I crossed my fingers, but I didn't beg. Cause I knew you knew, I knew you knew I liked you. I knew you knew it.

Post-Puerto Rico
................................................................................................

[Attempt at...] Ramblings of the head.

"He said I'm leaving

I said Love is such a rare thing that people just throw away.

He said How's that make me feel any better about us?

I said Well how do you know what love is without ever having loved before?

He says I've never loved anyone like I love you.

I said Well if you leave, someday you will.

But in my head, I'm looking at his guitar, imagining it not there.

And I hate the thought."

[Fragments of ramblings]

"I remember thinking boys were kind.
Warm like pumpkin pies.""

"Uncomfortable silences are real languages that are felt, not spoken."

"They have us surrounded!
Men with tanks all around us!
Holding us at bay with their guns!"

"You can hear them all dying in your head. And yet there you sit, laughing at the man with all the snarky political jokes. He's telling you the truth, feeding it to your cornea.
And there you sit, laughing at all the people dying behind the kingdom of the U.S motherfucking A."

"Awake! Arise! Or be forever fallen."

"Green painted over by red.
War in the fields of Earth."

[Attempt at Lyrics] Mother never told me boys were evil.

Never told me they put on masks.
Entertain you as if they were actors in some play.

Change who they are, the things they say. Cover up their faces with visions of candy mountains and whipped cream streams.

Never told me they'd be your lapdog for as long as you'd show them a bit of teet.

They'll tell you lies that flow from lips dipped and readied in poisonous fruit.

I'd pick up the pieces every time
Say it was alright.
Boys were alright
I just needed to be a better woman
To do better
Needed to be the perfect girl.

(...Incomplete....)

[Self Given/Written] Speeches...Poetry?

"Now, speaking hypothetically here, if humans had souls, do you think we'd earn them? Or, like genetics, we get little pieces of a soul from whomever it is that made us?

Are we manufactured? Some biotic machine capable of thoughts and logic?

Do things like love and hate come bred into us as part of our mainframe?

Or is it society that slowly creeps these feelings into us? Like some sort of bug, a piece of spyware?

Are souls created from hardships and good times? Maybe our souls are earned through the passage of time.

We can't be one without a two. And certainly can't be a two without a three."

***

"Having a soul is much like learning to fly."

"I felt like I shed my soul somewhere.
I can't seem to find it. So I gave myself up to the Guillotine.
Told the man behind the mask to do as he please.

Looked me up and down and said to me
You're looking in all the wrong places,
I don't think I'm the man who you'd like me to be.

He dropped his axe and gave me his back.
Left me alive and freezing to death.
World is number and colder once you've shed your soul.

I kicked off my shoes and smashed my eyes with a big sharp stone.

Went for a walk down a muddy road
Decided to let it come to me.

Like a magnet, people came.
Like animals huddling for warmth.
Empty and Empty still's a bunch of nothing.

Had lost my eyes and my feet were numb.
Sat on a curb, trying to figure it out.
Resting my body, licking my wounds.
Letting my soul catch up.
Perhaps it was lost, wherever it was.

Sat for so long, thought I was done.
Maybe my soul had found a better sidekick than I.
A lover who gave more.
A person who was stronger to hold such a brilliant thing such as it.

The sounds came as a surprise,
swept me up and took me for a ride.

Here I sat; eyeless, dirty, and pretty goddamn soulless.

Man says yes, puts my hands on the keys and says
'Play.'

Maybe all humans have the capacity to play.
But none had ever
With words and music alone
woven me a soul to keep."

End
................................................................................................

I think that's all I can find for the night. That was pretty fun. I liked being able to re-read and re-write all those oldies. Archive them and such. Now I'm gonna go ahead and post pictures. Some are of my art, but most will be of the pipes my husband is currently carving.

Voodoo Spunk Art.