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Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Dinner Date

At the end of a broken concrete road in the middle of nowhere waits a long forgotten beach. How does a beach become forgotten? Lost at the end of the tide, catfish remember its name. Cranes dance across its overgrown sand, stalking the scaled visitors. With silent 
magesty the curves of their necks bend dipping their razor sharp beaks into the cool green water. With a flash of movement, they retreat to the tree tops, an impaled fish as a mid day treat.

Sitting at a distance I watch the dance. Swooping from the heights of an oak tree violet black vistors land beside me. Yellow eyes twinkle with mischief as the feathered fiend sizes up the bologna sandwich in my hand.
Such a funny little thief he is, mouth parted between a grin and a laugh. I toss the bread crust to him and wait. Quickly he takes the bait. Snatch and grab, up into the trees again. Another crust of bread, this time he brings a friend.
Soon I am surrounded violet wings everywhere. The thought occurs, I don't think there is enough sandwich to share. Slowly I rise, meandering to the beconing sand and gentle tide. When I turn to look from whence I came, I realize the blackbirds decided the same.
Dropping my clothes with the wrapper on the shore I float on the hands of the gentle tide. On the lost beach my new friends wait. Violet and black wings my dinner dates.
(C) R.M. Brandon 2012

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

The Stacks

Desert heat in the Midwest. The Summer sun sears the very breath from my lungs. Ribs bruised from the previous nights strain heave beneath the pressure. Nausea rises from the pit of my stomach. Acid hovers at the base of my throat' just low enough to feel like a shot of Jack from the wrong direction. Intestines threaten to empty their acidic contents onto the dashboard of my car. What I wouldn't give for some relief. The lake twinkles in the back of my mind. The gas light flashes warning the tank is emptier than my pockets. Where to go?

So many decisions to be made, but my body revolts against reason. I just can't think when I feel like my insides are falling out. When was the last time I ate? Have to remember to eat. Not right now. What little there is in my stomach is trying to jump out. Okay mind over matter, if you don't mind it doesn't matter. A twinge of pain in my ribs. It lasts just long enough to feel like a dagger sliding in and out.I have to find somewhere to cool off and hydrate or when anyone finds my body it'll be days in the hospital with IVs .
Maybe a restaurant? Free AC. No, fast food places lack outlets for junk laptops to be plugged in and right now finding a way to make up for gas funds is the priority.

That's when I saw it. Rising from the ground it's looming three story brick frame beckoning me through the doors. Like the arms of a mother to a wounded child, The Public Library. Walking through the double glass doors I felt like a kid again. The old familiar smell like Grandma's Attic filled with hidden treasures waiting to be discovered, wrapped its fingers around my mind. The book covers looked at me from the shelves. Long forgotten Friends, new lovers, mysteries, travels, worlds as yet unknown to me. The colors and textures reached out to me as they had in childhood, "Let us be your friends. We will never let you down.".

How many days had I skipped Algebra 1 and that hideous blob of a teacher to wander among these stacks? After practices and duties I would hide among them, enjoying their company until close. The Greats, the little known, the narratives, all still here. So I find myself once again lost amongst the magic. Only this time I am not a child. While tempted to curl up in the old wicker chair and read The Workings of Poe for the thousandth time, I will instead write.

Here in the safety of the only friends who have been with me my entire life, I will aspire to join their names. One day maybe a wide eyed little girl will escape the world in the arms of my pages. Maybe one day a teenager will walk through the world of my mind to escape the bitter reality of the world in which we live. Maybe one day a two time Divorcee who is struggling to fill the gas tank to make it to work, dying inside because of the innocent casualties of bad marriages, and suffering from heat exhaustion will walk in and smile will take the place of worry at the comforting familiarity of my name.

I write because I have to. Only so many movies can through the mind at one time. A heart can only hold so much emotion, I write to release. I Read because the stacks are the arms that have held me since I was a child. (c)R.M.Brandon 2012

Monday, June 18, 2012

Thoughts and Unanswered Questions

Thought of buying a pool. One of those big in ground numbers with a slide and a diving board. Then realized someone would just fill it with trash.

Thought of building a fire pit. Not just any fire pit, an out door kitchen. A combination of bricks,recycled aluminum and steel, and a touch of imagination. A gaping mouth through which to create tastebud hypnotizing meals. Then realized it would be knocked down as soon as to work I had gone.

Thought of surrounding the yard with flowers.
Daisies, roses, orchids, fragrant beauties that would dance in the summers breeze. Their scent would combine like fresh honeysuckle and invite you to sit among their petals. Their colors would bob and sway singing to the wind. I would keep them hydrated with a meandering stream. It would encircle the yard fed by fountains. Clear blue water filled with golden fish would cast rainbows against the presisely placed stone walkway. The walkway would lead to a secret garden walled in by climbing beauties. Centerpiece, sitting stools surround a solar powered Hot tub. At night surrounded by warm bubbles laying up the sky would be filled with stars. Then I realized the flowers would be cut, the stream filled with pollution, the fish would die, and the hot tub would become lost to overgrowth.

Thought of dancing on the edge of the moon when the stars came out to play. Dangling there, watching the world spin away. Then realized the moon is too far away.

Thought of leaving. Wondered why I hadn't thought of that before. Then I realized I had. I never bothered to walk out the door.

There is a resignation when dreams begin to die. Suddenly you realize you no longer ask why.

Time slips steadily past. The chance for change too long gone. Still the question remains, when did life go so wrong?

(C) R.M.Brandon 2012

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Goodbye BlackLung

Day one. For anyone who has never smoked quitting should be easy. Society tells us it is rude. The medical field points to nicotine use for cancer,heart disease,COPD, and many other conditions. Yet, their answer is ,"Just quite. It's bad for you."
Uhhmm okay. That doesn't really make the emotional or even physical withdrawl that you go throu "Just Quitting" any easier.

Today I bury my 17 year bad habit. Why? No peer pressure doesn't work on me. So Society's not the kicker. The medical field? Nope. By nature I'm self destructive. For some odd reason knowing it could kill me is not really a downside.

Because in less than two months I'm going to step on the flattrack with a team of women I respect. I am privliged enough to guard them, and assist my team to Kick Derby Ass. They give 120% every time they hit that track. From midair hits to cartwheeled trips,boob shots, to back blocks. Through bruises, breaks,and sprains they are there.

They deserve the BEST me I can put out there. Not the me that gets winded three laps in. Or the me that suffers charlie horses from muscular hypoxia.
So today is Day one. Bout day will be Day 59.
Today I let go of the memory that made me start. I let go of dying. I let go of regret. Today I embrace tomorrow, today, and Day 59.

No matter how hard this is physicaly or emotionaly I am strong enough to make it. 

Monday, June 4, 2012

The Watcher

In a world filled with talent and wonder I wonder where I stand. Am I on the stage or up in the stands? Watching, observing every minute of life so grand. Yet simply watching changes the outcome.

The perspective of the onlooker makes each scene complete. Where would a love scene be if there was no one to see? It would still be love. Yet the story could get lost. I guess that is my contribution. To quietly watch.

Behind a lens. Behind a pen. Recording each act to replay it again. I am a story teller. A dreamer through and through. Next time your on stage I will be watching you. Where is the stage you ask innocently.

Read your Shakespear. The stage is everything you see.
(C) R.M. Brandon 2012