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Three months passed with nothing much to say being on a power high and all or at least thinking I was but the pixie dust washed off in the turpentine bath and all that was left was dirty feet The answer was not found in that question. I must have been asking the wrong but how could I know and what made me think and maybe if and what about that and should I shouldn’t I would I could I trust myself to even trust the universe as though stars represent some kind of why enough to make us feel small and I say no again not this time running jump and slide your whole life is this dive down down deep
In an instant this one was gone in a blank nothing of return key silence having filled the virtual page with words so cleansing and even on this one the ending was fabulous but something happened page cannot be displayed this blog sever down despair my words were not retained
Fire does not sit well with me alone in this room still and sweat is hanging like a heavy too big to hold child in this room humid airless and I could go open the windows and I could turn on the air but no and not and suffer this martyr I am not satisfied with all of my choice with all of my everything told I can do whatever I want as wanting makes as desire fufills as comfort shields my eyes I see nothing but blind as routine paves my sidewalk I feel nothing under foot as more advice to stay to not risk to not dare or dream or trust or live all of the voices stop I have heard all the words from inside before and this is just another hole and it’s for me to decide something new and not worry about right
Light filtered through stained glass cave dwellings, cool earth floor, among the red rocks and chips of light break through like points on a map when everything is warm and kind. The rock is smooth in my hand, now edges jagged are merged with palm, tendered with lotion and love from all around, and above, beyond, below, beneath, besides, concerning, down, during, except, for, from. The prepostion parade with clown horns and Shriners whizzing down the streets and squares of Savannah during the St. Patrick’s Parade; and your apartment window two floors above the porta potty while people pissed green; your stryrofoam head doll painted magical Mona and no idea of direction. There was only the wind and the dandylions catching, scattering, dispersing, dancing. Did we dance last night outside Nicotine, didgeridoo pulsing notes and I interrupted you to trace the painted footsteps, fucked up the numbers and turned towards you watching me learning. But the clouds pass casting shadows layered like stacks of napkins spread in a fan at the bar; swizzle sticks, a rotating fan. The film is rolling and nothing but everything I ever wanted stands in the way of here and now. Already the vine is curling tender shoots reaching up like pipe cleaners to twist and play with suck on like ponytail braids and twirl around in the dress like every damsel in distress. Good god. May there be light, may there be inner peace and spritual growth for every one of these fuckers like me and you and everybody playing it cool or emptying giblets from paper packages to put in soup to flavor the broth. I am down with mines and shoulds and sighs. I have enough belief in myself to let it ride ‘cause if the worst is down, that is what I am good at. Spring is here. Step outside.
I am water. I am earth. My parents were fire and air. I was pulled from the womb unwilling to face the birth canal when another option was possible. It is always possible. I come to you now on the verge of discovery. My sails are flowing and I am confident of this wind and this salt air, the canvas blowing filling with colors. This confidence is like a gift and I appreciate and I endure; weaving the strands into patterns into make believe and real and something warm to wear. Life came to me in summer and footy pajamas. The fourth generation, baby Polish princess at the top of the aluminum siding castle. There was a picnic table in the back yard. And my mother was air could she make them like her more by liking me enough. And my father was fire over books and bad kitchen lighting to hook a career out of this place where he too was born. We fled to the desert when I was three leaving snows behind and the oven my grandmother used to burn her children’s hands with when they were bad. A new set of grandparents welcomed me like a second birth and there was a kitten for a friend, soon a pool, and a million books of witches and goblins and girls who knew magic. My mother stayed inside with romance novels and melon ballers and sometimes gin and vermouth but always perfect; coming outside with cut up vegetables and hours working to please the palette of my Dad. She knew her role. She was air. She passed through. And when I was good I was very very good and when I was bad I was horid. Sweat pulled off in the dry heat like mirage as I waited for my father to get home to punish me for something done again to my mother. He was fire. She was air and I was earth and water. The tension and terror of the beating and having to do whatever she said or else. This much I remember and nothing more will come to this page today. I am lifted from the story in a giant helium balloon and carried up up up to the stars and evening night as the sunset hits camelback mountain and saguaros turn purple with goodnight.
Who am I to tell you to stay and master the infinite complexities of unknown now when power struggles weigh heavy on the scales shucked off with a borrowed knife and shining in the early light like rainbow fingernails the missing piece is always missing or it would not be a piece there are no stand alones or one offs or this or that creation to believe in something better different new dreams are analyzed and shown on television for the masses wanting reality when truth does not connect them soft edges the day at home incapable of being the listener to act alone what purpose vision or adjustment or rain from these clouds heavy and boxes stacked like waiting for something grander or a kick in the ass never coming from one’s own foot
10 years ago was me to this place and nothing mattered much but that I could drink and the liquor store so close to my house and Food Lion for beer. Still I wrote with feriocious intensity; love lost and forlorn of fantasies never formed. And memories too; the drunken pounding of fingers to the keyboard on my new color screen computer. I can remember sending you the poems though I can’t remember which ones they were or what you might have known when you learned of my name. I was anybody else at the time and you didn’t know about all of the wine or how I came to men or who was why I am. And I didn’t know you were someone real housed in a castle of empties casting your net onto the page from the Dead Man’s chair. Conversations ensued we can not even remember, memory not being too important as the holy now and even now that is so. There is no time and yet enough time, all of the world’s time and no roles or expectations to grow one’s hair long or shave off a beard. Who we are now and what has been heard when nothing was said, but still I wonder does he know and I hear him in my mind saying yes a thousand times I am saying nothing so loud, and even covering my smile poker faced as the dream is coming forward and the painting of the moon is mine and that school and that park and that is exactly yes and all the ashes in my car or the bowl of vomit left two days now at the foot of the table is nothing compared to nothing compared to nothing compared to.
The moon plays tricks on my peace of mind and I am happily surprised by Pisces Balsamic curl of light. Surprise is always happy. Intentional change may present a few road blocks. Tested and teased, I left my worries on the Bahamas breeze, the sidewalk balcony outside my room with the mini golf view, and the buffet extravaganza. The time to leave signals, a flash of lightening and the thunder is a smile. Nine years passed without the pantyhose battle once brought into the open. I wore flats and rose colored glasses in defiance of no one but myself in the end. My reasons have changed but my soul has remained strong. I have finally found the path I have been walking on all along.
I want you to enjoy using mascara.These products are notoriously difficult to remove and cling to your lashes like glue. That would be incredible if eyelashes mac could be more awesome. This is perfectly normal. Mascara is still an emerging market. I personally am not a big fan of it either. But how did this influence their buying behavior.Including if it is important for you to use only natural ingredients for making your eyelashes grow, how much you are willing to pay for an eyelash growth stimulator, and how sensitive your eyes are to potentially irritating ingredients
What would your dream falsies look like? but you could save time by searching for the mascara you prefer the most. I really like these Lilash review pictures it seems it conditions and protects your eyelashes so you’ll notice longer looking lashes in just weeks not months.
I have monolid Asian eyes so finding a good makeup look that doesn’t make my eyes look puffy, bruised, or swollen is really hard. Most western makeup artists don’t know how to accentuate Asian features correctly and just tend to over apply eyeliner and gold colored eyeshadow. This blog will be my record of the best products and makeup tutorials that I’ve found for Asians. I’ll have to go through my Jpop/Kpop magazines, but there’s so many eye makeup tutorials and lots of goodies in there.
I’ll be writing about my best makeup tips and beauty product reviews. So stay tuned!