currently interested in
mysticism
eating more fat
embracing a fluid identity
patterns
finding the perfect pizza
creating the perfect sandwich
finding and creating
letting go of the idea of perfection
interpretation of dreams...
...specifically my dreams...
...specifically my dreams about exes...
...who are so holy and gentle that it breaks my...
...heart.
writing more poetry
remembering why I wrote poetry in the first place
(either remembering or discovering, not sure which one)
smelling shadows (do they have a scent?)
community
origins
roots and clouds
attempting to have an intimate relationship with another human
dogs
always dogs
dogs forever
dogs for president!
so many dogs ruling one country
all countries
dogs take over the world
Friday, December 19, 2014
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
engulf
I want to walk roads ancient and carless. There is an crescent-shaped harbor where I will sit at a cafe and wait. When waiting becomes almost unbearable, I will walk off the doubt up steep stone streets. I will lead myself away and maybe away from myself. Leading myself away from myself? I can at least try. Drop the I. Cast the eye up. See the sky. It's a mirror, that's all.
And then in the fall I will roam around somewhere indulgent, somewhere lush and with leaves waiting to die. But I catch them right before they do, I catch them with their breath held and the whole world on pause. I will stop. I will let them keep their oxygen for at least a moment longer. I won't be greedy. Then I will press play and resume wherever it is I walk to next.
It might not be anywhere, at least not anywhere physical. It may be a spiritual transformation that looks more like dirty palms and cracked fingertips kissed by the wind. There will be lines I read around my eyes as I try to read the lines on a map I do not know how to fold. I will inevitably become frustrated and stuff the map in a pocket or perhaps behind a rock. I don't need it anyway. I've got the sky and a determined I and eyes of the wildness in my bones which begin to open and let the light back in. I will return. I am home.
And then in the fall I will roam around somewhere indulgent, somewhere lush and with leaves waiting to die. But I catch them right before they do, I catch them with their breath held and the whole world on pause. I will stop. I will let them keep their oxygen for at least a moment longer. I won't be greedy. Then I will press play and resume wherever it is I walk to next.
It might not be anywhere, at least not anywhere physical. It may be a spiritual transformation that looks more like dirty palms and cracked fingertips kissed by the wind. There will be lines I read around my eyes as I try to read the lines on a map I do not know how to fold. I will inevitably become frustrated and stuff the map in a pocket or perhaps behind a rock. I don't need it anyway. I've got the sky and a determined I and eyes of the wildness in my bones which begin to open and let the light back in. I will return. I am home.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
identify
Thing I identify with:
Things with which I identify. Ahem.
Buddhism.
Art.
The indie scene I CAN'T HELP IT OKAY.
Anything related to Southern Utah. Okay, not anything. I don't relate to the crowd that likes to go jeepin' or whatever the crap they do. Or anything extreme and extremely stupid. Or pushing over stones in Goblin Valley. Ohhhh that just makes my blood boil even thinking about it. Dumb dumb dumb scout leaders. Dumb dumb dumb mothereffers hope a stone lands on their crotch. Anyway, yeah, Southern Utah. I relate to the juniper tree, the sagebrush, the raven, the red rock. The bare and bleached bones in the desert sand, thirsty.
I used to identify with veganism, but not so much anymore. I kind of miss the days when I did. But I definitely identify with it more than I will ever ever ever identify with any kind of huntin' killin' eatin' deer jerky culture. But then again, if you live somewhere where that is your only means of survival and you are respectful and not wasteful, well, then, coonskin caps off to ya, sir/ma'am!
Well, duh -- books. The reading of them, the writing of them, the buying of them, the hoarding of them, the giving away of them, and so forth. And so let's go read! What am I doing here typing away about coonskin caps when I could be cracking open a classic? Hmmm? I ask you questions I can't even answer.
Introverted life. All of it. The cats and the cozy window seat with a good book and cup of jasmine green tea which you purchased at the Tea Garden in San Francisco when you were going out of your mind from shopping at malls all day and then suddenly you stumbled upon the garden and you wept because suddenly you felt your soul come alive and you knew you were home and you could breathe because there were trees and there was space and there was silence when everyone shut up for once so you could think. And be. And drink your jasmine green tea.
Kids. As much as I don't like certain kids (you assholes know who you are!!!), most kids can be absolutely weird and refreshing and reflective and far more insightful than many adults. I'd rather talk with the kids at work than the teachers any day. And I do. And I have far better conversations because of it.
Well, I want to dance to surf music now. Tired of sitting down, man! Gotta catch some waves!
Things with which I identify. Ahem.
Buddhism.
Art.
The indie scene I CAN'T HELP IT OKAY.
Anything related to Southern Utah. Okay, not anything. I don't relate to the crowd that likes to go jeepin' or whatever the crap they do. Or anything extreme and extremely stupid. Or pushing over stones in Goblin Valley. Ohhhh that just makes my blood boil even thinking about it. Dumb dumb dumb scout leaders. Dumb dumb dumb mothereffers hope a stone lands on their crotch. Anyway, yeah, Southern Utah. I relate to the juniper tree, the sagebrush, the raven, the red rock. The bare and bleached bones in the desert sand, thirsty.
I used to identify with veganism, but not so much anymore. I kind of miss the days when I did. But I definitely identify with it more than I will ever ever ever identify with any kind of huntin' killin' eatin' deer jerky culture. But then again, if you live somewhere where that is your only means of survival and you are respectful and not wasteful, well, then, coonskin caps off to ya, sir/ma'am!
Well, duh -- books. The reading of them, the writing of them, the buying of them, the hoarding of them, the giving away of them, and so forth. And so let's go read! What am I doing here typing away about coonskin caps when I could be cracking open a classic? Hmmm? I ask you questions I can't even answer.
Introverted life. All of it. The cats and the cozy window seat with a good book and cup of jasmine green tea which you purchased at the Tea Garden in San Francisco when you were going out of your mind from shopping at malls all day and then suddenly you stumbled upon the garden and you wept because suddenly you felt your soul come alive and you knew you were home and you could breathe because there were trees and there was space and there was silence when everyone shut up for once so you could think. And be. And drink your jasmine green tea.
Kids. As much as I don't like certain kids (you assholes know who you are!!!), most kids can be absolutely weird and refreshing and reflective and far more insightful than many adults. I'd rather talk with the kids at work than the teachers any day. And I do. And I have far better conversations because of it.
Well, I want to dance to surf music now. Tired of sitting down, man! Gotta catch some waves!
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
basics
Who I am. The basics.
I grew up in Pleasant Grove, Utah. Below the canal. The rich lived above the canal. Our neighbors had a farm. I remember feeding horses the apples from our tree in the backyard. Our next door neighbors' house burned down when I was 13. When we sold my childhood home, the new owners painted the previously brown house a salmon color. It has been almost 8 years since we moved. I still dream about that home, but not as often these days.
I have a college degree. I'm proud of that. I forget that I'm proud of that.
I'm a generally anxious person. I'm not proud of that. But I'm not ashamed, either. I just wish all of the anxiety would go away.
I like to spend my time outside, usually alone, and with a book. Maybe a notebook. I don't write as much as I used to. I wish I did. I wish I wrote more, had less anxiety, and could actually use my college degree to pay the bills. I wish I had fewer bills and more willpower. I wish apples didn't come individually wrapped, like they do in some stores and in some schools. I wish schools, specifically universities, cost ZERO dollars because then I would go back and get TWENTY more degrees. I would get a degree in religious studies, art, art history, theater, environmental studies, geology, anthropology, psychology, all of the -ologies, and philosophy. And more. I like to have conversations, real ones, real heart-to-heart ones, with another soul. So yes, I like being alone, but if I can connect on a deeper level with a human? Well, goshdammit, that's the greatest feeling. I miss it.
I try on identities like some people try on shoes. It has always left me feeling a bit nutty and groundless. Where is my parachute, you know? And why do I keep jumping out of these planes?
I dyed my hair dark and impulsively cut bangs and I've been in a pissy mood because of it for weeks now. And that's stupid. And it goes deeper than hair color and baby bangs. Or does it? Am I just a mass of shallowness?
I've never had the desire to go to Hawaii. I mean, it looks gorgeous and if anyone offered me a free trip to Hawaii I wouldn't be upset. But it's never been on my list of top 20 places to visit. I actually don't have a list of top 20 places to visit, but if I did, Hawaii wouldn't be on it.
I also have never had the desire to get married, although I think I eventually will.
I have a lot of desire for other things, however, and it probably causes me to suffer. Riiiight, Mr. Buddha???
More. Later. Love you. Always.
I grew up in Pleasant Grove, Utah. Below the canal. The rich lived above the canal. Our neighbors had a farm. I remember feeding horses the apples from our tree in the backyard. Our next door neighbors' house burned down when I was 13. When we sold my childhood home, the new owners painted the previously brown house a salmon color. It has been almost 8 years since we moved. I still dream about that home, but not as often these days.
I have a college degree. I'm proud of that. I forget that I'm proud of that.
I'm a generally anxious person. I'm not proud of that. But I'm not ashamed, either. I just wish all of the anxiety would go away.
I like to spend my time outside, usually alone, and with a book. Maybe a notebook. I don't write as much as I used to. I wish I did. I wish I wrote more, had less anxiety, and could actually use my college degree to pay the bills. I wish I had fewer bills and more willpower. I wish apples didn't come individually wrapped, like they do in some stores and in some schools. I wish schools, specifically universities, cost ZERO dollars because then I would go back and get TWENTY more degrees. I would get a degree in religious studies, art, art history, theater, environmental studies, geology, anthropology, psychology, all of the -ologies, and philosophy. And more. I like to have conversations, real ones, real heart-to-heart ones, with another soul. So yes, I like being alone, but if I can connect on a deeper level with a human? Well, goshdammit, that's the greatest feeling. I miss it.
I try on identities like some people try on shoes. It has always left me feeling a bit nutty and groundless. Where is my parachute, you know? And why do I keep jumping out of these planes?
I dyed my hair dark and impulsively cut bangs and I've been in a pissy mood because of it for weeks now. And that's stupid. And it goes deeper than hair color and baby bangs. Or does it? Am I just a mass of shallowness?
I've never had the desire to go to Hawaii. I mean, it looks gorgeous and if anyone offered me a free trip to Hawaii I wouldn't be upset. But it's never been on my list of top 20 places to visit. I actually don't have a list of top 20 places to visit, but if I did, Hawaii wouldn't be on it.
I also have never had the desire to get married, although I think I eventually will.
I have a lot of desire for other things, however, and it probably causes me to suffer. Riiiight, Mr. Buddha???
More. Later. Love you. Always.
Saturday, December 6, 2014
pick
It has taken me about five minutes to begin this post. I had the window open and ready, my fingers poised to type out the most profound! the most insightful! the most shockingly honest and absurd and philosophically rich. the most! But then I got distracted by my right thumb. Specifically, I became distracted by the subtle lines in the skin of my thumb. I thought one of the lines was a cut, actually. I thought I was about the bleed all over the space key. I thought, "Well, here's another distraction." I thought, "Do I even have any bandages?" I thought, "Why hasn't it started to bleed?" Then I realized it was not a cut, but a line for some psychic in the future to read. Do they read thumbs? Probably just the palm, huh? I could grow up to be a thumb reader, I suppose, but that first means I must grow up.
And now I am really distracted. And maybe a little bored, as I'm sure you are after reading a paragraph all about my thumb. I guess I didn't come here with much of a story to tell or a flowery poem to breathe onto the screen. No, I just came here to say hello. HELLO! Is it me you're looking for? Well, you are in luck, sir/ma'am. Here I am. Oh! Tricked you! This is not really me. These are letters which form words which form fragmented sentences which form paragraphs about thumbs which make you fall asleep at you computer. And it's all in your head. I am all in your head, at least right now. And so are you. You are in your head, you are in my head, we've created each other. Who have you created me to be? Merely curious. I might be the funny girl from a few years ago or the one who makes happy thoughts happen on social media sites. I could be the cause of your frustration (ah, but remember -- I'm just words on a screen!) or the idea behind some dream.
But in my world, in the world outside of your head, I am the person who picked up a violet red crayon that was left abandoned in the street. I put it in my purse and continued to walk while reading an essay about coyotes and ghosts. I went to the store. I bought Christmas lights and thought about God as I waited in line at the self-checkout. I went back outside and back into my head as I observed a solitary crow strut around a garbage can, determined. I hoped he would find a proper dinner or at least a lonely crayon companion. The mountains turned pink as the sun clocked out. I watched houses begin to light up as the scent of casseroles and chimney smoke crept out of their doors and into my hair. I stopped. I took the violet red crayon out of my purse and drew a circle on the sidewalk. Maybe the crow will notice if no one else does. Maybe it will keep him curious throughout the night.
This is who I am. Or rather, this is who I was two hours ago. Who am I right now? I am the words you read on the screen before you blink and look away.
And now I am really distracted. And maybe a little bored, as I'm sure you are after reading a paragraph all about my thumb. I guess I didn't come here with much of a story to tell or a flowery poem to breathe onto the screen. No, I just came here to say hello. HELLO! Is it me you're looking for? Well, you are in luck, sir/ma'am. Here I am. Oh! Tricked you! This is not really me. These are letters which form words which form fragmented sentences which form paragraphs about thumbs which make you fall asleep at you computer. And it's all in your head. I am all in your head, at least right now. And so are you. You are in your head, you are in my head, we've created each other. Who have you created me to be? Merely curious. I might be the funny girl from a few years ago or the one who makes happy thoughts happen on social media sites. I could be the cause of your frustration (ah, but remember -- I'm just words on a screen!) or the idea behind some dream.
But in my world, in the world outside of your head, I am the person who picked up a violet red crayon that was left abandoned in the street. I put it in my purse and continued to walk while reading an essay about coyotes and ghosts. I went to the store. I bought Christmas lights and thought about God as I waited in line at the self-checkout. I went back outside and back into my head as I observed a solitary crow strut around a garbage can, determined. I hoped he would find a proper dinner or at least a lonely crayon companion. The mountains turned pink as the sun clocked out. I watched houses begin to light up as the scent of casseroles and chimney smoke crept out of their doors and into my hair. I stopped. I took the violet red crayon out of my purse and drew a circle on the sidewalk. Maybe the crow will notice if no one else does. Maybe it will keep him curious throughout the night.
This is who I am. Or rather, this is who I was two hours ago. Who am I right now? I am the words you read on the screen before you blink and look away.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
a letter from a few days ago, sweethearts
It's 4:00 on a Sunday. Only 20 more minutes before I can light up and have my own sacrament, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. Ugh. Caps lock. So stressful. Ugh. Life. So stressful. I wish I did have some special sacrament all rolled up in a nice joint which I could smoke expertly out of my bathroom window. If only my bathroom had a window. If only I knew how to do anything expertly. "Hey! There's Expert Meg!" they'd say. "Hey! There's Expert Meg, who happens to have some really neat bathroom windows." they'd say. They'd say a lot of things and a lot of those things would be true. I'd be an expert and I would have windows and maybe the only false thing would be my name. It would no longer be Meg. It might be something like Sage or Raven or Willow Smith. Ouch ouch ouch -- brain freeze. I am chewing ice like a mad/horny woman/womyn right now because, I dunno. Because anxiety? Because anemia? Definitely not sexual frustration. I'm most likely asexual. Now I'm cold. Let me put away this cup of ice before my body temperature dips down into the negatives.
I have been doing quite well lately at not being so negative. That's not to say that I am a Sunshine Sally. Puh-lease! But maybe I kind of am. Like, I've been listening to and genuinely enjoying reggae music lately. And I'm into positive affirmations on occasion. I just figure that I've given my Sylvia Plath side enough attention and nurturing for the past decade or so. Now seems like a good time to experiment with being generally positive and lighthearted. Maybe it will snowball into me becoming a best-selling self-help guru? I'll hold seminars in Best Western ballrooms. I'll charge middle-aged housewives hundreds of dollars to let me tell them with compassion and conviction that they have been doing everything wrong so far. But wait! There's more! Turn your life around this weekend, sweet pea. Turn your life into a ray of freaking sunshine, sunshine. Your aura and your chakra and your astrological sign all say this and this and this and isn't this grand? Now pay me a grand and I'll be on my way. I have a book signing in Des Moines I need to be at in less than 24 hours. I have to be at the local Barnes and Noble at 4:20 on the dot. My followers expect me to be punctual! So outta my way. Good day!
Okay, so that's what I might do with the rest of my life. I might also tip toe up into the mountains and never return. That does sound a little Plath-ish, but I don't mean it to. I want it to be more Gary Snyder-ish. More monk-ish. More I-changed-my-name-to-Sage-Raven-Willow-and-now-I-make-reggae-music-and-smoke-out-of-yurt-windows-ish. That's still escaping, though, isn't it? Is it bad to escape? Do I really have to face absolutely everything? I don't know. I don't even know what I'm going to eat for dinner. I never know. I think I'll make a tinfoil dinner and sit on the back deck and pretend like I am around a campfire with a couple of lovers and loyal dogs. Old dogs. Old, arthritic dogs I adopted from some sanctuary in the desert. Look at me. Look at how good, good, good I can be. Oh, don't worry. I'll feed my vegan dinner scraps to some hungry crows and canyon ghosts. I will send smoke signals to lonely souls, keeping them warm for at least one night.
I have been doing quite well lately at not being so negative. That's not to say that I am a Sunshine Sally. Puh-lease! But maybe I kind of am. Like, I've been listening to and genuinely enjoying reggae music lately. And I'm into positive affirmations on occasion. I just figure that I've given my Sylvia Plath side enough attention and nurturing for the past decade or so. Now seems like a good time to experiment with being generally positive and lighthearted. Maybe it will snowball into me becoming a best-selling self-help guru? I'll hold seminars in Best Western ballrooms. I'll charge middle-aged housewives hundreds of dollars to let me tell them with compassion and conviction that they have been doing everything wrong so far. But wait! There's more! Turn your life around this weekend, sweet pea. Turn your life into a ray of freaking sunshine, sunshine. Your aura and your chakra and your astrological sign all say this and this and this and isn't this grand? Now pay me a grand and I'll be on my way. I have a book signing in Des Moines I need to be at in less than 24 hours. I have to be at the local Barnes and Noble at 4:20 on the dot. My followers expect me to be punctual! So outta my way. Good day!
Okay, so that's what I might do with the rest of my life. I might also tip toe up into the mountains and never return. That does sound a little Plath-ish, but I don't mean it to. I want it to be more Gary Snyder-ish. More monk-ish. More I-changed-my-name-to-Sage-Raven-Willow-and-now-I-make-reggae-music-and-smoke-out-of-yurt-windows-ish. That's still escaping, though, isn't it? Is it bad to escape? Do I really have to face absolutely everything? I don't know. I don't even know what I'm going to eat for dinner. I never know. I think I'll make a tinfoil dinner and sit on the back deck and pretend like I am around a campfire with a couple of lovers and loyal dogs. Old dogs. Old, arthritic dogs I adopted from some sanctuary in the desert. Look at me. Look at how good, good, good I can be. Oh, don't worry. I'll feed my vegan dinner scraps to some hungry crows and canyon ghosts. I will send smoke signals to lonely souls, keeping them warm for at least one night.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
wong
"There are two ways to dehumanize someone: by dismissing them, and by idolizing them."
Thank you, David Wong, whomever you are, for that quote! I agree! You are not wrong, wong. Wrong Wong? More like Right Wong! But actually more like David Wong, because that is your name. Why did your mother name you David? Was it because of the bible? Or an ancestor? Or did it just sound nice? Are you a nice man, Mr. Wong? Would I dismiss you or idolize you if I were to meet you? Do you eat meat? If so, come over for Thanksgiving at my house. If not, come over for Thanksgiving at my house. Our home will have both carnivore and herbivore options, David. So please. Join. Give thanks with friends. (Note: We have yet to become friends, Wong, but I have a good feeling about you. A really good, solid, hearty feeling about you. I bet your mother named you David because her husband told her to. Do you know your mother's husband? Assuming they were married. Maybe they were never married, maybe she used a sperm donor, maybe she conceived immaculately. That's ridiculous. I am ridiculous. Are miracles inherently ridiculous? Am I a miracle, David? I'm going to go out on a ledge and say that we are both miracles. Probably.
This post was not meant to be this. But this is what this is. It never existed before I typed it, so how was it "supposed" to be anything other than what it is? I may be sloppy in my thinking, but it's always sloppy before the storm, you know? The storm of insights. Just stay with me. Stay with me and keep reading and respond and then get upset at your response (or my lack of response to your response) and then slam your computer or your flip phone or your phone book (who were you going to call? were you ordering takeout?) and throw whatever object you just slammed across the room to the wall with the red mark on it. No, the red mark isn't paint or blood or unintentional ketchup stains. No, the red mark is from the shoe you threw at the wall last week when you were mad at something you've now forgotten. You buried your head in a bath towel after to muffle your scream. You scared yourself, you strained your voice. You had no choice but to try to remove the shoe stain on the wall. It wasn't your wall, that's why. It was David's wall and you don't want to make a bad first impression on Mr. Wong when he returns home. "Why the red mark?" Wong inquires. "Why the long face, Wong?" you mumble. It wouldn't be a good way to start off your friendship with David Wong. It would just be confusing.
But sometimes confusing is okay.
Okay?
Thank you, David Wong, whomever you are, for that quote! I agree! You are not wrong, wong. Wrong Wong? More like Right Wong! But actually more like David Wong, because that is your name. Why did your mother name you David? Was it because of the bible? Or an ancestor? Or did it just sound nice? Are you a nice man, Mr. Wong? Would I dismiss you or idolize you if I were to meet you? Do you eat meat? If so, come over for Thanksgiving at my house. If not, come over for Thanksgiving at my house. Our home will have both carnivore and herbivore options, David. So please. Join. Give thanks with friends. (Note: We have yet to become friends, Wong, but I have a good feeling about you. A really good, solid, hearty feeling about you. I bet your mother named you David because her husband told her to. Do you know your mother's husband? Assuming they were married. Maybe they were never married, maybe she used a sperm donor, maybe she conceived immaculately. That's ridiculous. I am ridiculous. Are miracles inherently ridiculous? Am I a miracle, David? I'm going to go out on a ledge and say that we are both miracles. Probably.
This post was not meant to be this. But this is what this is. It never existed before I typed it, so how was it "supposed" to be anything other than what it is? I may be sloppy in my thinking, but it's always sloppy before the storm, you know? The storm of insights. Just stay with me. Stay with me and keep reading and respond and then get upset at your response (or my lack of response to your response) and then slam your computer or your flip phone or your phone book (who were you going to call? were you ordering takeout?) and throw whatever object you just slammed across the room to the wall with the red mark on it. No, the red mark isn't paint or blood or unintentional ketchup stains. No, the red mark is from the shoe you threw at the wall last week when you were mad at something you've now forgotten. You buried your head in a bath towel after to muffle your scream. You scared yourself, you strained your voice. You had no choice but to try to remove the shoe stain on the wall. It wasn't your wall, that's why. It was David's wall and you don't want to make a bad first impression on Mr. Wong when he returns home. "Why the red mark?" Wong inquires. "Why the long face, Wong?" you mumble. It wouldn't be a good way to start off your friendship with David Wong. It would just be confusing.
But sometimes confusing is okay.
Okay?
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