With You Always

She was broken,

we were broken

she meant nothing to me at all

in the end

he said sadly through a cloud of smoke

to his hot Mama, the Goddess

his true love

on the night of his final betrayal.

 

And they lived happily ever after

until she came back

from the dead and tracked the dirt they buried her in

right up

to

their

front

door.

 

 

Wickedness

 

Na/GloPoWriMo Day Nine asks us to engage in another kind of cross-cultural exercise, as it is inspired by the work of Sei Shonagon

Wickedness isn’t born like me or you or a kitten, it doesn’t sprout from the ground like a flower or a tree.

Wickedness is created, like a painting,  stroke by stroke upon an unyielding piece of canvas

like a mural on a wall with nothing to stop it  from becoming something else other then a cool brick wall.

Wickedness is like Frankenstein’s Monster stitched together in secret from stolen corpses taken from the ground in the dead of night against their will  with rough hands and rusty shovels.

Wickedness in a tribute, a memorial to the remains of good things

that should have been.

This Is The Way It Works

When I ride the bus

or I am out walking my dog

when I’m on the train

and going no where

in particular at all

I like to watch people

I like to take their faces into my head

inch by inch

in small

and delicate

bites.

 

I can take my time

because they are on their phones

trapped in a screen

unable to look up and away

I can steal their expressions, collect their hands, shoulders, their eyes

put them in my memory to be devoured

at a later time

in

a story or a poem .

When I am out

loose and invisible in a sleeping world

I feel like a gargoyle

on a wall.

 

Look.

Up.

Here I am.

Hello.

Shall we begin….

with

Once upon a time.

Sure. Me Too!

Hey look!

This is what I look like when I am writing too.

Except for, she’s not wearing Hello Kitty sweat pants- or a Doctor Who t-shirt. She’s also white and

not short fat and ugly.

But hey, sometimes bending reality is the only exercise I get.

amm

You’re Kinda Special, Aren’t You?

In his book “Misery” Stephen King’s protagonist, Paul Sheldon has this reaction to Anne Wilke’s critique to what he’s written (I have to paraphrase because this is from memory)

Sheldon says that Annie has just moved from being loyal reader to merciless editor.

Facebookers are VERY loyal readers, we’ve all been there it’s true.

I posted the following meme where it ended up on a newsfeed with pictures talking cats and dogs, what people were in the midst of eating and arguments about how we would be on the one true path if pink salt was involved.

What I got were comments about what could happen if I did this. That’s right I got legal advice from Facebookers with ZERO legal training who think they know what happens to authors who base characters off of real people.

What they said: It’s against the law

Full stop.

If you do it you will be sued!!!

First off the level of ignorance I pertaining to the laws regarding this issue was hiking to the top of Mount Everest without oxygen tanks breathtaking.

Secondly, I’ve been writing for over 30 years and writing online consistently since around 2006.

I know what I’m doing.

I’ll bring this home now.

Shoot off fireworks after midnight, call me fat and ugly but do not try to mess with my creative process or writing.

Or else

All Who Enter Here

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

When I was in my late 20’s I began to have crippling, brain scrambling Panic Attacks.

I’m not sure what kicked them off into high gear but they always followed the same pattern: I would wake up in the middle of the night thinking I was going to die and then after that thought took root I couldn’t breathe.

They were horrible. Even if I could get through the attack I was to scared to fall asleep. So on top of the attacks I began to suffer from the affects of lack of sleep- the worst one by far was depression.

So what did I do?

I read every book I could find about death.

I read books about forensics, I read about the process the body goes through after it dies and I also read medical articles about the process of death itself.

I even schooled myself on the customs and folklore concerning Death in cultures around the world.

This went on for a couple of years.

I understand now that this was a risky path- I could have easily taken what I was learning and topped myself off or it could help me overcome my fear of waking up in the middle of the night thinking I was going to die.

What I was doing was learning about the thing I perceived as my enemy so that I would know it for what it was if it did try to get me.

So did it work?

With what I learned I became a Mortician’s Apprentice, I write about death and ghosts with my own special twist. In fact, I think going down that path made me a better writer.

I also know it gave me a warped sense of humor and a lot of patience for the people in my life.

I also learned that Death wasn’t really my enemy.

It was the face I gave my fears and terrors- now I don’t jump from every shadow that falls my way. Now I can see them for what they are and deal with them.

So I can safely now say I learned  a lot from The Grim Reaper and that  he was one of the  teachers in my life that I can look back on and say, ” Wow, did I learn a lot from that one! ”

The specifics  beyond what I mentioned here are between me and my friend in Black. But. I’ll let you in on a secret- the other parts of those specifics are in what I write and in every single laugh  and giggle and  dream  I have.

Daily Addiction Prompt: Cope