Some things I wrote at work one day...

Well here goes nothing. It's been awhile friends. Though I'm sure I'm talking to myself, it has even been awhile for that. A wise artist once told me, that too much TV makes it difficult to be creative. I truly believe he is correct. I've been watching more TV shows and writing a lot less.

One thing I haven't been doing less of is is reading. I literally just finished Amanda Palmer's book (The Dresden Dolls, Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra) The Art of Asking. The entire time I was reading this book all I wanted to do was create. I wanted to write. I wanted to paint. I wanted to play guitar. I wanted to have heart felt, philosophical discussions with strangers. The closest I came to this desire was a philosophical discussion with my tattoo artist. I love him. He is an amazing soul and for some reason he likes talking to me. I consider myself lucky!

I also had deep conversation with my boyfriend who I love exponentially! However, he's in school and balls deep in finals so our conversations are brief (I know the struggle). All this to say, I've been wanting to write. I feel I have things to say.

Tonight at Teen Writer's Group I actually participated instead of strictly presiding. Below are the products of that participation. I hope you enjoy them. <3

This idiot box is deceiving
It blinks at me in codes
It flashes at me in time
And I believe the lies
I dance to its rhymes
And sing with its melodies
And rarely do I deviate
And strive to be...
And walk away...
And see a different side of me
Than what this idiot box is blinking
Than what this idiot box is singing
Than what this idiot box is saying
I need to change what I'm believing

_________________________________________

He wasn't aware of his actions
He just stood there and stared blankly at her
Like she was a rag doll
And he was the unsuspecting male owner
"Father will find out soon"
"And father will take it from you"
He often heard her voice in his head
Like a plague
Chiming right and wrong
Volleying his sanity and spiking it down.
"He will take nothing from me now sister."
His eyes a shimmering glaze of tears.
They ran down his cheeks and convened at his feet.
Co-mingling with her blood and making them one again
As they use to be
As they ought but are not
Because outside the womb he is a psycho
And she is a corpse

Why White People Freak Out When They're Called Out About Race | Alternet

Why White People Freak Out When They're Called Out About Race | Alternet



I absolutely love this article! It clearly and accurately communicates issues with raise. We're all too uncomfortable to talk about it. I think it's time we became uncomfortable and begin to fix this issue.

Four Sonnets for Your Viewing Pleasure

22.
He begs and pleads
But I cannot fall prey to his deceit
He chokes and cries beneath the ball-gag
But I cannot allow him to sway me
This is why I was born
The cleansing
The redeeming of sinners; the redeeming of humanity
His eyes are begging me to cut him loose; spare him
A voice cries out: let him go.
Did that come from my head?
I reach for the blade, sharpened and gleaming from the surgical table
I shiver as the sound of its metal scrapes metal
“I will free you!” I cry.
I slice the blade through his throat and pray as I watch him die.

23.
He said the end couldn’t be more far from the means
He said the purpose of this talk is to come closer together
She reminded him they were a team
She wondered if he cared at all
They cornered each other in a room
Face to face on down feathered sofas
Cats between them
Dogs between them and stared into the distance
As far away as they could be
“Well what do you suggest?” he sang. He hoped that she would cry
“We’ve discussed this before, really?” secretly wishing that he would die.
The voices rang through walls so thin and penetrated my ears
I hate it when they scream and fight.
They think that no one hears.

24.
I’m growing tired of you
You glowing, mocking, haunting necessity
I use you in my minute to minute
Hour to hour
Day to day
I get everything and nothing done
I can’t keep up with the trends you roll through the feed on my screen
I can’t seem to avoid the topics that make my brain fry and eyes bleed
All I want is to delete every person who ever hurt me
But I don’t want to ….for reasons I’m not strong enough to admit
I remember a life not so innocent but simple
Private and unconcerned with the way others sought to decipher me
I miss the days of bikes and basketball AND school and the mall
Before technology ruined it all.

25.
“You asked me here, now what do you want?”
Her eyes were glowing a florescent blue
Radiant and frightening all in the same blink
She sat in the corner of my cell: one leg bent up, one leg bent horizontally beneath her
Wings flittering every few moments or so
She did not seem pleased
She did not seem kind
She did not seem to be mine though I had her at the height of vulnerability
“I want you to get me…”
“Speak wisely!” She interrupted. “Fore I am bound to give you exactly what you ask.”
“But forced to fill in the blank where you do not specify.”
I swallowed hard and thought carefully. Then continued to speak
“I want to go home!” I yelled and blinked
Then found myself in a prison cell, 600 feet deep.

An All Too Familiar Encounter...

It wasn’t a particularly cold day. It wasn’t particularly warm either. It was that blissful blend of sweet and sour, mild and spicy and a whole lot of other compromising euphemisms. I sat in the back of the Starbucks located in the mecca of South Philly society: 4^th and South. A large comfy chair supported my upper back as I typed away on my laptop with vigorous purpose.

“Here’s your latte Ms. Armstrong. Was there anything else you needed?” The barista was tall thin and trendy, lanky in places where most hipsters were lanky, however handsome in his face. If he gained about fifteen pounds and trimmed up his unruly beard I’d fuck him. Note to self, write a story about star-crossed lovers in the city of Philadelphia: a girl from the metal scene and your average, garden variety hipster from Northern Liberties.  I think it could be a hit.

“No thank you I’m fine.” I reply to him with a sweet tone and a smile. I’ve been trying my hardest to smile more lately. Random people on the street keep suggesting I do so. Mostly men. Anyway, I thought about it, randomly a couple weeks ago and I realized I do need to smile more. I find that I grimace in a mean-mug sort of manner even when I’m in a cheerful mood. Smiling is hard.

I sip my coffee gingerly and savor the thick scent of pumpkin spice as it lingers under my nose. The music in this shop is too low. I wouldn’t ever admit it but I actually like this song by ….I don’t even know who this song is by. It has a moderate tempo and you can definitely tell, behind the heavy 808 bass line and pulsing electronic-dub step, the girl can really sing. I like pop music like that. When you can go on YouTube and find numerous videos of said artist belting it out to a classical piano-forte like it was just her, her piano and her sacred four walls. I should have learned to play piano.

My peaceful musical reflection is disrupted by a voice. A deep voice accompanied by a dark pair of eyes, brown skin and frighteningly white teeth.

“How you doing?” He leaned over the table, WAY  into my personal space, pet peev alert, and his breath smelled like black-and-milds. Nothing wrong with that smell except that along with the waft of scent came unwanted spittle.

“I’m fine and yourself?” I didn’t smile.

“I’m good ma’. What’s your name?” I hesitated. Not because I was pondering whether or not to give him my name, because he wasn’t going to get it, I was trying to figure out why he was even in this Starbucks. He didn’t have a drink in his hand nor did he have a pastry. He also wasn’t with anyone and it didn’t appear that he was waiting to meet someone either.

“What’s yours?” I respond. A pat on the back for evading the question.

“Danny.”

“What brings you to Starbucks Danny?” I try to keep my voice as even as possible. It’s a known fact that any fluctuation in vocal pattern, when speaking to a stranger of the opposite sex, could result in a false indication of flirtation. I also kept my eyes on my computer. I wanted him to realize I was uninterested in speaking with him. I was merely being polite by responding.

“Well I was walking by and I saw you in the window, smiling at that white dude, and I thought to myself, I need to talk to that girl. She’s so beautiful, how could I not?”

I responded to him with a smile, forced but a smile none the less. How do you respond to someone after a statement like that? Thanks for the compliment but I’m not interested in getting a cup of coffee with you or a beer. He’d immediately call me a bitch loud enough for everyone to hear and storm out of the shop. As a result I’d actually start to feel like a bitch. Further I’d be left with the embarrassing stares of the people around me. Any other response would result in his staying and shooting the shit, which I definitely didn’t want. I just wanted to write in peace.

“Thanks!”

“Can I get your num…” Before he could finish his sentence a young man in a Starbucks uniform walked up to us and interrupted.

“Hey, are you alright? Did you need anything else?” He spoke directly to me. His voice was loud and deep and it was clear he was just arriving for work, apron in hand, visor connected to his belt. He also leaned into my space a bit but this time I was more than grateful for this action. “Do you know this guy? I only ask because you look a bit uncomfortable.”

He was very direct and to the point. I appreciated that. He looked the main dead in the face and didn’t flinch a bit.

“No I don’t know him. I think he was just leaving though, so I should be alright. Thank you for asking.”

I looked at the man with polite eyes, or at least with what I thought was polite eyes. Sometimes I’m not sure. I have one of those faces that just seems to look angry all of the time. The barista looked at him too. His face looked more like you got the hint buddy. My hero!

“Oh is that how it is? Aight.” The man walked away with a limp. Did guys still do that? He didn’t look behind him, he didn’t say anything, and he did cause a scene.

“Thank you! I wasn’t sure how to get out of that one without actually leaving.”

“No worries. He’s a repeat offender. Comes in here all the time hitting on good looking girls. Trapping them really. I’ve had to ask him to leave on a number of occasions. I’m Matt.” As he stuck out his hand to shake mine his bright blue eyes caught the sun light as it trickled through the visor blinds. I’d definitely fuck him!!

“Rochelle. Thanks again!” He smiled at me as he walked to what I can only assume was the staff only lounge. I took a deep breath and thanked the universe for people like Matt.

With a heavy sigh and a shake of my head, I got back to my writing. I sipped my coffee and listened to my music (I’ve found that having ear buds in sometimes deters the weirdoes). Every once in a while I’d glance up at the counter and catch Matt glancing back. Maybe I’ll ask him for his number before I head out. 

An experiment with Isocola

Here he waited in the darkness of the barren streets
They were cold, they were wet, they were still as death herself
He never asked to be a soldier
He never asked to occupy the living
Like they were minions of the dead
But here he stood
Rifle in hand, sword by his side
And though his courage wavered depending on the moon’s phase in the sky
He held fast, his face frozen in time

He hated the stillness the night did bring
He hated the silence and wind against his skin
All he wanted was the warmth of a body
It didn’t matter who
Gender, age, race…whatever
He wanted to feel human

“Live now, Live free!”
His best friend bellowed to him
From the humid beaches of his hometown memories
Memories of lazy days
Rough surf and dirty sand
He couldn’t remember
At that moment
Exactly how long he’d been gone from that dump they called the shore
But he missed its salty stench
Thick in the air, thick in his nose
He missed it so deeply

Ask not, ask how, ask when, ask never
the words echoed in his brain
As he stood erect on the twisted street
Paved with brick beneath his boots
The wind cut through him like a chilled knife to cake

He had been had
He had been tricked
He had been recruited

And now he waited
Armed and washed of his will
Waiting for orders
And the liberty to kill
For freedom's sake

A Childhood game, a claim to property, a missing verse, and a plea for freedom (SONNETS)

19.
Somehow you’ve found me in this dark room
clear across the dimness and dust and dirt
you’ve located my beating heart in the shades of black
And now I seek and challenge you back
Marco……((silence)))
Polo…..victory
Here in the cave so crimson and bright
You hear my voice though you can’t see my eyes
I am a vision in your memory
a distant, diamond of destiny
But did you think you’d get all of me?
Alas you’ve lost your chance
Alas we’re done this dance
Finally you’re gone

20.
Her heart was an expletive
By expletive we mean naked
By naked we mean thin lace boy shorts
Arms across her chest and nothing more
Her body was chaste
By chaste we mean untouched
by untouched we mean never loved
unrequited and nothing more
And here you ask your questions
Debate exactly what I could mean
Is her heart truly naked?
Is her body really unclean?
I will never betray her and her secret lost so deep
For her heart is her heart, her body her body, and both are hers to keep.

....

21.b
He haunts these empty halls
He doesn’t know why he’s here
Behind bars afraid
With freedom afraid
Lost in his head though he never sleeps
He cries out to me in my dreams
With slow, yet précised and rapid strums of strings
I wake and press my eyes to bleed
These memories of lost heart’s seeds
Of things I thought would be but knew they weren’t
Of things I fought to be but desperately new they couldn’t
And now I’m free and love fully of my own, so easy to achieve it
I pray you find a new home to haunt, I truly mean it. 

Friday Writing Prompt Challenge

A morning of blinding light
The fatigue a feeling pulling tight.
The sludgy, grumpy mood is right
Controlling how I feel.

Alas the smell of rich hazelnut calls
The black liquid, hot and steaming
From this cup enthralls
Me, I hold it tight underneath my nose
It beckons me to wake

And in this sip it stimulates me
Courses through my entire being
And in this gulp
I find relief
The energy I need to be

A human being
polite not mean
Not zombified by midnight screams
Not controlled by sleep depravity
This liquid gold has set me free