I wonder if pain is cyclical. So much in life repeats itself, why not pain... and for that instance, could this idea not be equally applied to love and relationships.
To start out you experience the pain of being away from someone... yearn endlessly to spend every fiber of the day with them. Later, the pain of being near them... or the pain of it ending. Is that significant?
Should we expect things that are good to have a coating of pain surrounding them? Are some people more inclined to feel that pain or are some just more likely targets to it? It hurts to walk away... am I just weak?
I keep trying to find myself internally. How does one because comfortable in their own skin? What does it take to be happy with one's personal appearance? What's good enough?
And then there was pain.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Memphis
The space was dark and crowded, the spiraling pillars of smoke cascaded around as if they were dancing to the movements of breath. The clatter of glass clanked, the floor squeaked in areas as footsteps fell, the atmosphere itself was warm like the air of the tropics at night. Voices clustered together to form a noise that was both soothing and indiscernible, the stringing of a solid bass line with the absence of a melody.
Chairs shifted on the dusted floor, the creaking just adding to the musical selection of people living... breathing, smoking and drinking. It was soothing in the same way that being around strangers when you are lonely is soothing.
The small amount of light, though filtered through the haze of crackling cigarette smoke and the general musk of a crowded bar was angled towards the empty corner. No one seemed to mind, the wordless conversations continued.
Soft dark eyes peered over folded arms at the scratched off label of the tinted green beer bottle. The room temperature liquid was just a few inches from the bottom, small waves rocketed against the sides on occasions when the dark wire table was bumped or shifted.
Midnight black bangs crawled over soft pale skin, shadowing the orbs from the creeping views of others that past her curved form. From the folded arms one slender hand snaked forward, shifting the green glass from its place, inspecting it slightly before turning it. Her fingernails slowly started to work at the edge of the label that hadn't been completely removed, peeling the loose paper as it fell through the cracks of the wire table and were forgotten entirely on the dark floor.
The seat beside her shifted suddenly, twisted as a hand grabbed it by the back, pulling it a few inches before her entire body reacted. The bottle sat silently and forgotten as her arms unfolded and her back straightened. One hand quickly grabbed the arm of the seat, laying claim to the object that had previously gone without attention.
"It's taken." her voice rose through the noise to the ears of the thief. Their world seemed unaffected as their fingers uncurled around the edge, retreating back to the darkness of their side. "Oh... sorry." whispered through the smoke as they had already moved on through the room.
Her dark eyes examined the seat for a moment before pulling it slowly back into place, inspecting the empty air as if something had filled it without her consciousness of it. No... empty. Slender fingers glided down the rippled wire of the backrest before coming back to the arm, it shouldn't have been vacant. Someone or something was suppose to occupy it, her dark eyebrows knotted a bit in an unclear emotion before her attention shifted back to the empty company of the beer bottle.
A tum tum noise rose above the clatter of the living; it's sound low and ominous like the violent beat of a heart. It came again, it's pitch changed slowly... sliding into place, deeply demanding the attention of those crawling through the small space.
The chocolate orbs shifted from the bottle towards the smokey directed light, the once abandoned corner was now filled with musicians. Their attentions all focused on their instruments as they tuned and checked, flipped switches, spoke briskly to one another and then started the whole process over again. Her head turned, bangs holding in place with a strict dedication... eyes peering through the madness of darkness and void... moving forms shifting endlessly from one area to another. Familiarity brought nothing, as the tum tum tum of the deep bass notes seemed to quake against her own internal rhythm. She felt her shoulders tighten, a weak sigh slowly escaped her lungs as her body started to retake her position hiding behind folded arms. She looked defeated in a way, or possibly abandoned... the world around her humming and thumping and breathing and bleeding.
The long eerie deeply moving first note came from the violin, followed soon by the rest as music instantly flooded the space. She watched them, unable not to... the quick deep sounds coming from them soothed a piece of the pain that was building inside of her. Her eyes remained on them, locked in refusal to look behind her again and not find some comfort, no... they would watch as life was created, joy and sorrow, pain and triumph, every emotion that is brought to being through the music that was steadily invading her very soul.
She had become completely immersed by the third song, unconscious of the world revolving around her, of the life happening even inches from the small wire table and the completely empty green bottle. Perhaps that was why the light touch hadn't startled her, not even a quiver to announce that she had been disturbed in some way.
Foreign fingers slowly glided over the silken midnight locks, gingerly exploring the length in a loving manner before delicately burying the digits into the tresses. Cool skin made contact briefly with the seated woman's neck, slipping down to lovingly graze the curve of the sensitive skin just below her ear.
The room shook with energy and rhythm as the band continued on with their magic, but in this moment she shifted a little to the touch, folded arms loosened their tension. Her eyes were still focused on the movement of the musicians though they seemed lighter, dark eyebrows had retracted back into place... shoulders had eased. The overall tension that had plagued her previously was for a moment gone, the soft delicate feel of shifting strands of her hair continued, soothing her, calling her to lean back in her seat instead of forward.
Several more caresses came to gingerly brush the silken hair back and in place, a soft twist kept it from once again concealing her shoulders and neck. Two arms came from behind her slowly, crossing just under her chin, holding her back in her seat without force. A chin rested gently against her left shoulder; equally dark eyes peering forwards towards the source of the noise, the invading red haired woman's expression was soothing and calm.
Neither of them looked at one another though the dark haired girl shifted back into the slight embrace, their heads tilted into one another's, resting nearly temple to temple as their eyes watched the source of the rhythmic heart that was suffocating them. The sound was beautiful, and deep, and dark, and alive within both of them.
It continued on and on, without breaks, without mercy... the sounds wrote volumes of melodic thought, expressing every emotion, drawing the very breath from it's captives. The two dark eyed girls were victims all the same, until the violin's howling note shifted, it was a signal... the time had waned, the close had begun, it was the end. The chin against her shoulder slowly adjusted, arms tightened a bit to either give or receive some physical comfort for the musical epitaph. A cheek took its warmed space as the woman behind her nuzzled her face against her companion's soft skin and into a few strands of the thick tresses that smelled of amber.
"I am always with you..." she whispered weakly from where she was hiding, feeling the press of her companion's hands against her embracing arms, holding her close... but already the weight and feel had shifted, moment by moment it started to fade away.
"... with all of my soul." her words were swallowed by the music and the small world around them. Then nothing. Charcoal hair draped over both shoulders as her body recoiled forward into her previous position, arms folded on the table, eyes forward.
Her foot slowly slid over the grit of the floor before twisting around the leg of the empty chair beside her, protecting the vacant space still ... she would be back. The seat wouldn't always be empty.
Chairs shifted on the dusted floor, the creaking just adding to the musical selection of people living... breathing, smoking and drinking. It was soothing in the same way that being around strangers when you are lonely is soothing.
The small amount of light, though filtered through the haze of crackling cigarette smoke and the general musk of a crowded bar was angled towards the empty corner. No one seemed to mind, the wordless conversations continued.
Soft dark eyes peered over folded arms at the scratched off label of the tinted green beer bottle. The room temperature liquid was just a few inches from the bottom, small waves rocketed against the sides on occasions when the dark wire table was bumped or shifted.
Midnight black bangs crawled over soft pale skin, shadowing the orbs from the creeping views of others that past her curved form. From the folded arms one slender hand snaked forward, shifting the green glass from its place, inspecting it slightly before turning it. Her fingernails slowly started to work at the edge of the label that hadn't been completely removed, peeling the loose paper as it fell through the cracks of the wire table and were forgotten entirely on the dark floor.
The seat beside her shifted suddenly, twisted as a hand grabbed it by the back, pulling it a few inches before her entire body reacted. The bottle sat silently and forgotten as her arms unfolded and her back straightened. One hand quickly grabbed the arm of the seat, laying claim to the object that had previously gone without attention.
"It's taken." her voice rose through the noise to the ears of the thief. Their world seemed unaffected as their fingers uncurled around the edge, retreating back to the darkness of their side. "Oh... sorry." whispered through the smoke as they had already moved on through the room.
Her dark eyes examined the seat for a moment before pulling it slowly back into place, inspecting the empty air as if something had filled it without her consciousness of it. No... empty. Slender fingers glided down the rippled wire of the backrest before coming back to the arm, it shouldn't have been vacant. Someone or something was suppose to occupy it, her dark eyebrows knotted a bit in an unclear emotion before her attention shifted back to the empty company of the beer bottle.
A tum tum noise rose above the clatter of the living; it's sound low and ominous like the violent beat of a heart. It came again, it's pitch changed slowly... sliding into place, deeply demanding the attention of those crawling through the small space.
The chocolate orbs shifted from the bottle towards the smokey directed light, the once abandoned corner was now filled with musicians. Their attentions all focused on their instruments as they tuned and checked, flipped switches, spoke briskly to one another and then started the whole process over again. Her head turned, bangs holding in place with a strict dedication... eyes peering through the madness of darkness and void... moving forms shifting endlessly from one area to another. Familiarity brought nothing, as the tum tum tum of the deep bass notes seemed to quake against her own internal rhythm. She felt her shoulders tighten, a weak sigh slowly escaped her lungs as her body started to retake her position hiding behind folded arms. She looked defeated in a way, or possibly abandoned... the world around her humming and thumping and breathing and bleeding.
The long eerie deeply moving first note came from the violin, followed soon by the rest as music instantly flooded the space. She watched them, unable not to... the quick deep sounds coming from them soothed a piece of the pain that was building inside of her. Her eyes remained on them, locked in refusal to look behind her again and not find some comfort, no... they would watch as life was created, joy and sorrow, pain and triumph, every emotion that is brought to being through the music that was steadily invading her very soul.
She had become completely immersed by the third song, unconscious of the world revolving around her, of the life happening even inches from the small wire table and the completely empty green bottle. Perhaps that was why the light touch hadn't startled her, not even a quiver to announce that she had been disturbed in some way.
Foreign fingers slowly glided over the silken midnight locks, gingerly exploring the length in a loving manner before delicately burying the digits into the tresses. Cool skin made contact briefly with the seated woman's neck, slipping down to lovingly graze the curve of the sensitive skin just below her ear.
The room shook with energy and rhythm as the band continued on with their magic, but in this moment she shifted a little to the touch, folded arms loosened their tension. Her eyes were still focused on the movement of the musicians though they seemed lighter, dark eyebrows had retracted back into place... shoulders had eased. The overall tension that had plagued her previously was for a moment gone, the soft delicate feel of shifting strands of her hair continued, soothing her, calling her to lean back in her seat instead of forward.
Several more caresses came to gingerly brush the silken hair back and in place, a soft twist kept it from once again concealing her shoulders and neck. Two arms came from behind her slowly, crossing just under her chin, holding her back in her seat without force. A chin rested gently against her left shoulder; equally dark eyes peering forwards towards the source of the noise, the invading red haired woman's expression was soothing and calm.
Neither of them looked at one another though the dark haired girl shifted back into the slight embrace, their heads tilted into one another's, resting nearly temple to temple as their eyes watched the source of the rhythmic heart that was suffocating them. The sound was beautiful, and deep, and dark, and alive within both of them.
It continued on and on, without breaks, without mercy... the sounds wrote volumes of melodic thought, expressing every emotion, drawing the very breath from it's captives. The two dark eyed girls were victims all the same, until the violin's howling note shifted, it was a signal... the time had waned, the close had begun, it was the end. The chin against her shoulder slowly adjusted, arms tightened a bit to either give or receive some physical comfort for the musical epitaph. A cheek took its warmed space as the woman behind her nuzzled her face against her companion's soft skin and into a few strands of the thick tresses that smelled of amber.
"I am always with you..." she whispered weakly from where she was hiding, feeling the press of her companion's hands against her embracing arms, holding her close... but already the weight and feel had shifted, moment by moment it started to fade away.
"... with all of my soul." her words were swallowed by the music and the small world around them. Then nothing. Charcoal hair draped over both shoulders as her body recoiled forward into her previous position, arms folded on the table, eyes forward.
Her foot slowly slid over the grit of the floor before twisting around the leg of the empty chair beside her, protecting the vacant space still ... she would be back. The seat wouldn't always be empty.
Standard vs. Automatic
I accept that already through the title of this that I might have lost a few of you. Don't fret yourselves, I won't be writing exclusively about the different forms of transmission found in our four wheeled companions.
I meant to write this last week but between work, criminal justice research (because it sounds more intellectual then homework), and finding myself on my death bed for BOTH of my days off... I slacked off. Needless to say that it has happened before... and it shall happen again.
Moving on...
At some random meaningless point of last week, on a particularly warm day I went to work. Like normal. I sat in my little isolation of a golf shop, drank coffee, watched part of Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and dazed off. It was probably around cigarette break number three when a bunch of the maintenance guys came out to join me.
As we conversed about meaningless topics that help the story in no way, I leaned against the front of one of the golf carts. At this moment an older man (roughly 45+) comes down the walkway and walks right up to me. His eyes fixed on my breast that (might I add) were completely covered by a t-shirt that said 'San Francisco' across the upper portion.
Now this man stands like this for several long seconds, bridging me in between him and the golf cart. The maintenance guys are covering their mouths as my face gets less and less enthusiastic to their presence.
I cleared my throat and he stepped back quick, rubbing one of his hands across his mouth before shaking his head.
"I love San Francisco. Went there a lot as a kid..."
His story ends there as I gave him a golf cart key and he road out of my life, but that in no way makes this the end. I walked back outside, picked up my cigarette and grumbled - "And THAT is why I'm glad I'm a lesbian."
Silence. It would only be slightly conceded of me to actually believe that the birds quit singing and the earth stopped turning, if only for a matter of moments. Both of the guys I had been previously talking too were awe struck - yet another quality of men I can't tolerate. These conversations usually end with "Yes I'm a lesbian, no you can't watch."
The remainder of my afternoon was spent with one of the guys constantly walking into the shop, shaking his head and muttering "what a waste". That got me thinking.
What a waste? For who? Men? He wouldn't give me an answer when I asked him what the hell he was talking about. Is it suppose to be a waste for me? It certainly isn't a waste for the girls I sleep with... ... i digress.
Finally he got even more enthralled, like I was the first of my kind he had ever actually witness and I was to be subjected to interviews, photographs, and some oddly unpleasant probing. (not literally.)
"You can't do everything that I can do." He commented with a great deal of confidence. "Um... yeah I can." I replied with hesitation to the conversation to come.
The Nuh uh's and the Yeah-huh's continued on for a while before he relented in confusion. "Explain it to me then."
Since he was a guy who worked with machinery I came up with this analogy.
"Men are like automatics and women are like standards. Women known how to drive standards, men known how to drive automatics... No matter how often a man drives a standard, he'll always hit the clutch thinking it was the brake."
I meant to write this last week but between work, criminal justice research (because it sounds more intellectual then homework), and finding myself on my death bed for BOTH of my days off... I slacked off. Needless to say that it has happened before... and it shall happen again.
Moving on...
At some random meaningless point of last week, on a particularly warm day I went to work. Like normal. I sat in my little isolation of a golf shop, drank coffee, watched part of Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and dazed off. It was probably around cigarette break number three when a bunch of the maintenance guys came out to join me.
As we conversed about meaningless topics that help the story in no way, I leaned against the front of one of the golf carts. At this moment an older man (roughly 45+) comes down the walkway and walks right up to me. His eyes fixed on my breast that (might I add) were completely covered by a t-shirt that said 'San Francisco' across the upper portion.
Now this man stands like this for several long seconds, bridging me in between him and the golf cart. The maintenance guys are covering their mouths as my face gets less and less enthusiastic to their presence.
I cleared my throat and he stepped back quick, rubbing one of his hands across his mouth before shaking his head.
"I love San Francisco. Went there a lot as a kid..."
His story ends there as I gave him a golf cart key and he road out of my life, but that in no way makes this the end. I walked back outside, picked up my cigarette and grumbled - "And THAT is why I'm glad I'm a lesbian."
Silence. It would only be slightly conceded of me to actually believe that the birds quit singing and the earth stopped turning, if only for a matter of moments. Both of the guys I had been previously talking too were awe struck - yet another quality of men I can't tolerate. These conversations usually end with "Yes I'm a lesbian, no you can't watch."
The remainder of my afternoon was spent with one of the guys constantly walking into the shop, shaking his head and muttering "what a waste". That got me thinking.
What a waste? For who? Men? He wouldn't give me an answer when I asked him what the hell he was talking about. Is it suppose to be a waste for me? It certainly isn't a waste for the girls I sleep with... ... i digress.
Finally he got even more enthralled, like I was the first of my kind he had ever actually witness and I was to be subjected to interviews, photographs, and some oddly unpleasant probing. (not literally.)
"You can't do everything that I can do." He commented with a great deal of confidence. "Um... yeah I can." I replied with hesitation to the conversation to come.
The Nuh uh's and the Yeah-huh's continued on for a while before he relented in confusion. "Explain it to me then."
Since he was a guy who worked with machinery I came up with this analogy.
"Men are like automatics and women are like standards. Women known how to drive standards, men known how to drive automatics... No matter how often a man drives a standard, he'll always hit the clutch thinking it was the brake."
Past Love
The Boy
My first 'love' was at age 9. We were friends and began dating because that was what you did. It took us six months to hold hands. We dated for 5 whole years. I still have a small shoe box of his love letters and flowers.
The Innocent
In the beginning there was one. While I was dating the 'boy' I fell in love hard with 'the innocent'. It was everything that first real fall promises. Made even worse that she was straight. C'est la vie.
I don't call her the innocent because she is, with adulthood comes all of the vices. I say the innocent because that was what it was. Little notes tucked in lockers, hands nervously held in darkened movie theatres, soothingly playing with strands of hair.
Through all of the heart ache that came with rejection... I would not go back and change a single thing. Symbols of my youth and young heart are lovingly placed away.
The Complication
Ahh... the complication. He took his time to carefully sneak into my life. Well, not so much sneak. He'd been there. He'd been my complication.
He... had been the 'innocent's boyfriend. We ended up dating mostly because he had dated the 'innocent' and in my mind... if you can't have one, have the other. Mmm... that and well, he assured me that he could help me with my infatuation with his ex.
Liar liar pants on fire. He shouldn't have been surprised when I left him and told him I was a lesbian.
The Artist/Musician
My first week in college I met the 'musician'. She was amazing... feeding the need in my life for beauty and music. She was my polar opposite.
I was madly in love with her. More than I had ever been with anyone... (minus the innocent). I wrote her poetry, she wrote me songs... I watched for hours as she painted... or played cello.
The most beautiful person I have ever met. However, like all great things... eventually things end. We had a lovely relationship that ended in a tug of war for freedom. An artist/musician and a writer... 'twas love.
The Logic
She was older than me, a senior while I was a junior. She was there as the 'musician' faded away. Ours was a relationship born out of the misery of loneliness.
I think this was the most mature relationship I've been in. We were adults. We lived together, we worked, we had shared credit cards and cell phones. We went on vacations... we did things as a couple.
And like a sequel to my past, things collapsed in on themselves. She went away to Law School... I remained in college. We drifted apart.
The Married/ Mistress
The girl at the coffee shop. When I was in need of a stress free environment I would go to the little coffee shop in town... (where I later worked.) The girl who worked there was absolutely captivating.
I came there so often that it apparently because obvious that I was staring because my lattes started showing up with little foam hearts. It was romantic and mysterious. I loved it.
I don't remember how it happened... but we started writing letters to one another, emails, presents... she was an actress for the college theater department. I already worked for the department so I had ample opportunities and excuses to see her.
Needless to say, she was married. And of all of my ex's... she was the second that was not a virgin. We never actually dated... we had a secret almost love affair. I was the mistress... and though I thought I could fall in love with her, things did not play out in my favor.
The Mirror
Some say opposites attract. In this case, exact likenesses attracted more. The 'Mirror' is my capricorn counterpart. It took us both a long time to come to terms with our friendship, as we capricorns are not ones to willingly let others close to us.
We became best friends and only once did things cross the line between friend and lover. Then and forever, she'll always have a place in my heart.
The Soul Mate
There are no words to describe her. She is my everything. She knows me through and through, blood to blood. She is one of the few people that I can sit in a silent room... not say a word... and know exactly what is on her mind.
Never a sexual relationship, ours is a love of intellect, or reason, of muse and artist. She is the ying to my yang.
If I was never to know the love of anyone else, I would feel soothed by her presence. I will never be alone as long as she breaths.
The Femme
The last. I have not yet written a place for her. She has been confined into shoe boxes.
(Today's post is brought to you by a trip through the massive trunk in my bedroom... yeah cleaning.)
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/melanthia_greystone/blog#ixzz0vZVAmHzN
My first 'love' was at age 9. We were friends and began dating because that was what you did. It took us six months to hold hands. We dated for 5 whole years. I still have a small shoe box of his love letters and flowers.
The Innocent
In the beginning there was one. While I was dating the 'boy' I fell in love hard with 'the innocent'. It was everything that first real fall promises. Made even worse that she was straight. C'est la vie.
I don't call her the innocent because she is, with adulthood comes all of the vices. I say the innocent because that was what it was. Little notes tucked in lockers, hands nervously held in darkened movie theatres, soothingly playing with strands of hair.
Through all of the heart ache that came with rejection... I would not go back and change a single thing. Symbols of my youth and young heart are lovingly placed away.
The Complication
Ahh... the complication. He took his time to carefully sneak into my life. Well, not so much sneak. He'd been there. He'd been my complication.
He... had been the 'innocent's boyfriend. We ended up dating mostly because he had dated the 'innocent' and in my mind... if you can't have one, have the other. Mmm... that and well, he assured me that he could help me with my infatuation with his ex.
Liar liar pants on fire. He shouldn't have been surprised when I left him and told him I was a lesbian.
The Artist/Musician
My first week in college I met the 'musician'. She was amazing... feeding the need in my life for beauty and music. She was my polar opposite.
I was madly in love with her. More than I had ever been with anyone... (minus the innocent). I wrote her poetry, she wrote me songs... I watched for hours as she painted... or played cello.
The most beautiful person I have ever met. However, like all great things... eventually things end. We had a lovely relationship that ended in a tug of war for freedom. An artist/musician and a writer... 'twas love.
The Logic
She was older than me, a senior while I was a junior. She was there as the 'musician' faded away. Ours was a relationship born out of the misery of loneliness.
I think this was the most mature relationship I've been in. We were adults. We lived together, we worked, we had shared credit cards and cell phones. We went on vacations... we did things as a couple.
And like a sequel to my past, things collapsed in on themselves. She went away to Law School... I remained in college. We drifted apart.
The Married/ Mistress
The girl at the coffee shop. When I was in need of a stress free environment I would go to the little coffee shop in town... (where I later worked.) The girl who worked there was absolutely captivating.
I came there so often that it apparently because obvious that I was staring because my lattes started showing up with little foam hearts. It was romantic and mysterious. I loved it.
I don't remember how it happened... but we started writing letters to one another, emails, presents... she was an actress for the college theater department. I already worked for the department so I had ample opportunities and excuses to see her.
Needless to say, she was married. And of all of my ex's... she was the second that was not a virgin. We never actually dated... we had a secret almost love affair. I was the mistress... and though I thought I could fall in love with her, things did not play out in my favor.
The Mirror
Some say opposites attract. In this case, exact likenesses attracted more. The 'Mirror' is my capricorn counterpart. It took us both a long time to come to terms with our friendship, as we capricorns are not ones to willingly let others close to us.
We became best friends and only once did things cross the line between friend and lover. Then and forever, she'll always have a place in my heart.
The Soul Mate
There are no words to describe her. She is my everything. She knows me through and through, blood to blood. She is one of the few people that I can sit in a silent room... not say a word... and know exactly what is on her mind.
Never a sexual relationship, ours is a love of intellect, or reason, of muse and artist. She is the ying to my yang.
If I was never to know the love of anyone else, I would feel soothed by her presence. I will never be alone as long as she breaths.
The Femme
The last. I have not yet written a place for her. She has been confined into shoe boxes.
(Today's post is brought to you by a trip through the massive trunk in my bedroom... yeah cleaning.)
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/melanthia_greystone/blog#ixzz0vZVAmHzN
I smell decomp...
My neighbors are the living dead. Or perhaps spirits. Or... perhaps rotting in their basement. I'm not sure. ..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
There are lights on, but nothing ever moves. I don't see any changes of curtains... knickknacks. I've been doing my own investigating.
When I first moved in I noticed that right outside my kitchen door onto the balcony I can see into their kitchen window. There is a spider plant or some hosta piece of shit in their window ceil. It was bright green and thriving.
That is not the case today. Today it has withered even more, the thing is dying. Is it from conscious neglect? Or is it following suit with it's already partially decomposed owners in the basement?
Why do I use my precious brain power and time worrying about why my neighbors aren't watering their plants? God knows mine are dying despite every effort I have made.
I'm excellent with animals, but you throw me a plant and that fucker is dead in hours. Seriously. I don't know what it is, people say I have a black thumb. I'm supposing that I sweat round-up.
It's not that I don't like them. I do. I grew lilies (my favorite flower). I dug the holes with care, measured them as directed by their packaging and then covered them all.
Then. I did nothing. I didn't touch the bastards. They grew just fine. They were pretty, I enjoyed looking at them - but had to move. I didn't dare try to transplant them - that would have been mass lily genocide.
We don't want that do we? No.
Ok. So I just spoke with my next door neighbor, a sweet older woman who has become obsessed with my cats solved the mystery of the rotting neighbors.
No mystery really. Nothing exciting even. Absolutely and completely normal.
God/Goddess/Flying Spaghetti Monster bless George Carlin. For the love of all things holy why did he have to go and die. The man was pure genius.
Well damn. I have nothing else to say right now. Why couldn't the house beside me be filled with the living dead?
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/melanthia_greystone/blog#ixzz0vZV1Aoc9
There are lights on, but nothing ever moves. I don't see any changes of curtains... knickknacks. I've been doing my own investigating.
When I first moved in I noticed that right outside my kitchen door onto the balcony I can see into their kitchen window. There is a spider plant or some hosta piece of shit in their window ceil. It was bright green and thriving.
That is not the case today. Today it has withered even more, the thing is dying. Is it from conscious neglect? Or is it following suit with it's already partially decomposed owners in the basement?
Why do I use my precious brain power and time worrying about why my neighbors aren't watering their plants? God knows mine are dying despite every effort I have made.
I'm excellent with animals, but you throw me a plant and that fucker is dead in hours. Seriously. I don't know what it is, people say I have a black thumb. I'm supposing that I sweat round-up.
It's not that I don't like them. I do. I grew lilies (my favorite flower). I dug the holes with care, measured them as directed by their packaging and then covered them all.
Then. I did nothing. I didn't touch the bastards. They grew just fine. They were pretty, I enjoyed looking at them - but had to move. I didn't dare try to transplant them - that would have been mass lily genocide.
We don't want that do we? No.
Ok. So I just spoke with my next door neighbor, a sweet older woman who has become obsessed with my cats solved the mystery of the rotting neighbors.
No mystery really. Nothing exciting even. Absolutely and completely normal.
God/Goddess/Flying Spaghetti Monster bless George Carlin. For the love of all things holy why did he have to go and die. The man was pure genius.
Well damn. I have nothing else to say right now. Why couldn't the house beside me be filled with the living dead?
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/melanthia_greystone/blog#ixzz0vZV1Aoc9
Solitary Confinement
I've been staring at the computer screen for nearly two hours now. (For those of you who don't know, I watch most of my tv and movies online since I don't pay for cable.)..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
I'm watching the L word. I use to love this show... use to download it the day it came out... use to fall in love with the characters.
I know that is stereotypical lesbianism... love the show about lesbians. But I do. Did. Something.
I use to watch it with my friends, we'd all pile onto a bed or couch and watching the happenings of that weeks scandal.
I use to absorb myself in it's culture and love the life I myself was leading. My ex girlfriend and I talked of character likenesses... of our life verses theirs.
Then we broke up, and I moved back home. I took the breakup horrifically bad, parts of me are still open wounds and it has been over a year. I stopped watching the show.
But here I sit. Watching an episode for the first time since, feeling an ache in my stomach, a knot in my throat, and a piece missing from my soul.
Is it because I miss my connection with her? Maybe.
Is it that I miss a connection with who I was then? Yes.
I live in a small little town, small enough to be some story book fantasy of hell. Everyone knows everyone. We have one stoplight in the county.
At first I didn't care, my life revolved around breathing and sleep. Slowly I crawled out of that and started to tentatively reach out with my feelers... testing the water and trying to decide if that particular day would allow me to go outside and be around people without cracking.
As time passes the numb ball of pain has receded and I live. I work. I... socialize on a level of acquaintances mixed with random spurts of honest deep friendship.
I miss connection. I miss depth and warmth. I miss being able to speak at length about books and movies and the happenings of the world. I miss being a part of something.
I've always been a very open gay person. I've been a leader, been a strong hold for the unknown. I was deemed the matriarch on my college campus - as if everyone 'wishing' to come out must meet me, be passed some invisible baton. Drink wine. Be welcomed and all would be right.
Yet here I sit. Alone in the loneliness of solitude. There are no lesbians here. There are no people to feel one with, to connect with, to understand the sheer facts that heterosexual men and women can not.
You know how they say that solitude tends to bring out the absolute truth of a person. That if left alone long enough, you will be able to know yourself through and through.
I'm scared that I will know myself, and then fade. Can that happen?
Can the pure essence of a person vanish if it is never used... never seen... never coaxed and comforted, cuddled and soothed?
Does ones love merely lose hope and die?
I don't know. I feel like I might have been isolated for so long that I won't be able to hold myself to the culture... the lifestyle... the love if ever returned.
I'm a person. I still feel that. I have morals and values, a love of my family, a passion for books and music... a deep understanding of how I view the world. But... has part of me simply given up and receded? Will any amount of coaxing be able to drawl it back to the surface when the time strikes? Or am I simply going to have to come to terms with my solitude... and dredge forward alone into nothingness?
Damn HBO... I blame them.
On a completely opposite note, I am increasingly perplexed by the houses across the street from me. I've lived in my new house for 20 days... every night I sit on my porch and smoke a cigarette and have noticed one thing.
Three houses. Three identical, side by side houses. One is always dark. One is always lit. And the one in the middle has lights on upstairs, but never lights on downstairs.
It makes me fearful. I don't know why.
*Sighs*
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/melanthia_greystone/blog#ixzz0vZUwF8LJ
I'm watching the L word. I use to love this show... use to download it the day it came out... use to fall in love with the characters.
I know that is stereotypical lesbianism... love the show about lesbians. But I do. Did. Something.
I use to watch it with my friends, we'd all pile onto a bed or couch and watching the happenings of that weeks scandal.
I use to absorb myself in it's culture and love the life I myself was leading. My ex girlfriend and I talked of character likenesses... of our life verses theirs.
Then we broke up, and I moved back home. I took the breakup horrifically bad, parts of me are still open wounds and it has been over a year. I stopped watching the show.
But here I sit. Watching an episode for the first time since, feeling an ache in my stomach, a knot in my throat, and a piece missing from my soul.
Is it because I miss my connection with her? Maybe.
Is it that I miss a connection with who I was then? Yes.
I live in a small little town, small enough to be some story book fantasy of hell. Everyone knows everyone. We have one stoplight in the county.
At first I didn't care, my life revolved around breathing and sleep. Slowly I crawled out of that and started to tentatively reach out with my feelers... testing the water and trying to decide if that particular day would allow me to go outside and be around people without cracking.
As time passes the numb ball of pain has receded and I live. I work. I... socialize on a level of acquaintances mixed with random spurts of honest deep friendship.
I miss connection. I miss depth and warmth. I miss being able to speak at length about books and movies and the happenings of the world. I miss being a part of something.
I've always been a very open gay person. I've been a leader, been a strong hold for the unknown. I was deemed the matriarch on my college campus - as if everyone 'wishing' to come out must meet me, be passed some invisible baton. Drink wine. Be welcomed and all would be right.
Yet here I sit. Alone in the loneliness of solitude. There are no lesbians here. There are no people to feel one with, to connect with, to understand the sheer facts that heterosexual men and women can not.
You know how they say that solitude tends to bring out the absolute truth of a person. That if left alone long enough, you will be able to know yourself through and through.
I'm scared that I will know myself, and then fade. Can that happen?
Can the pure essence of a person vanish if it is never used... never seen... never coaxed and comforted, cuddled and soothed?
Does ones love merely lose hope and die?
I don't know. I feel like I might have been isolated for so long that I won't be able to hold myself to the culture... the lifestyle... the love if ever returned.
I'm a person. I still feel that. I have morals and values, a love of my family, a passion for books and music... a deep understanding of how I view the world. But... has part of me simply given up and receded? Will any amount of coaxing be able to drawl it back to the surface when the time strikes? Or am I simply going to have to come to terms with my solitude... and dredge forward alone into nothingness?
Damn HBO... I blame them.
On a completely opposite note, I am increasingly perplexed by the houses across the street from me. I've lived in my new house for 20 days... every night I sit on my porch and smoke a cigarette and have noticed one thing.
Three houses. Three identical, side by side houses. One is always dark. One is always lit. And the one in the middle has lights on upstairs, but never lights on downstairs.
It makes me fearful. I don't know why.
*Sighs*
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/melanthia_greystone/blog#ixzz0vZUwF8LJ
Tiny Kitten
The drizzle plastered against my windshield as I turned off onto a steep mountain road. It didn't even cross my mind... I'd driven it thousands of times. At the top was my old house, where I had grown up.
I'd already been to work and was now coming to check on my dog. She lives with my brothers on the farm while I live down in town... today's concern was that she had broken her leg. I had to check.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of white, at first I thought it was a bunny hopping up the side of the road... but then it hit in realization. It was a kitten.
I stopped the car quickly, being only 50 feet away from the main road I knew if it headed down the mountain it would get hit. Checking my parking brake several times I climbed out of my car and went to the guard railing... looking over the side into the thick weeds and trees... I saw nothing.
I called 'kitty' and then meowed quietly before I finally heard it. Down a few feet a tiny bundle huddled under a fallen down tree - crying out. I kept calling... it stayed right there, eyes wide. I figured either terrified or feral.
With a sigh of dismay I got back in the car and went to check on my dog... but on my way back down the mountain I stopped the car again. The yowling screams crushed my heart as I kicked the car in park and turned it off. Alright... I'll try again.
The side of the mountain is roughly at a 50 degree angle... slush and mud from the rain. My first step over the railing sent me sliding over the embankment.
For 20 minutes I chased the little grey and white kitten through the undergrowth... covered in mud and soaking from the rain. I got close once, nearly touching but my foot slipped and he darted away.
Even more disheartened I climbed back up the mountain... got in my car and drove back down the mountain... as I got on the main road I could hear his terrified crying from up in the woods. I couldn't help myself.
Pulling my car over to the side of the road I clipped my keys to my belt loop, locked the doors and tried again.
This was a bit more rough, briars and jagged rocks blocked most of my access up the side of the mountain. I pulled my way up by roots and continued my chase until I could no longer see my hand infront of my face.
Sweat, mud, and tears streaked my face as he I got back into my car... feeling such misery for leaving a tiny baby alone in the woods to cry. I didn't sleep well.
Being at work at 6:00am has it's advantages. By 8am I have every phone number I possibly needed in order to either A) find someone to go and catch the kitten... or B) catch it myself.
Turns out however that no one has a live trap... and no one cared about the kitten. I had to come up with my own plan... luckily I've done this before.
One can of cat food, a small ferret cage, 4 feet of rope, and two cigarettes later I was ready to kitten hunt. I had doubts that the kitten had survived the night... he was small, not even 5 weeks old yet.
But as I pulled my car up to the same place again, I meowed... and he started crying instantly.
I set the cage up, flap down to the ground so I could quickly close the door by pulling the rope... can of food just inside.
My toes went numb as I crouched beside the guard rail... 45 minutes... barely moving as he inched closer and then backed away... over and over again. Then my time came.
He had positioned himself on the side of the door, trying desperately to get the can of food since he hadn't realized there was a door and with one quick pull he tumbled inside. The crying continued but I felt better.
Now... he's in my bathroom, terribly emaciated... looking scared to death and crying. Worse is that I am about to wash him. But at least he's safe.
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/melanthia_greystone/blog#ixzz0vZUqzz4i
I'd already been to work and was now coming to check on my dog. She lives with my brothers on the farm while I live down in town... today's concern was that she had broken her leg. I had to check.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of white, at first I thought it was a bunny hopping up the side of the road... but then it hit in realization. It was a kitten.
I stopped the car quickly, being only 50 feet away from the main road I knew if it headed down the mountain it would get hit. Checking my parking brake several times I climbed out of my car and went to the guard railing... looking over the side into the thick weeds and trees... I saw nothing.
I called 'kitty' and then meowed quietly before I finally heard it. Down a few feet a tiny bundle huddled under a fallen down tree - crying out. I kept calling... it stayed right there, eyes wide. I figured either terrified or feral.
With a sigh of dismay I got back in the car and went to check on my dog... but on my way back down the mountain I stopped the car again. The yowling screams crushed my heart as I kicked the car in park and turned it off. Alright... I'll try again.
The side of the mountain is roughly at a 50 degree angle... slush and mud from the rain. My first step over the railing sent me sliding over the embankment.
For 20 minutes I chased the little grey and white kitten through the undergrowth... covered in mud and soaking from the rain. I got close once, nearly touching but my foot slipped and he darted away.
Even more disheartened I climbed back up the mountain... got in my car and drove back down the mountain... as I got on the main road I could hear his terrified crying from up in the woods. I couldn't help myself.
Pulling my car over to the side of the road I clipped my keys to my belt loop, locked the doors and tried again.
This was a bit more rough, briars and jagged rocks blocked most of my access up the side of the mountain. I pulled my way up by roots and continued my chase until I could no longer see my hand infront of my face.
Sweat, mud, and tears streaked my face as he I got back into my car... feeling such misery for leaving a tiny baby alone in the woods to cry. I didn't sleep well.
Being at work at 6:00am has it's advantages. By 8am I have every phone number I possibly needed in order to either A) find someone to go and catch the kitten... or B) catch it myself.
Turns out however that no one has a live trap... and no one cared about the kitten. I had to come up with my own plan... luckily I've done this before.
One can of cat food, a small ferret cage, 4 feet of rope, and two cigarettes later I was ready to kitten hunt. I had doubts that the kitten had survived the night... he was small, not even 5 weeks old yet.
But as I pulled my car up to the same place again, I meowed... and he started crying instantly.
I set the cage up, flap down to the ground so I could quickly close the door by pulling the rope... can of food just inside.
My toes went numb as I crouched beside the guard rail... 45 minutes... barely moving as he inched closer and then backed away... over and over again. Then my time came.
He had positioned himself on the side of the door, trying desperately to get the can of food since he hadn't realized there was a door and with one quick pull he tumbled inside. The crying continued but I felt better.
Now... he's in my bathroom, terribly emaciated... looking scared to death and crying. Worse is that I am about to wash him. But at least he's safe.
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/melanthia_greystone/blog#ixzz0vZUqzz4i
Polygraph
Officer: You're going to have to be completely honest with me... even if you get uncomfortable. Do you understand?
Me: Um... yeah.
The day started pretty normal, well... normal enough for a big job interview. I had gotten up, preshowered the night before because I hate it when my hair is wet.
I put on a black suit with knee high boots and a pinkish button up shirt - mainly because the two that I had brought didn't really work, and it was the only shirt Andrea owned that encompassed my breasts. I didn't want to look like a whore... so I buttoned it all the way up.
I spent 20 minutes in the McDonald's drive thru trying to get a cup of iced coffee... I found it bizarre and almost genious that the Richmond McD's has a drive thru that is surrounded by curbs and bushes... once you're in, you're in. So I sat there... and having left the house an hour early I knew I didn't need to worry.
I circled the police building twice, pondering where I should park since I had been warned my meeting would take the better part of the day. My first choice was in the alley, I smoked a cigarette and felt oddly comforted by the small geo metro parked directly infront of me sporting "Chicks Rule" and rainbow stickers.
However, the giant parking sign that warned of two hour then tow procedure. Despite the fact I thought it would be humorus to have my car towed while interviewing for the police academy I decided to move.
I circled a few more times, then finally decided on a small gas station parking lot directly across from the building. They had the same signs for towing... but I figured anyone getting paid minimam wage to sit in a gas station wasn't exactly going to be keeping tabs on customers and cars.
You have a client in trouble? You're too pretty to be in a mess yourself.
I might have actually blushed had I not been focused on my coffee and the fact that my interviewer was late by 20 minutes now. I turned in my chair to see who had complimented me when I saw a man in full camo uniform, a solider.
Turns out he was a recruiter... and much to my uncomfort I was left to talk to the man for the better part of half an hour. He told me about his wife and marriage... and then proceeded to tell me if I needed a friend in Richmond he would love to take me out... you know, show me the night life.
At the peak of my discomfort an extremely tall man came up to me, when I stood up I came to belly. Good first image... tiny little girl.
He led me thru several locked doors and down a series of hallways, he had to slow down on several occassions just so I could catch up, again - another strong impression.
300 questions... shit I couldn't even recall or remember they asked me about... I would have felt violated had it not been voluntary. But it went quickly... I was asked to sign three different vouchers that said I was telling the truth.
Then they sent me downstairs.
Back in the seat again, waiting... luckily my solider had moved on and I now watched as arrested sex workers and we be druggies were walked past to get fingerprinted. It was almost cleche... like I was on a television show.
It was almost an hour before a man opened the solid door infront of him, he was a larger man... reminded me instantly of James Earl Jones. His thick accent was a mixture of Jamacian and southern American, oddly comforting.
He talked to me for a while, explaining the process of a polygraph and then he said he had 54 questions for me. I was suppose to answer truthfully.
JEJ: How many times in your life have you smoked pot?
Me: I... um, well... I told the guy upstairs that it was probably 5 or 6 times. But... it's more, but no more than 20!
I tried to defend myself, honestly I can't remember... I grew up with hippies, I've been around people that smoke it my whole life, but I know I've never really liked it. I stuck by my estimation.
JEJ: Have you ever forged another person's signature on offical or legal documents?
Me: No.... well... I've signed my mother's name on college papers. Forged gym and sick notes.
He laughed at me, it was becoming obvious that I had started to get really worried about this whole TRUTH situation. Any feeling of 'bad ass' that I felt about myself was crushed as he talked to me. However the best question nearly made me laugh so hard I cried.
JEJ: Have you ever had sex with a dead person, or helped dig up a deceased person, have you ever participated in the violation of a corpse for sexual pleasure on your's or anyone else's behalf.
Me:.................. *dies laughing*...... no!
I couldn't help it, it was the best question I had ever been asked. I wanted to say yes, just to see his face, but I couldn't.
Out of those 54 he chose 10 to polygraph me on. I was strapped into the chair, unfortunately it wasn't in a more pleasant situation. I stared at the wall as he asked... and it was my damn luck he asked that question again.
I couldn't move... couldn't laugh, sat still and quietly answered No.
The rest of the day went quickly, I passed my polygraph and was informed that I would hear back something in 3 - 6 months. Fanfuckingtastic.
There, that should answer your questions about the test.
Me: Um... yeah.
The day started pretty normal, well... normal enough for a big job interview. I had gotten up, preshowered the night before because I hate it when my hair is wet.
I put on a black suit with knee high boots and a pinkish button up shirt - mainly because the two that I had brought didn't really work, and it was the only shirt Andrea owned that encompassed my breasts. I didn't want to look like a whore... so I buttoned it all the way up.
I spent 20 minutes in the McDonald's drive thru trying to get a cup of iced coffee... I found it bizarre and almost genious that the Richmond McD's has a drive thru that is surrounded by curbs and bushes... once you're in, you're in. So I sat there... and having left the house an hour early I knew I didn't need to worry.
I circled the police building twice, pondering where I should park since I had been warned my meeting would take the better part of the day. My first choice was in the alley, I smoked a cigarette and felt oddly comforted by the small geo metro parked directly infront of me sporting "Chicks Rule" and rainbow stickers.
However, the giant parking sign that warned of two hour then tow procedure. Despite the fact I thought it would be humorus to have my car towed while interviewing for the police academy I decided to move.
I circled a few more times, then finally decided on a small gas station parking lot directly across from the building. They had the same signs for towing... but I figured anyone getting paid minimam wage to sit in a gas station wasn't exactly going to be keeping tabs on customers and cars.
You have a client in trouble? You're too pretty to be in a mess yourself.
I might have actually blushed had I not been focused on my coffee and the fact that my interviewer was late by 20 minutes now. I turned in my chair to see who had complimented me when I saw a man in full camo uniform, a solider.
Turns out he was a recruiter... and much to my uncomfort I was left to talk to the man for the better part of half an hour. He told me about his wife and marriage... and then proceeded to tell me if I needed a friend in Richmond he would love to take me out... you know, show me the night life.
At the peak of my discomfort an extremely tall man came up to me, when I stood up I came to belly. Good first image... tiny little girl.
He led me thru several locked doors and down a series of hallways, he had to slow down on several occassions just so I could catch up, again - another strong impression.
300 questions... shit I couldn't even recall or remember they asked me about... I would have felt violated had it not been voluntary. But it went quickly... I was asked to sign three different vouchers that said I was telling the truth.
Then they sent me downstairs.
Back in the seat again, waiting... luckily my solider had moved on and I now watched as arrested sex workers and we be druggies were walked past to get fingerprinted. It was almost cleche... like I was on a television show.
It was almost an hour before a man opened the solid door infront of him, he was a larger man... reminded me instantly of James Earl Jones. His thick accent was a mixture of Jamacian and southern American, oddly comforting.
He talked to me for a while, explaining the process of a polygraph and then he said he had 54 questions for me. I was suppose to answer truthfully.
JEJ: How many times in your life have you smoked pot?
Me: I... um, well... I told the guy upstairs that it was probably 5 or 6 times. But... it's more, but no more than 20!
I tried to defend myself, honestly I can't remember... I grew up with hippies, I've been around people that smoke it my whole life, but I know I've never really liked it. I stuck by my estimation.
JEJ: Have you ever forged another person's signature on offical or legal documents?
Me: No.... well... I've signed my mother's name on college papers. Forged gym and sick notes.
He laughed at me, it was becoming obvious that I had started to get really worried about this whole TRUTH situation. Any feeling of 'bad ass' that I felt about myself was crushed as he talked to me. However the best question nearly made me laugh so hard I cried.
JEJ: Have you ever had sex with a dead person, or helped dig up a deceased person, have you ever participated in the violation of a corpse for sexual pleasure on your's or anyone else's behalf.
Me:.................. *dies laughing*...... no!
I couldn't help it, it was the best question I had ever been asked. I wanted to say yes, just to see his face, but I couldn't.
Out of those 54 he chose 10 to polygraph me on. I was strapped into the chair, unfortunately it wasn't in a more pleasant situation. I stared at the wall as he asked... and it was my damn luck he asked that question again.
I couldn't move... couldn't laugh, sat still and quietly answered No.
The rest of the day went quickly, I passed my polygraph and was informed that I would hear back something in 3 - 6 months. Fanfuckingtastic.
There, that should answer your questions about the test.
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