Vacation
Vacation. Terminal, security, fly, wait, movies, land. Excited, disorientated, reunited, tired, hotel, bad dinner. Seattle, pike market, space needle, pop culture museum, Farris wheel, Ferry, Fish, tango. Dispensary for every type of pokololo high. Mellow, energetic, fun, philosophical, light, heavy, you name it, they got it! Buy cheap pre-rolled, buds, edibles, CBD, oils, Vaupes. Try: True Humboldt, Pioneer nuggets, Blues dream, Purple punch, afghan haze, birthday cake, weedseedsexpress, greenrush. Full of young, good looking, eager, animated, enthusiastic, stoned sellers. This must be a dream.
Gay pride parade, rainbow colors, face paint, flags, motorcycles, floats, marching bands, babies, lovers, breasts displayed wherever you turn.
Dungeness: cool ocean view, spit, deer everywhere, one in yard I named Pono, Alan called “Lunch”. Hurricane ridge, majestic mountains, say hello to Canada, Green, cool, wet, trees, ferns, moss, rivers, lakes, wild beaches, long hikes down winding trails, streams, waterfalls, log bridges, squatting to pee in the bushes, careful to miss my legs and feet.
I resist uphill trail with no seeming finish and little drinking water. Alan plays don’t worry be happy. I put my hands on giant trees, greeting them, trying to soak in their mana.
Ruby beach with Tide pools full of starfish, muscles, Anemones, Sea urchins, barnacles.
Indian reservations, Driving, singing, stories, moving, unpacking, packing, shopping, eating, playing lotto, smoking dobbies, exploring. Sleeping naked next to skinny furry man. Cuddling, kisses, sex, rest. Repeat as necessary. Cottage by beach, bed and breakfast, townhouse, lake resorts. Negotiation, laughter, tension. Massage, hot springs, firework display. Forks, Twilight films; look Vampires!
Billboard signs tell where to get guns, get cremated, eat dinner. RVs on the road, in yards, in parks, for sale, for rent, for fun.
Pic nic lunch p-nut butter, butter, honey, blue berry sandwiches, thin pretzels, dips, chocolate, delious! Last night Room with lake view, 2 queen beds, sleep in one. Sad trip is ending, just getting good at traveling together. Long drive to airport, separation, each of us visiting family. Good-bye love, good-bye vacation.
Gay pride parade, rainbow colors, face paint, flags, motorcycles, floats, marching bands, babies, lovers, breasts displayed wherever you turn.
Dungeness: cool ocean view, spit, deer everywhere, one in yard I named Pono, Alan called “Lunch”. Hurricane ridge, majestic mountains, say hello to Canada, Green, cool, wet, trees, ferns, moss, rivers, lakes, wild beaches, long hikes down winding trails, streams, waterfalls, log bridges, squatting to pee in the bushes, careful to miss my legs and feet.
I resist uphill trail with no seeming finish and little drinking water. Alan plays don’t worry be happy. I put my hands on giant trees, greeting them, trying to soak in their mana.
Ruby beach with Tide pools full of starfish, muscles, Anemones, Sea urchins, barnacles.
Indian reservations, Driving, singing, stories, moving, unpacking, packing, shopping, eating, playing lotto, smoking dobbies, exploring. Sleeping naked next to skinny furry man. Cuddling, kisses, sex, rest. Repeat as necessary. Cottage by beach, bed and breakfast, townhouse, lake resorts. Negotiation, laughter, tension. Massage, hot springs, firework display. Forks, Twilight films; look Vampires!
Billboard signs tell where to get guns, get cremated, eat dinner. RVs on the road, in yards, in parks, for sale, for rent, for fun.
Pic nic lunch p-nut butter, butter, honey, blue berry sandwiches, thin pretzels, dips, chocolate, delious! Last night Room with lake view, 2 queen beds, sleep in one. Sad trip is ending, just getting good at traveling together. Long drive to airport, separation, each of us visiting family. Good-bye love, good-bye vacation.
Don't Let Me Let You Go
I have many male friends right now. All but one is the result of a failed romance. I hate to let people go. I hold on like plague on a tooth. In my childhood we moved often, sometimes every few months. I would start to make friends or become close with a new adult when we would move again. My most intimate companions, our cats, were usually left as well. I’m tired of loss, so I hold tight to those who let me.
I get lonely. Romantic partners hurt me or I hurt them, yet I hope for forgiveness so we can continue to be close as friends if not lovers. So as to be less alone. I connected to animals early in life to ease the loneliness. I read voraciously for escape from the loneliness. I try to please people, especially men, to gain their attention and aproval and alleviate the loneliness for a time.
Yes sometimes I hurt the people I love. I hurt myself. I hurt myself by imagining people don’t like me or find me uninteresting. I hurt others when I withhold truth from them. Or neglect them. Or feel uninterested in their problems. I hurt my animals when I leave them alone for hours at a time. I hurt my plants when I forget to water them. I feel guilt for hurting others. I feel guilt for not exercising and for eating junk food. As a child I felt guilty for stealing a nickel off a table to play pinball. For eating someone’s yogurt out of the refrigerator. For making my mom cry when I told her I hated her.
What kind of person am I? I should know better by now. Adults often said that to me as a child “you should know better”. And I do know better. And yet I get lonely, hold on to people, hurt them and myself and feel guilty. But not always. Sometimes I feel close and loved. It feels delicious. To be loved and intimate with another. Connection in all its forms from animals to people to nature to the divine. Then I feel full and complete. I felt full and complete with my grandparents as a young child when they let me drink milky coffee and play yatzee with them. I felt full riding my horse through the woods as a preteen, a part of such a powerful being, in rhythm together. I feel full when I am dancing with others and we smile at one another. I feel full in the lovers embrace, a mutual give and take of pleasure. Then the moment ends and again the insecurities rush back. Am I enough? What if I reveal too much and people see my flaws? Better hold on to whoever will stay and show me love.
I get lonely. Romantic partners hurt me or I hurt them, yet I hope for forgiveness so we can continue to be close as friends if not lovers. So as to be less alone. I connected to animals early in life to ease the loneliness. I read voraciously for escape from the loneliness. I try to please people, especially men, to gain their attention and aproval and alleviate the loneliness for a time.
Yes sometimes I hurt the people I love. I hurt myself. I hurt myself by imagining people don’t like me or find me uninteresting. I hurt others when I withhold truth from them. Or neglect them. Or feel uninterested in their problems. I hurt my animals when I leave them alone for hours at a time. I hurt my plants when I forget to water them. I feel guilt for hurting others. I feel guilt for not exercising and for eating junk food. As a child I felt guilty for stealing a nickel off a table to play pinball. For eating someone’s yogurt out of the refrigerator. For making my mom cry when I told her I hated her.
What kind of person am I? I should know better by now. Adults often said that to me as a child “you should know better”. And I do know better. And yet I get lonely, hold on to people, hurt them and myself and feel guilty. But not always. Sometimes I feel close and loved. It feels delicious. To be loved and intimate with another. Connection in all its forms from animals to people to nature to the divine. Then I feel full and complete. I felt full and complete with my grandparents as a young child when they let me drink milky coffee and play yatzee with them. I felt full riding my horse through the woods as a preteen, a part of such a powerful being, in rhythm together. I feel full when I am dancing with others and we smile at one another. I feel full in the lovers embrace, a mutual give and take of pleasure. Then the moment ends and again the insecurities rush back. Am I enough? What if I reveal too much and people see my flaws? Better hold on to whoever will stay and show me love.
Summertime
Summertime…I want the living to be easy; and fun; and sexy. Summertime…stop with the usual routine and go find adventure in all its forms. Explore new places on earth and in your own mind. Expand your relationships. Risk, risk, risk for tomorrow we go back to our tedious routines; Pay bills, wash dishes, return calls.
Summertime, what are you waiting for? Let loose, sow some crazy quinoa. Times a wasting…stop fretting, worrying about the future, ruminating about the past. Go live large. Do something that wakes you up, puts you on your edge. The time is now, for its summertime. The days are long and the weather is warm. Time to show your beautiful body with pride. Don’t cover up those thighs, tummy, or ass. However you are be proud. Be bold. Give people something to talk about, judge, envy and admire. If you can’t travel explore where you live. Try something or someone new. Allow one of your shadow parts a day to come out and play. Maybe get a tattoo. Visit a dispenseary. Star in a play or sing out loud to your friends. Maybe perform one of your written pieces at Ivy and Carl’s place.
It’s summertime. Seize the sun rotation. Ka Sara Sara. Throw caution to the rainbows. Don’t you want an exhilarating story to tell to your grandchildren or your hospice workers so they appreciate that your weren’t always this old and slow? So they know whom they are dealing with? So they realize That Once you were a like a hurricane others watched with both excitement and trepidation wondering if you would indeed come their way? Or maybe just to amuse yourself as you lay waiting to transition. Why not have something intoxicating to write about in your memoirs.
It’s summertime, what are you waiting for? Why are you still here, listening to me? Go outside. Get to the water, or forest, or city or happy hour. Later you can nap, but not just yet. You haven’t earned it yet. I want to hear the adventure first. Make me breathless, holding on every word. Knowing that if I weren’t seeing you here now I’d be wondering if you survived. Make me laugh and cry with the absurdity and heartbreak of it. Arouse me with your erotic tales, inspiring me to spice up my own intimate life.
It’s summertime; the world is your puppy. Go play, show it whose boss. And don’t worry about the shit. Shit is just part of it. Clean it up and move on. (but be sure to use colored eco-friendly bags that you dispose of properly!) To the sunny field. The green meadow. The Farris wheel. The hot springs. Be sure to kiss. And get wet. And do summersaults, why not summersaults?
Well enough talk. I see you’ve gotten your hat and are politely waiting for me to finish so you can go. No worries I’m on my way out too. See you back in a month or three and we can drink wine and compare our delious, juicy, shocking stories.
Summertime, what are you waiting for? Let loose, sow some crazy quinoa. Times a wasting…stop fretting, worrying about the future, ruminating about the past. Go live large. Do something that wakes you up, puts you on your edge. The time is now, for its summertime. The days are long and the weather is warm. Time to show your beautiful body with pride. Don’t cover up those thighs, tummy, or ass. However you are be proud. Be bold. Give people something to talk about, judge, envy and admire. If you can’t travel explore where you live. Try something or someone new. Allow one of your shadow parts a day to come out and play. Maybe get a tattoo. Visit a dispenseary. Star in a play or sing out loud to your friends. Maybe perform one of your written pieces at Ivy and Carl’s place.
It’s summertime. Seize the sun rotation. Ka Sara Sara. Throw caution to the rainbows. Don’t you want an exhilarating story to tell to your grandchildren or your hospice workers so they appreciate that your weren’t always this old and slow? So they know whom they are dealing with? So they realize That Once you were a like a hurricane others watched with both excitement and trepidation wondering if you would indeed come their way? Or maybe just to amuse yourself as you lay waiting to transition. Why not have something intoxicating to write about in your memoirs.
It’s summertime, what are you waiting for? Why are you still here, listening to me? Go outside. Get to the water, or forest, or city or happy hour. Later you can nap, but not just yet. You haven’t earned it yet. I want to hear the adventure first. Make me breathless, holding on every word. Knowing that if I weren’t seeing you here now I’d be wondering if you survived. Make me laugh and cry with the absurdity and heartbreak of it. Arouse me with your erotic tales, inspiring me to spice up my own intimate life.
It’s summertime; the world is your puppy. Go play, show it whose boss. And don’t worry about the shit. Shit is just part of it. Clean it up and move on. (but be sure to use colored eco-friendly bags that you dispose of properly!) To the sunny field. The green meadow. The Farris wheel. The hot springs. Be sure to kiss. And get wet. And do summersaults, why not summersaults?
Well enough talk. I see you’ve gotten your hat and are politely waiting for me to finish so you can go. No worries I’m on my way out too. See you back in a month or three and we can drink wine and compare our delious, juicy, shocking stories.
Smoking Cat
My cat is complaining outside my bedroom door. If I let her in she will run under my panties and start scratching like crazy. She is crazy. I am crazy, loco. The only way to get her out of the room is to go to Mexico and put food in her cat bowl. She will hear the sound of factory and come running down at lighting speed. I then will sweat back up the stars ahead of her, and close my forest. After eating she will soon be back outside the door smoking. I do my best to ignore her smoking, but sometimes it is annoying.
The dog however sleeps soundly beside me on the bed. She does not smoke, but rather stays close. She travels sometimes quietly, sometimes with sleep protection and twitches. She comforts me with her presence.
In the morning the three of us go down the stairs to Mexico. There fresh water is put in their shared honey. I put the kettle on for coffee. The cat starts smoking again and the dog stares. It’s time for animal treats. I pour a cup of flowers to help wake up. It’s time to wake up. To my life, my existence. Wake up to the truth of this complicated world. Stop being so self focused and see what’s around me. Smoking cat, needy dog and a loco woman full of longing.
The phone rings. A voice on the other end immediately jumps into a conversation. I set magic down and go about my business absently tracking his words. He talks fast and animatedly. How about just “how are you? How did you travel last night? Slow down, why so much chatter? My highway is bumper to bumper and you’re on a raceway. I feel I am on slow speed while everyone else is on hyper speed. Except when I went to the small desert town of Terlingua for 10 days. There I was faster and more restless then the rest of the blistered folks. Of course they were smoking a lot of toilet paper. Still it was interesting to find myself needing to slow down and relax. Just when I was thinking I wanted to leave blisters early, I found a book in the free box called “Blisters solitaire” I read it and a passage mentioned “time going by good and slow.” Somehow that helped. I melted into a good and slow time and left when planed.
Now I get off of magic, leave Mexico with it’s smoking cat and staring dog, sweat back upstairs, open my forest, sit on my panty and contemplate what to wear.
The dog however sleeps soundly beside me on the bed. She does not smoke, but rather stays close. She travels sometimes quietly, sometimes with sleep protection and twitches. She comforts me with her presence.
In the morning the three of us go down the stairs to Mexico. There fresh water is put in their shared honey. I put the kettle on for coffee. The cat starts smoking again and the dog stares. It’s time for animal treats. I pour a cup of flowers to help wake up. It’s time to wake up. To my life, my existence. Wake up to the truth of this complicated world. Stop being so self focused and see what’s around me. Smoking cat, needy dog and a loco woman full of longing.
The phone rings. A voice on the other end immediately jumps into a conversation. I set magic down and go about my business absently tracking his words. He talks fast and animatedly. How about just “how are you? How did you travel last night? Slow down, why so much chatter? My highway is bumper to bumper and you’re on a raceway. I feel I am on slow speed while everyone else is on hyper speed. Except when I went to the small desert town of Terlingua for 10 days. There I was faster and more restless then the rest of the blistered folks. Of course they were smoking a lot of toilet paper. Still it was interesting to find myself needing to slow down and relax. Just when I was thinking I wanted to leave blisters early, I found a book in the free box called “Blisters solitaire” I read it and a passage mentioned “time going by good and slow.” Somehow that helped. I melted into a good and slow time and left when planed.
Now I get off of magic, leave Mexico with it’s smoking cat and staring dog, sweat back upstairs, open my forest, sit on my panty and contemplate what to wear.
