Tucked into the grey splintered planks of my spine is an invitation. A call to action for your generation. Remember, it is I who whispers in your ear "complete the work."
on one knee
break free
urgency
responsibility
If you stand upon that threshold a minute more, you'll become the bloody door. I've left you to hang once before. I would be remiss if I did not comment on your emergence from the chrysalis. Check your trepidation at the gate before you book passage on this plane.
I should hope one would think he or she is interesting. If a person doesn't have that sort of opinion of oneself, all sorts of unfortunate occurrences can happen, like hearing a nonstop self-censure loop booming inside an already thought-heavy head. Oh, and if a person does find him/herself pleasant company to be around, that happily self-actualized individual should not foist any such presumption of that dearly held belief upon family and friends.
---You just groove inside your Private Opinion Bubble, buddy!---
Any such foisting of one's actually REAL self only muddies the sensitive depths of YOU and makes a gal or guy look like an imbecilic navel-gazer.
... and who wants to be perceived in that way?
A time out sounds like a grand luxury after knowing Zoë has been wandering the stillness without me. Why haven't I picked up the yoke so she could rest a while on this splintered trip? A slip of the tongue and I'm right back on that bottom rung. I've struggled to breathe in this thin atmosphere, tethered as I am to your sphere. Of Influence and Reticence. The two of us never stood a chance. Heaven's got to be easier to get into than this, but then it is the place that invented gates, isn't it? Don't say anything. Just tell me a story.
What year is it? Time has sped up, slowed down and taken on a new meaning. I mean ... It could be 2005. You were my curly fur buddy way back then, when a book about a girl, a really old dude and the Olympic Peninsula was the most popular story circulating among tweens / teens / menopausal women. A quick semi-related rain forest note: one of my favorite work memories is splitting a stale tuna salad sandwich with you in the parking lot of the Forks Thriftway. A full day that was stomping through the woods to get a closer look at a cell tower. Yep - there has been more than enough free time lately to relive happy past meanderings. Again with the time thing ... not a day goes by that I don't look back fondly on our adventures/misadventures throughout the 15 years you were a member of the pack. You are still our #1 girl on Team Schnauzer, getting underfoot and whining for a piece of pizza crust. I turn my head slightly to the right and I can see you sleeping in your big green, fleece-lined basket. Snoring and twitching and more than likely dreaming about that stale tuna salad sandwich.
We've got a full house these days. Your Gran has come to live with us. You were never quite sure what to make of her when she and your Auntie came to visit, but I know they gave you a treat or two when they had to doggie-sit you, so I'm sure during those moments you thought very highly, indeed, of Gran & Auntie.
Your little sister is now a senior citizen (she's napping in your big green, fleece-lined basket.) Lil's still a feisty pooch who barks at passersby (ah, life on a corner!) and warns us of approaching dangers such as squirrels and the neighbor's equally elderly calico cat (the very same one that looked upon you with disdain from its perch atop our fence.) Oft-overlooked animal antics have become tiny pieces of What Is Real during a season of uncertainty. The mundane marks time in ways a 24-hour news cycle cannot. We could all use a dose of ordinary right now, and a little puppy love is good medicine.
Forever will you tug at our hearts. That kind of sweetly-sad happiness goes a long way these days.
Our Darla thinks she thinks for herself, but then sometimes she chalks up the talks she has with The Self as the hard-to-shake-off admonishments Ort flings at her every time she tries to express [in words] the really difficult, complex and sometimes icky feelings about [Ort] the world [internal landscape] in which she feels semi at home. But boy is she lucky [Darla often tells herself] that she can walk out her front door, drive off and set up shop wherever [but mostly the Prairie View Drive-In] the mood takes her. And Darla's moods have taken her to some pretty amazing [hellish] places. Like ... Boothby stands alone in his resolve to provide solace [a sturdy foundation] to Darla in her time of need [dirty deeds]. Open air markets are best for shoppers to browse with plenty of elbow room. Although the nearest elbow is hunkered down in a 4th floor studio of a 6 story walk-up, Darla remains available [by appointment only.] Little chance of Darla's determination turning into an endless thread of mishaps. Our girl is the very definition of tenacity! A plan was put in place before Darla was born. Scars carved into her skin are a daily reminder of that, even though what exactly "that" is can only be described as a recurring nightmare [at 11:37 a.m. behind the wheel of her pickup as she's headed to the swap meet] that a nice lady once meticulously transcribed. A father sometimes sees things that make for a rather uncomfortable supper discussion. Structure and rules are being rewritten during this contemplative episode. And aren't groups just so 2019? The inner journey is the logical commute for our time. What good did Dr. Makeda's pages of notes do for the girl disfigured through no fault of all the experts who poked at her wounds? We are entering the next phase of evolution. Darla's travels leave no contrails. Inward, inward does this wayfarer go. What was "out there" anyway? A distorted version of the story she was put here to tell? This is anyone's game. All the rules have changed, and a sneeze will get you a hole between the eyes. Ah, but for those seasoned few, the mystery may not be elusive for long. This is Darla's moment to show what she knows by turning an ill-played hand into gold.
Sharon's hair (admit it. you don't know her name. sharon was your babysitter.) gleams like burnished bronze as she sits in a stream of March's best light. The scene inside the café reminds you of the time you stood nose to canvas with Bierstadt's California Spring (the interplay of sun and shade always has a sinister twinge, you feel.) Windows offer distorted views of sidewalks and shoes (no golden beam can save this city.) Sharon (not sharon) scratches her scalp just above the left ear and that totally alters your opinion of her.
And what does Gary know about Chica? Does he know she breaks into abandoned buildings, like the ramshackle dance academy two blocks west of the Chik'n & Biskit and does Martha Graham-esque chassé-and-swirls on the buckling oak as she dreams of her return to the sea? Oh but the dreams ... trees and screams and a doe-eyed girl with shoulder-length hair the color of Nescafé. Chica really did know that girl once. Talked to her pretty recently, actually. But the girl with coffee-dipped bangs still hangs around the old neighborhood, although we wouldn’t see her in line for a drumstick special at the C & B. Our Lady of the Forest doesn’t eat much anymore.
Mind the rafters! It's not riches this girl is after. An archetype wants to get inside your head. Live the qualities of The Modern Woman and rely on your own piece of mind / acre of light / what's wrong with always being right? You just may encounter that Mystery Figure you've always dreamed about staring back at you in the mirror. Well, my gut is my biggest body of work! Everybody takes a crack at that single pane of glass, but once the truth is captured it can be parsed according to taste. The body stepped aside to let the spirit begin the journey. Fertile, not futile. This message of the elemental feminine expresses relief, not grief. The joy of the unknown shows us how much we've grown, and there's more than one chance to stretch the moment out beyond eternity. This quest is put to the test each time you run toward the thing that scares you. Past mishaps weren't all that bad. They brought you to this tightrope, no? You are now free to move about the inviolate expanse. There's no better way to test the foundation you've made than to proceed heedlessly and leap before you've looked. Handcrafted delusions are yours for the taking. Limited editions! Collect all 365!
The G of Q disturbed of mind, is he. How can that be? The G of Q is a little bit you, a little bit me.
The gleam. In his eye. The good one. Chica said it was Gary's best feature. The good one. His right eye. Pale green and caught the sheen off everything. Like the Chik'n & Biskit's neon slogan emblazoned across the front window of every franchised location: 100% Up to Scratch!
Gary's pleated floral midi-skirt swirled about his calves as he swung open the chicken joint's off-plumb and fingerprint smeared glass door.
Darla came up with a magic number so she'd better have the courage to play it. It doesn't matter which end is up when it comes to her cups. A disruption is precisely what the Prairie View Drive-In Swap Meet needs. "Don't create a mess just to say you've accomplished something," Darla admonished Ort a lifetime ago. Inaction can be exactly the action one needs to take when a situation resembles a pile of scraps. "Apply force to an immovable object and you may just end up flat on your back counting the stars, Darla." Mr. Morton Abernathy knows how to stop a girl dead in her tracks. Depending from which side of the veil one hails, a clear intention is more versatile than that ounce of prevention. A weary mind and a body that's succumbed to the cold, or so we've been told. Darla's all discordance and irregularity at the moment; tired and wants to lie down. Wrap a blanky around that body and drift off into a parallel realm. To navigate a world where the head is clear and heart strong. This life is a marathon. What other wonders does Darla keep in her shadow box? An alternate version of her go-to magnolia pattern? Long division in the short term. Progress clouded over with doubt. The greatest riches are found in garbage-strewn ditches. Now that's faith by any measure (with or without a torch.) Under a scrap of midnight velvet she stands. Look up, reach out, use a light hand with the edits. First thoughts are lost through our need to find meaning. Esoteric questions can only receive ham-fisted answers while we reside within this Other World. We can show what we know, but our truth hides in comfort between the moment that's passed and tomorrow. Persist on this road that is built with each footfall. Directions to what's never unfolded before aren't much help as we roll through this intersection. It's the Self, what else? Your magic is your own, to heal or harm. Receive these gifts and pass them to the right. The basket Darla weaves catches the memories contained in each drop of her blood.
thirsty tresses teased into unspeakable shapes
frosted-tip stylization
tendrils of sombre ombré
and foreheads banged for business
ladies on high roam from stall to tent in search of the perfect 99 cent:
ladle
cradle
boat
compote
vest
bird nest
a gilded pear
antique lace
underwear
hearth and home and fear of being alone
surround oneself with an elf on a shelf
as knickknacks define our sense of self
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