Hello face.

It’s been a long haul.

How many times, over the years, have you been reflected- how many mirrors.

You were once told, if you looked in a ‘True Mirror’, you would see yourself as you were... to others.

Visual effect, nothing more.

Vision of the self, as the shell.

I look at this reflection, cast back over time- new lines, signs of disregard, signs of fast times and loads of fun, signs of pain kept inside, of sadness and fierce looks- yes, you’re damn fucking right I’m wearing dark red, or burgundy and black paint tonight! I will dance until all that’s left is faded, and the lipstick- whatever wasn’t left on an available cheek with my chesire kiss- replenished until that is all that remains.

I look at this reflection, thinking it’s too late to fix what I should have been mindful of, to repair that which I was I was so uncaring of.

I look at this reflection- knowing that those who meet me now- see only what I show them now. They have no photos of the past, when we were ‘just babes’. They have no slight memory of a day that could lead them to an ‘oh, oh my- you look so different now’.

I look at this reflection, this face, and say: yet, would they say this is me? The me now, time worn, yet smiling. Time worn, yet showing where those thought lines started- and why they’ve deepened.

I look at this reflection, I make faces at my face- because, well, I’ve always made faces at me. It’s fun, it’s cathartic, it’s wondering when I’ll come down, and who this shell is underneath the skin suit. It’s what I do.

Hello face. Those who see you and smile? They know you for what you let through you. They know you for the sparkle in your eye, for the grin that- as wrinkled around the edges as it may be- still shows like the Joker’s smile, and yet, like a smile they can share. You don’t want anything from them, but a smile in return. And when you frown, face, oh honey when you frown- they’ll know, they’ll worry, but they will be oh so quick to rejoice when you look at them, have dealt with it, and make them smile in return.

You, dear face- are growing old. As a female face, this could be seen as a fading into memory, into obsolescense... only, of course- if you let it, if you let them.

I look at this reflection- I see experiences. Smiles, grins, tears, rage, anger, and some fear... but that fear is not so much about what this reflection appears to be.

Hello face. You are me. I am you. Let’s make a face today. I stick out my tongue, I grin and wink, I cover your spots, and highlight your angles. You keep being you.

I look at this reflection- this face- and I see not a mask that may have tarnished or weathered, I just see a different guise of me. The next stage of me- and my face.

Thank you, face, for being what a face is, in the grand scheme of faces. Thank you, for playing with me in the mirror over the years. You’ve always been there, even when I didn’t recognize you. Even- when I didn’t want to look at you, yet you always, found a way to smile at me.

The bay grew still with awe, or, perhaps anticipation, of the approaching thunderhead. The massive wall of silvery vapor looked down and smiled. Lightning claws testing their steps, followed closely by the bass roll of laughter as the audience assembled. Sound check complete the rhythm began, of drop from above touching drop from below. The performance commenced, the waves thrashing about. Crescendo, peak, decrescendo, no need to linger, the party moved on. The land left cleansed, in awe itself though refreshed, sometimes a moment is all you need. Oh it rained again, a bit of washing up. When the sky cleans house, it turns up the volume and rocks.

I hear stories, of the crack zombies, walking in the herky jerky in the early morning.

I don't get up that early.

While I've seen a few in my day, none meet the stories from those I know.

And I've seen pretty close.

Their stories- those walking like an extra from any given zombie movie, or show.

My stories, the decline that happened so fast.

But he wasn't quite one of them, I don't think, as he walked the evening sidewalk.

He was a touch different.

It was close, for a moment there, the out of reality stagger, the hands moving.

Then I saw him sign.

I've so little knowledge, beyond a rememberance from years ago, of the ABC's.

Yet there it was.

His right hand, ABCDEF, stop, wave, ABCDEFG, maybe? I swear I saw a W.

He was signing, as he walked.

No one paid attention, I was in my car, watching- he was going through the alphabet.

Or, maybe, that was just a start.

Perhaps he was reminding himself of the letters, a motion important to him,

Before he started the words.

He was too quick for my memory, I sat, making it through G with my own hands.

He didn't see me.

He was walking, kicking detritus under the fencing, along the sidewalk, ignored.

I saw him signing.

Was he deaf, or did he know someone who was, and is no longer here.

I saw him signing.

He wasn't like the crack zombies, he wasn't there at that moment, but he was out of step.

They walked by.

Like good citizens do, right? We don't look, we just walk by, hoping they don't look.

He was signing.

I saw him try to communicate, to something inside, his silence perhaps a scream, in sign.

He was signing, and I saw him, as he walked.

Inspired by the carelessness and seeming solipsism of some coworkers. Rather than saying ‘stop freakin’ taking all the forks home and not bringing them back!!’, I once wrote a tale of the Brave Fork Knights of the land of Utensil Drawer.

This time, near 18 years later- I wanted to send a humorous reminder that ‘your mother doesn’t work here and even if she did- were she like mine, you’d pick up after your own damn self!’

It worked. Some were amused, some grateful, some quiet- yet, the apple was dealt with. Message received, no one embarrassed, and there we go. ;)

On the counter ledge above the fruit bowl, the lone apple sits.

Two, perhaps three, bites removed.

Left to its own devices, the apple awaits its destiny.

Was it bruised and left as an example to the others?

Was it set down in a hurry and now longing to rejoin its bits?

Oh apple, poor apple, we send our hopes you will finally find your place.

Swaying in the breeze, caught in the current.

Adrift on waves of molucules, atoms, flowing, fumbling.

Seeking that moment when the movement is grace.

Catching the clumsy landing and posing for a giggle or a sigh.

Settling in a still moment, hoping for peace.

Until the current comes again, and again, always movement.

It could be a dance, if the steps were known.

It could be a grand performance, of planning and vision.

Yet, it is all unscripted action, reaction.

No plan, but the vaguest of guesses, hoping for the right wave.

If the surf is up today, the wind a whisper,

Perhaps we'll catch the groove, make it through the day unscathed.

If the water is calm underneath, and capped on top,

Perhaps we'll still have a moment to catch our breath, to stop.

On it goes, the ebb and flow.

Where it ends, or if it even does, we're not quite ready to know.

U: So, a demon challenge, eh?

G: Appears so.

U: Internal or external?

G: Closer inspection of the challenge suggests internal- though I’d have to say the two work in tandem should one or the other get a foot in the door.

U: Interesting. Are you sure you’re... ready to go there?

G: Sure? All I can do is start writing... I’m rarely sure, and certainly, this one makes me less so.

U: Why is that?

G: My demons... oh, yes, I have a few. The standard issue demons- insecurity, envy, rage, uncertainty, apathy... just to name those in mind at the moment.

U: Those are a few recognizable ones, yes. However, are you sure they are yours?

G: I still deal with them, even if it’s on a subscription basis, let’s say- I have something of a membership?

U: Why would anyone want that?

G: It’s not a matter of want. It’s a matter of constructs, a matter of recognition, a matter of continued... education.

U: Recognition?

G: Yup. It’s one thing to have a demon, or even a collection, it’s another to know the... face, name, whatever. Recognize = address.

U: And, are you ‘addressing’ your demons?

G: Well, er... You know, I wonder what it would be like if I woke up every day and said “Hallo Demons! What devious misunderstandings and over reactions do we have planned today?” I haven’t yet. I just muzzily hope they sleep longer than I do and then hope the coffee only works for me and I’ll get through...

U: Get through the day? A day without demons?

G: If I took the time to think about them BEFORE they manifested... perhaps.

U: But you don’t, correct?

G: Of course not. They become familiars after a time. “Aha!” I say, each time my rage gets loose. “Egads, well, at least it’s not nearly as strong” I say, each time I envy someone’s cool response when I trip on my tongue. Yet, it only happens after.

U: After you’ve raged, after you’ve torn yourself to bits because you don’t feel you’re good enough, after you’ve realized you are not ‘their’ cool, you are ‘your’ cool kind of thing?

G: Something like that. Yes. I’m all about hindsight, rarely about prevention.

U: Honestly, that’s a seriously human thing to be.

G: Yeah... it just, well, it doesn’t feel right. I mean...

U: You let a demon out there, you know.

G: Ah, yes. That one gets out a great deal. It’s the one with the straight jacket for thought. We’re old aquaintences now.

U: So... familiarity breeds... ?

G: Familiarity breeds familiarity. I know that demon is there- I know I’ll fall into the straight jacket again... just as I’ll fall in with Rage- one bad driver at a time, one idiot on a pulpit at a time, one ‘I should have freakin’ known better!′ at a time.

U: Do you like it? I mean, if you didn’t, you’d...

G: Change it? You were going to say ‘if it makes you uncomfortable, you’d change it’, or something, correct?

U: Your words, my dear, your words.

G: I think my demons are puzzles. Not that I’ve really ever considered puzzles overly intriguing, but these- well I must do, right?

U: You humans play the oddest games.

G: We do. We fall on our swords, we dance with our demons, we succumb again and again... and yet- we continue. One of these days, perhaps you’ll enlighten us as to why?

U: And take away your activities? Nah, you’ll get there eventually. It’s the journey, not the destination.

G: *Sigh* Just my luck, today the Universe is quoting memes...

U: Can’t make it too easy. Besides, those demons are craftsmanship.

G: You never do. Just, next time?

U: Yes?

G: Add some googly eyes or something to them.

Until that moment,

When we see we are interwoven.

Until that moment,

When we understand we are a tapestry.

Until that moment,

We realize that our connection compliments our individuality.

Until that moment,

We open just enough to understand the fate of the other bears upon ourselves as well.

Will we, finally, work together?

Would we, finally, see ourselves as a necessary part of the whole?

Could we, finally, see that our contribution can strengthen the integrity of our world?

Until that moment,

We are strands in the winds of time.

Until that moment,

We will destroy without realization, our own survival.

Until the fabric of the we reaches its end,

Finally.

U: You said you were going to start writing again...

G: Yep, I did...

U: You even wrote a post about it, drew a few likes and all.

G: True, I did do that.

U: So... what happened? I mean beyond the couple of things that were the same thing...

G: Hrm, well, since you're familiar with 'things and stuff' in my brain, have you heard the phrase: "If you can't say anything nice?"

U: That's an oldy there, yes, it's familiar.

G: Well, I got into a time where the letters in my head wouldn't translate through my hands without getting? becoming? Er, something rather jagged, like broken glass flying this way and that.

U: So, you're avoiding the edge? You know that's a limiting phrase. Why not attempt to channel the 'not nice'...

G: Channel, ah yeah. It was a thought. It was also promptly beaten over the noggin rather abrubtly by the other thoughts- and some of their smaller thought fragments. Vicious little bastards at times, those fragments.

U: ... you're, uh, still doing that eh?

G: Doing 'that'?

U: That thing where you let the thoughts run rampant and they dance around you like a May Pole with cans of silly string that hardens to bind you in all straight-jackety like. THAT thing.

G: *Sigh*, I suppose it's yet another of those life long things. A challenge I'll carry with me like a comfortable old sweater until my dying day...

U: IS it comfortable? I mean, when you get down to it?

G: Good point. Like the idea that comfort is not always beneficial... it's just...

U: Easy?

G: Argh. There it is...

U: I know you've heard this before, in one form or another, yet- when is the point where you say the short discomfort of even the attempt to break the long comfort of binding thought, just might bring about a better form of comfort?

G: If I knew...

U: Would you? You were going to say you'd be there, weren't you?

G: Heh, you know me too well.

U: Of course I do. It's what I do.

G: And you don't make anything easy...

U: What credit to you, my little basket of tangled words, would THAT be?

G: Touche...

U: ;)

Kicked back from the ether- version 1:

World weary, she tries again.

Let the words... be words.

Vowels and consonants,

Arrange themselves.

Flow my alphabet, flow.

Can you convey,

Can you display.

What have you to say?

You have been silent for so long.