really don't like his aunt twice removed Antihistamine.
They both rather suck.
I am not one to take medications. Not for pride. Not for any addiction. I just can not stand the tag alongs....side effects. Leaves me with the quandary of weighing out risk vs benefits.
Sneezing vs No sneezing, Stuffy vs no stuffiness, Hacking vs no raspy cough Itchy Gouge my eyes out vs nice slightly Red eyes. And just be totally freaking loopy for the next 12 hours or so(more on that in a bit), not sleep AT ALL(still going working on 36 hours now)and sit as a participant in an informative conference staring at the back of some lady's head, pondering why the hell don't more people look at the back of their heads BEFORE they leave the house or least run a damn brush through their hair! I mean really...bed head? No excuse...
For a good 10 minutes.
That's a long time!

I don't like being loopy. Or anymore loopy than I already am.
I don't need drugs for this thank you very much.
I have never really appreciated that feeling. Being the extremist I am, its either all or nothing, not this in between crap of flitting in and out of an imaginary hallucination of daisy fields.(And yes I said imaginary hallucinations, its mine and I am keeping it, meh).Which means it had better knock me out completely, I am just not a floating type a chick.Who woulda thunk?
I was abruptly disturbed from my gleeful jaunt in la la land, by someone sneezecoughfarting. To which when my reflexes came back to me and I was able to lift my head to look, this other woman was wearing a wonderful little capri diddy(ugh) cute sandals and
HANES TUBE SOCKS!
So this bugged me for like............ever.
And here I am at a conference about Alzheimer's and the disabled. Great. Just the irony alone.
Back to the drugs.
So my eyes were burning and itching and I had exhausted all will to deal with it, as I have for some 35 years, that is one memory that will never go away.
I succumbed to grabbing A BOX, words on it were allergy, Claritin...GOLDEN!
Quick read on how many(I am thankful I did that)full glass of water(I know someone who didn't do that and burned a hole in her esophagus...drink water!)This was at 10pm(the taking of the devil's script not the hole in the esophagus thing)...Cool.
So for the next 8 hours, I tossed, I turned, I flipped, I had my legs spasm(If I had READ the damn thing or check my drug reference book I would've read that RLS is a side effects) Nice.
Oh and the startled affect. I'd start to doze...and that feeling of falling at a velocity of about 100 times of what one may usually experience. The world was ending ya know.
Well, in my world it was...
By 4 am I gave up and watched the news...Decided then and there, that the world was definitely effed up and did laundry. Wha? Doesn't everybody? Geesh..
I wrote a gazillion entries...
Did you know, that drinking four mugs(Cups are for sissies)and having Claritin-D, (did I fail to mention 24hour Claritin-D) in your system is like being in the middle of a 3 day speed binge?
And yet I failed to notice this?
Until I got to the conference.
I don't do meds.
I'd prefer the pain. If ya'll were here when I had my accident and was prescribed vicodin and oxycotin...made for some interesting press...That may be the only side effect that I didn't mind, was that ability to reach deep...
Not that any of it made sense to anyone BUT me...
That feeling of not being in control was something I could never get a grip on, I guess it was a good thing. Plus all the vicodin or oxy did was make me loopy...Loopy and in pain. Just all the other interesting stuff that occurs makes you forget about the pain, it never really goes away. Just a dull throb...
Which then led me to why do cell phones power on/off button 'say' end? I mean is it more money to print O-F-F than E-N-D? And if I am to power something 'on' why would I press 'end' for 5 seconds?
Or is it just me.
or the Claritin
D
24 freakin hour
Oh...Non drowsy...

It's me....
K I am out...(I hope)



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posted by Jod{i} at 4/24/2013 08:00:00 PM, | What say You?2 comments
Tuesday, April 23, 2013

I do not Rhyme You See....

I do not rhyme you see, I will not rhyme, go- you can see. My words, my writing are all apart of me. Each word has a tune of its own. Each separate and alone. Yet I seek to lace them all together, to find the melody within my head.
One
by
One
Each laced and tied. Then two by two each engrossed within my song. I find the words as they flow through my head. Nothing complex and of course nothing too simple. I do not sit on words and wonder. It is all about the flow.
If
I write
in
my
own
quirky
style...
Or follow the rules. It is a mesh of how they twirl and whirl. I have no rhyme and definitely no reason. They are there, for me, singing my song.
Like characters in a play. Each with a cue, a voice of their own. Yet when the acts are put together as a whole, the beginning, the middle and ending, it all comes together.
When I place my words out on linen, it is for the sound they create with in the harmony. The one I hear that pounds from my heart, or swooshes from nerve to nerve.
High on an apex of emotion, or low low to depths of the hell.
What you hear, when read aloud, are pitter patters that echo endless with me. the blood pounding in a dream or the screams within my nightmares.
I do not rhyme.
I do not choose
a style.

It is what evolves. It is what it demands.
It is my own symphony.
~JLO

.The above came to me as I was driving yesterday. The question that came me to me often was about my style of writing.
This has been a life long "discussion" with myself and ENGLISH professors. I write, for me and if anyone else enjoys or feels the emotions they provoke, in a word? Cool. --- How prolific eh?
I don't stick to anyone "style" of writing. As with my painting, I let the piece speak and move my brush. I know, it sounds funny but its true.
To land the plane and make this the most boring post ever....The above is an answer, to a few of the questions.



Peace
Jo

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posted by Jod{i} at 4/23/2013 04:00:00 PM, | What say You?0 comments
Monday, April 22, 2013

It's time....

To return to bed when...
(Alternate Title for post: You know it's time to dye the blonde roots when:)
  • Your shaving mirror, that you utilize to check the back of your hair, falls off.
  • You stand next to the DVD player with remote in hand, pressing the remote buttons, muttering blasphemous words, (remember standing NEXT to DVD player) when one of your children inform you they "stole"/borrowed the batteries. THEN, you search the house for new batteries or the borrowed ones to watch "THAT MOVIE" you've been waiting to watch.
  • After an HOUR of looking for these elusive batteries, you succuumb, sit down and flip through the channels. Only to find out "THAT MOVIE" started an hour ago on a cable channel.
  • You start your vehicle before you leave work for about 10 minutes.  As you ready to leave and spend the next 20 looking for your keys.
  • Put your shirt on, not just inside out yet backwards too...and no one tells you. For 8 hours.
  • Forget that the car you a driving has Manual windows and for a brief second, you panic.
  • Being frugal and getting the most of candles. Not realizing or being aware that burning them too low can and will crack the fine ceramic dish, as well as start a fire on a nice farmer's table and oh yes, that linen table cloth.

Not that I have done any of this...

....now excuse me as I search for my bunnie slippers, put on my jammies, curl up in a fetal position.....

*grin*

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posted by Jod{i} at 4/22/2013 04:00:00 AM, | What say You?0 comments
Sunday, April 21, 2013

Fractured...


There are moments in our lives, when we happened upon an event. One that changes everything we thought we were. A moment in two strangers lives, that the paths only cross, due to happenstance and trauma. Where all of a sudden we are thrust out into the abyss, away from the safety of our path. It is here we learn that value of life. We question when the quiz will be so that we may begin again on the quest for the answers.
Before this time...our lives were steady. Maybe not stable, yet the path kept going. Now we float in the turbulence. The wake left over. Our lives surreal. Sounds slam memories back to the forefront. The nightmare born again.
When we hold a life in our hands. A life we had no prior knowledge. A life we will not have any afterthought. For that life no longer exists.
This stranger, his blood, his person seeped onto you and his last moments with you. A stranger.
The impact this has alters you. Transitioning your perceptions in a different direction. Although when you finally land, the path looks the same, smells the same and even tastes the same. Yet, it is all different.
There is wisdom in these bitter moments. The grief of someone invisible to our eyes before, yet they become so prominent from this day forward. Their life, now has importance.
Odd, how our existence means little one day and then everything a moment later.

My thoughts meander to and from. From the darkness and then into light. There are no true answers for the questions seem forever and ever endless. I seek to make it all appear to be whole. When inside the world could crumble. And the sad part is no one would hear the rumble.
I ponder, to find just the right equation. To answer my every need, my every whim. To enjoy the life I have been given.
There is more light within my walls. Pushing that curtain back, more and more. My eyes don't burn from the brightness of the day, anymore. And the night still soothes my soul.
I thus become unencumbered.
Less burdened.
Even if is untrue.

This is why I write. To just sit here in the zone. To let those thoughts just spew, spill and make a mess. In hopes that when they hit the ground? It will be cohesive, somehow.
I have sat here, debating with myself.
I have sat here, staring at words of others. In shock and dismay. And, Alas, utterly disgusted.
I have sat here angry. Angry that I allowed myself to feel as such.
No more.Now, I will sit here and type away. Letting the chatter just pour out, whether they are thick like honey or quick and biting as ice water, letter by letter. And where ever those letters do land I will still own them. I will appreciate them. They remain in my vision of my purpose.
My strength is my words. My words can also be my weakness. As I am drawn to them. I have wept at these pages and have sat with a tormented soul. Looking out into the darkness. And it was here, I found some light.
Funny. I had the other at the same time. So there is no difference for me. It comes down to aesthetics I believe. Same words here. Same words there. One makes no difference to me. Why? Because they are mine.
We all make choices. We all live our own experiences. One is no better or no worse. Yet it is yours to bare, not mine.
Even those who don't understand. Either way. We hold it together. Where ever we land.

Peace
~jo
*Fractured Two is in development. Note: This is part of a writing process for me, and has to do with a character. Although, it does fit in the existence of us.

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posted by Jod{i} at 4/21/2013 04:00:00 AM, | What say You?1 comments