Day: August 7, 2015

You have to appreciate when the hip hop culture gives back. #Salute

http://www.theguardian.com/music/2015/aug/07/dr-dre-donate-royalties-new-album-compton-charity

And no, we’re not talking nuns.  Do they even still wear habits? Maybe I should have said a new addiction – because I am rapidly becoming addicted to Bonnywood Manor (https://lageose.wordpress.com/) .  In a world of its own – it carries me aloft to far off places, screaming all the while due to my fear of heights – then howling in delight as I read another post.  Ok, maybe not howling – but you get the picture.  I think one of the reasons I’m so hooked on that site is the way words, copious deluges of words, are flawlessly tied together into what to me is as necessary to life as cotton candy.  (And if you don’t think cotton candy is required for life, you don’t have my sweet tooth).

The writer is way too gifted for a single individual.  Maybe that’s it – maybe there’s a raft of writers…

And no, we’re not talking nuns.  Do they even still wear habits? Maybe I should have said a new addiction – because I am rapidly becoming addicted to Bonnywood Manor (https://lageose.wordpress.com/) .  In a world of its own – it carries me aloft to far off places, screaming all the while due to my fear of heights – then howling in delight as I read another post.  Ok, maybe not howling – but you get the picture.  I think one of the reasons I’m so hooked on that site is the way words, copious deluges of words, are flawlessly tied together into what to me is as necessary to life as cotton candy.  (And if you don’t think cotton candy is required for life, you don’t have my sweet tooth).

The writer is way too gifted for a single individual.  Maybe that’s it – maybe there’s a raft of writers…

It was a little bit past seven
when I walked into his room;
the lights were off, the drapes were pulled,
it looked more like a tomb than the “home” of my beloved.
But here is where he waited.

What I could not understand
is why he would be here and not at home at rest with me
where I could hold him near.
But this is where he waited.

Oh, they knew him at the hospice,
at least, they knew his name, but I was his “compadrè”,
their love was not the same.
Yet here is where he waited.

I opened up the curtains to let some daylight in,
he sat up, looked at me, then said with a grin, “Mì Compadrè!”
His voice sounded so thin,
so tired of waiting.

He motioned me on over,
so I sat down by his side, took his hand, stroked his hair,

in the past few months i have joined a half-dozen “share your writing” websites. and left five. they seem to thrive on this “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine” philosophy, which is all well and good, but i’m beginning to see the real message is “you scratch my back”. there is no offer of reciprocity, just an expectation of “hey – i visited your page once, you owe me”. and i don’t function that way. yeah, sure, i visit lots of pages in hopes to build a “fan base” or “following” or whatever you want to call it – like-minded people to share writing with. but i often visit pages who’s authors don’t visit in return. their loss. some i visit repeatedly – if the author is good, i read their stuff.
i’m not speaking of here, at wordpress, either. this is somehow different. for some reason, blogs…

note to self
buy stock in Kleenex
or whichever company
that is
not that i particularly
care for that brand
over any other tissue
just the past
24 hours
have been a living hell
not much worse
than living in hell
not even a place to visit
i can’t stop the tears
i let myself get triggered
and now i’m paying the price
my fault
of course it is
it always is
but that’s not the point
i have to stop
and get back to work
no time
for personal woes
smother those feelings
kill them
bury them
they must not escape
ever