Outsider

 Today, being the outsider is a good thing.

Today

Today

The Radio reminded me of how lonely I am

So, I opted for road noise instead

I Prayed

To fight fervent feelings for only a man

Who paved a highway inside my head

Caught in

A daydream as my car carelessly swerves

Peaceful pastures speed by unseen

Forgotten

Destination on winding, hilly curves

Frivolous burning of gasoline

Today

I'm thankful for a serene swim in the clouds

Cool, clean reflections of past mistakes

I've Prayed

Repeatedly through anxiety shrouds

Emotions exposed in glass lakes

Forgotten

Conversations meant to manipulate

Road noise that's easily dismissed

Caught in

A wave of guilt that only dissipates

When his perception starts to drift

Today

I can see him more clearly than before

But the Radio plays the same

I Pray

For a peaceful new road forevermore

A clean swim to erase the shame

 

Wishes

 

Bird song

Wishes flying high

In between notes

Separate you and I

Flawed thinking

Five years are gone

Wishes that echo

An impossible song

Empty wishes, empty heart

They're voiceless, vain, and trite

Remember when you said

Things would all work out?

Wish you could've been right

Sunset song

Wishes collide

A beautiful friendship

Washed away with the tide

Flawed thinking

Devoid of sound

Lamenting wishes

 Fall to the ground

Empty wishes, empty heart

They're voiceless, vain, and trite

Remember when you said

Things would all work out?

Wish you could've been right

Some More from the Doodle Journal

Twisted Perception

Twisted Perception

This rock turns in on itself
Parched and no pity
For those God condemns

In a dream
The old man is beaten and stoned
But not dead

I think they were wrong
But it’s my job
To clean up the mess

12-15-19

Happy Camper

My life is changing dramatically now. I've left everything behind, bought an RV, and moved to a campground in the middle of the East Texas woods. There are some kinks in my plan that still need ironing out, like internet connection problems and no phone service, but I'm so happy to be away from Houston that these things don't bother me.

I have no address now, though. Does that make me a homeless person?

I Crack Myself Up

Waiting for Lab Results

Here I am, nesting in my big comfy box of confusion, with antennae up, waiting for Lab Results. Even the snails are moving faster than I am...

I don't do mornings...

Some more from my doodle therapy.

Dialogue Abstruse

Dialogue Abstruse

Every morning formulates
Dialogue abstruse,
While Logic slumbers.

The to-do list erupts,
Foams chaotically, and
Shouts orders without priority.

The needs-fixing list
Seethes abruptly at
All the defunct remedies.

Then past failures seep in,
Bubbling up random sermons
With no outline or theme.

Reluctant Logic awakens
To the sound of Job’s wife screaming,
“Curse God and die!”

Ulcerated and burnt out,
Logic gathers the toxic spillage
And cries, “Everyone back to bed!”

Doodle Therapy

These are some of my doodles using the Automatic Drawing Technique that I mentioned in the previous post, where I try to draw without thinking about what to draw, and let my subconscious take over. I usually spend about 20 or 30 minutes on them, and then try to decipher any subconscious meaning they might have. The deciphering happens this way - When I open my writing journal and then look back at the drawing, I write down the first 2 words or phrases that come to mind. Then, I just start writing about my day. Generally the meaning starts to come to me, but then I'll either look up the 2 words in the thesaurus or some of the images in a dream dictionary, or both.

Processing Death - colored pencil

Regeneration - colored pencil

Alienation - ball point pen

This last one, I spent several hours on, because I had found that place again, that I knew as a child, where the hours would just slip away in peacefulness. It's been years since I've felt that way while drawing, and it felt good. When it was done, I remember thinking, "wow, I had forgotten how much fun this was."

I was talking with a friend about it the next day, and we came to the conclusion that as self employed business owners, we had gotten in the habit of planning everything, including our art. It's been about 5 years since I first started trying intuitive art methods with finger painting, and I'm just now starting to break that habit of planning everything in advance. It amazes me that what I took for granted as a child, has been such a struggle to get back.

Intuitive Art Journey

I've been working on creating art intuitively for the last several years, and it's been a struggle. I wanted to get back to that peaceful place that I knew as a child, where I had no expectations or preconceived ideas when drawing. Finger painting seemed like a good place to start. It was magical fun when I was a kid, and I thought it would bring all that back, but it only frustrated me. Adult expectations kept nagging me.

Acrylic on scrap cardboard, 2017 after Hurricane Harvey

Acrylic on scrap cardboard, 2017 after Hurricane Harvey

Acrylic on paper, 2014

Next, I switched to crayons. The Crayon Monsters were a lot more fun. I started with just a squiggly line and let be whatever they wanted to be. Sometimes that worked, sometimes it didn't, and I would turn them into what I wanted them to be. But, it felt like progress.

I played with melting the colors into the paper with an iron, and then layered more color on top. Hoping to do something more abstract, I created these next two, but again it only frustrated me.

Crayon on construction paper, September 2018

Crayon on construction paper with Haiku poem, December 2018

Then, I watched a Youtube video about Automatic Drawing Technique, and it inspired me to give it a try. You're supposed to doodle without thinking about it, and it's supposed to relax you to help you improve creatively.

Anticipation, crayon on construction paper, December 2018

I caught myself constantly asking, "what does it need now?" And then, trying to go back to not thinking about it. When I was done, the words that came to mind when I looked at it were "tight" and "tense". Not relaxed. "This is going to take a lot of practice", I thought to myself.

I decided to write about it in my journal. I wrote the words "tight" and "tense", and several synonyms that caught my eye in the thesaurus, but nothing came to me, so I started writing about the 2 very close friends that I've lost in death the past month. I found myself writing the words "what's next". Then it hit me. I'm trying to recover before the next storm.

I decided to name it "Anticipation", and wrote this poem about it:


Intrinsic self preservation
Is an undetected strain
Arduously tilling neglected guilt,
Hardened clay from past storms;
Desperately scattering seeds
That bloom magnificently.

What’s next?
Forced recovery
Before another storm hits.

This has been the beginning of what I call Doodle Therapy, and it seems like the more I do it, the easier it gets. Just about every night, I spend 20 or 30 minutes doodling in my journal, and then I write about it. It amazes me every time, that what looks like a bunch of scribbles actually has meaning to my subconscious. The fact that it has meaning seems to be quieting those adult expectations. I think I'm on the right track now.

Crayon Monsters

Diva Daphne has a cold.

Kaos is in a hurry.

Gilt is watching you.

Houston Flood 2017

Refrigerators float.

She hated that refrigerator. It hummed and groaned twice as loud as the old one, and it's door handle had to be taped down even though it was still brand new. The old one lasted 30 years and the door handle never slipped off.

Now, the hated one lays face down on the kitchen floor, humiliated. She feels its loss. Tells a story about a man who once saved his family by removing the refrigerator door, laying it on its back, and then loading his family inside to escape flood waters.

This one, though, never served such a heroic purpose. It, and its rotting contents, have been washed over with a slimy layer of sewerage silt, in a house who's brief submergence devastated everything.  

Artist Trading Cards

Some ATC's I made for a swap on Facebook.

Gold Fish - painted with metallic and iridescent acrylics.

Duck Feetn' It - same acrylics.

Fire Water - water color and ink.

Scenic View - water color and gel pen.

Bathing Fairy - water color and gel pen.

Eye to Eye and Whirlpool pointillism - ink

90 Degrees (32 C) in Februrary

Went to Mercer Arboretum yesterday. The trees were covered with a bright orange moss in one of the oxbows, adding cheer to the winter grey. I guess the unusual weather has created perfect conditions for this.

All the locals were sunbathing and napping.

The water was oily from all the Cypress leaves.

The warm breeze gently blew the bog's damp musty aroma across the Cypress knees, providing the perfect escape for the day.

Blue Hat Bluesman

It's been a couple of years since I've posted anything here. Didn't realize it's been that long. Sorry.

My latest interest is pointillism. This is a drawing of bass player Robert Stapleton. I watched him perform at the Navasota Blues Festival, and fell in love with his blue hat.

Water-girl Dreaming

 

This piece of aboriginal art was painted by Amy Gunawarri. To quote the literature that came with it: The story tells of a woman who was banished from her tribe and forced to live in the sea. Eventually she grew fins and scales on her body like a fish. She saved any of her tribe unfortunate enough to fall into the sea and unable to swim.

  

From what I remember learning about aboriginal spiritual beliefs, dreams are a glimpse into the after life.  It's interesting to me that the artist chose the name Water-girl Dreaming. I imagine she had a deeper meaning in mind when she painted this story.

Here's my version:

Morning Pages

This is a repost from my other blog, Awakening the Sleeper.

I awoke this morning to Errol Flynn making fun of me for being melodramatic. How ironic! The next half hour was spent arguing with him in my morning pages. This poor misguided drama king has not been properly trained for his role and has been given the wrong script. He's supposed to keep me real, yes, but not to the point of blocking my writing. After three pages, I believe I have won round one. - Day 15

I've been reading a book called The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron that was written to help people unblock their creative side. The author refers to the block as a little voice in your head that tells you there are more important things to do, and you're not good enough to be wasting your time on these creative endeavors. She calls it the “Censor”, and says that it's part of the “Logic” brain. Some people may be more familiar with the term “left brain”.

One of the exercises she recommends is the “morning pages”. You're supposed to write three pages of whatever comes to mind when you first wake up. It's not supposed to be good. It's supposed to be a release or vent of all the whiny anxieties that “stand in the way of your creativity”. I call it getting-all-the-crap-out-so-I-can-focus-better.

It's interesting to note that writing requires the use of both sides of the brain. The left brain or logical side is needed to put words into a logical order of structured sentences, and the right brain or creative side is needed to find the right words to convey the thoughts. The act of writing helps unite the two sides for a common purpose, creating more of a balance between the two.

I am not a morning person. My mind is anything but peaceful when I first wake up. Sometimes, there's an entire army of negative thoughts marching around in my head. I usually try not to pay attention to them; try to force myself to focus on positive things. When that gets too difficult, I daydream; dream up happier places to go to. All of this is done without realizing it. The morning pages have made me more aware of my thought patterns and habits first thing in the morning.

On some days, I write 3 pages of rants, on others, it's a 3 page pity party. On my better days, it becomes a list of things I need to do that day or hope to accomplish sometime in the near future. I find that I am able to think more clearly throughout the day, and remember things better, since I've started this.

Not long after I first started writing morning pages, I had a weird dream with Errol Flynn over-acting a scene where he was supposed to be relating a sad childhood story. He was dressed as one of the Three Musketeers with a sword in his hand. The acting was so bad it was funny. While I was writing about the dream in my morning pages, I realized he was making fun of me, especially the sword-pen connection. At that time, I was still putting this blog together, and still writing my personal weight loss story. My “Censor” was trying to tell me that all of this was a waste of time.

Those 3 pages became a lecture to my censor, which I have named Errol. I spoke as a boss to an employee, or a director to an actor. I said things like: “Your role is a necessary role, but you have become confused about your job description. You are overstepping your boundaries. Stop blocking my writing!”

Therapists call this self talk. Affirmations are a form of self talk. There are some rules to remember with self talk. For example, the subconscious doesn't recognize negative words like “don't”, “not”, “no”, and “never”. If you say, “Don't block my writing.” It hears, “Do block my writing.”

Another is that you can't deny a part of yourself, because you don't like what it's telling you, which is essentially what I had been doing by ignoring the negative thoughts. If your finger was broken, you wouldn't cut it off. Likewise, the negative voice or censor shouldn't be cut off (or told to get lost), but redirected to function in a healing capacity. If I say that it has become confused about it's job description, then I need to redefine what I want it's job description to be, which is what I tried to do that morning.

It was a struggle first thing in the morning to find the right words to tell Errol what I thought he shouldn't be doing. I kept wanting to use negative words. And then, I had to figure out what I thought he should be doing. It took a couple of mornings to get it right, and may take a few more. Hopefully by putting it in writing, I'm forcing both sides of my brain to work together on this. I think it's paying off.

At the end of each day, I write a random paragraph about anything that comes to mind as an exercise for a writing group that I belong to. The paragraph in italics above was that day's paragraph.

Victory

The humiliation of Dahlia's awkward ascent from the floor had been caused by muscles too weak to lift her and joints too inflamed to hold her weight. But, not today. Today, dignity lunges forward to take a bow on confident and empowered legs.

New Blog - Awakening the Sleeper

I have a new blog for my work as a personal trainer and wellness coach. I'm posting tips, recipes, and my personal stories relating to health and fitness there. The logo and mission statements are a result from the Wings 4 You exercises I worked here on this blog. My hope is for Awakening the Sleeper to be a continuation of the process I started back then.

Photography Haiku

These photos seemed like a poem to me.

winter glass striates

defies lonely evening chill

mute rage radiates

Whiny Drivel

This first poem was done for The Mag, but I didn't get it posted in time to link over there.

Danseuse ajustant sa bretelle by Edgar Degas

Gray

ethereal penumbra

aged gray

cast outside

curtain call

used merely

to incite jealousy

ephemeral ballet

lured backstage

dark maze of

theatrical vanity

he's embarrassed

to be seen with her

This next one was a picture prompt for the Creative Writers of North Houston group.
 

addiction

innocence fuels imagination

guilt draws a blank

one weekend we hold hands though we're “just friends”

the next, you find better things to do

one weekend we live in a fantasy world

the next, I'm pissed at you

forgiveness fuels imagination

anger draws a blank

sugary addiction feeds fantasy

roller coaster ribbons entangle strength

binding creativity in circus tents

round and round we go

as balloons float away

and rose petals drop to the ground

The last one was a picture prompt for the Word Crafters writing group. The picture was e-mailed to me, so I don't know who to credit or where to link to.

couch on road.jpg by ?

 

BFE

you'd like me to be adorned in gold

but you don't want to be the one to pay

what I've got will do for now, so...

you'd figure out the rest along the way

you found me thumbing a ride

and pretended to be going my way

hoping I'd save you from someone's crime

now I'm the one who gets to pay

watching life pass me by

living a lie

in the middle of BFE

were you aware

thatcha dropped me here

Mr. Generosity?

alone again, sitting in a ditch

smiling at asphalt to pass the time

I earned your trust, but lost your interest

still pay you honor, while I've lost mine

I call you friend, though clouds thunder

can't let go, though you were never mine

you're smile drives me with such skill and wonder

smoothly rolling through years of wasted time

watching life pass me by

living a lie

in the middle of BFE

did you realize

your lies would paralyze

Mr. Congeniality?

Relief from the Heat

Well, I guess it's officially fall in Houston, though we probably won't see any fall color until December. I'm still working on writing everyday this month for the October Wine and Write, but not getting much done on the weekends. The weather's been too nice to stay inside and write.

Where Has The Time Gone?

Special thanks to Carrie for sending me this link to a poetry site called The Mag.

This week's prompt at The Mag

“Wow, everybody's in a hurry.” He observes while basking on a bench in the middle of a park; or is it a meadow? Doesn't matter. The air is light and breezy, and the sky so bright that it bleaches the colors of the day.

They must be on their lunch breaks. He muses as people whisk by and then fade into the shadows of their office buildings; or are they trees? The mystery of his surroundings holds little interest for him at the moment. He's more intrigued by the way the shadows seem to engulf the passersby as they reach the edge of the grassy plot. The glare of sunlight befogs the perception of everything that enters the shadows.

It is out of this sun bathed fog, a gray-haired woman approaches with a weathered smile and tired eyes that reveal a spark of passion as she sits down on the bench beside him. Though she looks much older than him, her strangely familiar warmth makes his pulse race, and awkwardness interrupts the peaceful afternoon, as he struggles to start a conversation with her.

“Hi...” He pauses when he realizes she's trying to tell him something. Her eyes start to water as she softly moves her lips, but makes no sound. Wearily, she glances over her shoulder, and he notices that the shadows appear to be stretching toward her, hushing the glare of day.

“Where has the time gone?” He mumbles.

Turning back toward him, she unfolds a piece of paper and hands it to him. It reads:

Dearest Mike,

I’m so sorry I flinched

When you would get upset

Cowered, though you were never harsh

Transfused childhood-violence-guilt

To your innocent heart…

Though you understood why

Your heart still choked

I’m so sorry you became

My ingrained psychotropic replacement addiction

An impossible role

That you patiently endured

While I convulsed and transformed

A screaming withdrawal

That left you feeling you could do nothing right

I’m so sorry you’re not here to see

The transfiguration

Your seventeen years of faithfulness created

Accepting and supporting me

Forming and growing with me…

Your reward is despoiled prematurely

My evolution is empty without you

All my love,

Your remorseful wife

The paper turns to ash and is carried away by the breeze before he can read the last two lines. Staring at the now vacant spot on the bench beside him, an emptiness deep inside festers, but only momentarily until the peacefulness of the day rolls back in. The shadows recede once more to the edge of the lea, and the sky brightens.

“I wonder if I should be heading home now?” He examines the hand less watch face strapped to his wrist. Guess not. Resting his elbows on the back of the bench and one foot across the other knee, he settles back into life on the other side of a dream.

Walking in the Mire

Anger is like getting lost in a swamp. Eventually, you're going to have to relieve yourself. And, while it might feel good coming out, you're left standing in it. Not only that, but you just added to all the shit you're already wading through.

October Wine & Write 2013

I've recently joined a wonderful writing group here in Houston, and one of the authors is hosting a writing challenge called October Wine & Write 2013. The idea is simple – write something every day for the month of October and drink wine while doing it (the wine part is optional). Well, I think I'll give it a try, except tonight might be more of a “Whine” & Write effort, especially since I don't have any wine. Too bad, too, because a bottle of wine might have had some success in diluting a little of the whine.

I would like to whine about my computer. I am now a Linux user, and have been since March of this year. Windows just wasn't working for me on this ancient relic of a computer, and since I can't afford a new one right now, I wiped the hard drive using Dban Boot & Nuke, and installed a Fedora based operating system. I'm not a computer geek, though, and really had no idea of what I was getting into.

I quickly learned that Fedora is not for beginners. You need to know how to connect to repositories and which ones are the right ones for compiling and installing software on your system or “distro” as the geeks like to call it. Linux systems are pretty particular in general, so when you find you don't have the right rpm's to compile software and try do a work around that locks up the computer, the worse thing you can do is cut the power to the hard drive. With Linux, this will apparently corrupt the grub and prevent the operating system from ever booting up again. (if you're still with me and understand what I'm talking about, then you probably know more about Linux than I do)

Suffice it to say, that I lost everything I had been writing for a new story I was working on. This happened around July or August during my last attempt to write something every day, and in my nausea, haven't been able to write anything since.

It's bad enough that I, the queen of backing everything up, didn't back the files up on my external hard drive, but to add cyber gas and bloating to my already sour stomach, I later learned that I could've retrieved those files with a free program called PhotoRec, if I hadn't installed a new operating system right on top of them. I could've run Linux Mint (the operating system I'm currently using) from a bootable CD to retrieve them. Aaaayeeeeee! This has resulted in some serious creative constipation (everyone can thank Sue for that metaphor).

As I mentioned, I am now using Linux Mint, an Ubuntu based OS, which is so much more user friendly. All Linux is free software and uses less space and RAM than Windows or Mac, which makes it great for old computers like mine. I created the above picture while playing around with a free vector program called Inkscape, and did the finishing touches using a free graphics program called Gimp, all with only a single core processor and less than 2 gig of RAM. I could not have done it with XP; I didn't have enough RAM. I am truly grateful for every one that contributes to the Free Software Foundation and Open Source Initiative, but there's definitely a learning curve when switching over.

I would recommend to anyone thinking about switching, to install your home directory on a separate partition from the OS, so if the OS crashes, you can reinstall it without affecting your home directory. I finally figured out to do this, but not before crashing my system a second time when I tried to move it to the new partition. I didn't have enough room on my hard drive to copy my home directory in the same partition, and then move it to the new one. I know it's possible, because I experimented on an even older computer first, and it worked fine. But, the older computer had a larger drive. Here's where you can find the instructions on how to do it, but trust me, it's a lot easier to do during the installation if you're using Linux Mint.

So now, I raise my wine glass (with only water in it) to what I hope is the end of my whine about my computer, and the beginning of a month of free flowing words. After all, wine does have a laxative affect. Sorry, I couldn't resist.