Posts tagged spilled ink
Posts tagged spilled ink
It’s in my nature,
To always covet you,
And make you all mine.
Eww. Is this more verbal masturbation over Brendan? I may be sick.
I will pierce your soul,
Without any permission granted by you,
Probing all your insides,
With my two discerning eyes created by spirit,
My orbs of light will penetrate beyond your flesh,
I will absorb those shadows that you dance with,
Until I become a part of you,
But you shall never become a part of me.
I will harass,
Stalk, and creep you out,
With my two psychotic eyes,
I will freak you out,
To the point of having to call the authorities.
My name is Dawn Gordon - be very wary.
He was the lightening that flashed in my sky,
And the thunder that rumbled in my spirit,
He was the flowers that bloomed in my garden,
And the soil that I rooted myself in,
But he was also the rain that fell from my eyes.
Sigh. So what? Brendan moved your f’ing loins. You pine for him and masturbate to him. Who f’ing cares?
A quiet and fervent wish
by death-fearing ones
Do feel free to critique my first attempt at major creative writing. I’m doing this “seat of my pants” so good/bad reviewing is much needed.
The Beginning (But Not Exactly)
The house was always there. Locals in the surrounding area couldn’t remember a time when it wasn’t there. While impressive as far as size, the house didn’t have any distinguishing features. The grounds surrounding it - at one time, meticulously manicured - in recent decades had become large plots of tangled bush, vine, and weeds. If one looked hard enough, little garden gnomes and miscellaneous tiny statues could be seen peeking out like timid and oddly shaped groundhogs. Occasionally a bit of movement occurred in the brambles and out popped a little rabbit.
The faded and cracked paint that adorned the house appeared to a pea green and the once white trim dulled to a forlorn grey. Boards had warped and shifted throughout but otherwise the front porch seemed to be intact. The oddest part of the entire house (at least while admiring the outside) was the front door. It appeared almost brand new; sanded, smooth, painted with a bright shiny door knob and bolt locks. Someone had taken the time to tend to the front door while letting the rest of the house fall to the wayside.
This is what Karen Jones had to work with and she hadn’t yet looked at the backend of the house nor the inside. Considering the shape of the front and the surrounding grounds, she was not looking forward to perusing the rest of the home. There were so many other things she would rather be doing right now. Getting a tooth extracted was at the top. But she had been given this mildly dilapidated house as a gift (of sorts) and she needed to decide what to do with it despite her general and ongoing loathing of the house.
Karen thought back to what had placed her squarely in this predicament: family. This struck her as rather funny considering she had spent most of her life in a solitary fashion. Her parents had died in an office fire when she was eleven. The rest of her childhood was spent bouncing around different foster homes – all of which seemed to be comprised of people much more interested in other life aspects than in her. By the time she became a legal adult, she had quite a bit of time experiencing being alone. It never occurred to her to seek out distant relatives.
Fortunately (or unfortunately, in Karen’s mind), she didn’t have to start shaking her family tree. One evening a few weeks back, while cozied up to a cup of tea and book in her tidy little apartment, Karen received a phone call. One Mr. Lionel Cupperton, part of the law firm Thorton, Cupperton, and Meed, had called to inform her she had inherited an item of some value and could she please come by his office at her earliest convenience? Skeptically, she agreed to a day and time, wrote down the office address, said her goodbyes, and promptly went to her laptop to look up the law firm’s legitimacy.
The prestigious firm comprising of Thorton, Cupperton, and Meed had been in the legal business since the 1930s practicing law for quite a few well-known people in the state. Having satisfied her life-long practice of never believing things at face value, Karen decided the item of unknown value was most likely, at best, some hideous piece of furniture or, at worst, some long forgotten bill that had racked up quite a bit of interest. Life had a way with screwing with you like that, she’d found over the years. A gift was placed in front of you and it was something you didn’t want or something that caused you discomfort. In any case, she wasn’t keen on disrupting her regular schedule to be handed something she most likely didn’t want.
At the appointed day and time, Karen found herself face to face with Mr. Cupperton in a rather uncomfortable chair set in a dimly lit office. After shuffling his paperwork around a few times, he said “We had quite a time finding you. It seems nearly all of your family line has died out. You are the sole remaining relation of Mrs. Mary Twisp.”
She tried to recall any conversations her parents may have had regarding anyone with the last name of “Twisp” as it was a bit unusual. Nothing came to mind. She wasn’t surprised. Over the years, the memories she had as a child with her parents while they were alive had become hazy, scrambled bits of colors, smells, and sights. She had tried to keep a better handle on those fragile bits of memory but the years had made them too slippery and illusive. “I’m afraid I have no idea who you’re talking about” Karen replied.
The lawyer excitedly launched into a rather lengthy bit of genealogy going back to the 1920s. Most of the family tree tracing was lost on Karen. However, the gist of the line was Karen’s father was the only son of one John Jones. John Jones, in turn, was the sole son of one Phineas Jones who had married Alexandria Twisp – sister of William Twisp. William had been married to Mary (nee Pelton) and, despite years of trying, had no children. John, Phineas, Alexandria, and William were all deceased. Therefore, as her parents had only the one child and Mary Twisp had recently passed away, Karen was the only living relative within the family Twisp.
Mr. Cupperton rambled on for a while and eventually came to the point of the entire meeting. Mary Twisp had stated in her will that her house would be given to remaining family members with the caveat that it not be sold. A managed trust fund had been put into place to cover all future property taxes. The law firm had doggedly tried to locate any and all living family members. It boiled down to just one – Karen. He shoved a bunch of paperwork towards Karen and indicated where she should sign. Handing her a set of keys and directions to her newly acquired home, Mr. Cupperton stood up, shook her hand, and directed her toward his office door.
Blinking in the sudden bright light of the sun, Karen stood staring at the keys in her hand. Just like that, she was a home owner. As the reality sunk it, it dawned on her there would be a ton of other things she’d be the owner of as well. Upkeep, repair, furnishing, insurance, and who knows what else? The tiny glimmer of happiness was quickly squashed by her damned realistic nature. It was a by-product of growing up the way she did; inevitably one is disappointed no matter how hard one tries to be happy.
Once she reached the sanctity of her apartment, Karen launched into a bit of research regarding the Twisp family, the house, and the surrounding tiny town. Mary had been in the house her entire life. She was born there and never left. After they were married, William moved into the house with Mary and her parents. Mary and William took care of her parents until the day they died. The house seemed central to every aspect of Mary. Surprisingly and despite being located in such a small and relatively unknown town, the Twisp house had seen its share of interesting people over the course of nearly ten decades.
The sense of closeness, family and even excitement permeated nearly everything Karen read about Mary Twisp. It was unnerving. Mary had the life Karen never did. Though the family was small, it was still very connected and very loving. Karen realized this was something she had always craved. She felt as though something had been stolen from her. A vital piece of life that others had and she would never know. Placed along with her belief that the house was going to end up costing her more than it was worth, she began to loathe the idea of going to see the house.
So, here she was - standing in the gravel drive, staring at the front of the Twisp house. A part of her wanted to get back into her car, never thinking of the house again. The more sensible part of her realized this wouldn’t make things any better. The house would still be here. She’d still own it. And it would fall into further disrepair by simply ignoring it. “Besides”, she told herself, “I can think of it as a fresh start. I’ll think of it as an adventure and a life-long journey in home ownership.” Resigned, Karen started up the front porch steps toward the front door.
Reaching for the door knob, Karen thought to herself “This is the beginning”. But it wasn’t, not really.
It can never be, they say
When you tell them you do not pray
How do you live, they inquire
When a god-free life is what you admire
But the design and intelligence, they shout
When you state creationism carries no clout
There was no Adam and Steve, they cry
When tolerance for all is what you stand by
May you burn in hell, they spew
When all you have done is shared your view
The cold, crisp air bites
inviting all to bundle
like fat sausages
As a precursor to (hopefully) getting into more complex forms of creative and fictional writing, I thought I’d start by writing something of a non-fictional nature about myself. I realize I’ve tended toward the overtly poking of one stalking and harassing bear and this may have pigeon-holed me. There’s nothing worse than pigeon-holing so let’s hope this clears up the air.
I was born on October 24, 1966 in Bellevue, Washington. My name was actually supposed to be Shaun (correct me if I’m wrong, Mom) Renee. My biological father, for reasons completely unknown to me (though I suspect he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box), decided to copy my mother’s first name instead. So, I was presented to the world as Susanne Renee Alberts. I was born with a cleft lip and (not discovered until much later) tachycardia.
My mother loved me so very much. How do I know this? Her husband left her in a tiny trailer. She collected bottles and such from the road to turn in for the change. She used this change to buy baby food for me and ketchup for herself. She’d make “tomato soup” from the ketchup. She is a very proud woman and did what she could to make sure her baby was taken care of. My grandparents found her and took us both home. My grandparents were truly beautiful and proud people as well. I miss them both terribly.
My beautiful and wonderful mother met my adoptive father, fell in love, and was married. He adopted me once they were married and I believe it was in this time frame my cleft lip was corrected (again, my mother can correct me). I think, for a time, she was happy with him. I’ll never know why exactly and, in deference to my sweet mother, I’ll not go much further into the sort of person I found him to be. Needless to say, when I was 16, my mother divorced my adoptive father and lived a short bit of life with a Norwegian wonder.
I graduated high school and decided to join the Navy (despite my tachycardia - it’s was not very detectable unless I was having an attack). I’m not exactly sure why the Navy appealed to me at the time but who can figure the mind of a teen/new adult? My life turned very much for the worse - even before I managed to get to basic training. To make a long story short, I was raped the night before going to basic training in Orlando, FL. After a few weeks, it was found that I was pregnant and sent home on a medical discharge.
This is the point in my life where I questioned what I had grown up with - God and Jesus. It was the starting point, anyway. In the middle of the night while home at my mother’s, I had the most horrific pain. I can’t even describe it accurately now. I woke my mother and went to the hospital. Spontaneous abortion. What an odd word for something like that. It almost makes it sound as though an impromptu party was held. Little did I know it was the harbinger of more pain to come.
Spinning my wheels - I think that’s what I did for a bit. Then I decided to pick up pieces of my life and start again. I joined the Army. Germany bound for three years, I spent quite a bit of time partying, coming home only to attend to my mother and step-father as he died of squamous cell carcinoma. These were selfish years I had. I reveled in German culture, German people, and my freedom to do as I pleased.
After my miscarriage so many years prior, I found I was unable to stay pregnant past the first trimester. Until the age of 28, I suffered more than a few miscarriages. It finally popped up that I had precancerous cells on my cervix. I panicked. This is when my atheism solidified. It was incomprehensible to me why I would be punished so thoroughly when I had done nothing to incur such wrath. It was at this point that I realized that I was not *thinking*…I was attempting to lay the bad things in my life in the hands of something that just didn’t exist. This is the point where I realized that *I* am responsible for my life and the things that happen during it.
Imagine my surprise when, after a bit of cryosurgery on my cervix, I found myself pregnant. I was so nervous. The first trimester passed. Then the second. At 28 I was going to actually be a mother. It was quite possibly the best moment of my life. And, up until this point, I had been able to manage and hide my tachycardia fairly well. My luck would run out during labor.
My oldest, Jessica, was born by c-section. The combination of my tachycardia and the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck made this possible. Soon after, I had my tachycardia attended to - RF (radio frequency) ablation. No more racing heart rate. However, a tiny part of my heart was damaged. Enough so to necessitate having a pacemaker after a few years.
I met a man named George and we were married. We had two children together and were mildly happy for nearly ten years. I met another man who clicked so thoroughly, knew me to my very core, and made me smile so brilliantly. I didn’t ask for it to happen…it just did. It’s this man I’m with to this day. All my love for eternity to my sweet James.
Over the whole of my life I have been (career-wise):
My life is pretty much an open book. You are more than welcome to ask me about *any* part of my life (including the parts I haven’t touched on, swinging lifestyle and bisexuality). I hope I have given you more incite and the niggling wish to ask for more.
I love listening to the sound of your breath as you softly sleep.
I adore the look of complete calm and peace on your face.
I wonder if you dream of me as often as I dream of you.
I hope to always look upon your face every morning until the day we expire.
Crocodile tears flow
to a pile of vicious lies
and no one is moved
That single moment
when you looked in my eyes
That split second
when it seemed the world stood still
It was that very tiny bit of time
when I knew I was forever yours
Beautiful. The way I feel about my guy :)
Goodbye to you, mo(u)rning dew
You have been replaced, usurped
by the voice of sanity and joy
The sun has moved you, mocked you
and burned away the nocturnal and dark
Rejoice! Dance! Revel!
See the bright light of sweet truth
To us, it’s new. It was actually built in the 70s. But we forget this fact quite often because it’s, well, new to us. The walls are all still painted white and the carpet is all a light beige (except the master bedroom which departs from the rest of the house with a decidedly loud and dark bluish green) from when the realtors did their presale thing. And because we haven’t changed any of this, the house outwardly says “new”.
Then the heater kicks in. It did for the first time the other day when outside temperatures finally plunged down far enough to eek out some of the insulated warmth. Warm air blowing through the house does the most curious thing - it causes the expansion of the ceiling/second floor area. The result? It sounds like people are walking upstairs. And as all the children are at school and my guy is downstairs with me, it’s the most curious sound.
It’s like having ghosts wandering about on the second floor. If we were unskeptical people, we’d have completely bypassed the scientific explanation of heat causing floorboards to expand and have gone with ghosts.