mayday (the summer comes in silence)

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it hits hard,
the perfume of coffins.
I’d rather have mosses.
I’d rather hide deeply in trees.

I’d rather just drink 
the laced water
and try not to slow-starve
while smiling.
I’d rather give up
than hope foolishly,
acting like this type of 
sunburnt, mosquito-drenched living
would suit me.

I’d rather accept …
just die gracefully,
not bite down the poison
and pretend the kind years
were anything more
than a sickness of jokes
and a windup of fears.
~5/1/2014

photo is from popular app game Monument Valley

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mayday (the summer comes in silence)

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what’s your distraction?
…your pleasure cruise?
your tawdry, fresh-shaved, lip-glossed perfumed ruse?

well, promise it everything,
glassy, winged nothings!
yes! keep it amused
this habit you’ve chosen…

this watching of serial cop dramas
your aspartame shame
your nicotine sneaks and
your gossiping, trolling,
your vague-posting
and all your dark ways…

all your side-line highs,
just keep these well in mind…

Because vice hardly sculpts out a life.
You will cling to the true things
in times of disease
and your worst of crimes in the best of times.

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quick one.

1. My weight is fluctuating, and I feel like a gas planet. nobody needs this information, but you have it nonetheless.
2. I have leeks I need to cook. They will go in a soup with potatoes that (which?, who?, whom? potato? poTAH-toe?) could be more polite.
3. I’m still feeling bad about beginning the blog in this way. I feel bad about my lack of internet behavior. My life has been pretty awkward lately. But I feel like the internet and I are these old exes that are meeting at a fancy dress party. We have a fairly cordial relationship and have the same mutual friends so we really need to get along. There’s no reason to dislike one another either. But I really don’t like the way he’s been behaving lately and sometimes the way he (my ex, Internet McMashonnaheugh) conducts himself is pretty piss-poor. But all of my friends think he is the bees knees and their relationships with him are really important and they remind me of the great things he and I used to do together when we were good friends and they totally think I should forget the BS that is in the past and stop focusing on the negativity and my tendency to use really, really, really bad ex-boyfriend metaphors. So I’ll do that.
4. Dude I’m like so meta. Also, it’s really charming that I’m being all hipster-y and colloquial all up in this blog. Yo.
5. It’s been agreed that nobody thinks I sound cool or like Mr. T when I talk like this. I don’t even remember Mr. T saying “yo.” I think only pirates said “yo.” I actually looked up Walking the Plank the other day after watching ‘Hook’ and it sounds really screwed up and I don’t know why we celebrate this in our culture like it’s this big party trick. I don’t want cannonballs tied to my ankles so that I can die in the sea. That’s messed up!
6. I need more coffee except I don’t. I’m also noticing I don’t have many new tricks and I really, really, really need to get some. For now yeah … I’ll get my things and go.

I will be back later. I know. Nobody believes. 🙂

quick one.

one more time ….. :)

apologies if you read this in G+ … just skip it if you did. I like this one though 🙂

………………………..
‘unwilling ilunga’

picture something lovely
from the past…
paired beside the vilest asp.
then picture hiding it inside
your dress.
forgiving it. forgetting it.
that is how love learns
to make nice.

after the jungle-tumble of a soul-slap heals
and sorts out to a path,
stare across a spiky city into ice.
creep quiet through the tunnels
with anonymous rats, think twice
about ever trying again, for that!
Staple on that grin!
then beg, stupidly, relentlessly for
one. Last. time.
and, casually
(…as if accidentally),
give coordinates…

Miss the little things
yet
one
more
Time.
shut those clear bright eyes.
move on, far beyond surprised.
Make another sensible choice
to not forget
that broken mend.

Nonetheless, the soul continues
stubbornly loving
and forgiving
infinite times.

-d.hudson/oct 2013

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one more time ….. :)

worst-case-scenario handbook for her – live burial autumn collection

typical of you
the model should last
an hour or two
take deep breaths
don't light a match
yelling will lead to panic
like all futile cries for help.

recycled lids, will have some give
if you feel flex.
she'll make the shirt a shroud
and wind it around the head
like a summer scarf
you'd keep your sunset hair in.

if she sees her space
is ironclad
escape will be
impossible.
don't think about
yourself,
that you could be
the one the villain got away with
just work it.

maybe …
a ring
a key
(a jeweled hip flask!)
Then -
three quick taps
three slower then
and SOS
anything, just hear it!
..and come to damsel distress
maybe listening, maybe there's something to this.
these days maybe with underground reception
send a brief, well thought out text. 
"I'm running out of air lol. send reinforcements"

if the thing is made of pine
kick at the cheapness of it
with stilletto anklet boots
'till the dirt rushes right in
-try to sift-quick to the bottom,
filter it out.
stand up on
what weighed it, silent down
and then climb out
looking worse for wear
like an archeology adventurer
but still like
what the Dead dragged in.
Aside

the August hare

I’m going to tell you a story because I need to and I think I might need some sort of help, at least socially. I do too many things and right now I need to go back to showing up for nothing but me.

It’s impossible to tell anyone this in a way that doesn’t sound like High Drama; so elaborate schemes and hoaxes and dramas come into play. Weird fixations and twisty bend off’s to get out of relationship responsibilities. Eventually I actually DO get sick, but I’ll get to that.

Okay. Let’s pretend I’m a prairie animal. One that runs fast and that’s what it does. That’s its thing. It’s into running fast.

So it gets up to this CRAZY high speed of crazy crazy and then … it gets cocky. It looks to the side, as if to say “hey, fu%#*^rs! Look at me! I’m the fastest mut—
SLAM!

of course, the prairie animal hits the large obvious obstacle looming in front of it. The prairie animal was bragging and looking off to the side. It wasn’t watching where it was going! It was IMPERVIOUS to circumstance!

“It’s her own fault,” say the other grassland creatures. “She prolly had her phone out. *WE* shouldn’t have to pay her medical bills! We shouldn’t have to listen to her whine.”

So, broken and bleeding, the creature slithers into a hole behind a bush behind a rock to heal and hide and think about how stupid she is. Alone. With nobody else. Preferring to be by herself. La, la, la.

And at the beginning, it’s pretty bad, because the crash HURTS… but it’s one of those sorts of things where you fall in public and it’s embarrassing and you’ve had the wind knocked out and your nose is bleeding. You obviously need assistance but all you can think to say is “nope! I’m cool!” as you scream angry tears inside because it’s better to walk calmly away leaving all your dental work on the ground than sit there looking like a lame dope.

So the prairie animal is mostly embarrassed and claws deeply into sick shame alone for a while. This
suits everyone with half a brain just fine – no one needs such complications cluttering up their sunbathing time! But eventually after some solitude in the dark hole, she starts to trust. Others. This goes poorly sometimes because there’s no manual for who gives a flying rat’s bum; but it’s a necessary part of navigating out of the thornbush at the front of the deep pit.

Mostly, she trusts herself. Soon she is peeking out from behind the rock. She looks at other creatures and thinks gah! I could never be that fast again … But she sneaks out when no one is looking. She figures out through trial and error who to trust to guide her through the motions of life now that she’s relearned how to brush her teeth stumps and to un-knot her fur. It’s usually turtles, clouds, flowers, rain. The quiet thinkers who are not living furtive lives lurching toward their own dead ends. Or maybe they have and that’s why they get it – so they are gentle and they make time.

For this she is grateful.

So she learns to stop bragging. She stops running other people’s races.

And at some point, she goes onto the prairie and begins a slow jog. Carefully looking ahead.

If only she can remember to keep her eye on the prize. If she can just remember not to get cocky.

the August hare