Poignant Blurs

Creativity Works

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Location: Florida, United States

"Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle. The world you desired can be won. It exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours." - Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged

Wednesday, March 30, 2005


Easter is the memory;then and now. Easter in spring and church on Sunday; a farmhouse, a white hat. A Billiards room downstairs, an organ in the anteroom. Morning. I used to paint your toenails. You always had plenty of TastyKakes on hand. The Butterscotch Krimpets were your favorite. After the heart attack you switched to Snackwells, you lost your lap, moved to an apartment. You loved treats, always like a little girl, and we would stay up late and talk. Your bed was so high it took a step stool to get into. It was so soft. You had a driveway that was a mile long, behind a gate, up a hill. We rode our power wheels on it. You had a carport that went DOWN so steep. It always scared me. The spiral stairs down to the Billiards room were steep too. They also scared me. I loved that farm. I loved you. I'm glad you're going back home. Still, Gone is a bad word.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Spring Break

In Florida, this is a whole different phenomenon. We are not defrosting here, as we have summer year round. Our winter is what the rest of country might consider Spring or Fall. It's our temperate time, our quiet time, when our home is ours. Spring Break is like a swarm of hornets. The heat makes a tangible wall outside your door. The traffic makes another. Tourists crowd the beaches, the roads, the grocery stores. The locals stay home rather than deal with the circus sideshow that has become their home. Everywhere you can hear locals grumbling and tourists high pitched exclamations "Look at that!". Behind the rolled up windows, of cars with a/c blasting, you can see the expletives streaming, as a tourist idles slowly, stalling all traffic for miles.

Floridian springtime is not like any other. The only blossoms are on burgeoning bossoms. Teens shriek and college kids binge drink. April showers come once a day, they are like drive by drownings, then the sun's back out as if it'd never gone away. It's better to travel by bike, foot or scooter, since you're five mile trip will take you an hour by car. The drawbridge will be open every time you go by, the train will be stuck and a funeral will pass you by. Ahh the Floridian springtime.

Our foliage here is green year round, and it's paradise, as most would agree. There's certainly always fresh new faces to see. Spring time and summer just aren't where it's at, when you live in a resort town. Here, off season is the best season.

Friday, March 18, 2005

Poignant Blurs


Confine me not
in your selfish concentricities.
I grow outward, not inward as you would wish.

I will exceed you.
All you thought you conquered
will be but my baby garden, from which I feed.

My strength I gather from all you knew
you had but could not follow through.
I follow through and so I Master you.

Is my lack of insecurity beginning to frighten you?
It might well should.
I'm gaining strength and strength will supersede
your efforts of deceit.

I forgive though I do not condone.
You held me here believing I would never see
but follow blindly you who
know so little, but speak so well.
Time will tell.


So many artists, zealots, prophets
driven mad, overdosed, tormented
by the overwhelming capacity of their minds
trying to embrace life.
Or is the overwhelming desire escape, which led them to create in the first place?
What drives you?
To supersede reality?
You think that's free?
Is it between life, or one that's more than, which destroys you?
What vision this, so gifted/cursed
to those who not only see, but too admit
it's more than you and me.
The price paid for clarity, or is it insanity,
or one and the same as they say?
To love is to trade art for slavery?
And in so doing create a new and yet unrecognized beauty?
In doing so divide your own worth
and so too double but in another realm?
Is this a true dilemma,
or just another existential excursion in inadequacy?


I am humbled.
Deep is the mystery of freedom
of uniquity
of personal significance.
Shallow still are the mind waters
Biding time to reach the diving depth
or altitude [which?]
Where I may grasp the purest truth

So frequently I curse the choice
which washed me up again upon
the human shore of frailty and ignorance.
Alas, this is where the deep sea divers are
and I am once again an infant.

My only recourse is my story
told on bar napkins, notebooks, diaries;
where I might leave an ounce or an inkling
of contributory evidence
to the magnificent marching parade of progress
that continues as if I had never come at all.


Prescribe me a path
that I may neglect all personal responsibility.
Give me advice
so I can blame you for the results.
Absolve me of intellectual confinement
so I can revel in ignorant bliss.

Let me over think this
that I might actually find the answer!
Let me be perfectionist
that I might attain greatness!
Lend me none of your weakness
for I have quite enough of my own.

Though I value every syllable of life
let me write my own unique poetry
and try not to take offense
when yours I don't subscribe to.

I do not need to feel important
only heard.
Listen to the person I AM
even if you do not share the vision.
Fake it, just to hear me say it,
maybe something good could come.

I live this life of mine to make it
something personal to share.
For those who one day choose to own it
of the millions of people out there.
Aren't we all the stepping stones to greatness?
Only the great will know.


I am paralyzed
inconspicuous because
my failure and weakness is so much like your own.
Yet I hold higher standards.
Where is my soul mate now
that I have over analyzed and thought him into tedious day life nonsense?
Am I more practically useful now,
with no love, and no dreams?
What of my tortured heart?
Why does it still beat?
Steady so unending
to live, love and die
or live and give no love.
I will not be evils tool
and I will not give it all up for you.
Is there a middle life for those who try so deeply to become it;
all that there is to be?
I am your blasphemy, your sin,
your absolution, your reflection.
But isn't it mine to own?


So I made my bed,
Now you want me to die in it?
I've done my part
I'm still here despite it.
I've led myself in circles past the 23 I'm supposed to be.
That makes 300 cycles more or less
from what you claim to have led.
Your petty years are yours,
and mine are mine to own.
I'm just beginning to claim
the things you think you have found long before me.
I make my bed in nails
and you in roses,
so who's to brag?
Both are sharp and piercing, though yours smells better
(or so you said)
Are you even looking where you lie?
Does it matter to you?
The truth, the dream, the crime?
Is it only a disservice because I, so petty and selfish, demand More?
So snotty moody personified I, I ask for more.
And this is all you have?
I diva! How dare I deserve from life that which I invest?
a thousand of your complacent cries
echo in my chest.
We were all free once.
I object to your condescendence.
Fuck your careful words and prudence.
I am here, and I will prove it.
I'll live and die it. I will do it.


I read and study and try
to think with my head, feel with my heart, live in my body.
You let it go so carelessly.
All I carefully construct
you think I'm foolish
Just relax you say, calm down.
I am too much for you, too much intensity, take things so seriously.
It is after all just life. Only life.
I let it occupy me.
Well what the hell is the point of doing anything since it's only life
only, only, only life and nothing more?
That's nothing at all, so what's the score.
I'm so disgusted, fed up, hate my own reflection in you, my place among you,
but that leaves only me to ache alone
for something I have never known.
How can life prevail this way?
How will I withstand my stay
here, even I don't know how to change it.
I am just as much a party to it
party to much in it
can't seem to find the drive to really go after it.
I am so ashamed and distant from it.

I look to you and cry.
You will never see me, still I try.
I want only to share the me I've found
so much more is there, but I have no ground
you reject even the basest of offers.
I'm talking human connection here, no need for altars.
Why can't we relish our own uniquity
expand on our diversities, grow in our communities
socialize prophetically?
Not subsidize and subdivide and
judge critique demand.
We can't do this all alone
so why try to be so superior?
You brother are not me. I can beat you too.
Let me stand on top and scream alone I am the king
and let no one follow me since I have beat them all
And the king of nothing I will be
and then, Then I have no one to fear
and then, Then I will be OK.
We are insanity, We live insanity.
Or maybe I'm just catching on?
This the great social scandal?
The supreme disillusion.
"Hello socialization, you are a horse of a pill"
Everyone is doing it, just hold your nose and swallow.
Try not to think
It's excess noise and we have tambourines for that.
Clap and nod and smile and bob.
Hey didn't I see you here yesterday?

Your pitiful excuse of an entity
identifying human characteristics but claiming larger than life control.
Answer me, since I actually bother to ask, and do not simply agree to your diatribe
paraphrased millenniums before manipulated by man.
Speak to me directly and then I will respect.

Who follows this shit knowingly?
Sounds like a con to me.
But I am searching for something here, and want to understand.

Love me as the summer moon shines
through black blue sky and forest wind
through painted glass and pounding water
and dazzle me
my diamond boy
Our rhythm a tiny symphony
of love's shimmering vision.

out of will and not for love
to see and observe
man, music, and life.


Think, sweet goddess
Absurd friend
frantic instrument
model of weak need.
Have grace my angel
Soar above it.


Write as boldness would
part blue water,
after red floods
while green only messes about.


Life is a void, but there you are.
Repulsive aesthetic
on surreal canvas
trying to imagine no pain.


They beat him
they did not know
they must break her
to see who's really mad.

Thursday, March 17, 2005


They walked out of the woods holding hands, blinking against the sun. The forest cover had led to an expectation of twilight, and it was startling to see the light of full day. The sun warmed their exposed skin though and felt just as delicious as the dewy interior had been. They were fulled sated from the day's leisure and walked in easy strides back to his Honda Accord.

There were still a couple of sandwhiches in the cooler in his trunk, which he retrieved along with two cokes. The icy condensation dropped intermittantly on her thigh and rolled down the inner side between her legs as they sat on his closed trunk lid. It was all he could see, they're slow decent, the quivering of the droplet before it fell in the sacred divide. He was was dimly aware that she was talking easily and that he was answering in what must be an acceptable manner because it had not yet broken his reverie. He felt his mind as if in two places at once, both absorbed by her and apart, wanting to be nearer.

Monday, March 14, 2005

Early Childhood Memories

I am two years old with pigtails and it's hard to run with this diaper on. But there are crabs, oh CRABS! and they are going to pinch me. Daddy pulled the big cage out of the water and set them after me, he's so silly. The grassy hill is hard to run up and I fall back on my bum. But here Mommy comes and I'm up and safe away from the the nasty buggy things.

I am four and in the kitchen with my Mother. There is another baby coming and I don't like it. The kitchen is small even for me. I can't see over the counter tops but the room is narrow with wood paneling. My Aunt is here to visit and to watch me while the baby comes. I love my Aunt, she's my favorite person, but I am not happy this time. We are in my mother's room because I think my mother is hiding from me. I lay on her bed and toss a temper tantrum. I wave my arms and scream like hell. That makes me feel much better, but I keep the scowl for good measure. I am sorry for my Aunt. She tries to brush my hair. I love when my Aunt brushes my hair. Her hands are so soft and she is so gentle. But I can't give in! Not even for her. I want my mother!
I don't want the alien that is growing in her belly called "brother". I don't need no brother, and I don't like it neither.
They come home and my Aunt brings me out front to say hello. I resent the little bundle in Mom's arms, she looks so tired. The little thing's eyes won't open, I think it's broken, maybe they'll have to give it back.
They brought me a glow worm. I don't like it. It's eyes don't open either. The baby drinks from a bottle and I want a bottle too. I am the baby. I don't want to be the big girl. But he is kind of cute. He's so little and wrinkly. I want to poke him, but I am very careful not to touch. Mommy said be careful, and I am so glad that she is home. She looks tired so I want to be good. I will not fuss anymore for right now.

I am in the backyard and Granpa has come over. He's carrying long poles with brown polka dots on them. He tells me this is for growing tomato plants, but it sure is funny looking. I love our back yard. We have a walnut tree! You can't eat most of the walnuts cause they're all rotted inside. It's still kind of neat though I think.
Granpa's tomato planter sure looks weird. It looks an awful lot like a ... Swing Set! It is! Oh they tricked me that's rotten! But it's a present. But I don't like tricks. Oh well, it's a present for me! A swing set! I've always wanted a swing set!

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Starts and Stops

Some were drunk, or on psychedelic drugs
always in a sea of ciggarette smoke
delirious, worshipping beer
wanting to approach the power of death
elaborate experimenting to capture a moment
to have a sense of life fully free
and of death in the mad empty after-trip.


[Emile was not insensitive per se. She was however, what one might call self-absorbed. It was ironic, considering she mostly placed her values in the realm of the "public use" i.e. it mattered more to her, if it mattered to her friends. This is not wrong. She valued those people. She valued the phase of her life, be that as it may, she strived to achieve more for herself, by knowing them.
Her problem, essentially, was that she identified them as always having something she lacked.]

Emile cried often, and for seemingly no reason. By all rights she was a very happy girl, at least on paper. Emile was happy, she unfortunately subscribed to the mentality that one is happy by the happiness they impart i.e. she based her happiness on the *reactions* of her actions on her friends faces, which was her only *in* to them.

She came from her hometown, which even then had been a stretched fit, she leaves that, to find what is beyond her grasp.

She is nothing but *coming of age* the cliche embodied.

It was a cliche and she knew it.

She kept to herself for that reason.

It wasn't in Trina's nature to argue, even when she ought to for self-preservation. Trina ate less, Emile ate more. They were both instable and together they were a powder keg.

They were the best of friends.

They hung with a rough crowd. A yuppie crowd. They dressed up, behind closed doors, they didn't ask questions. They were all strong, they counted on this in each other., They didn't need to lean on the strength of each other as much as they needed to not feel responsible, for once, to trust those aroud you to take responsibility for their own persons.

That's the only way true sharing is possible.