Coffee #25: Cut it!

“Cut it, cut it, cut it, cut it
Cut it, cut it, cut it, cut it”
~“Cut It” by OT Genasis

Those strings be way too tight, you need to cut it
My throat -I’m hung- no hands,  you need to cut it
Apron strings, your puppet sings, need to cut it.

Oh, yeah… I don’t think I’ll visit my parents for long periods of time anymore.

Like ever.

You know when you have this hopes and expectations? And you hype them up in your head. But when you get there, it’s nothing like you expected or even wanted. And you regret the whole thing. But you hid that because you don’t want anyone to know. Because you are just tired of having the same battles over and over.

Continue reading Coffee #25: Cut it!


Writing gets better

I’m finally making progress with my story.

Nanowrimo. Write  one novel in a month.

At first, the hardest part was choosing one -yes, only one- story to write. I got 4 dozen ideas in various stages of chapter 1 and to really bring in that focus -that focus- down to only one was the hardest part right off the bat.

After dithering between the final 3 ideas, I finally got the story. I pulled up my old notes, reviewed, pecked out a few more lines and then stared stared stared at the blank page.

Continue reading Writing gets better

Elicit my Response

via Daily Prompt: Elicit

I knew you only wanted a reaction.
A farce to play on just such a day
Pushing beyond unnecessary
I watch the brat’s display.

Why do all the children linger past their prime?
Why are you even still alive?
Age is not an indication of maturity
Tantrums at sixty-five.

Have I really never left the old playground?
I am a bit too past the games.
The wisdom of the ages never
Touched your pathetic frame.

You expect the same unrestraint from others
That you often love to demonstrate
Never will I stoop to your level
You fucking reprobate.

You fancy that the world is small enough that
You own -and rule- the fucking roost.
Drunk on your invincibility
Your ego needs the boost?

I don’t care to speculate -interrogate
Or even give a fuck ’bout you
Life is too short and I won’t waste time
You’re a virus -I’m immune.

I know you’ll fall and drown everyone you can
Your reign is coming to an end.
I don’t care to see or ever gloat
Insignificant trend.

You’re not worth my pity, you’re not worth my time
Own your failure and sink alone.
You are nothing and no one to me
I have hung up the phone.

Identity #12: I Took those Heels Back

I’ve been in a constant state of self-evaluation during the past few months. Who I am and what I want to do with my life. No big deal, just reviewing my ENTIRE EXISTANCE.

And, in the midst of this, I had these stories running in the background of my life which, in essence, reflected the bigger picture.

Continue reading Identity #12: I Took those Heels Back

Trying to Write

So, I finally got around to joining NaNoWriMo. And it’s been a series of confusion. I just can’t seem to get in that headspace where I pull out my best work.

Motivations for characters are harder than I thought. And maybe I painted myself into a corner with the original conception of the characters.

My main character is too much of a boy rather than a man -I don’t know if this is a good thing that he’ll grow out of the course of the story.

My antagonist is messy. Does this even make sense? I don’t get it.

Setting? Timeline? Plot?


If I went by this alone, I’d call myself a terrible writer and chuck it.

But I know better. I’ve written good shit and  I’m not gonna let this break me. Even if it takes me a god damn year, I’m going to finish this story!

*Breaths heavily.


*Starts typing again…

Into Place

In so many ways I can look back and see how my life was molded, impressed and buffeted. Like an unspoiled block of clay in the hands of a child, I was squished and pulled, ripped apart and put back together, tossed and dirtied, abandoned and found in the unyielding grip of life.

And now I am cast, this stolid sculpture hardened by time and carved by interaction. Scraped, scratched, and cracked I am given new guidance even as I wrestle with the wheel steered by interference and control.

And if the solid cracks, if the structure falls, if the foundation dissolves the whole into a mess of rubble; the only one to put it all together and to make something of it will be me.

I am not a victim of life, I’m not a victim at all.

Fear Mongering

To succumb to fear
Is to fall victim to the oldest weapon
That brought every mighty empire to its knees.
Swords brought low
Strength crumbles away
Panic and chaos roam the streets.
Fright and flight on everyone’s lips
We succumb to cowardice.

Snap. Out. Of. It.

Life goes on.
Children are born.
Flowers bloom and die and bloom again.

Your mind would build prisons
Out of castles.
And destruction
From rebirth.
Change comes and goes.
Will you make a change
Or submerge -lost- to your fear?

In Pursuit of Edibles

Read about Day 1 and the first half of Day 2 in my earlier post Another Day of Awesome.

Day 2 continued: Where I forget to dress up

After refilling at the font of the Mocha gods, I hopped on a bus in an impulsive interest to visit a museum.

On the way, I encountered several mysterious beings. At one bus stop, a swarthy pirate of indeterminate gender waddled poised in full regalia complete with a white shirt with ruffled sleeves, a feathered hat, several leather belts complete with waist saddle bags -sans weaponry-, and complete in a red cape and black calf boots.Harlequin stopped across the boulevard minus her bat and complete with a heavy backpack (Batman was nowhere to be seen, which disappointed me). At one point, I thought I spotted Ezio from Assassins Creed…

Continue reading In Pursuit of Edibles

I Borrowed Your Pain

I borrowed your pain
Quite unconsciously
And I do want to give back these holes
Because I forgot how much it rips my soul

The restless nights
The gulping and swallowed
Screams and reams of pain
That cannot keep these bones sane.

I didn’t protect myself
And I was left unprotected and
Vulnerable to your agony and hope
And now I’m the one trying to cope.

The typical expression
Of rough words and tones
I cannot retrieve, and I lied
To say I wasn’t confused and lost and dying inside.

The physical manifestation
Of this pain would be a relief
I know it, I dreamt it, I am it
And I must continue to deny myself against it.

I miss it, I hate it
I wallowed in an old and familiar
Sensation of loss and disturbance
I don’t even ask, I just accept it’s my comeuppance.

I suppose you’d say
It’s harmful and unhealthy
I don’t know, as much as I hate
It, it’s an addiction I miss and can’t shake.

As real as this is to me
You are not actually real;
I borrow your words and world
To manifest your agony in my soul unfurled.

It’s crazy, it’s insane
It’s addicting, I love
To hate, always miss
To avoid the awful return of this cursed kiss.

Empathy, don’t you know
This doesn’t exist
Your pain isn’t real and that this
Is just a book? -Work of fictitious.

You are a fiction to me
You don’t exist in my world
And yet, I suck it all in; the fey
Dark, an unnatural case of death and decay.

Crave, my ugly
Addiction in my brain,
This sadistic line tortured
To squeeze the faucet of emotion nurtured.

I will extinguish this sensation
And ruminate on your words
Ringing false and plain
After extracting  your pleasure from my pain.