Monthly Archives: January 2014

Flames; Haiku

Few words were exchanged,
Yet enough to spark a flame,
“trespass sweetly urged!”

Notwithstanding doubt,
Desire will always win out.
Flames turn to a blaze.

Heat engulfs, swallows,
Fills the aching emptiness.
Searing with relief.

A wildfire builds, boils,
Tongues of flame caress and writhe.
Torrid heat mounts, swells…

Conflagration reached!
Brilliant sparks shatter the night!
A roaring release!

Flames recede in waves.
Quiet, blissful aftermath.
Coals still burning bright.

Until that next Good Night.


Writing, Poetry, & Haiku

I think most writers would say that writing is a challenging business.  Unless of course they’ve had divine intervention of a Godly, godly or otherwise alien nature, in which case I imagine writing would be fairly easy.  The aftermath of inspiring lightning bolts or probes of some sort would dampen that gratification though.  I assume.

But for those of us with nothing more than our mortal wits – writing ain’t easy.

Hell, I find it a challenge sometimes to write a response to a friendly email!  As with most my writings, it’s something I tend to do in the evenings, and is often accompanied by a refreshing canned beverage of the “Iced” variety.  Usually 16 full ounces.  It eases the pressure I put on myself.  Though I will still read, correct, alter, re-read, rearrange, edit and analyze the final product.  Then rush to click send before I can convince myself it’s embarrassingly stupid.  Again, as with most all my writings.

One thing that really challenges me though is poetry.  Something I find especially amusing tonight, having drawn interest to my blog with a very spur-of-the-moment haiku.  (“Flames,” check it out just beneath this entry.)

I’ve always found poetry to be exceptionally daunting, because it is so flowing and free.  And maybe also because it is more directly, emotionally honest.  I can lie my face off in a blog post.  I’m a fiction writer – or at least I hope to be when I grow up – so I’ve always got a story to spin.  But poetry doesn’t work that way for me.  Poetry is in the moment, in the midst and heat and stink of it.  It can be so raw, so private.  And so excruciatingly painful to look at once I’m done.

There, I’ll say it.  My poetry embarrasses me.  Even more so than my other writing.  In blogs and in stories, I hide in my words like a raptor in the tall grass.  Poetry leaves me standing in a barren desert, naked and alone and on display.  Feeling self-conscious and more than a little bit silly.

I do, however, love haiku.  I love the structure and symmetry.  The rigidity of it.  The rules.  Like clothing my poetry in fatigues and Kevlar.  In a haiku, I can say anything and not feel too stupid about it, because I’m still following a set path of some sort.

Somehow, this makes haiku writing easier for me.  Though of course I must still lasso, wrangle, and coax words into the right place, the right cadence and syntax…  They also can, at times, sprout organically.  You have a thought, and in a few moments it’s complete and pretty, and ready to be sent out into the world.

Haiku via Twitter is definitely fun.  I love the idea of tossing it into the wind as soon as those three lines come together.  It’s exciting.  A bit scary, but a thrill.

All part of the process, right?  Just on a micro scale.  =)

Last Night’s Dream

I dreamed of this guy last night.  You can read about him in the post “An Unhealthy Relationship.”  Yeah, that guy.  Read the blog, I won’t give any backstory in this one.

In the dream, I was at home.  Ironically being sad because my Twitter followers had fallen from 22 to 17, and I couldn’t figure out why.  @PessimisticLaw dropped me!  AND @Jay_Squires!  (I’m name-dropping, but it’s true.)

So there I am, lamenting my drop in fame, when I get a call from the aformentioned guy.  I don’t know why I listened, but when he said he’d come pick me up I agreed.

*blurry lost moments*

We’re at his house, and suddenly we’re in bed.  Now let me mention here that the guy does have a girlfriend.  The same girl he’s been with for like, 15 years plus.  So yeah, we’re gonna be doing some cheating.

Anyway, there we are in bed, and he’s saying all the right stuff – how he’s missed me, how he’s wanted me, how he’s so happy we’re gonna be having the sex now.  Apparently he’s really happy.  So happy that that he has to stop very soon after we start!  Either I am that good, or the man has been without for a while!

After a calming breather, it’s on to Take #2.  And things are progressing well, I’m enjoying myself.  So much so that when I next open my eyes, I see his girlfriend in the room, moving about like she doesn’t even notice us!  HAH!

The guy doesn’t see the need to stop, but being a lady, I DO.  So I quickly gather my things and run off to the bathroom – which is disgustingly filthy, by the way.  While I’m in there, doing my delicate girly things, the girlfriend walks in and starts to dump some eggs and hashbrowns from a pan into the toilet.  Thoughtfully, she asks me if I’d be interested in them – I assume they were for the guy, but as he has displeased her, his breakfast is now to be flushed.  I decline, and try to apologize.  She waves me off and heads back to the kitchen.

Now, and you boys might want to avert your eyes for this next part, I realize that all the sexin’ has caused my period to start, and I’ve literally soaked through my jeans.  Eww, right?  Guess that’s the price I pay.

I dart out to my car (which has magically appeared), grateful for the faux leather seats that are so easy to clean, and head home.  /Dream.


Don’t think I need to spend too much time figuring out the meaning behind this dream, right?

A)  I want to get laid.

B)  This is not the guy to do it with.

C)  Did I mention I need to get laid?

Everyday People, Every Day Kindness

I ride the bus. A lot. I walk. A lot. And in my riding and walking, I meet and see a tremendous amount of people. And I always wonder about their lives. About the young couple in the car driving past, what their lives are like and if they’re talking about having children. About the older lady in the thrift-store, what she’s experienced, lived through. About the man behind the counter of Walgreens, I wonder if he’s single.

Point being, I interact on some level with a hundred strangers per day in my little travels. Bus drivers, patrons and cashiers, random people doing their random chores in their random lives. I’m curious about each one. And as I smile my smile, exchange a few pleasantries, hold a door or chase down runaway oranges (doesn’t just happen in the movies), I wonder what impact I have.

If, for a moment, my smile, words, or actions make a difference.

This world is filled with lonely people. From every nation, every religion, every walk of life. It’s a fact that among the hundreds, if not thousands of people you see each day, there are far too many who are lonely. Who are longing for even the slightest, briefest connection.

Who’s to know who is lonely? We are the best at keeping that particular secret. I’ve talked with several people from the Web Of Loneliness site who say that they will admit to most anything before loneliness. It is a shame we hide deep, deep within. A secret that would cause unmentionable embarrassment if we were found out. But every day we are hoping that someone will see us, hear us, notice us. I know I do.

For in my small courtesies, do I not also seek that acknowledgement? A returned smile in answer to my own? A laugh at a simple joke? Even a “thank you” grudgingly given. These are things that intrude upon my own loneliness. That make my heart swell slightly, my cheeks redden with a blushing grin.

So, like me, many of us toil and travel on. Delighting in those brief interactions. Perhaps quietly going about our daily chores with a lowered gaze, avoiding all contact – yet desperate, so desperate, for a single genuine smile sent our way. What does it hurt? How hard is that to give? What does it cost one to do a single kindness, that could make another person’s day? That could make that one day worth living?

I traveled in Finland briefly, years ago. At the time I wasn’t so lonely, as I was with a man I was sure would be mine for life. But something he told me stuck me so oddly, and to this day echoes loneliness to me. He warned me that I should not smile to strangers on the street, as I normally do at home in the Midwest. Candidly, he told me that in so doing, the Finns would think me “simple.” Perhaps even “crazy.” Again, this sentiment has haunted me for years. How horribly lonely I would feel there, to not be able to share a smile and nod to a passerby. Not laugh with a stranger in the shops. It was heartbreaking to me then, as now.

For what better way can we show our love and support for each other, as humans, than to give of ourselves? The smallest token – a smile, a shared commiseration at the high price of lettuce that season, a door opened and held.

These are the things that matter, to me. To one person who feels alone and disconnected from the world. And who can’t help but wonder how many others in my small sphere of strangers, feels the same.

So I smile when the couple glances over. I ask questions of the older lady in the thrift-store. And yes, I joke with the man behind the Walgreen’s counter (and hope he’ll ask me out) – because I know what these small acts mean to me, and I hope in doing them, they’ll give a bit of ease to any loneliness those others are feeling. It is the least, and the most, I can do.

If I Only Had A Brain

“It is such an uncomfortable feeling to know one is a fool.”

L. Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Blah.  I’m feeling stupid today.  Like I just can’t do anything right, or do anything meaningful.  How can I do anything meaningful when I am just so damn stupid?  =/  I can’t.  I’m so sick of myself.  I’m sick of listening to myself.  Every thought is so… trite.  I have nothing worth saying, I can’t do anything…

I’ve been feeling anxious all day.  And I hate being asked, “why are you anxious?”  Because!  Do I really need to nail down a reason?  It doesn’t help.  More often than not it just makes me depressed.  So, anxious, depressed, and stupid.  Oh, I feel like such a failure, and I’ve barely even tried!  What’s the point in trying?!

Damnit…  No one can beat me up like I can.  Days like this, I feel like I’ve gone twelve rounds with myself already, and the day isn’t done.  I’m sorry for whining, I hate whining.  And now I’m pissed at myself.  Anxious, depressed, stupid, and pissed.

I don’t know what to do.  Hope tomorrow is better, I guess.  Write this crap down, like it means anything.  Sigh repeatedly at the inane futility that is my life.  Laugh at myself, maybe cry a little.  Ugh, how pathetic am I?


The WWW IS Big and Scary, truly!

The little story that precedes this post is obviously my own view of things.  Yes, I am a scared little squirrel.  You may have seen my re-Tweets about the Web of Loneliness (if you’ve been paying attention, which I don’t fault you for not doing).  It is a cause close to my heart.  Loneliness, that is.  It is something I’ve been dealing with for many years, though until recently, I wasn’t completely aware!

Like little Winnifred, I spent many years having good times with friends.  But, I didn’t share with them my feelings of sadness and confusion.  My depression over losing my father.  My growing problems with anxiety.  And as the years went by, the separation between us grew too great – they wanted the happy, fun Viki, and it became too much of a struggle trying to express my feelings to them.  Why I didn’t feel like going to the bar, why I was sad, why I was angry!  I realize now that the disconnect from them made me feel bitter.  Bitterly lonely.  Because they’d never known what I’d been going through.  I didn’t want them to.  I didn’t want to be “Sad Viki” around them.

That disconnect lost me my friends.  Because I just couldn’t stand to be myself with them any longer.  I couldn’t stand to pretend; I couldn’t stand to tell the truth.

So I retreated.  I ran away.  I cut them off, practically mid-sentence.  And apart from a few online “relationships,” I kept myself to myself.  Several years went by, when I languished by my lake.  Thinking I’d found peace, when really all I’d found was a place for my hurt and loneliness to fester.  And fester.

It was after a relationship, “IRL,” had failed, that I really succumbed to loneliness.  That I really realized how very much I wanted someone to hear and understand me.  That I realized how little I told anyone about my life.  About all the feelings I was so ashamed to have.  And in a moment of devastating clarity, after curling my tail around myself like a blanket and beginning to walk away – I took a moment to look.

I searched Google – tags loneliness, chat, group – and found a group of voices that made sense to me.  I was desperate, so desperate.  I was calling my “Helloooo” when I posted, and soon felt myself surrounded.  I didn’t know that could happen.  I was so honestly surprised.  Amazed.  I read so many stories that reminded me of myself and realized that while all of us felt so heartbreakingly alone – we weren’t!

I wasn’t.

After a while, with the support of others, I began to write.  Initially, to blog.  Anything that came to mind.  Writing was always a source of comfort to me, and the blogs I wrote there (which you can find here now) were a sometimes painful release.  But I was encouraged.  I was supported.  And while this was an alien feeling to me, scary even, I wanted it so badly that I continued and gave more.

And yes, eventually I was called upon by the great stag to take my writing further, lol.  Because apparently what I had written seemed powerful enough to him and others that I should share it.  Take it further and explore.  And that’s what I’m trying to do.

I can’t forget who gave me strength when I needed it.  To them I dedicate everything.  Whatever I say that has any worth, it is in debt to the WOL, the Web of Loneliness.

I am still, as Winnifred is, calling my faint “hellooooo” and hoping that someone hears.

The WWW is Big and Scary

The Wide, Whirling World

Picture a squirrel. Squirrels are cute and mostly harmless. This squirrel, we shall name her Winnifred, spends quite a bit of her formative years happily frolicking with the other squirrels of the forest. Or so we think! In fact, poor little Winnifred has been experiencing a lot of sadness and confusion. She finds that being around all the happy squirrels makes her feel deeply alone. So when it becomes entirely too much, Winnifred scampers off on quiet little feet.

She finds a nice, solitary and serene spot by a lake. It’s a bit swampy, but it’s peaceful. And here Winnifred settles. She enjoys a rare conversation with the chance dragonfly that passes by. She passes the time with a badger who waddles to the lake to fish occasionally. And by way of a nervous starling, she keeps a vague ear to the world behind her.

In her self-imposed isolation, Winnifred’s fears and sadness are her truest companions. But even the best companions can become wearisome after a time. And so Winnifred musters up what courage and determination she could find, and sets off to re-introduce herself to the wider world.

Unbeknownst to Winnifred, the wide world had changed! And she finds herself so completely and entirely lost! She’d been used to her quiet world with few contacts and only the barest of news. Here, suddenly, she was confronted with a sprawling metropolis, interconnected in so many new and fascinating ways. And it was all so horribly intimidating.

Timidly, she whispers, “Hello?” and the squirrels she had once known sped by her, not hearing, not noticing. She wades deeper, calling, “Hellooo?” She finds herself desperate to be acknowledged, after such a long time alone.

Stepping further into the bewildering chaos, often stopped short by a confounding cloud of hummingbirds who sweep across her way like a mini dust-storm, Winnifred reaches the end of her courage. Collapsing into a shivering ball of fur, her tail wrapping around herself like a blanket, she piteously weeps.

How could she move on? How could she find a place in this busy, busy world? It was all so overwhelming! Her thoughts raced, her heart pounded painfully, and Winnifred found herself so frightened and wanting nothing more than to retreat to her quiet life by the lake.

She rose on shaky little feet, and made her way to retreat. Wiping tears from her face with her tail, she spied something curious. A group of animals, standing out of the way of the humming and buzzing, were holding hands and talking quietly. Winnifred’s heart swelled at the thought of this real connection, and inched closer.

Spying from behind a tree, Winnifred heard the critters talking – rabbits and badgers, ‘possums and mice, even squirrels like herself talking with great tall deer! A motley assortment, and of all things, they were talking about how hard it was to fit into this whirling world!

Creeping closer, Winnifred did the most daring thing of her entire life: she coughed. Dozens of heads turned her way. Freezing, her tail bushed out straight up behind her, eyes wide and glistening, she quietly whispered, “hello.”

Within moments, she was surrounded. Passed from one embracing hug to another! From paw to hoof to claw to wing, Winnifred was tenderly welcomed and praised. To a one, each told her their stories, tales short and winding – of how they longed to connect and were so afraid to! And Winnifred told hers, how hurt and alone she’d been, how she’d run so far, and come back to a place so strange and scary.

Within hours, she felt at home. Loved and supported by this wild and eclectic group of strangers. The leader of the group, a proud and winsome stag with towering antlers on which she so graciously perched, encouraged her to step out once again into the world. To share with others the tale she had to give. For he and the others found her way with words touching and compelling. Perhaps Winnifred could reach out and find others who felt as lost and alone in this great world. Perhaps her words could give them comfort, and lead them to a home they’d never known!

And so Winnifred stepped. Every move tremulous and timid. She would often look back to find one of the extraordinary flock urging her on, giving her confidence for that next step. So deeper went Winnifred, calling her “hellooo”s, speaking to every creature who would pause to listen. She called to the hummingbirds, to the squirrels who would hear, to the trees to pass along what she’d learned.

Every step frightened her. With every step she wanted to go back. But the menangerie (as they were for they were kept caged within themselves in fear) urged her on. If not in word, in her heart. For after hearing their stories, feeling their silent suffering, she felt compelled, beyond her own fear, to reach out and give the comfort she had found to others.

And so, with quiet desperation, and quite a bit of agitation, Winnifred pushed on, and pushes on still, through the wild, whirling world. Through her fear and self-doubt, she calls her faint “Hellooooo,” and hopes to be heard.

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