Family Tombstone

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a memorial

a place to sit and reflect

on past memories

my father's name is there now

my mother's will be one day

~cie~

This time, I was a disobedient jerk-face on purpose. I was inspired to write this entire Tanka rather than a Tan Renga. You are still welcome to throw overripe produce at me. 

Dad

31 May 1936 - 28 November 2010

November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2019: Day 20: Light Blitz

Image by Johannes Plenio from Pixabay

light the night

light my fire

fire of passion

fire of hell

hell hath no fury

hell hath no remorse

remorse for what's said

remorse for what's done

done to death

done and gone

gone like yesterday

gone in a flash

flash and dash

flash of light

light the way

light the night

night without dreams

night without end

end of the world

end of everything

everything ends

everything dies

dies like your love

dies like my dreams

dreams of yesterday

dreams of tomorrow

tomorrow never comes

tomorrow comes too soon

soon the sun rises

soon the night falls

falls from the heavens

falls to its death

death is the end

death is the beginning

beginning of a new chapter

beginning of a new tale

tale whispered in darkness

tale too ticklish to tell

tell me a lie

tell me the truth

truth is subjective

truth will set you free

free falling

free to run

run from the past

run from the pain

pain holds on forever

pain colors all

forever...

all...

~Cie~

Notes:

Today's November PAD Chapbook Challenge asked for a Light poem. So, I did a Light Blitz. It turned out kind of heavy, though.

Carpe Diem #1781: Dead Leaves

the leaves falling down

colorless on the cold wind

my heart breaks like ice

~Cie~

Notes:

I guess I came close to following the traditional Haiku rules, but if not, you can tell me that I suck and should go die in a fire like the trash poet (and excuse for a human being) that I am. For me, the expression is always more important than the rules, and it's difficult to teach a very old and stupid dog new tricks.

Heeding Haiku With Carpe Diem: Senryu: Crystal Pond

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death falls to darkness

or does the soul perhaps leap

to a crystal pond

~Cie~

Notes:

Today's Carpe Diem prompt involved revising this well-known Haiku by Matsuo Basho (1644 - 1694).

old pond

a frog jumps into

the sound of water

Today's Mindlovemisery's Menagerie prompt was crystals. We were asked to follow traditional Haiku rules, but, sorry, no can do when such a stellar Senryu using both prompts has hijacked my synapses!

I dreamed that my wonderful cat Trinity, whom I had to have put to sleep three years ago on November 9 due to brain and lung cancer, was here with me. November 9, 2016, was a garbage day in history. I lost my great friend on that day, and Lord Dampnut was elected "president." It was a terrible time to be alive.

She was such a special cat. I miss her big, chonky body, her big, chonky personality, and her big, loud purr.

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #97: Depth of a Flower

Wildflower Bouquet

I

windy weather

calling the flowers by name

each nods

windy weather
inspiring too much thinking 
melancholy thoughts

calling the flowers by name
the flowers in a graveyard
have names of the lost

each nods
no fight when the time has come
blowing away home

II

depth of a flower

flying away with the bee

some mystery

depth of a flower
what hides deep inside beauty
mystery within

flying away with the bee
nectar feeds tomorrow's child
hope for the future

some mystery
can spark curiosity
or can drive one mad

Jane & Cie

Notes:

The "sleighs" of these two Troiku were created by Jane Reichhold (1937 - 2016). The Six Horses of the Apocalypse escaped from my unstable stables.

Carpe Diem Weekend Meditation #90: Crossroads: Summer Solstice Troiku Hineri

Image by yibg from Pixabay

This Short Night

this short night -

from a shallow well I scoop

a persimmon flower

Insomnia

this short night

like many others, sleepless

I dread the morning

this short night
my mind is filled with worry
rest cannot be found

like many others, sleepless
I try to find some comfort
in the quiet dark

I dread the morning
unwanted expectations
putting on my mask

From the Well

from a shallow well I scoop

water kept cool underground

safe from sun's harsh blaze

from a shallow well I scoop
another cup of water
binding me to earth

water kept cool underground
safe from the sun relentless
shaded from the heat

safe from the sun's harsh blaze
wish I was one with water
wish that I could hide

Persimmon Flower

a persimmon flower

holds the promise of autumn

solace from the heat

a persimmon flower
yellow petals and green leaves
floats on the surface

holds the promise of autumn
but what does autumn promise
but solace from heat

solace from the heat
the best that I can hope for
in this weary life

Yosa Buson & Cie

Image by Couleur from Pixabay

The Peach

solstice splits

between the peach halves

a red stone sun

Solstice Splits

solstice splits

lovely flowers everywhere

unrelenting sun

solstice splits

beautiful harvest promised

nothing guaranteed

lovely flowers everywhere

I wish I could be happy

but nothing changes

unrelenting sun

beats down on another year

desiccating hope

Between the Peach Halves

between the peach halves

the promise of a future

more peaches next year

between the peach halves

the promise of a new tree

providing its shade

the promise of a future

but there are no guarantees

some win and some lose

more peaches next year

a momentary sweetness

in life hard and dry

Red Stone Sun

a red stone sun

holding the promise of life

within its hard shell

a red stone sun

color without warmth or light

shining nonetheless

holding the promise of life

promises not always kept

dreams don't always thrive

within its hard shell

sits the seed of tomorrow

yet unrealized

Jane & Cie

Notes:

Why do one or the other when you can do both?

Why kill when you can overkill?

The "sleigh" for the first Troiku Hineri was created by Yosa Buson (1716-1784).

The "sleigh" for the second Troiku Hineri was created by Jane Reichhold (1937 -2016).

All Horses of the Apocalypse are my own undoing.

The Cheese Grates It: The Holiday Season Broke and Mentally Ill Style

Today is the eighth anniversary of my father's passing. I thought about that day early this morning. I didn't appear to be grieving because I wasn't wailing and gnashing my teeth. I had already grieved watching him deteriorate as he did. There wasn't anything left in me. I've felt for a long time that there isn't anything left in me. I'm not cold, which I've been accused of a lot. I just don't have anything to offer.

The memory that comes to the forefront of my mind is my mother leaving two messages on my phone. The ringer wasn't working on my phone; I would be soon to get a new one. I was sleeping with the phone under my hand, but I didn't feel the vibration. The first message was her telling me that my father had died. The second was her telling me that again, demanding that I call her back, and finishing off the message with "you're never there when I need you." She didn't apologize for saying that, which doesn't surprise me. I informed her that my phone's ringer wasn't working correctly, that I had tried to be aware if a call came, but hadn't felt the vibration. Well, she never apologizes when she says hurtful things, so I guess she and I are even.

I fucking hate this new YouTube push to force people to pay for the service by pausing the playlist every so often to ask "are you still there?" No, Bitch, I died, but my zombified body keeps responding by saying I'm still here. The joke's on you.

In other frustrating news, I guess I paid the price for thinking I could buy yarn and get away with it. I ordered three skeins of yarn to keep working on my blanket, and some payment clashed with another, so I ended up getting an overdraft charge and am now $36 in the hole. Those fucking overdraft charges should be criminal. They only ever harm people who are struggling financially anyway.

Tonight's supper will be turkey chili and baked potatoes. At least those are two things I can ensure that my son will actually eat. My mother's right that he's kind of fussy, but there again, she refuses to believe that he's actually autistic. People with autism tend to have issues with food textures far more than people who don't have the condition. But, of course, my mother is always right.

I was just talking to my son about how we are both, in spite of what has been drilled into us by members of the extended family, very productive. However, we are not productive in the ways they deem worthy. We are terrible with housework--absolutely rubbish, let's be real. We are unable to work the kinds of jobs that they deem worthy. 

If I had ever been able to make my writing pay, they might be proud of me. A little. But it still wouldn't have been the kind of work that they would truly have deemed worthy.

All I'm doing as far as holiday decorations this year is putting a string of lights up on the fence at my son's townhome. We can't have a tree because the four-legged dumbasses will knock it over. When I was a kid, my father became a kid again every December 24, because that was when we decorated the tree. He loved decorating the tree so much and went way overboard. We had so many decorations. Now they never see the light of day.

Maybe one day I will decorate for the holidays again. I don't know. The first year we had a really nice tree was when I was ten years old. That was the year my father got a good position as a professor at a small college and we moved from Albuquerque to a suburb of Denver. Everything was so wonderful on that Christmas when I was ten years old. 

I realize now that my bipolar disorder onset when I hit puberty, which is why I was an emotional wreck during the holidays when I was eleven and trying to hide it so I wouldn't fuck things up for the rest of my family. 

We always took the tree down on the day after New Year's. The year when I was twelve years old, I was once again in a tailspin but trying to hide it. We got the call that my paternal grandfather had died from a massive heart attack while he was out feeding his horses. I burst into tears. I thought it was my fault that he was dead because I hadn't been grateful enough, so God took my grandfather.

I learned a lot about my father's side of the family that year. I wrote a cheeky poem about it recently, which is titled "My Family Skeletons." You can read it here. 

At the time, it was actually very traumatic. My twelfth year of life was not a lot of fun. It seemed like everything was falling apart. There was a lot of contention surrounding my grandfather's will, and I was being bullied mercilessly. I started self-harming, and on one occasion, I swallowed a bottle of aspirin. I ended up with a sick stomach and throwing up. I didn't tell anybody what I'd done.

So, I guess what I'm getting to in my long-winded fashion is that the holidays are not happy-happy-joy-joy for some people. I tend to have kind of a neutral approach to them at this point, but that's because I'm emotionally numb. For some people, the holidays are extremely difficult. It's supposed to be a happy time, and people who are already struggling get added guilt heaped on them for not presenting a happy face to the world.

Please do not shame or berate people who aren't "in the spirit" during the holidays. The joy is not universal.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It Festively~

The Cheese Grates It: The Cheesy One's (Gloomy, Sorry) Holiday Message for 2017

Happy holidays, People, however you may celebrate them.

Apologies in advance for being a killjoy with a somber PSA. Please keep in mind that the holidays aren't happy for everybody. This doesn't make the unhappy person "bad" or "a Scrooge." It just means the holidays are hard for them.

I am having an extremely blue Christmas, partially for reasons that I'm sure most people could understand at least a bit. The majority of the big losses I've had have come in the Winter months, particularly in November. I jokingly said that I have re-named November Butt Month because nothing good has ever come of it, and people got mad at me. For fuck's sake, I'm not saying that if you have a birthday in November you're worthless. I'm just saying that I've had a lot of losses in November and this was my hyperbolic, snarky, and ultimately worthless and impotent way of striking back.

It was like an extra twist of the knife to have my Star Shower projector stolen. I don't put up a tree because the cats just destroy it. I didn't want to get another cheap string of lights because the instant one burns out, you might as well throw the whole string away. What a waste. So I got the Star Shower for something a little different. Then it got stolen, and I didn't end up getting any other decorations. 

I know it's a small thing, not like that guy whose son is getting a kidney transplant and some lousy porch pirate pilfered $5000 of very important medication that was left on his porch. I know I'm overreacting. Not on the outside, I appear calm and rational. It's all on the inside. I have bipolar disorder. My brain loves to do that shit. 

He once said that the only place he found peace was when he was playing.

I hope he is finding peace now that he is free of his very ill body.

I know people also think I'm stupid for grieving a person whom I didn't know in life. I can't really explain how or why this affected me so strongly, but it has. There is a certain magic gone from the world and the realization has come hard that I had a lot of useless and futile dreams for myself when I was younger. I was a foolish and unrealistic person.

The truth is, I would commit suicide, but I worry greatly about what would happen to my son if I were gone, so I hang on. Aside from my son and his well-being, I have nothing to live for.

Do me a favor and don't whip out the old "but, counseling and meds!" chestnut. I'll be 53 years old in less than two months. I've lived with a mood disorder at least since I hit puberty. I was nine years old when the hormones kicked in and I started growing boobs which I didn't want because I knew the gross way in which men reacted to breasts, and I started to get hair on my bits and pits. I didn't want that either. That bit of WTMI gives you the idea of how long I've lived with this shit. There's nothing new under the sun.

Just believe me that I already know what the options are and they haven't worked. I'm being honest about how I feel. Let's leave it at that.

I once learned a song called "What If A Day." It was written by Thomas Campion in the Elizabethan era. I have a horrible voice not fit to be heard by anything with ears, but I often sing this to myself. For me, it embodies the truth.

What if a day, or a month, or a yeare

Crown thy delights with a thousand sweet contentings?

Cannot a chance of a night or an howre

Crosse thy desires with as many sad tormentings?

          Fortune, honor, beauty, youth

          Are but blossoms dying;

          Wanton pleasure, doating love,

          Are but shadowes flying.

          All our joyes are but toyes,

          Idle thoughts deceiving;

          None have power of an howre

          In their lives bereaving.

Earthes but a point to the world, and a man

Is but a point to the worlds compared centure:

Shall then a point of a point be so vaine

As to triumph in a seely points adventure?

          All is hassard that we have,

          There is nothing biding;

          Dayes of pleasure are like streames

          Through faire meadowes gliding.

          Weale and woe, time doth goe,

          Time is ever turning:

          Secret fates guide our states,

          Both in mirth and mourning.

And there you have it. 

I hope you have a happy holiday. Forgive me if I don't.

~The Cheese Hath Grated It~

Remembering Lafayette

I've been working on creating a tattoo in memory of my dear and special feline friend. It will go on my left shoulder. The artwork is by Kami Diox. You can check her out at kamidiox.tumblr.com or kamidiox.deviantart.com

Although I miss Lafayette very much and I wish I could feel his presence the way I feel Gem's (I.e. hugs and warmth) I've been dealing with things. I sensed Lafayette "saying" to me:

"Don't be sad, Mommy. I was happy living here with you. I had a happy life. I'm okay now. I still love you."

Now, I know a cat probably wouldn't use those exact words, but that's how his emotions translated to me. The thing about it is, I receive emotions. My brain translates them into sentences I can understand.

I told Lafayette that I love him very much too and always will, and I will be happy when we're able to meet again. I miss having him come sit up on my shoulder when I lie down. I miss him kneading me. Heck, I even miss the fact that he always stuck his butt right in my face when he sat down on me. Why that cat couldn't be face to face with me, I'll never know. But no, it was always "whoop, here's my butt!"

I like my new job, and Gem and I are doing a lot of writing together on "Fetch."

I haven't been able to continue with my Supernatural rewatch yet. Lafayette always used to sit with me when I was watching and making notes and such. I think I'll be able to start again soon. He'd want me to.

For anyone who think that sounds stupid, well, I guess you think that sounds stupid. However, I sense that he really would want me to do this.

I believe that's all for right now.

 

~Cie~