jessicascribbles

The Hitchhiker

2010-02-05T16:47:00.000-05:00

the kid had me read "The Hitchhiker" by Lucille Fletcher (originally heard on the radio in 1946) after she read it in school. she thought is was an interesting read, but was a bit baffled at the interpretation that it may have had anything to do with the afterlife or god.

i'll leave god out of it, but i am glad she shared the story. now i am passing it along. [simul-post]

lines from my dissertation proposal

2009-12-08T23:09:00.000-05:00

"We have become increasingly dependent on the criminal justice system, evidenced by the quadruple increase in prison populations in America over the last 25 years (Travis 2005). Criminological attention has recently turned to examine the consequences of these actions, especially in the realm of offender reentry (Travis 2005; Urban Institute 2006). Research has found that two-thirds of released prisoners are rearrested within three years (Langan and Levin 2002), over a million children have a parent incarcerated (Mumola 2000) and four million people are disenfranchised (Fellner and Mauer 1998; Urban Institute 2006).

Former inmates face a variety of risk factors including unemployment, low education, substance abuse, disease, and homelessness. “With limited assistance in their reintegration, former prisoners pose public safety risks to communities” (Urban Institute 2006:2). New legislation such as residency restrictions on sex offenders have made life increasingly challenging across the nation and in California. Although many believe that sex offenders are due these challenges, “there is good reason to believe that the real-world consequences of residence restrictions are actually decreasing public safety because the conditions associated with homelessness are directly associated with increased sexual recidivism” (Delson, Kokish, and Abbott 2008:2). The general consensus is that sex offender recidivism is quite high (Thompson 2006), although this is not actually the case. In addition, to say that sex offender recidivism is high implies that the commission of a sex crime is repeated, (as opposed to some other type of crime); this is not the case either. Successful reentry is impacted by a lack of social capital, education and work experience, and waning mental and physical health (Visher and Travis 2003). [simul-post, written by me]

Niels Bohr

2009-10-20T07:45:00.000-05:00

"An expert is a person who has made all the mistakes that can be made in a very narrow field."

Fredrick Douglass

2009-06-16T05:33:00.000-05:00

"It's easier to raise strong children than it is to repair broken men."

(i've always loved this one. it is one small line on a collage hanging in my bathroom.)

from 'The Scarlet Letter '

2009-05-01T21:27:00.000-05:00

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

But there was a more real life for Hester Prynne here, in New England, than in that unknown region where Pearl had found a home. Here had been her sin; here, her sorrow; and here was yet to be her penitence. She had returned, therefore, and resumed, —of her own free will, for not the sternest magistrate of that iron period would have imposed it, —resumed the symbol of which we have related so dark a tale. Never afterwards did it quit her bosom. But ... the scarlet letter ceased to be a stigma which attracted the world’s scorn and bitterness, and became a type of something to be sorrowed over, and looked upon with awe, and yet with reverence, too.

Jimmy Calano

2009-04-17T07:14:00.000-05:00

"Surviving and thriving as a professional today demands two new approaches to the written word.
First, it requires a new approach to orchestrating information, by skillfully choosing what to read and what to ignore.
Second, it requires a new approach to integrating information, by reading faster and with greater comprehension."

(i think this applies to the PhD program.)

Winston Churchill

2009-03-17T21:21:00.000-05:00

“You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life.”

from 'Lies My Teacher Told Me'

2009-01-27T14:36:00.001-05:00

by James W. Loewen. Simon & Schuster, 1995.

Americans seem perpetually startled at slavery. Children are shocked to learn that George Washington and Thomas Jefferson owned slaves... Very few adults today realize that our society has been slave much longer than it has been free.. The first colony to legalize slavery was not Virginia but Massachusetts.. Wall Street was the marketplace where owners could hire out their slaves by the day or week (142).

Textbooks canonize Patrick Henry for his "Give me liberty or give me death" speech. Not one tells us that eight months after delivering the speech he ordered "diligent patrols" to keep Virginia slaves from accepting the British offer of freedom to those who would join their side (146).

from 'Choke'

2008-12-19T09:35:00.002-05:00

by Chuch Palahniuk

Every addiction, she said, was just a way to treat this same problem. Drugs or overeating or alochol or sex, it was all just another way to find peace. To escape what we know. Our education. Our bite of the apple.

from 'I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings'

2008-10-19T23:38:00.000-05:00

by Maya Angelou

Most plain girls are virtuous because of the scarcity of opportunity to be otherwise.

recycling books

2008-09-27T18:30:00.001-05:00

see this post for art made from cutting up books.

If Men Could Menstruate

2008-08-02T18:34:00.000-05:00

by Gloria Steinem

A white minority of the world has spent centuries conning us into thinking that a white skin makes people superior - even though the only thing it really does is make the more subject to ultraviolet rays and to wrinkles. Male human beings have built whole cultures around the idea that penis envy is "natural" to women - though having such an unprotected organ might be said to make men vulnerable, and the power to give birth makes womb envy at least as logical.
In short, the characteristics of the powerful, whatever they may be, are thought to be better than the characteristics of the powerless - and logic has nothing to do with it.
What would happen, for instance, if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not?
The answer is clear - menstruation would become an enviable, boast-worthy, masculine event:
Men would brag about how long and how much.
Boys would mark the onset of menses, that longed-for proof of manhood, with religious ritual and stag parties.
Congress would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea to help stamp out monthly discomforts.
Sanitary supplies would be federally funded and free. (Of course, some men would still pay for the prestige of commercial brands such as John Wayne Tampons, Muhammad Ali's Rope-a-dope Pads, Joe Namath Jock Shields - "For Those Light Bachelor Days," and Robert "Baretta" Blake Maxi-Pads.)
Military men, right-wing politicians, and religious fundamentalists would cite menstruation ("men-struation") as proof that only men could serve in the Army ("you have to give blood to take blood"), occupy political office ("can women be aggressive without that steadfast cycle governed by the planet Mars?"), be priest and ministers ("how could a woman give her blood for our sins?") or rabbis ("without the monthly loss of impurities, women remain unclean").
Male radicals, left-wing politicians, mystics, however, would insist that women are equal, just different, and that any woman could enter their ranks if she were willing to self-inflict a major wound every month ("you MUST give blood for the revolution"), recognize the preeminence of menstrual issues, or subordinate her selfness to all men in their Cycle of Enlightenment. Street guys would brag ("I'm a three pad man") or answer praise from a buddy ("Man, you lookin' good!") by giving fives and saying, "Yeah, man, I'm on the rag!" TV shows would treat the subject at length. ("Happy Days": Richie and Potsie try to convince Fonzie that he is still "The Fonz," though he has missed two periods in a row.) So would newspapers. (SHARK SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN. JUDGE CITES MONTHLY STRESS IN PARDONING RAPIST.) And movies. (Newman and Redford in "Blood Brothers"!)
Men would convince women that intercourse was more pleasurable at "that time of the month." Lesbians would be said to fear blood and therefore life itself - though probably only because they needed a good menstruating man.
Of course, male intellectuals would offer the most moral and logical arguments. How could a woman master any discipline that demanded a sense of time, space, mathematics, or measurement, for instance, without that in-built gift for measuring the cycles of the moon and planets - and thus for measuring anything at all? In the rarefied fields of philosophy and religion, could women compensate for missing the rhythm of the universe? Or for their lack of symbolic death-and-resurrection every month?
Liberal males in every field would try to be kind: the fact that "these people" have no gift for measuring life or connecting to the universe, the liberals would explain, should be punishment enough.
And how would women be trained to react? One can imagine traditional women agreeing to all arguments with a staunch and smiling masochism. ("The ERA would force housewives to wound themselves every month": Phyllis Schlafly. "Your husband's blood is as sacred as that of Jesus - and so sexy, too!": Marabel Morgan.) Reformers and Queen Bees would try to imitate men, and pretend to have a monthly cycle. All feminists would explain endlessly that men, too, needed to be liberated from the false idea of Martian aggressiveness, just as women needed to escape the bonds of menses envy. Radical feminist would add that the oppression of the nonmenstrual was the pattern for all other oppressions ("Vampires were our first freedom fighters!") Cultural feminists would develop a bloodless imagery in art and literature. Socialist feminists would insist that only under capitalism would men be able to monopolize menstrual blood . . . .
In fact, if men could menstruate, the power justifications could probably go on forever.
If we let them.

Hillary Clinton

2008-06-23T19:37:00.002-05:00

"Although we weren't able to shatter that highest, hardest glass ceiling this time, thanks to you, it's got about 18 million cracks in it, and the light is shining through like never before, filling us all with the hope and the sure knowledge that the path will be a little easier next time."

For the white person who wants to know how to be my friend

2008-06-16T15:17:00.002-05:00

by Pat Parker

The first thing you do is to forget that i'm Black.
Second, you must never forget that i'm Black.

You should be able to dig Aretha,
but don't play here every time i come over.
An if you decide to play Beethoven-don't tell me
his life story. They make us take music appreciation too.

Eat soul food if you like it, but don't expect me
to locate your restaurants
of cook it for you.

And if some Black person insults you,
mugs you, rapes your sister, rapes you,
rips your house or is just being an ass-
please do not apologize to me
for wanting to do them bodily harm.
It makes me wonder if you're foolish.

And even if you really believe Blacks are better lovers than
whites-don't tell me. I start thinking of charging stud fees.

In other words-if you really want to be my friend-don't
make a labor of it. I'm lazy. Remember.

i loved these books as a child

2008-03-28T09:04:00.000-05:00

Sweet Valley High is back. but this time, the girls are skinnier. the gawker feels this is to ensure "preteen and teenaged girl readers are sufficiently insecure about their bodies."

the girls have gone from a size 6 to a size 4. oh, that was so necessary.

from 'Whose Side Are We On?'

2008-02-29T15:20:00.001-05:00

by Howard Becker, 1967

To have values or not to have values: the question is always with us.
When sociologists undertake to study problems that have relevance to the
world we live in, they h d themselves caught in a crossfire. Some urge them
not to take sides, to be neutral and do research that is technically correct and
value free. Others tell them their work is shallow and useless if it does not
express a deep commitment to a value position.

This dilemma, which seems so painful to so many, actually does not exist,
for one of its horns is imaginary. For it to exist, one would have to assume,
as some apparently do, that it is indeed possible to do research that is uncontaminated by personal and political sympathies. I propose to argue that it is not possible and, therefore, that the question is not whether we should take sides, since we inevitably will, but rather whose side we are on.

* later he calls sociologists politically liberal.

stats on reading

2008-01-17T08:35:00.000-05:00

snatched from here:

58% of the US adult population never reads another book after high school
42% of college graduates never read another book
80% of US families did not buy or read a book last year.
70% of US adults have not been in a bookstore in the last five years
57% of new books are not read to completion.
Most readers do not get past page 18 in a book they have purchased.

this is terrible! i am so glad i am a 'reader' and encourage my child to do so as well. aside from other benefits, it's fun to lose yourself in a good novel.

i read

2008-01-02T12:59:00.000-05:00

41 books in 2007. this is less than last year, and i know exactly what the problem is. it is not that i am reading less, inf fact i am for sure reading more, but journal articles. these are not books. FYI, i read 56 books in 2006 and 43 books in 2005. i miss fiction.

speaking of, i need to get on ordering books for this semester.

100 Notable Books of 2007

2007-12-04T13:03:00.000-05:00

here's the top ten, from the NY Times.

THE ABSTINENCE TEACHER. By Tom Perrotta
AFTER DARK. By Haruki Murakami
THE BAD GIRL. By Mario Vargas Llosa
BEARING THE BODY. By Ehud Havazelet
THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS THAT HEAVEN BEARS. By Dinaw Mengestu
BRIDGE OF SIGHS. By Richard Russo
THE BRIEF WONDROUS LIFE OF OSCAR WAO. By Junot Díaz
CALL ME BY YOUR NAME. By André Aciman
CHEATING AT CANASTA. By William Trevor
THE COLLECTED POEMS, 1956-1998. By Zbigniew Herbert

i haven't heard of a one.

if you love writing

2007-10-31T14:34:00.000-05:00

then you are not like Rachel Toor. here is an excerpt from a great, and well-written, article.

"Each time I’m in the throes of writing a book, I realize that I have somehow forgotten how exhausting it is, how much it hurts. After writing for a couple of hours, I have to go lie down, wrist thrown across an aching forehead. It helps only a little to remember that I am not alone, to think of George Orwell’s comment that "writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness."

It’s not only doing the work that’s hard, it’s also the recognition that you never quite know when it’s over. Once you get through the labor of creation, there’s the torture of revision. You can revise for months. For years. You can convince yourself that, unlike a Thanksgiving turkey, it’s never going to be done. In a way, having deadlines, while adding cuticle-chewing stress, can be a boon.

I will allow that there may be people who like various aspects of the writing process. For some, it may be the excitement of facing a blank page. (Hate them!) For others, it could be a sense of getting a sentence just right. (Jerks!) There may be those who like the revision process, who can go over what they’ve produced with a cold eye and a keen ear and feel a satisfaction in making it better. (Liars!)"

read the whole thing here: Love to Write ? Keep It to Yourself

from 'All Quiet on the Western Front'

2007-10-04T01:39:00.000-05:00

by Erich Maria Remarque

I am young, I am twenty years old; yet I know nothing of life but despair, death, fear, and fatuous superficiality cast over an abyss of sorrow. I see how peoples are set against one another, and in silence, unknowingly, foolishly, obediently, innocently slay one another. I see that the keenest brains of the world invent weapons and words to make it yet more refined and enduring. And all men of my age, here and over there, throughout the whole world see these things; all my generation is experiencing these things with me. What would our fathers do if we suddenly stood up and came before them and proffered our account? What do they expect of us if a time ever comes when the war is over? Through the years our business has been killing;--- it was our first calling in life. Our knowledge of life is limited to death. What will happen afterwards? And what shall come out of us?

the best paragraph

2007-09-02T20:49:00.000-05:00

yahoo answers, well, answers. i'm not sure what is going on here.

What is the best paragraph 2?

The plastic clown hanging aslant from the paper streamers caught Megans attention particularly. “That will make a fine start. A very fine start for a very new beginning,” she said while fishing her Zippo out from her ratty backpack. Since the plastic took a while to catch, the lighter became hot but Megan did no flinch, but only grimmaced behind her spectacles.

Best Answer - Chosen by Asker

Megan was already two blocks away when she heard the sirens. She would have turned to see the smoke but her new MaryJane shoes were pinching her terribly, and she could only think of pladding straight forward toward home to take them off. Though she could smell already the vaporizing tar from the roof of Mrs. Hurtelot's house, she was no longer thinking of fine beginings, but of a plate of Oreos and a frosty glass of milk.

Shakespeare

2007-08-28T20:42:00.000-05:00

“Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault...is not in our stars, but in ourselves...”

librarything

2007-07-21T21:08:00.000-05:00

i found this neat book club, as it is described. there's no way i would ever really catalogue all my books, but it is neat for suggestions. i see potential here that i would never take advantage of.

harry potter

2007-07-10T21:10:00.000-05:00

the new book is due out on the 21st. rowling has said that two people will die. bookies are sure that one is harry himself. someone, please, let me know.

from 'Killer Smile'

2007-07-09T14:49:00.000-05:00

by Lisa Scottoline

"She had seen way too much crime-scene tape even in her short career; now it was all over TV shows and party gags. For Mary, murder would never be remotely funny. As far as she was concerned, all crime-scene tape should read: Something Unspeakable Happened Here."

and

"If you can't be brave, be determined. And you'll end up in the same place."

from 'The Hyde Park Headsman'

2007-07-06T23:36:00.000-05:00

by Anne Perry

"I wish society would allow people to cope with loss in whatever way is easiest for them, but I doubt it ever will."

best books

2007-06-29T14:41:00.000-05:00

four different links from a google search reveal the following as the number one, best book of all time:

Ulysses, James Joyce

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

ULYSSES by James Joyce

Miguel De Cervantes by Don Quixote

hmm... i've never read either of these. of course, The Bible is bestselling.

from Quotations Book

2007-06-17T00:40:00.000-05:00

"There was never an angry man that thought his anger unjust."

- Francis De Sales

'Blood and Circumstance'

2007-05-30T21:48:00.000-05:00

by Frank Turner Hollon

i want to quote the whole book! it's a good one. i recommend it.

Mark Twain

2007-05-06T09:56:00.000-05:00

“Books are for people who wish they were somewhere else.”

Ray Bradbury

2007-04-15T19:07:00.000-05:00

"We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?"

Colors

2007-04-11T12:10:00.001-05:00

by Shel Silverstein

My skin is kind of sort of brownish
Pinkish yellowish white.
My eyes are greyish blueish green,
But I'm told they look orange in the night.
My hair is reddish blondish brown,
But it's silver when it's wet.
And all the colors I am inside
Have not been invented yet.

from 'Prior Bad Acts'

2007-03-15T07:18:00.000-05:00

by Tami Hoag

He picked up a copy of People and leafed through it...He didn't recognize many stars. The girls all looked young and too skinny, and they dressed like whores. They shouldn't be surprised to be raped an killed, going around like that. The men were unremarkable. Half of them looked like they had dressed at Goodwill and didn't have sense enough to tuck in their shirts. Most of them needed a haircut and a shave.

Surrender

2007-02-12T07:25:00.000-05:00

by Sue Sinclair

Sometimes the light, a horse,
gallops into the room
and demands you surrender.
It paws the floor, snorts—
and so you rise out of the low-lying
cloud of the self, the half-dreaming
wakefulness we call love,
and into the cool air of the real.

i'll get back here soon

2007-01-06T13:44:00.000-05:00

i read 56 books in 2006 and 43 in 2005.

that means nothing, but you can track any book related posts on the ju page with this link here.

i've got some reading to do

2006-11-06T13:47:00.000-05:00

Time's best books of all time.

from 'Blackface'

2006-09-26T17:34:00.000-05:00

by QB Wells [the dedication]:

A restricted era, bombarded with aspirations to be: the rapper, the athlete, or the drug dealer.

An era, where life as we know it is next tot worthless, if monetary success can not be gained.

An era, where no matter whether you are wealthy as P. Diddy or broke as Rodney King, we are depicted differently.

An era depicted as vigilant thieves, super thugs, whore, the criminals and the prime suspect to blame for everything negative.

The era of two-dimensional minstrel characters, one way thinkers, the era of blackface.

from 'Wait Until Midnight'

2006-09-16T14:26:00.000-05:00

by Amanda Quick:

"I do not count novel reading among my vices."

"Allow me to explain, if I may. Of course one knows that in a sensation novel, the villain will pay for his villainy, just as one knows that the hero and heroine will be rewarded for their good hearts and noble actions. Those things are givens, as it were. They are not the point of the business."

"Indeed? Well, what in the blazes is the point?"

"Why, it is seeing how the characters arrive at their various fates that compels our attention...It is the series of startling incidents in the various chapters that entertains and amazes, all the twists and turns and emotional sensations. That is why one reads a novel, sir. Not to discover how it ends, but to enjoy the strange and exotic scenery along the way."

from 'Bird's Eye View'

2006-09-03T21:02:00.000-05:00

by JF Freedman:

Dinner is vintage summer Chesapeake Bay: rockfish and crab cakes and fried chicken, fresh vegetables and salads, homemade biscuits dripping with butter, Cholesterol through the roof, but nobody's shy about digging in, including the old dowagers, who shovel it in by the forkfull.

Burt Bacharach

2006-08-04T10:50:00.000-05:00

"A synonym is a word you use when you can't spell the word you first thought of."

from 'Prized Possessions'

2006-06-26T18:22:00.000-05:00

by Avery Corman:

Jimmy considered dropping out of Layton for the remainder of the semester. But he was so close to graduating. I can't drop out now and give the satisfaction to that bitch, It isn't fair. They say no, but sometimes they mean yes. They want you to push them, make them. That's where the expression comes from: Did you "make" her? I'm no criminal. It was a misunderstanding.

american literary classics

2006-06-17T16:11:00.000-05:00

online.

from 'The Feminine Mystique'

2006-06-01T15:12:00.000-05:00

by Betty Friedan:

It is more than a strange paradox that as all professions are finally open to women in America, "career woman" has become a dirty word; that as higher education becomes available to any woman with the capacity for it, education for women has become so suspect that more and more drop out of high school and college to marry and have babies; that as so many roles in modern society become theirs for the taking, women so insistently confine themselves to one role.

ha ha ha

2006-05-29T15:02:00.000-05:00

from the QotD, this is funny:

"The difference between a democracy and a dictatorship is that in a democracy you vote first and take orders later; in a dictatorship you don't have to waste your time voting." - Charles Bukowski

a love story, part one

2006-05-07T05:11:00.000-05:00

I have returned home to a place I left eighteen years ago. I left on the day after graduation. a day, where up to that point, I had never been happier.

The house is not exactly as I remember it. But mostly. I walked in through the kitchen door, as I always had done. The same wallpaper - sick with dying flowers - lines the walls. Pushing farther into the house, I see the same - can you believe it? - couch and chairs. On second thought, I can believe it, as dear old mom and dad are predictable like that. The curtains are not the same as those I grew up with. Replacing the blue frilly ones are blue straight panels. Always blue. I am still surprised by people who consider blue neutral and outfit their world with it. The carpet is the same as that I walked on for the first eighteen years of my life, just more ragged and worn the way only shag carpeting can be.

The biggest difference I see in my childhood home is the expansion of an office. A room that used to serve solely as the place my father escaped by mother. The room is now lined with books and plays host to a personal computer. Books I am sure have never been read. The computer, well, I cannot imagine what purpose it was to serve.

The phone rings and scares the hell out of me. Who would call? No one knows I am here and everyone knows who's not. Telemarketers, I concluded.

[part i, ii, iii, iv, v, and vi.]

a love story, part two

2006-05-07T05:10:00.000-05:00

I'm here because my parents have suffered a horrible tragedy. Anyone who needs to know knows. Mom and Dad both lost their parents at a young age and they lost my brother and me at an unfortunate later age. As far as I know, they had only a handful of friends. Acquaintances, rather. There were Tom and Ellen, my parents only friends, the mailman, the only regular visitor, and my dad's boss. He'd talked to him recreationally all of five times in the decades during his employment. I have no idea if they've seen each other since.

As tragedies go, this one is not the worst. But try to tell that to the five hundred people who live in this town. Okay, in all honestly, it may be eight hundred, but when the population is so small they know when you take a shit, it doesn't matter a whole lot.

My parents were murdered. Well, one of them was. It is the general consensus that my mother killed my father and then herself. I blame my imagination for the resentment I feel in that. Typical woman to give in to such guilt.

[part i, ii, iii, iv, v, and vi.]

a love story, part three

2006-05-07T05:09:00.000-05:00

Here I am, 36 years old and walking thorough the house I left half my life ago. Stop, don't judge me yet, I had a good reason to leave. My father kicked the shit out of my mother for the 42nd time - to my knowledge - and my mother loved him regardless. That day was no different. But that day, the day after my high school graduation, he got me. And my mother loved him regardless. I packed a bag, got in my car, left that town where everyone knew what was happening and pretended that if you went to church on Sunday, all was forgiven, and never went back. Not until today. My brother arrives tomorrow for the funeral. I'm thinking about leaving today.

I spent the afternoon and night going through the house. Family photos lined the tabletops and hallway walls, but they, too, were the same as I last saw. Pictures of Mom, Dad, and kids. My brother was always big; tall and slightly thick through the middle. I have seen him once in my years since high school, and he looked the same then as he does smiling in these pictures. I, too, was smiling in the photos. Considering it was a time of youthfulness when all you needed was mascara and some chapstick to be gorgeous.

[part i, ii, iii, iv, v, and vi.]

a love story, part four

2006-05-07T05:08:00.000-05:00

I awoke, however, quite differently. My brother was crying, sitting at the foot of the couch. At first I wanted to ask what was the cause of such hysterical crying, but then I remembered. Our parents are dead.

Instead of having a normal conversation about the funeral that was to take place in six hours, I rose, dressed, and left the house. It was selfish of me, but I couldn't do that. Not now.

The weather was pleasant and I walked the streets of my small hometown, confident that no one would place me after so many years. I was wrong. In less than a half hour, I was spotted and forced to have awkward chit-chat with four different people. It was all the same.

Friendly neighbor says, Oh my, it's good to see you! It's been so long. I wasn't sure you were coming back [with an uncomfortable look and pause]. It's been too long. Then I say, Yes, it has [trying to get over the remark]. FN says, I'm so sorry…

Then their voice trails off and the head bows. I am then put in a position to say something uplifting as though it was their pain. The weather's nice today is something along the lines of my response. Man, it was to be a long day.

I did manage to speak with my brother before we left for the church. He cried. I cried. We confessed our sorrow for the way it ended. We asked the hypothetical; How could she do that? and Why? to empty air.

[part i, ii, iii, iv, v, and vi.]

a love story, part five

2006-05-07T05:07:00.000-05:00

My brother lives just as far from our hometown as I do, but he visited regularly. He was still very much a part of life in this town. I, on the other hand, had only been whispered and rumored about through the years. Despite my brother's encouragement, I still felt like the town itself was throwing me out.

Our arrival at the church was quite similar to how I had pictured it. More of the conversations I experienced earlier in the day. My brother was easing through the tension with charm and grace. I wondered how many people will show. Surely, most of the town will, although they had no real relationships with either of my parents.

Then I began to think of my funeral. Who would be there? Just as I saw the chief of police approach, I mentally concluded my funeral would be a small one.

He wanted to update me about the status of the case. He was trying to appear sympathetic, but I could see his excitement about having a big case on his watch. This was not kids trespassing and occasional acts of vandalism. This is two murders.

I realized at that point I had not yet come to terms with the gravity of the situation. Prior to this, I was angry at my mother, but only for killing herself, not for killing my father. I began to think I needed to feel some real loss. I was tangled in what the appropriate feelings to your mother's killing your father when I was bumped by someone to my left.

It was the man in the photo with my dad. He told me a story I was not prepared to hear. Or believe. I said nothing.

[part i, ii, iii, iv, v, and vi.]

a love story, part six

2006-05-07T05:06:00.000-05:00

He began:

You don't know me, but I have watched you for eighteen years. I know as much about you as there is to know. I was hired by your father a lifetime ago. He hated that you left. It tore him up and your mother knew. Hell, everyone knew by the way he was always going on. Your mother knew why you left. She didn't blame you. She was proud of you, because you were able to stand up for yourself. And your parents knew about you, watched you through pictures. They watched the successes and failures of your life.

Your father was always on - playing the role of father to his little girl. But you weren't here. It drove your mother mad. She thought your father was delusional, living in a part of your world and you didn't know it.

I know your father hit your mother. I know he hit you. Your father continued to control your mother with force. I will not try to forgive the behaviors of his life now that he is dead. But I thought you needed to know that what happened here was not about your mother finally defending herself for a lifetime of abuse. This was not retaliation. And your mother did not give into the guilt of having killed her husband by reacting with suicide.

I'm your parent's attorney. I live in this town. Everyone, like you, is thinking this is what happened. But there is something else, something no one knew. You didn't know because you missed your father's expressions of both love and hate through the years.

It was a plan. Your parents won an incredible amount of money and killed themselves.

He looked at me at this point carefully. Don't make that face, he seemed to say. I thought that he must really know who I am. What my problems were. Then, he continued:

A carefully constructed plan. Do not feel guilty, this is not what they wanted. Many options were considered, but this one made the most sense to your parents. It was a plan where everyone would win. Everyone would get what they deserved. They killed themselves and left you the inheritance. It was all your father could do to help, given your current financial troubles.

The End. [part i, ii, iii, iv, v, and vi.]

from 'Cold Case Squad'

2006-05-05T17:08:00.000-05:00

by Edna Buchanan:

Like all things good and bad in the world, it began with a woman.

it's been a whole lotta years

2006-04-29T18:44:00.000-05:00

but i am reading nancy drew again. my daughter got the starter set for her birthday last week and i quickly tore through them.

not sure if i like it, though. john grisham may have ruined nancy drew for me.

funny link

2006-04-17T07:28:00.000-05:00

judy blume books that never saw print.

from 'There Are No Children Here'

2006-04-15T09:48:00.000-05:00

by Alex Kotlowitz:

A few days later, Pharoah, now eleven, told a friend: "I worry about dying, dying at a young age, while you're little. I'll be thinking about I want to get out of the jects. I want to get out. It ain't no joke when you die."

from 'Hangman'

2006-04-01T23:31:00.000-05:00

by Michael Slade:

The Scream captures a psychotic experience. It is an objectivization of subjective sensation. The open issue is what caused the loss of identity? The bridge leading to nothing is a simile for death. But is it death in the past or death in the future that wrenches this scream from the screamer?

from 'The Fourth Procedure'

2006-03-27T16:45:00.000-05:00

by Stanley Pottinger:

Because I cannot imagine being forced to remain pregnant against my will, I can't imagine a woman allowing that to happen to her, either. I can imagine her deciding to carry a child to term even though she would not have chosen to be poregnant in the first place. I can imagine her giving up a child for adoption. I can imagine her deciding to keep it, and I can imagine her changing her mind several times back and forth, exerising the one thing that distiguishes us from every other animal on the p[lanet-our intelligence. In my view, that's what the abotion decision is all about, an exercise in human intelligence ... Personally, i fI were a pregnant woman forced to carry a child against my will, I would take up arms before surrendering.

Famous

2006-03-16T13:41:00.000-05:00

by Naomi Shihab Nye

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to the silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to the floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it,
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men,
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way the pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it did.

from 'Dead Ringer'

2006-03-10T10:03:00.000-05:00

by Jasmine Cresswell:

She had a challenging job, she earned a decent income, she paid her taxes, and she was polite to her fellow citizens. What more could anyone ask of her?

i know it's a bit early

2006-03-06T15:32:00.000-05:00

but i am considering getting one of the following books* for my daughter:

The Period Book : Everything You Don't Want to Ask

Ready, Set, Grow!: A What's Happening to My Body?

It's Perfectly Normal : Changing Bodies, Growing Up, Sex, and Sexual Health

* i am assuming this is because we are reading Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.

A Word to Husbands

2006-02-22T18:34:00.000-05:00

by Ogden Nash

To keep your marriage brimming
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
Whenever you’re right, shut up.

The Right Hand of Evil is John Saul

2006-02-20T20:03:00.000-05:00

(well, that title was better than saying the John was "Unwanted" or "Unloved")

Hmm...where to start. John Saul is my favorite author!! Okay, now that that is out... His novels are real page-turners, the kind of book you can't put down until it is finished. As far as categorizing his genre, he writes thrillers or horror. John is Dean Koontz or Stephen King-esque, but he is THE master of terror! His writing style is amazing. John uses just enough detail to keep you in the story, but not too much so that you are bored. He is the author of 28 books.

The new book, In the Dark of the Night, is expected July 2006!

Read his biography from the Official John Saul Website.

Articles/Interviews:
Author Profile (with an interview) from The Book Reporter. July, 1999
A Conversation with John Saul from Writers Write. September, 1999
An Interview with John Saul from January Magazine
Horror novelist keeps successful trend rolling from News-Press.com. April 5, 2004

John Saul at Wikipedia.

All the World's a Stage

2006-02-20T06:25:00.000-05:00

by William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

The Storm

2006-02-19T18:32:00.000-05:00

Lightening soars through the sky
And she watches in amazement.
Thunder crashes around her
And she jumps with enthusiasm.
Rain ours from endless clouds
And she smiles with joy.
Wind rips through the air
And she winces with glee.
The tree falls atop her
And she bangs to the ground with death.

06-02-98

She Escaped

2006-02-19T18:30:00.000-05:00

Why is it all so hard?
What can make it better?
it has to go away, she thought.

Many nights and days passed by
Feelings grew stronger inside.
She sat lonely int he corner.

It was fun to do.
A social pleasure.
A few drinks never hurt anyone.

Many nights and days passed by
The confusion set in further.
Everyone left her alone.

With friends it was easy.
Pass it around, everyone does it.
Smoke a little, no big deal.

Many nights and days passed by
Her body craved the excitement
But late at night she was alone.

Took a few pills
it made her feel real good.
Everything seemed easier.

Many nights and days passed by
People flashed in and out of her life.
She felt more alone with each sleep.

New friends were always made.
They devoured life together with each breath.
Their nose to the table and eyes full of amaze.

Many nights and days passed by
Thoughts were found that were unheard of.
Yet, in her dreams, she was always alone.

Let's get together somteime
Was what was always said.
Many partners, but she was having fun.

Many nights and days passed by
And the man always left her bed.
Alone, it was hard for her to sleep.

Life was a big party.
It was easy now,
She never missed the vein.

Many nights and days passed by
Feelings had ceased from her soul.
Even emotion had left her alone.

The police were there one day.
They got her robbery.
Her mind was twisted and void of thought.

Many nights and days passed by
She looked in the mirror for the first time.
She hangs alone from the ceiling of the cell.

04-14-98

If the world was mine...

2006-02-19T17:37:00.000-05:00

Equal Rights: Really, for everybody (regardless of race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, pink hair, nose rings, baggy pants, or even Republicans). Our government talks the talk, but what year was the Equal Rights Amendment passed? Oh yeah, it hasn't.

Family Violence: The crminal justice system would have a more proactive stand on the abuse of women and children. Repeated abusers would face the maximum penalties.

Prison: Our correctional system produces more criminals than it helps. Criminals would be educated and rehabilitated in prison so that they can better survive lawfully in society upon their release.

Gun Control: gun control, gun control. Sure, people will still fight, but a significant number of lives would be saved if guns were not part of the equation. It is much easier to kill someone with a gun than a knife. Handguns and automatic weapons are not used for hunting or anything positive for that matter.

Capital Punishment: DNA testing is mandatory. I am not going into whether the death penalty is moral or just, but the least we can do is be as sure as possible that we are killing the right guy.

Drug War: The war on drugs is a miserable failure.. Drugs would be decriminalized- regulated and taxed. Drug addicts would be treated for their illness, not punished for their weakness. Those in prison for non-violent drug offenses would be immediately released under community supervision.

The Lesson

2006-02-19T15:14:00.000-05:00

by Roger McGough

Chaos ruled OK in the classroom
as bravely the teacher walked in
the nooligans ignored him
hid voice was lost in the din

"The theme for today is violence
and homework will be set
I'm going to teach you a lesson
one that you'll never forget"

He picked on a boy who was shouting
and throttled him then and there
then garrotted the girl behind him
(the one with grotty hair)

Then sword in hand he hacked his way
between the chattering rows
"First come, first severed" he declared
"fingers, feet or toes"

He threw the sword at a latecomer
it struck with deadly aim
then pulling out a shotgun
he continued with his game

The first blast cleared the backrow
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dinghies
when the plug's pulled out

"Please may I leave the room sir?"
a trembling vandal enquired
"Of course you may" said teacher
put the gun to his temple and fired

The Head popped a head round the doorway
to see why a din was being made
nodded understandingly
then tossed in a grenade

And when the ammo was well spent
with blood on every chair
Silence shuffled forward
with its hands up in the air

The teacher surveyed the carnage
the dying and the dead
He waggled a finger severely
"Now let that be a lesson" he said

Chaos

2006-02-19T14:46:00.000-05:00

Rising, falling, rising, falling

Please just let me be free
As the tide ebbs and flows
I scream to be set free. Rising, falling

Reach deep inside of me
Look around and discover
The pain within. Rising, falling

I struggle with conflict
I yearn for peace
Dreams of a perfect place. Rising, falling

Take me with you
To a new place
Leave me to be alone. Rising, falling

Don't leave me alone
You always leave me behind
Tormented by emotions. Rising, falling

Your back is turned
So many times
I've never known security. Rising, falling

With each wave I breath
Dream of a perfect release
Only to find the pain still there. Rising, falling

I never hurt you
Like you always did me
I never made you feel this way. Rising, falling

Understand what I feel
See for once what I see
Feel the aching and longing. Rising, falling

Close the door, no, it slams
You represent every man
Who has ever left me. Rising, falling

Fathers leave
Boyfriends stray
Friends die. Rising, falling

The ocean is my salvation
Yet at the same time
You are my enemy.

10-20-98

The Burning

2006-02-19T14:44:00.001-05:00

Out of the blue
I start to cry
For no reason
I burst into tears
It burns in my soul.

Like in the summer
In the depth of it all
The overwhelming heat
The fury of the sun
It burns in my soul.

And in the fall
The dying trees
The shortening of the days
My eyes show the deep brown
And the burning in my soul.

The winter of course must come
And the ice falls from the gray sky
Everything is dark and drab
And the cold sweeps over the icy ridge
But it still burns in my soul.

And with the spring
Comes the new days
And the blooming flowers
Everything is beautiful
Yet it still burns in my soul.

With the seasons
And the cries for help
No one comes
No one cares
It burns in my soul.

The rage builds
Until the fierceness shows
Then the anger is set free
But the burning doesn't end
And the anger is still there
It just lingers until another day.

03-09-94

No One

2006-02-19T14:44:00.000-05:00

She looks behind her, but sees no one.
He feels the kill.
She senses his presences, but her eyes see no one.
He smells the blood.
She runs, not sure of what, maybe no one.
He moves in closer.
She feels his arm around her, no, feels no one.
He looks back to be sure they're alone.
She reaches out, but yet, feels no one.
He enjoys the hunt.
She sees him, smells him, but hears no one.
He grabs her-
she screams.
He jumps on top of her-
she is screams.
He wrestles her to the floor-
she is silent.
He rips her clothes off.
she is quiet, wishing for the end.
He rapes her, enjoying the panic.
She is still waiting.
He beats her, repeatedly.
She screams one last time.
And he vanished after his kill.
She is now looking toward the next life
While he boasts in his victory,
Enjoying his conquest.
He repeatedly stabs her dead body
And leaves her alone, with no one.

98-99?

38 minutes

2006-02-19T14:43:00.000-05:00

its an unusual thing, living next to the train tacks
you come to depend on it somehow.
the rattling of the house
the shattering of the dishes.
when you hear the crash on the floor
it pierces your brain.
when you have to run to catch the glasses every 38 minutes
it punctures your heart.
it is a sense of disorder, disrupt
and it reminds you of every bad things in your life.
it amplifies the fear of living
and it magnifies the aching in your soul.
it seems to scream out your pain
and thrust it in your face every 38 minutes.
but what would you be without the crashing and shattering,
without the pain and the suffering.
you would be happy.
but you would still have to live with that dismal train.
prying open your wound
and laughing at you constantly.
so you have to deal with the agony of the train
reminding you that your heart is broken
that your body is in anguish
and your soul has been ripped out but the very person
you thought you could trust.
you have to comfort of knowing that it will haunt you every 38 minutes.

02-28-99

Imagination

2006-02-19T14:41:00.000-05:00

The beating drums around me.
The dance is magical.
My soul laughs.
My eyes cry.
My heart beats faster.
My head hurts.
Aches.
The beating drums around me.
I dance around.
Blood pours through my veins.
My feet move so fast.
My legs burn with pain.
The excitement builds up.
And up and up.
The beating drums around me.
My body begs for the dance.
My heart pounds to stop.
My mind breathes the night.
The fire crackles.
The flames rise.
And give way to the stars.
The beating drums around me.
My feet stop.
The music halts.
I open my eyes,
I see nothing.
I am alone.
I have not moved, but my soul is free.

09-07-98

just a feeling

2006-02-19T14:40:00.001-05:00

It creeps up on me sometimes
Just a feeling of some sort
Where I stand almost paralyzed
Not in fear -- in knowing.
If only I could see you
Standing across the room.
To put the uneasiness of mind to rest
A tangible feeling
If one ever existed.
My body can feel the heat
Skin feels the warmth of familiarity.

2004

his hands

2006-02-19T14:40:00.000-05:00

His hands were bloody
He knew it before looking down.
He could feel the thick mass surrounding his fingers.
She lay there
He still thought she was beautiful.
Perhaps more so now that her head was twisted unnaturally.
She was covered in scratches and wounds
Layered in blood.
He told himself that she had asked for it
But there was no denying his passion.

2004

she walks

2006-02-19T14:38:00.000-05:00

She walks into the depth of the trees
Standing before two paths.
They both beckoned her forward
And she was torn on what to decide.
Down the path to the left
She noticed blissful confusion.
A world of the present where
Things are uncomfortably happy.
He was there, smiling shyly at her
His lips mouthed, "Come on."

And she almost followed, blindly
As she often did.
Yet there was a gentle nudging
She could feel it on her right arm.
With a quick glance she saw
The future, without him.
She knew it was a lonely road
She faced two choices.
She glanced back and forth once more
Drew in a deep breath, and began to walk.

Left.
She was after all, a sucker for love.

2004

It Couldn't Be Done

2006-01-19T17:47:00.000-05:00

by Edgar Albert Guest

Somebody said that it couldn't be done
But he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one
Who wouldn't say so till he tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it!

I remember these from one particular teacher: The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost and The Daffodils (I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud) by William Wordsworth.

Nathan

2005-12-19T14:45:00.000-05:00

I had just been with him a couple of hours ago. His parents were gone for the weekend and his older brother, a theater freak, had been staying with him. The three of us had gone to see a local production of "Oklahoma" that afternoon. The sky was dark and had a gloomy appearance that made me feel as if something bad was going to happen. I shrugged it off and tried to have fun anyway. I had just finished eating dinner with my family when the phone rang. Something bad had happened.

He had told me about his past. It was hard to believe that a freshman in high school had lived through all he had lived through. But I believed every word of it. Nathan wasn't the type to lie or make up stories. As a young boy, he had become interested in swords and took up fencing as a hobby. He was really good at it and won many tournaments. He was chosen to join an elite gang called The Blades, for his talent. This wasn't a gang like a club, but a true gang consisting mainly of high school kids, and he was only in third grade. During his time as a Blade, he had taken many oaths, and was given the name Strider for showing his loyalty. At some point, he lost one of his closest friends to a rival gang leader. He went after the other the leader and was about to kill him when he realized that fighting wouldn't solve anything. He eventually dropped fencing and picked up the sport of kickboxing. He also left the gang. A couple of weeks ago, one of the Blades that had moved away was killed. I don't know how, he didn't want to talk about it. Recently, he had received threats on his life in the mail and was sent a video of another friend being raped. He never got real upset over it, he took it all in stride. I guess that is why they called him Strider.

He had always been a good and loyal friend, well, for the couple of months that I knew him anyway. If you were down, he picked you back up. He never let you think a bad thought about yourself. He even tried out for the Christmas play with me just so I wouldn't be in it alone. Also gave you that feeling of safety, that he would never leave your side until you wanted him to. He was the ideal friend.

All of these thoughts crossed my mind when I got that phone call. All at the same time. Something bad had happened to him. When he had gotten home, he went upstairs to his room while his brother was in the kitchen making dinner. His brother heard a shot. And the thud of a body hit the floor. 9-1-1 was called, but it was too late. His life was slowly draining and his soul floating up to Heaven. He was rushed him to the hospital, but by the time they got there, he was gone.

I never got a chance to say goodbye to him, or to tell him how much I cared. I don't know that I could say I loved him, but I did. A fraternal love anyway. I'm glad I met him, he hanged my life. I don't know who I would be without him.

Nathan, wherever you are, good-bye. I miss you, and I'll never forget you.

09-15-2003

My Gift

2005-12-19T14:43:00.000-05:00

I am watching you
Right now.
I am hearing your voice
At this moment.
I am feeling your happiness
Throughout me.
Your excitement and joy
Are always appreciated.
Your creativity and sincerity
Never go unnoticed.
The simplest things you do
Make even a sad person smile.
You can make a mad person laugh
And a callous person cry.
The tears that man shed
Mark a pleasure only you can bring.
You light up so many with your enthusiasm
If only for a slit second.
But most of all
What you give to me
What you share with me
Can never be written on paper.
That feeling can never be explained
For emotions are not understood spoken.

early 1999

Battle with the Storm

2005-12-19T14:42:00.000-05:00

The rain falls
And it hits the ground.
She wakes up to the
Soothing, familiar sound.

She enjoys the rain.
It becomes her friend.
It become the routine
At each days end.

But it never does
Rain for too long.
The comfort that existed
Quickly turns wrong.

The storm follows
Conflict reigns
The sky opens up
It won't be contained.

Pleasure is not first.
Lightening brings a chill.
Thunder crashes around
The bliss that was falls ill.

The fury causes fear
Can't be left alone.
She sits buy the window
Expelling her heart in the cyclone.

Through the pain
She sees a light.
Because she loves the rain,
It is natural to fight.

She will struggle hard
To get what she needs
The rain is her passion
And she will not concede.

Finally, after a rigorous battle
The storm is denied.
The pain returns
To be by her side.

She is at home now
Once again at peace.
Drinking the rain
The storm has ceased.

The rain is her lover
To him, she is bound.
She refuses to let this one get away
She returns to his familiar sound.

10-25-98

FANTASY

2005-12-19T14:41:00.000-05:00

HE SMILES, BUT DOES NOT MEAN IT. SHE REACHES OVER TO
THE ONE MAN SHE EVER REALLY LOVED.
HE RISES FROM THE BED AND TURNS HIS BACK ON HER
SOMETHING SHE HAS BECOME QUITE ACCUSTOMED TO.
SHE LIES DOWN WHERE HIS BODY USED TO BE,
WHERE THEY SHARED THEIR THOUGHT, HOPES,
AND DREAMS. WHERE THEY MADE LOVE.
HE TELLS HER THAT HE WILL BE BACK,
BUT SHE KNOWS NOT TO WAIT AROUND FOR THAT. HE WON'T.
HE HAS DESERTED HER. SHE IS LEFT ALONE TO HER FEARS AND PAIN
HE THINKS SHE IS STRONG. SHE THINKS SHE CAN DEFEAT ALL ODDS.
BUT THERE HAS TO BE AN END.

A CANDLE FLICKERS ON THE TABLE, REMNANTS OF THEIR PASSION.
AS SHE BLOWS IT OUT, SHE SEES A LETTER.
AGAIN, A REMINDER OF HIS ROMANTICISM.
SHE SLEEPS THAT NIGHT BUT NOT SOUNDLY. SHE IS HAUNTED.
HAUNTED BY WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN.
THEIR LOVE COULD NOT ENDURE THE TRIALS OF LIFE.
THEY WERE TOO ALIKE, TOO MUCH THE SAME TO EVER LAST.
SHE DREAMS OF THE PAST, ALLOWING HERSELF TO RELIVE
THE GLORY DAYS OF IT ALL.

THEY WERE INSEPARABLE, PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER.
HE WAS SMOOTH AND FAST. SHE WAS NATURAL AND FREE.
HE WAS INTELLIGENT AND SHE COULD TALK FOR HOURS ABOUT ANYTHING.
THEY WERE THE LIFE OF ANY PARTY, BUT SATISFIED TO BE ALONE.
THERE WERE HAPPY TOGETHER AND COMPLETELY FULFILLED IN LOVE.
INSIDER HER ARMS, HE FLOURISHED. WITH HIS PROTECTION,
SHE WAS ON TOP OF THE WORLD.
EMOTIONS OVERWHELMED THEM.
AND THEY COULD EXPRESS SUCH SENTIMENT EASILY.
THEY TALKED ENDLESSLY ABOUT NOTHING, UNDERSTANDING EVERYTHING.

BUT NOW, IT IS OVER. SHE IS ALONE.
DAYS TURN TO WEEKS, AND THOSE WEEKS SEEM IMPOSSIBLE.
SHE IS THROWN INTO THE ARMS OF A STRANGER, WHO TREATS HER NICELY, BUT-
SHE COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT HER TRUE LOVE.
THE YEARS THEY SPENT TOGETHER COULD NOT COMPARE TO ANY OTHER.
THE STRANGER WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND HER SORROW.
THE INTRUDER WOULD NEVER
BE WELCOMED, AND HE WOULD NEVER HAVE HER HEART.
THAT WAS SACRED, SAVED FOR ONE MAN.
HER SPIRIT HAS BEEN DAMAGED,
AND NO ONE WILL EVER FEEL HER PASSION AGAIN.

HE, TOO, HAS FELT THE AGONY; HE HAS SUFFERED FROM LOST LOVE.
DURING THE PAST WEEKS, HE HAS BEEN CLOSED INSIDE HIS OWN WORLD.
INSIDE HIS VISIONS OF THE PAST.
HE WOULD DO ANYTHING IN THE WORLD TO FEEL HER TOUCH,
TO REALLY FEEL HER TOUCH.
FOR WHEN SHE TOUCHED HIM, TIME STOPPED.
THE REST OF THE WORLD DID NOT MATTER, AND AT THAT MOMENT,
HE COULD FEEL ETERNITY. HE COULD FEEL THE VERY MEANING OF LIFE.
BUT HIS HEART IS BROKEN. HIS SOUL HAS FADED; LIFE HAS BEEN DRAINED FROM HIM.
HE WANTED TO RUN TO HER, BUT HIS PRIDE WOULD NOT LET HIM GO.
HIS DAMNED PRIDE. HE LONGED FOR HER, BUT DID NOT KNOW THE WORDS
TO EXPLAIN HIS FEELINGS. HIS EMPTINESS. HIS LONELINESS.
HIS PRIDE CONTROLLED HIM NOW. HE WAS NOT TO GIVE IN TO THE PRESSURES OF LOVE.
HE WAS STRONG, AND COULD GET THROUGH ANYTHING.
BUT THAT, SADLY, WOULD NOT BE THE CASE. HE KNEW HE HAD TO DO SOMETHING.

HE BUMPED INTO HER ONE DAY, ACCIDENTALLY, AT THE STORE.
FLOWERS BLOOMED AND BIRDS CHIRPED, REALLY THEY DID
AS THEIR BODIES CONTACTED IN A LONG-AWAITED TOUCH.
HE SMILED TO HER AND SHE SMILED BACK. NOT BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO,
BECAUSE IT WAS INSTINCT. SOMETHING SHE HAD YEARNED FOR FOR SO LONG.
HOW ALONE THEY HAD FELT. HOW EMPTY LIFE HAD BEEN FOR THEM
THEY SPENT THE NEXT FEW WEEKS TOGETHER, BETTER THAN EVER.
THEIR SPIRIT ESCALATED, THEIR PASSION RAN WILD.
THEY SPENT EVERY MINUTE TOGETHER AND EXPERIENCED
MORE JOY THAN ANY OTHER HUMAN BEING COULD EVEN IMAGINE.
THEY WERE HAPPY AGAIN, AND AT PEACE WITH ONE ANOTHER.

SHE OPENED HER HEART ONCE MORE, AND GAVE IT TO HIM.
HE TOOK IT, BUT WITH CAUTION THIS TIME, UNDERSTANDING ALL THE
WONDERFUL AND BRILLIANT THINGS THAT CAME WITH THAT RESPONSIBILITY,
HE KNEW HE COULD NEVER LOSE HER AGAIN,
AND HE WOULD NEVER LET THAT HAPPEN.
SHE WELCOMED HIS LOVE, MORE NOW THAT EVER BEFORE,
THEY HAVE FINALLY BECOME ONE. ONE GRACEFUL, PASSIONATE BEING,
EAGER TO ENCOMPASS THE WORLD.

forgiven

2005-11-19T14:47:00.000-05:00

she sat lonely on the bed
wondering about the uncertain future
what ever will happen?
how will it all turn out?

he walked down the street
curious as to her true feelings
should he call her?
how will it all turn out?

she opened a book
a journal of her thoughts
she had written about him
once or twice before

he came so close
to knocking on her door
he stood in the same position
that he had once or twice before

not even in her journal
could she write these thoughts
she had truly never felt this way before
and she was torn

he pulled his hand back
upon deciding not to knock
his desire for her overwhelmed him
and he was torn

she loved him, for sure
but her anger at him
could not be ignored
oh, but the way he made her feel

he wanted her in his life
that much he knew for certain
he knew he had made a mistake
when he thought of how she made him feel

she was angry, yes
but maybe she had overreacted
he had strayed from her
just for one night

that dreaded night
where the decision he made
fucked up his whole world
because of just one night

she knew he loved her
but she was so mad
that he had cheated on her
she thought they were wonderful

he slept with another
some strange desire had overcome him
how he could go back
to when they were wonderful

she curled up on the bed
after days of crying
she would call him, forgive him
that was what she decided.

he still stood on her doorway
remembering how angry she was
he had to knock, to ease her pain
that was what he had decided.

she answered the door
already knowing who it was
for a second, she stopped
just looking in to his eyes

she was beautiful
and her pain was all his fault
because he had no idea what to say
he just looked deep into her eyes

she hugged him first
intending that to be all
but when she touched him
all was forgiven.

he wanted to kiss her
but she had hugged him instead
still confused, he embraced her
but when she smiled, he knew all was forgiven.

11-27-02

2005-04-28T19:26:00.000-05:00