Tag Archives: musings

Biological History of Rainbow Beach- abridged vers.

In the days of cerulean flowerbeds in the orange ocean, my handsome and I traveled to the damp caves to bring out ancient canoes to lull along on the waves, until our arms cried for rest.  Gladly, we returned to shore where we slowly baked until our skin simmered until it was the color of the copper-flecked multicolored sand beneath us.

The red and black and white rocks from the cave– the sand’s distant ancestors– gently and unwaveringly kissed by the saltwater, crumbled in acquiescence, unable to resist its charms.  The spectacular colors came from the deep abyss of the earth, near impossible to be confirmed without true professional scientific equipment, but the scent of sulfur and salt powers the atmosphere within– but not overwhelmingly so– resting comfortably like a cloud lingering serenely in an azure sky with no pressing destination.

I brought an apple, beautifully checked with white snowflakes on its crimson skin.  I pressed it into his sunswept palm.

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Melinda

I made imaginary plans to run away from home after Melinda did. It was unexpected. We were supposed to meet at the swings at the playground between our houses as usual, before going to Melrose to get matching tattoos, of monarch butterflies.

Even after 45 minutes, I wasn’t much worried. It wasn’t unusual for Melinda to take time wrangling from her mother’s grasp to teach her how to cook, to sew, to bake. After two hours of swinging I went home. While I was watching “Jeopardy!” later that night, I heard knocking. My dad went to answer it and I heard Melinda’s mom’s rushed voice. My dad came into the living room and asked when was the last time I spoke to or saw Melinda.

The previous month we had gotten our ears pierced without parental permission.

“I don’t care what she says or if she grounds me, I want to wear earrings! Who cares about some holes in ears,” Melinda had said, and we went ahead to the mall, got them done.

When I got home I tried to hide my ears behind my hair but my mother saw my newly minted ears glimmer and she pulled them out as I was swallowing a spoon of rice. Melinda got into trouble and her mother grounded her for rest of summer vacation, and I didn’t see any hint of her, except sometimes there would be notes in my mailbox. I didn’t know when she was able to deliver them, but they were my only link to her. When I tried to reply her mother intercepted them as contraband, and I’m sure she read them, so I wrote to her as if my letters had been unanswered.

Now she’s been gone for 10 months. I leave letters for her on the swing, but this time, they are sincerely unanswered. This was 1993.

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Draft

I don’t know where the time went– it just went.  I woke up one morning and repeated dutifully for the past six amorphous years until this rebellious moment, still unable to account for it all.  I heard it happened to ex-drug users and postmen, but I never was officially either.  I didn’t have time to think it could happen.  I was occupied.  Living in each moment presently and wholly, devoting all my waking abilities to that single frame moment, thus neglecting my future and barely imprinting past experiences, creating this fog.  From this moment forward, let me be more consciencious!  Let me be aware of me and you and me and you together and use more thought!  More judgment and wisdom!  Let me view each upcoming moment as a Webster-armed editor with the hands of a storyboard artist.

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Morning

It was not as if he liked to wake up early.  He couldn’t help it.  He would prefer to sleep in and enjoy the full lull of his dreams, cradling him whole.  Instead his internal clock would jab him awake and the sun would pierce his his cocoons of unconscious thought.

He looked over to the girl sleeping soundly, as he wished he could, a Mona Lisa smile settled on her face that turned up a bit more every so often, and a murmur escaping her unconsciousness that sounded like “jello”.  Usually he’d try to read, write, or watch football– it was a habit he tried to break but the mornings came and went and came again.

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Utility

“You can’t give everyone everything at once– there’s the diminishing utility law.  It might be great at first, whatever it is you want– money, sex, toys, sex toys– but it won’t be that great after a while.  It can’t.  It’s because you never had anything at first, you go from broke, so it’s always the best.  Remember when you lost your virginity.  Then 25 years later.  You feeling it the same?  Nope.  But that’s how the world works, human nature, the law of diminishing utility, returns.  You live and let live.  Can’t do nothing, but try to pretend like you’ve had nothing and it’s all spick-span new.”

Roy finished mumbling, his face settling nicely in his plate of cold nachos, his dessert after a buffet of beers.

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Blue

She hadn’t meant for the words to come out the way it did; it was one of those thoughts that are supposed to stay rooted in the mind and dissolve upon the origin of another thought.  But let loose it ran away, slid into the capsules and tunnels of the corpus callosum and into sinuses and out into the open, manifesting words and hurt feelings.  He just looked at her, scratching his eyebrow with one hand, a trait he did when he was anxious.  “What would you do if I said those things to you?”  This time her answer stayed in her mind.

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To Plato: helping me to become a better person.

I was at the ArcLight today, browsing through the gift shop before a movie, where I picked up that fill-it-out-yourself book, “About Us”, a book for couples. First it was simple questions like: when did you first have erotic thoughts about this person? who used a pick-up line, and what was it? I was going to show it to V. Then quickly delved into more personal, tricky questions, followed by a warning, “Are you prepared to hear the answers?” I looked at those questions. My imagination quickly ran away with unpleasant possibilities.
I shut the book and put it back on the shelf.

….

I stopped asking when I learned to stop expecting, to save myself from disappointment and stress and heartache and all those other bad things not worth mentioning in fear that I’ll actually start thinking about them. Knowledge is power but ignorance really is bliss, a lovely sweet nothing.

….

I am just not that brave or maybe, mature yet.
A sort-a-sad.
This will require a good chunk of time.

….

Plato correctly stated that men are prisoners and that the perceptions we hold in our minds are our prisons.

“The Matrix” was based on Plato’s tale of the philosopher king and the allegory of the cave. Men trapped in a cave, away from each other, only able to see shadows of plants or animals. One man was able to escape the cave, and he came back, to enlighten those he had left, telling them of real animals, real plants he’d seen, and instead of being appreciative, they turn on him, in anger and in fear, believing him to be insane and their reality to be the one truth.

Perceptions can frighten and trap us. If you let them.

….

The homeless man– no, not who you’re thinking of, you’re thinking of the guy who sits down on the curb, I’m talking about the one who walks up and down in the street between the lanes, the white one with the beard and mustache on Oakwood and Vermont in front of the 101– he always smiles when asking for money, and tells everyone around him to smile. He’s the happiest beggar I’ve ever seen, here or any other city, and it’s because he expects nothing. Cliche, right? Don’t expect anything and be thrilled when you receive. Please don’t be too disappointed in me. We live in a society that has entitlement written all over it, and I’m guilty of being shaped by my surroundings and previous experiences, and maybe when I fully learn to come to terms with it all I’ll learn to appreciate everything at face value, without conceived notions of what it means, what is happening, or what will happen.

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