Armchair Philosophies

Misguided Bullets

I lost something in tonight's twilight and I thought it would feel better than it did... I know now why I am the person I am because of it. In the essence of wanting to do as much damage as I could to someone who hurt me so tragically, I didn't walk away nor sweep it under the rug which I have recently tossed due to lack of interest to keep my feelings hid, in fact I produced a song's length movie of my emotions and tacked it up on every social networking system known to the electronic gods. I don't even feel badly in remarking on how refreshing it was to let it out for the masses to know, but what I did tonight, well, it brought me back to my loving and defined self. 

I have always been above the lower hand, taking the high road and more than often accepting specific flaws is people and allowing them into and out of my life over and again. A year ago April 10th, it all has slowly come to a righteous hault as I honour myself more the immoral practicality of idiots and ditched them, every single one, until the pool was don't to a puddle of my sisters, mom and two close friends one of whom would actually lay his life and well the other is the reason for this less than adequate unraveling of this blog. I didn't care, I was safe with them, they were what family has always meant to me, before I begin letting others into my life, heart and, well, you can't allow people into those to particular categories without them somehow effecting the soul - the essence of me. 

In my utter lack of concern save for the wonderment of how much this would hurt said unsaid close friend - I hurt an innocent person. I am that mean hunter who kills just to kill and doesn't need the pelt or meat... or hoof for a shovel...

That feeling is one I was went through in my head when I decided to take that higher road. That feeling is the reason I was a bigger person and tonight, without regard, I selfishly devastated an already damaged spirit and I can't take that back. The feeling? ashes, it's a layer of gray ashes sprinkled over my heart and it hurts. I apologized, but how the hell do you spill a secret over a year old with wounds still fresh from heartache and divorce? Auh, you don't, I tried. 

So if this were an advice column and I had a crazy amount of readers to which to lend advice on certain subjects, I would say, learn through my experience:

You don't have to sweep your BEST friend inflicted pain under a tired rug or even opt for a higher path, but please, if you are a normally happily functioning great spirit who has been so wronged and needing to be redeemed, look at yourself in the mirror and recognize your love, call it out, shout it's graces back at yourself.

That has not been tested by me, so I must add a disclaimer...       ...      ...     what? that was the disclaimer : - ] 

be love, live light, rise above. 

I Learned the Surgical Suture

three times wove in and out, a harder pull, a tighter stitch. Breath is a delicacy on the table of divine hope and structure. No place for the deserts in a boat like this. An oar is my paperweight lost in a winded sea, there are holes in the shackles here filled with these bruised wrists, finally taken their place in the damp and spidered walls of hell. 

Three times wove in and out, my soul eye struggles on a moonless river night. The harder my pull, a tighter stitch. There is no taking the damned from the fractures delightfully kept awake and waiting, one loop in, two loops out. 

Seven Signs of Sexy

Billy Holiday unleashed it. Josephine Baker stunned the world, because she couldn't stop the inside from coming out; she was freed by the sound, remade through the note and key. They tried repressing Elvis. He swung a little too much to the left making the righties jealous, why couldn't they catch it. Too little power trying to control so so much. Oklahoma hushed away and they thought we'd never return, they thought, we. would. never. return. 

Secrets of art, of life of  sexy. that don't go, no way. It needs not refuse to cower, for there is no thing that could resist the purest of this needless silhouette. 

read of a lady once, I watched her walk the street, a greyhound and a hare in one. Her strut has made kings into fallen men I am sure, that stinging beauty. I saw her walk the street, red dress flames blue steel eyes... 

Would anyone ever touch that power in her hands, the eloquence in her edified soul. Tingle toes, she sees. What did she call herself, coming from no sun close to ours. In her lonely stare and simple side smile it caught me something mysterious inside, a budding solar flare...  i am leaning     stretching toward a thing I call the epic, a tale beyond the inferno to exactly when that red scarf fell...     it fell...

I fall 

and fall

falling intoxicated, under water     in the note the path of shaking hips and quivering lips

I am she who watches, pours, drinks... I am the lady walking to get bread barefoot in that fire flare dress

 giving in - taking me away, I am under the instruction of soul sexy and you can only taste the thirst I am licking from your eyes... 

continuing to purr in that slick soooooul sex se   x   xy