emp T

the refigerator hums
nay
it screams in the corner
screams for release
for being constrained for too long.
white (brick) walls.
brown stifling cupboards
a (too hard) floor
the piano's solace echoes off the pictures
magneted to its face.
pictures of smiles
of company once held in sweet
warm
embrace.
embraces echo off its face.
solitude
solemn-itude
touched by a cold finger down the spine
sadness.
emptiness.
longing.
alone.
all
alone.

Update

So with all the going-ons that have been passing these few weeks, I'm proud to say I've been nominated for Peace Corps service and have moved onto the next part of my application! Apparently, the specified program (as it stands) that I would be fulfilling is a community service program in Central or South America and my anticipated departure date will be August 2011. In order to even be nominated I had to have completed my application, gone to an hour and a half interview with my local recruiter, and successfully passed a legal background check. After waiting and waiting, I've been nominated. This means I have to wait even longer! (Who knew the process would take so long!) Now, I've been sent my medical packet which is presenting itself to be the most gruelling part of the application process thus far...I have to get a physical, see the eye doctor, go to the dentist, and get them all to fill out and sign these huge packets of forms. Because all my doctors are in Colorado, I have to wait until I go home for Thanksgiving and spend my entire first day making my rounds throughout the medical field! Either way, I'm so excited!!!

Also, today I'm going for a job interview at the University Medical Center. It sounds like such an easy job and it pays reallllllly well...I won't be doing slavework and be getting paid crap like I am now at Slaveway. AND they allow time and a half over time! I'm stoked! Even though I'm pretty sick, it seems like things are in my favor lately. I didn't get a chance to pay my rent until today and my landlady told me not to worry about the late fee because I'm such a good tennant! AND I'm getting paid on Friday and starting my diet on Monday with Danny, Petey, and Brian.

I'm slightly nervous about the diet...it's supposed to allow you to lose 1-3 pounds a day. I'm not sure that kind of weightloss is healthy...but whatever works, right? I want to make sure I'm at least fit-looking for Halloween and skinny (enough) when I go home for Thanksgiving. I want that approval from my family. Is that such a terrible thing? I want that approval for myself, and this seems to be the way to do it!

I'm so excited for Tiffany to come for Halloween!! It's gonna be tight this year...but TJ is contacting his dad about the keg, I've already bought liquor for the jungle juice...the only thing we need now is time to decorate! I need to get TJs butt in gear about moving the couches around and I need to get my own butt in gear with buying my costume! Halloween is always a blast =).

OKay, enough update. I'm outttttttttt like a light.

SB 1070 Video for POL 428

Here's my video on political evil for POL428...Tiffany actually gave me the idea to post the video to my blog :-)

Enjoy!

Red Stone

I'm holding a grudge against the flowers
who pose as your neighbors
the ones who try to mimic your purity
I trace your name engraved in the red stone so much
it makes no sense any more.
The breeze rests its weary head on my shoulders,
encouraging me that everything will be okay.
How can anything be right
when I'm sitting on a stone placed beside a fountain
in memory of you?
My tears splash on the silence of this sacred moment
even so, I wish your laughter would shatter it.
I'm holding a grudge against the obstinance of time
and would rewind every experience
just to see your lips crease into a smile again.
I press my cheek on the warm belly of the stone,
squeezing my eyes so tightyly as to watch memnories of you
like a film without sound
I'm holding a grudge against the clouds that pass you overhead,
against their freedom.
Even still, I know you lay not in this stone or even by this fountain,
I leave with the reassurance that your spirit accomanies me
with every adventure, that your soul sees through our eyes
and that your smile is reflected every moment one of us draws a breath.
In essence, I'm holding a grudge against myself.
My selfishness and my envy,
my jealousy that you're not here
for me to hold.

The authority of government proceeds from the consent of the governed, not from the threat of violence

Strangers

He grows inside someone he does not recognize.
The brief awkward moment that happens
when two land-locked lovers touch toes,
both yearning for the sea-like navy life.
Feeling alive with every pen stroke, every mark:
births a new idea.
Antecedents only to each other,
drawing, giving birth to a connection.
Becoming a part of a legend with a jagged ledge
that fingers caress legibly.
Lips give life to wafts of clouds in a chapped, blistering cold.
So cold that nose hairs freeze when breath,
so damn cold eye juices turn to tiny ice cubes.
He placed them in his whisky glass and filled it with mourning.
As the sun rises over the moment frozen in time,
it’s so peaceful here.
Pines and aspens point to their mother,
snow muffles the grass’ purpose.
The deepest creases aren’t the ones
marked by sleds, skis, and boards
but the one pressed by tears streaming down cheeks.
A daughter sinks into a corner,
crying little tiny ice cubes
as her daddy plays real-life war games.
He grows inside someone he does not recognize,
and they wish each other goodnight from their separate sides.
Like strangers on a hotel bed.

The Taste of Morning

Time's knife slides from the sheath,
as fish from where it swims.

Being closer and closer is the desire
of the body. Don't wish for union!

There's a closeness beyond that. Why
would God want a second God? Fall in

love in such a way that it frees you
from any connecting. Love is the soul's

light, the taste of morning, no me, no
we, no claim of being. These words

are the smoke the fire gives off as it
absolves its defects, as eyes in silence,

tears, face. Love cannot be said.

I want...

I want you to know what it feels like
To have your first kiss
Those volcanic butterflies that
Stumble in your stomach
Stirring stand-still feelings that stop you from hesitation
I want you to know what it feels like
To drive your first car
Hands gripped tight to the wheel,
Trembling, quivering, head-on-a-swivel-kind-of-excitement
Thirst for the open road and where it will go, what-will-you-know-kind-of-feeling.
I want you to know what it feels like to hold your diploma at graduation
Finally fulfilling preceding expectations
Wiping from your face the condensation
Ready to take your first steps alone into the nation.
I want you to know what it feels like
To travel,
To meet strangers become family
To dance on wet soil, surrounded by shadows from a midnight campfire
(Too wild and alive to be extinguished).
I want you to know what it feels like
To hold a lover’s hand
To feel safe in enveloping arms, to feel topless and secure
To feel the electrified empty spaces between a fingertip to your lower back.
I want you to know what it feels like
To hold your first child and let them know that everything’s gonna be alright
That the monsters and boogeymen are simply noises and shadows.
I want you to assure them, with your caressing, comforting words
That you’ll always be there and they need have no fear
With your voice oh so near.
I want you to know how it feels
To watch your children grow old
Like daisies on steroids
Feelings your experience grow taller as your bones grow smaller and your love spreads over our family
Like a blanket for cover
I don’t want you to know what it feels like, however,
To sit in a hollowed-out church shell
Watching your family fill the rows
Knowing what will happen next
Drowning in tears
Knowing you were the one we turned to for smiles
Knowing you played the violin
Only because I do
Knowing your favorite sign was of peace
Only because mine is
And all those times I ignored your calls
I want you to know how sorry I am.
I want you to know how much I love you
And I want you to know
How much
I
Want
You
Back.

Balloon

Those words
Rolled around in her mouth and spat into her hand, slathered with poison and painted with provocation...
I know them all too well.
They stab like a tiny silver pin puncturing the skin of a rubber balloon,
It starts slow, the metallic point driving and delving deeper into the sphere
The globe bends and stretches, trying to accommodate to the fiendish play
And then
Just as quickly as she came, the pin becomes a perpetrator, an assassin
The balloon implodes
It withers
It wrinkles
It writhes in pain
Wondering what could have happened
Wondering what I could have done differently to prevent this from happening.
Those words
Wafted and whispered, warmly cloaking frigid neck hairs standing on end
I know them all too well.
I know that it’s better to let the phone ring
I know it's better to push you from my mind
But when I see how easily I was pushed from yours
A part of me wants to become blind, so I wouldn't have to live one more moment
Knowing
How insignificant I was to you
Congratulations on your marriage.
I’m happy too
Thanks for asking.

The Box

She stares at her reflection now in the mirror.
It’s so different than what it was…
has it already been almost three years?
Slowly her eyes caress what used to be her face in a photo adjacent to the mirror.
Now, the rugged reflection sitting in front of her
shows only bulges and dripping eyeliner.
Frigid, wiry hair stands stubbornly erect,
ignoring any rules of gravity.
Her withered hand nears her face
as a steaming cigarette is enveloped by two white, crunchy lips.
She inhales the smoke from that cigarette as if it were her last breath.
Again, her eyes graze the reflection spitefully as her expression hollows.
Times were easier back then.
Even the most severe fights in the photograph seem serene in this atmosphere.
She remembers the smell of moist dew on the grass in the mornings
and the cool breeze from the thunderous nightfall
wafting its way through the screen.
Now, the smell that infests her nose is a stagnant,
torpid stench of cigarettes and spilt whisky.
Even the air suffocates in here,
wrapping itself around this square box of a room.
Cars pass outside her box.
Her eyes veer from the mirror to the glass
as she allows a brief thought of curiosity to escape her mind.
Where were they all going?
She got up from her knees,
forcing her eyes to stay away from watching her body rise in the mirror.
She already knew what they would see.
The cigarette smoldered the pockets of air as she walked.
She neared the cracking door like a spirit to their grave:
hesitance overwhelmed her.
She knew who would be on the other end once the splitting wood panel was creaked open.
Even so,
the malicious cigarette was dropped to the floor and suffocated by a heel,
and she curled her fingers around the cold, brass handle.
Every twitch in her body became apparent.
The doorknob became harder and harder to turn
with each raspy breath that escaped her lungs.
She knew who would be on the other end.
The wailing hinges seemed to reflect her sorrow at whose eyes would be meeting hers.
She looked up from her box,
smoke fled the room like citizens from a fire,
and in an instant her lips creased into what seemed to be a smile.
She outstretched her palm,
exposing her unusually hairy arm,
and walked out of the box,
one step at a time.