I want you to write about what freedom means to you. Do you feel free to express your beliefs/life philosophy, creative genius, opinions, feelings, sexuality/gender identity, authenticity etc.? Was there ever a time when you did not speak out against injustice but should have? Was there ever a time when you felt that your personal freedoms were restricted in anyway? What if any limits do you think there should be concerning freedom of expression? What improvements would you like to see within your own community?
Sunday Writing Prompt “Poem-Alone by Edgar Allen Poe”
What sort of dream continues
to weave its machinations throughout the day
and does not desist
though I have departed from sleep?
It is the residue of my tears left to coalesce.
I cannot distinguish myself
from the stars overheard
or from the streams
which are born each moment anew.
I am not like the others
and for this I am held distant.
I do not have the time or the gall
to care what other’s think.
I have but this life
and it is well and truly occupied
by the things that I love,
by the poetry that dwells deep within me.
been busy house painting
Sunday Writing Prompt “Satire”
“You’re not special enough. We are looking for someone with distinction, someone with a strong but vacuous presence. How many labels have you acquired? Did you bring your personalized glossary? Do suffer from independent thought? We can’t have you thinking, that would never do.”
“You have not suffered enough. We can’t assist you. Come back when you’re dead, better wait until decomposition starts and you’ve gone a little sour.”
“Did you say that you were real? We don’t work with anyone who hasn’t been under the knife. You must be tailored specifically to our aesthetic. I can see from here that you are not a factory model. Your skin is too supple and did you know that your breasts are natural? The breast must not yield on contact and under absolutely no circumstances should the nipple point south of the horizon. And please tell me that you brought a syringe, heaven forbid you should emote during business hours.”
“Did you say that you train? No that can’t be. Why you don’t even have a thigh gap and where is your 6 pack? From the looks of it you eat at least twice a day. I hate to ask this but do you eat carbs? You’ve got that doughy look. Have you ever considered lipo? I happen to carry an airbrush in my bag I can touch you up before you leave, we’ll straighten those curves right out!”
“Did you say that you had a mental illness? No that can’t be everyone knows that depressed people live underground and that they never, under any circumstances, get out of bed. Therapy isn’t for your kind. Now if you’ve had mediocre vacation recently I might be able to get you a few days of sick leave.”
Accidentally posted my prompt here! The actual prompt is here
The Sunday Whirl Wordles 360 and 362 and Sunday Writing Prompt “Quotes”
It’s 3am and I am walking backwards,
up and down the staircase in a faulty rhythm.
There is a knot in my throat the size of a fist
and whenever I speak it tastes of gravel.
My dress climbs higher with each step
the pattern indistinguishable at certain altitudes
and I reflect sadly on my once trim thighs.
Time forces the soul to the surface,
turns us inside out and right side up
or upside down depending on our persuasion.
My brain feels tight and heavy
and I can’t make out the path ahead.
Under siege, my emotions come one and all.
I take a sputtering, bloodied breath
but the moment for enlightenment has passed.
A spray of shrapnel catches my left ventricle,
I grip the edge of my kitchen countertop
to keep from spilling onto the linoleum tiles.
Between lakes and pines I feel invincible,
a beast can only live in wild spaces.
Low light softens even the gravest afflictions.
My thoughts are audible as they pass.
I travel landscapes like the simple quilts
woven by my grandmother’s hands
but the distance does not bring me
any closer to a sense of freedom.
I keep tripping over the same fork in the road.
Are these obstacles gifts or signs?
I spend my days fighting the fires in my infernal heart
and my nights closeted by baseless fears.
Is this my picture perfect, my life as I have willed it?
Wordle #204 and Sunday Writing Prompt “Take a Walk”
It was Tuesday when I killed him. To date it is my only kill. Given events I would do it again. I have no regrets. Had we met under different circumstances you would not think me a monster. I would have appeared to you very ordinary if I appeared to you at all. I spent the whole of my life wrestling the eaves, hidden in the umbra and dust like a forgotten dream. Nothing could compete with his ambition. You cannot possibly imagine what it is to be obsessed if you have lived only to endure. He was obsession itself, a force of nature held together only by enigma. You would have liked him, he was charismatic, everyone said so.
I do not wish to speak of our courtship. All things are beautiful and shiny in the beginning. The man that I met all those years ago was very different from the man who became my husband. To call him a man at all is blasphemy for he was something else entirely. Not a God but a Devil in plain sight. Once I saw him nothing, not even sleep, could persuade my eyes closed.
We lived on the marsh in a large grey house with stingy windows and heavy metal doors. The sort of doors that bar passage in either direction, doors to denote incarceration. Within his withered chest there was a muculant heart not fit for kindling. Never have I met a man so greasy and cold and him a sawbones no less. Ours was an unhappy marriage from start to denouement. My life was a coffin, a mortared wall, a mournful sigh carried over from the moment before.
A heart can break many times over and mine clung to the sweat on my skin like a fine powder, it covered me from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. I was only that, a great, gaping black hole of a heart. When he beat me I did not feel it but for his subjects I felt deeply. Mournful and breakable his subjects were the sort not to be missed. He took to tying me up table side, he wanted a witness. Not for his crimes mind, he saw the murders as necessary, research he called them. I was there to witness his genius and of his genius he was fanatically proud. In the beginning I tried to reason with him but he was convinced of the validity of his cause. In the end my only purpose became to undermine him, to save as many people as could be saved. My efforts were met with force and cruelty the likes of which you could not imagine even if recounted.
It was broad daylight when I killed him in the cellar where he conducted his experiments. His face was cruel in the in dim light, like a sickle or a smile turned on edge. I crouched for hours beside his stiffening corpse, a pair of latex gloves peeping out from his white coat while my hands rested bloody and bare on the hilt. Finally, I thought and heaved a sigh of relief.
All my dreams cut and cauterized at his behest but as a murderess I suspect that I shall know fame if not gratitude. I have done the world a great service though the world may never know it. I dare say his crimes may be assigned my face and my name. He was a fantastic liar, good under pressure, a preta in human guise.
Sunday Writing Prompt – Select a Heading
Alice was not a product of science but a product of hope. A hope, albeit threadbare, that held two very special people hostage for over 10 years.
Joseph and Avina had been trying for years to conceive. The strain of infertility tore at their marriage and at their faith in the universe’s benevolence. Alice was a miracle and with her birth they grew both individually and as a unit. Alice was a precocious child full of light and wonder. They spoiled her and she loved them without embarrassment as only very small children can.
Alice died when she was 6 years old, drowned in the river behind their house. She had been told never to go to the river by herself but on that particular day she decided to exercise her curiosity. It was a beautiful day, a day of invitations, spring after a long and isolating winter. She had been coloring in her room when she noticed something by the water. To an adult’s eyes it was only a trick of light but to her mind it was proof of the impossible. She crept out through a side door while her mother made lunch and down to the river’s edge. She hadn’t intended to get wet, only to investigate.
The day that Alice died the willows bowed their heads deeper and wept. Each night Avina and Joseph crept down to the star-glazed water and cried alongside them.
I chose When Willows Weep at Night
Sunday Writing Prompt “It’s All In The Title”
I hold my breath, sobs tethered
behind a faltering smile.
Your words fasten like a knife
in the grove of my intestines.
I never leave enough
room for goodbyes.
From the river’s edge
the willow’s shriek,
long limbs contorted
with each torn exhale.
Possessed with grief
I choose my reply carefully
but the delivery still scars.
Call Me Kaleidoscope
As I get older I find myself gravitating more toward the blue tide. It probably comes as no surprise that I am a deeply introspective person. I love philosophy, psychology, physiology, literature, nutrition and fitness, and eastern religious studies. My whole life I have been searching for a single answer “What does it mean to be human?”. I am still learning to love learning but when something or someone sparks my curiosity I am positively insatiable. I analyze and reanalyze but logic is not my strong suit. I am more intuitive and insightful than I am logical. I am constantly tripping over the basics whereas more complex ideas make sense immediately. As I get older the less, I realize, I know. The black and white certainties of youth have given way to so much grey. My pursuit of truth is very personal, very internal and unfortunately I have never been good at taking society into account. Which is not to say that I am criminal, just that fitting in never figures in. Did I mention I am mad as a hatter?
I hate seeing people/animals suffer. I am unable to distinguish between my suffering and other people’s suffering, sometimes I even sympathize with inanimate objects! Yet many would consider me insensitive and I can be insensitive. I push people away. I avoid forming close personal relationships and I have a blind spot when it comes to people’s feelings about me. I wouldn’t consider myself a martyr though, when I do something for someone it is because I want to. I cannot be made to do anything.
I am internally motivated and yet I do seek reassurance. I am insecure and lacking in confidence. When taking on a new challenge I tend to need a lot of reinforcement/guidance (I have learning disabilities). Once mastered I prefer to be left alone to work but in the initial stages I can very fucking needy. While I don’t generally concern myself too much with opinions I don’t like to be seen as stupid and I hate situations where my ability to communicate is limited. Although I don’t talk very much in general social situations (I talk my husband’s head off!) I like knowing that I could, if I was moved to do so, express myself intelligently. I also need to be loved and to be listened to but that’s probably just the human in me.
Red is one of my primary tides. I am intense, passionate, emotional, moody, and instinctive. I have a fiery temper and I am stubborn to the point of insanity. While my stubbornness has allowed me to survive and even to thrive in difficult circumstances it has also proven an impediment. I tend to refuse opportunities and changes when they are first presented to me and it takes a lot of soul searching in order to accept something even if I wanted to accept it in the first place! I gave everything in the pursuit of love, in the pursuit of the extraordinary and I found it.
Indigo is probably my weakest tide as I feel that each person has their own personal truth. When I was a child living in an abusive and unstable environment I did seek comfort in rules and routines. How should we treat one another? What is the right course of action? How much responsibility does a child have for the sins of their parents? How do I become a better person? How do I become a person at all? I wanted desperately to find clear and concise answers. I wanted the people around me to behave in ways that I could understand. I wanted to control others so that they would not be able to cause pain to themselves/others. I still have some control issues. I still organize when I am stressed and I boss people around when I clean. I still try to fix it when someone comes to me upset but I have come to understand that everyone has their own path to follow and my opinion guides me alone.
Sunday Writing Prompt #243 “Core Beliefs”
It’s all my fault.
A few days ago our sofa was delivered. Sam scrambled to find the bungee cord we use to tie open the front door so that the wind wouldn’t blow it closed when he and the deliveryman were carrying it inside. He couldn’t find it. My first thought “Oh my god what have I done?!” Sam wasn’t angry with me. He adapted to the situation and nothing was said about the missing item but I was instantly imagining scenarios where I might have misplaced the bungee cord or worst case scenario thrown it away. The next day I looked all over for it, trying to think where I might have put it. I remembered thinking how annoying the bungee cord was and how it often fell or got tangled on items hanging on the coat rack. More than once I have thought about moving it but I remembered deciding against it because we keep it by the front door for a reason. Still I went on doubting myself because I have Dissociative Disorder so it is always possible I have done something without remembering. Sam was going to the store to pick up storage boxes that day and I admitted to him that I could not find the cord. His response “I think I used the cord to tie down the tarp on the grill.” He didn’t realize it had been bothering me. At no point had he been angry about it or even suspicious, he’d simply forgotten where it was in the heat of the moment. I blamed myself though. With Dissociative Disorder comes severe memory issues. I don’t trust myself. If I feel sick I am never fully convinced that it is real. I think maybe this is just stress, maybe I am trying to avoid my responsibilities or sabotage myself in someway that I am not consciously aware of. I second guess my actions, my thoughts, my motives, my feelings. I am never quite sure of myself, which wrecks havoc on my confidence and my self-esteem.
I imagine that having any form of mental illness makes you question your perspective continuously. I am always testing reality. I frequently pinch myself (actually I touch my tongue to one of my canines) to see if I am awake or not, particularly when I am getting off the bus just to be certain I didn’t fall asleep. As an adult I have never fallen asleep and missed my stop. If someone says that something didn’t happen the way I remember I will usually accept their version even when the evidence supports my version better. I imagine it also has to do with being abused as a child, children assume responsibility for their abusers.
I understand intellectually that blaming myself isn’t doing anything for my emotional health. I am certainly not a more effective problem solver when dealing with all that guilt and paranoia but I really don’t know how to trust in a mind that plays so many tricks on itself. It is a continuous battle to stay connected to reality. No reality is the truth really, it is all perspective and there is no way to be 100% certain. I guess all we can do is remain open and curious and see what happens instead of imprisoning ourselves within our own certainty/uncertainty.
Sunday Writing Prompt #235 “New Years Resolutions”
I wasn’t planning on writing anything. I have talked at length about my feelings on self-improvement. Mine is certainly not the most popular stance. I believe 90% of all self-improvement efforts come from a place of self-hatred rather than from a place self-acceptance. We often disguise acts of self-harm/self-abuse with pretty and placatory rhetoric but when the ultimate goal is erasure or truth distortion the outcome is never favorable long-term. All of our various qualities are essential to who we are and while degrees of said qualities vary, we are all human. I have found great sources of strength in my so-called flaws. Stubbornness = Determination. Impatience = Enthusiasm. You simply can’t possess one without the other, they are two sides of the same coin. So be careful what you wish for when building the new you and remember that you can never escape yourself no matter how much shit and/or glitter you adorn.
We waste so much effort in trying to control and micromanage every aspect of our lives. We even attempt to control one another in an effort to maintain a very limiting ego view! I have seen so many people push away friends and family when on a self-improvement kick all because their friends and family refuse to conform to their very limited world view. Obviously some relationships are truly abusive/unhealthy but I am not talking about those relationships. I am talking about your garden variety relationship. No relationship is perfect. There are no perfect people. And there is no magical state of homeostasis that occurs once you reach a goal that does not have to be maintained through continuous and conscientious effort. I work very hard to maintain my weight. In order to maintain my weight I have to exercise, I have to eat regular/balanced meals. If there is a magical stage where I can eat whatever I want and sit around on the sofa all day and still maintain my health and physique I have yet to enter it. Years of healthy eating have not released me from my cravings. Some people say that after they have been eating clean X number of months/years that their cravings subside. I can’t speak for them but for me this has not been the case. I crave bad food sometimes. I also crave vegetables sometimes. As I get older I am less attracted to certain desserts but what I never seem to do is lose my appetite. I have a voracious appetite and a passionate love of food. What’s the point of starving myself on a bland diet? What’s the point of killing my passion for food? Can’t this passion be harnessed? Cannot this not too be a strength?
I hated exercise when I was a child. As an adult I have learned to look forward to my workouts. I still hate running but there are lots of other styles of training that I genuinely enjoy. Has exercise gotten easier? Yes and no. I have certainly gotten into the habit of regular exercise. I have seen the benefits of regular exercise. I have to continually challenge my body. I have to sweat and struggle otherwise it’s not really exercise is it? Without opposition there can be no growth. Weight-loss though should just be a byproduct, a side-effect because once weight-loss is achieved most people either loss motivation and revert to their previous behaviors or they continue to starve themselves into horrific caricatures. Goals are important but goals that devalue you are more harmful than helpful.
Anyone can be more peaceful if they move to Buddhist retreat and live a simple, monotonous lifestyle where everyone around them more or less adheres to the same system of values and there is probably benefit in going on the occasional retreat but in the end growth comes from being challenged. My daughter often says I will be more positive when life goes my way, when I get my perfect moment. Every moment has its truth. We are never going to get our shit together, that’s not actually the point though is it? The fun is in the process. Life is in the process.
Doing things you hate to improve the quality of your life simply doesn’t work long-term. Embrace new experiences, fall in love with life and all those shallow imitations of happiness/fulfillment will naturally loosen their grip. If you think of change as a natural and organic process and you accept yourself (warts and all) you will get to a point where you start to make better choices, choices that promote mental/physical/spiritual health. Fuck the mold. Be like water.