Boom. Problem Solved.
I like to think I'm a problem solver. The shotgun shell cost me about 64 cents. I can live with the hole in the wall. And the spider is most assuredly dead.
Facing The Gravity of Death (Bitter-Sweet)
the cyan sea.
guillotine and gallow
in the eve.
With hollow depths
the watercolor skies,
the sun sets,
in her eyes.
her shallow image
in serene —
stretched to press
graphic novel scene.
changing water into wine —
spirit of divine.
photo credit: tea rose photography
Is There One
The other defined.
Or is it.
Would not a solution created,
create another problem?
Are we not defined, by the problems we face,
and the choices of our solutions.
Problem: Not married anymore.
New problem: Falling in love again.
Problem: Losing your job.
Solution: Get a new one.
New problem: Laid off ... or fired again.
Problem: Have Cancer.
Solution: Get treatment.
New problem: Cancer rises its ugly head again.
With all the problems,
we have solutions.
The problem, all solutions give more problems.
Wrapped in bed sheets like a burrito
dancing thoughts keep me awake,
backward existence where problems
of my world are solved and creativity
blossoms into mirrored reflections.
Blankets welcome me as family
morning arrives too soon
wish I could sleep until noon
nighttime ideas are weighing me down
I struggle out of bed and start coffee
prop up eyelids and start to jot
my solutions from the night before
on tiny paper scraps before I forget
this is going to be another crazy day
a turned around day of imagination.
A reason to get up in the morning.
A New Perspective
Yesterday I sat outside in a different chair
A whole new view opened up
How the wind moves
The back view of neighborhood houses above their fences
A fresh patch of blue sky with clouds
A new perspective changed how I felt
I accomplished more difficult tasks than I had in last couple of months
Log Entry #38
I see the world around me as nothing more than a multitude of things to obliterate.
The sight of the rubble filled me with such satisfaction. Another thing destroyed by my own hand. Before I could walk away from the mess I made I met someone. She was astonished by my work. She seems a fascinating being. I think she may just be the right fit for me, she is Reparation. We made plans for tonight.
I am filled with excitement at the prospect of something new. She just got off work and is heading here now, will write more later.
Log Entry #39
Sorry I haven’t written in awhile. It’s been fun getting to know Reparation. When we aren’t hard at work fulfilling our purposes we are with eachother.
I destroy and she rebuilds. It’s beautiful, us enabling eachother do what we do best.
The novelty of a new connection never ceases to fill me with joy and curiosity but most importantly, hope.
Log Entry #40
Reparation left today. I feel hollow. It’s impossible to fight my innate desire to destroy, I am blinded by this desire. Perhaps I should give in? Will ponder this.
The search must continue as still I yearn to find my solution. It’s painful thought isn’t it? What if I try again and fail? This fear debilitates me, I don’t want to hurt anymore.
Reparation taught me alot, she was stunning and such an optimist. Always saw a way to take my destruction and build it back up into something new. But, we got caught in an increasingly negative feedback loop as illfitted partners do. She grew weary of cleaning up my inevitable messes and I grew increasingly ashamed of my lack of ability to change.
It was heartbreaking. I couldn’t bare to watch her walk away along with my hope for a solution, so I didn’t. Coward!
Log Entry #41
Had to get a new computer after I destroyed my last one or I’d have written sooner. I am filled with questions as of late:
Is there a solution searching for a problem like me? Could there be one? Or am I destined to wander this existence in solitude?
Isolation is so much more lonely when it feels like my only option.
Reparation was the first time I felt hope in awhile. Regeneration was fun, but we ended up doing the same things over and over again - it got old quickly. Protection and I had a quick fling but it was obvious that we were opposites in all of the wrong ways.
Eh, it hurts to revisit these relationships that I was inevitably the demise of. It’s getting late anyway, going to rest now.
Log Entry #42
I know, it’s been awhile. I spiralled out a bit. Didn’t feel much like writing. I took some time to be with myself, to destroy without fear. By doing this, I went further than I ever have. I am convinced it was doing this that lead her to me.
My solution has found me. I know with every fiber of my being that she is what I have been searching for. I am empty no more.
She is life, she is light, she is everything that I am not. She is Creation.
I am resolved.
A slippery slope.
It started off well. She slowly glided her way down a mountain top , through virgin snow and basked in the warmth of the glistening sun, enjoying the startling vista of white-covered peaks and clear blue skies.
But gravity soon took over, and pulled her down an unfamiliar and steeper route. As her speed increased and poles suddenly appeared from nowhere, she could feel herself starting to lose control.
She tried what she had been taught, her instructor’s monotone voice reverberating in her mind :
“To turn more sharply and on steeper slopes you need to move your weight from foot to foot as well as turning them.”
As she slalomed her way down the slope , the momentum building faster and faster, she had a profound thought of how it mirrored her life : A constant downhill struggle of slaloming her way through crap!
No time to think, as one obstacle after another emerged from nowhere, testing her control and threatening to take her down.
Mounting bills, lean left.
Finding work, lean right.
Parents’ divorce, lean left again.
Her frightening and controlling ex-boyfriend Jack, well she went smack bang into that one!
She lay as a thermal-clothing heap on the cold snow, legs sore and googles askew , and pondered “Is this how it will all end with Jack ? ”
She picked herself up and dusted herself off as her instructor came skiing up beside her.
“I was going too fast and I couldn’t avoid Jack... I mean the post.”
″ Simple solution to that, ” The instructor replied in a robotic voice, devoid of sympathy “Slow down and balance yourself. Or if you need to, just stop.”
Return to Sender
I just feel super horny when I see a classic style mailbox. It would be painted, propped up securely on bricks or a nice wooden post. It will have a beautiful red flag. But there's no way I can do it in public. At least not in my neighborhood with its bright streetlamps and noisy neighbors.
No, I'm not trying to steal your mail. I actually don't care whether it's full or completely empty. But I do want to open it. Then close it. Over and over and over.
So I send postcards. The addresses are always a little wrong. They come back to my mailbox, and that means it was opened and closed all without me doing it myself. It's amazing. Sometimes I go weeks without a postcard coming back. When one finally comes in, I squeal inside. I really do wait for the mail with bated breath!
Some might say I don't know for sure what kind of mailbox my postcards end up in like that was ever the point. Every mailbox has a physicality and gets mail from here to there. Yes, the mailbox itself is beautiful. But it's what's inside that counts.
Farewell, Fear Darling.
In the early hours of the day,
I chanced upon the weathered remains of a worry,
One that surfaced during a particularly brash storm
but had crumbled during the purge of the mind
we call meditation,
and I stomped on it,
"You shall never have power over me."
"You are not what I am."
"And I will never be you."
- Lady Bell
Sustained, though vital, time in quarantine's
been fraught with boredom, stress, and changed routines,
including new demands for 'expertise'
in driver's education road critiques
for offspring who go slow and incite creeps
to rage unsafely, passing on blind sweeps.
She's anxious and uncomfortable in cars
with great respect for power and the odds,
so forcing speed would cause undue alarm
and cast a gloomy light on Homeschool Bop.
And, yet, I must protect my girl from harm-
a parent's foremost fundamental job-
as we meander past old dairy farms
amongst tailgaters and erratic sods.
I order a magnetic bumper sign,
reflective 'Student Driver' neon shine,
in hopes their bullying will be confined.
Alas! They're not content to stay behind-
endangering us all, so I'm resigned...
I flash them BOTH my middle fingers' spines.