This we know

What do you believe?

And why do you believe in

what you believe? Think. 

I just hope you can answer the question with something more than, "I read it in a book," "my parents told me," "I heard it in school" ect. ect. ect. Believe what you believe, but do not believe it without truly knowing why.  

Penance

Laziness is not

taking time to do the things 

you have time to do. 

You would thing that over spring break, of all times, I would have time to do some writing for myself. As I am lounging in a condo in Colorado, you would think I could take time to write a few lines. If I had time for four hour naps while I was at home with nothing to do, you might think I could spare five minutes for my blog. But I did not do any of those things. My spring break was definitely not productive. I was busy, but I certainly was not busy producing anything.  

But maybe that is okay. Maybe it is okay to take one week break from the world. and responsibility. and the internet. and schedules. Yes, I think that it is actually definitely okay. I feel pretty guilty about leaving my blog unattended for so long, but I will make myself get back on track. And I will be on this track for the next couple of months, so I think it was okay that I took a detour for a while. 

Motorcycles

We seem fragile, but

going 80 on two wheels

we don't fall apart. 

There are so many small parts to you and me. So many complicated parts pieced together by tiny cells. So much that could break. It is hard to believe our skin can hold everything inside of us together. And protect us from everything outside that could break us down. But somehow we stay together. Somehow the two wheels keep moving forward and upright as we fly down interstate with nothing but wind between us and the pavement below. Maybe we aren't so fragile after all. 

Music Man

He taps his toes to

the rhythms of day-to-day

breathing, beating life. 

He makes melody

out of the monotony,

rhymes in droning words. 

Each shoe-step he makes

he takes on a hi-hat. Tap. 

Speaks his words in cords. 

The ism's and ist's

post-modernist?

surrealist? expressionist?

can't get past me-ist

Most nights, I start writing a haiku that doesn't just talk about my job or the weather or some other little detail of me. Maybe something about someone else for a change, you know. I think to myself, maybe, tonight, I could be a bit more creative than just writing 17 syllables of me and my simple, small-town life. But it just always turns out so unnatural that I just end up scraping it. So, I just write about me. And I try to be original about it, but trying to original is hard. So much has been done. So much has been written about. What's left?

So, here is my conundrum: I try to fit myself into one of these high literary styles, and I feel so silly that I give up. I try to write something something originally and subjectively me, and I just feel like I am creating clichés. 

And here I am again. I have written myself into a ramble-corner, and I have no way out. But I think I have done enough self-loathing for the night, and as I said, I have no original, modernist, or Russian Constructionist way to conclude this... So, uh, yeah... the end. 

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

I feed my boyfriend

car hair stew topped with litter

and a hair ball pie.

I am good at all things involving huswifery; it's what the men see in me. Oh, and I love putlucks! 

 

Runaway Hour

Um, excuse me, ma'am,

I seem to have lost my hour. 

Didja see him run past?

Today, I woke up at 9:30 only to find out it was actually 10:30. How does that happen? I am fully in favor of the whole daylight savings time thing. I dig the extra hour of daylight in the evening and not having the sun blinding me on my way to work in the morning. But, come on, whoever runs the world clock, today was not the day for this to start. First of all, I have a zillion midterms to study for, and I need all the hours I can get. Second, my friends came to visit me yesterday so I didn't get enough sleep to begin with. And finally, daylight savings time is supposed to happen in the spring, and it is freaking snowing outside. Having an extra hour of daylight does no one any good when it is 30 degrees outside. So, come on, setters of time, try to be a little bit more considerate next time. 

The Digital Age

 Sitting side-by-side,

no noise but clicking keyboards,

we talk to the world. 

Oxymorons

Poor college students. 

We borrow parents' money 

for our spring break trips. 

I love to complain about being poor. But, what am I too poor to do? I still go out to dinner once a week. I still spend $20 on a night at the bars. I still buy overpriced lattes at local coffee shops. I still pay my college tuition. I still buy gas once a week to avoid waking up 30 minutes earlier to ride my expensive bike to work. I have fresh fruit in my refrigerator. I never eat canned food. My parents still pay for my health insurance, and I have never been without a place to sleep. And, although I have skipped a meal or two, I have never been hungry. And neither have my cats. I may only have $4.81 in my checking account right now, but all it takes is a phone call to my mom to fix that problem. I may only have $4.81 in my checking account right now, but there are plenty of people out there that wish they were as rich as me. 

Inspiration:

Urban Dictionary Addiction

I learn dirty slang 

from packs of giggling teens

on my Friday nights. 

And my Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons, and that will probably change to my everyday in a few years. Today, I was asked for the 4th time if I knew what a certain dirty word meant. Honestly, until a bunch of middle schoolers explained it to me a few days ago, I had never even heard the term. 

When I tell people, even college friends, some of the crazy things I hear these kids say, I am often met with gasps. Seriously though, come on! Don't try to pretend like you weren't surfing Urban Dictionary to make sure you weren't the one scratching your head during the dirty word huddle when you were in middle school. As we become further disconnected from passing-period gossip, we become more and more shocked by the things kids seem to be learning "these days." But do you think that the kids are really learning these things at a younger age, or are we just forgetting what we had learned when we were that age? My vote is for the latter. I say, let them giggle about it in huddles; that probably means they aren't moaning about it in pairs. 

Oh, and don't google the term "blue waffle." I have not done it. A thirteen-year-old told me not to, and I trust his advice. 

March showers bring...

Cold, fat, wet drips drop. 

Puddle-jump fail drenches socks.

But it smells like spring.

It is easy to hate on rain. It's cold. It's wet. It wrecks your hair. The bottom of your jeans get wet. And you never have you damn umbrella when it starts to pour. But after months of snow, this rain feels like angels crying tears of joy for the coming of spring. Puddles? Bring 'em on! At least a puddle is honest about what it is. Snow disguises its puddles under a thin later of ice and dainty, powdery flakes. But really, it is just waiting for a heavy foot to break through into the freezing, wet slush below. So, Ms. Nature, if these showers are signaling the coming flowers, or at least some type of green growth somewhere, then let it rain. Let it rain. Let it rain.

Animal House

Clutter. Trash. Shit. Junk.

There's cat hair on my lampshades,

mountains in my sink.   

Some people can ignore messes. I am not one of them. I try. When I get busy with homework, I force myself to ignore them until I find time. But slowly, the small messes around me add up in my mind until I feel like my head is going to explode dirty dishes.

My reaction to my dirty apartment is very similar to the reaction of the characters on Sims. Their mood automatically drops into the red when their houses are messy. That is me. The diamond swirling above my head is red right now, and unfortunately I don't know the cheat codes to fix this mood drop. I guess I will just have to find time to clean. Shucks. 

Date Night

I'll wear my best gown.

He'll be in blue flannel and

hold me through the night.

Oh, bed, how I have missed you. I think we'd better close the door and turn off the light. This is going to get cozy. 

Goodnight, blogosphere. 

Work/Play

When your work is play,

your play will eventually 

turn back into work

For example, I love to read, but when I read for school (even fiction, graphic novels, etc.), it feels like the dullest of chores. Yet, over Summer break, I take in a good book like a cold drink. What is it about being told what to do that makes us resist doing it, even if it is something we would embrace otherwise? Maybe the answer is just to trick yourself into thinking that you never actually work. Eliminate the word "work" from your vocabulary. Just go to play everyday. 

Malfunction

idea transfer

head to paper, canvas, screen

lost in translation

I have this problem a lot, especially in regards to visual art. I have a mental image of something beautiful, innovative, creative, but as that image moves from my head to my hands, something gets mixed up, and that beautiful mental image turns out looking like it was made by a 4th grader. 

This confusion in transfer could be due to my lack of spacial intelligence, and that is probably a big part of it. But I think it is also due to the fact that I was never told I was good at art or encouraged to keep creating. Of course, left me to be my own judge of my abilities, and my art never seemed to look as good as everyone else's. I am not saying that if I had gotten more smiley stickers on my elementary school art projects that I would now be painting Picasso's. There is definitely some "nature" in that. But maybe if my art skills had been "nurtured" a bit more, I would have the confidence to move my head-ideas a little bit past the 4th grade level when my hands are involved.