Globalocracy

Have we become spread too thin?

With the Global-ocracy of all that we do we have no time to effect the things that affect us.  Has the world become too small and our reach gone too wide?

Think global, act local.
Leave local, live global.
Love global, snub local.

Have we empowered the pieces that control too much of us?
Have we fed the greed of men?
That voracious appetite that will never be satisfied takes us to the bone without thought.

Do not advocate for isolationism.  Celebrate the world.  Enjoy uniqueness.  Love differences.
But do not hold them so high that they are the mass that we are crushed by, hold them as the equal for which to strive.

I Can See Through

There’s such a population in the world that we can’t comprehend it.
A billion is enough to run the mind.
How about 7?
But how many of those billions can do what they really want to do?
How many are drones, like me, wasting time to waste time.

But I can see through it all
If only I could touch it

Rinse, repeat and rinse again.
Finding little joys in life to see the tunnel through the end.
Like me?
Live for the weekend and die through the week.
It’s not possible for everyone to live their happy life.

But I can see through it all
If only I could reach it

Do you even know what you’d do if you could do what you say you’d do?
Maybe that’s the problem that a lot of those billions face.
They don’t know which way they want to face.
Not like me.
I know how to be in that happy living space.

Because I can see through it all
If only I could mean it.

I can see through it all to the things I want to do.
For that happy ever after thing that we grow up with.
The meaning of making every moment worth a damn.
And not just wasting it.
Like me.

Because I can see through it all
but that’s all I ever do.

The Domestication of Every Day Life

I’m battle scarred.
You pushed your way out through the screen of the girls’ room window and escaped.
Did you want to escape?

We looked for you.
Up and down the street we walked and looked in bushes and culverts to see if you were hiding.
“He’ll come back tonight,” I said.

It was a perfect night.
The mosquitoes were having a feast and the horizon was painted with flames.
“He’s exploring, at least it isn’t cold.”

All day at the windows.
Looking in neighbors yards and echoing familiar sounds into the air.
“He’ll get hungry soon.”

Night two was just as perfect.
And I saw him in the bushes and he saw me too with a look of panic on his face.
He’s scared.

He cried and stuttered his jaw.
But he stayed just out of my reach and cried more as I lunged to grab him.
“Come here.  Come on, it’s okay.”

You’re so close.
On my knees I crawled towards him and he looked terrified and lonely.
I never saw so much emotion in an animal’s face.

I can reach him.
Stretching and falling into the bushes to grab his back and pull him to me.
He’s still so scared.

He didn’t want out but he’s not sure what to do.
There was no sound to me, just a firm grip and gritted teeth as he tried to escape.
I held him firm against me.

There was no sound to me.
But I could see the fear in his eyes as he spun around in my grasp.
His fangs were white as he was black and his eyes were as wide as his face.

I know I yelled but I didn’t hear it.
He sunk his teeth into the meaty part of my thumb while his claws dragged across my forearm.
I know I yelled as I dropped him.

The blood was bubbling out of my palm.
It pooled in my cup of my hand, thick and deep as water poured over it.
Both arms sting and are welted red.

Pressure from a now ruined cloth stopped the blood.
I could see the puncture wounds in my hand where he bit me to let him go.
He could have done much worse, but didn’t.

Wrapped right hand I ventured out again.
His food in a bowl, shaking back and forth calling his name.
“He was just scared.”

He wouldn’t come out again tonight.
I thought I could get him in the house but barely made it ten steps.
I am battle scarred.
He’s just scared.
He’ll come back.
We’ll do this again.
Next time I’ll be more prepared.

Integrity

All I do is repeat pretty words by people with minds much more beautiful than mine in ways that are far less articulate.  All I am good for is second rate bargain bins and what not to do’s.  All I can be is this person with their fingers on the keys typing out emotions that don’t quite click.

I wonder if the past dies as silently as the future.  The words are still there.  The smell fades pretty quickly.  The taste and look of you aren’t far behind.  Memories betray us like the sun will one day.  Burn me as I touch it’s face because I could not comprehend the heat that comes from something so far away.

Don’t ask me to explain myself, I’ll just let you down.
Everything in life is only seen through memories of people who tell stories better than me.  All I can do is repeat those pretty words.  All I am good for is swimming in the tears that pool along the bottom of your eyes.  This all makes sense.  Don’t worry, it will all make sense.

Tell Me

Tell me all the things I’ve lost because of doubt.

Tell me about the majesty and wondrous amount

of experiences I’ve lost and went without

simply because I went along the safe and easy route.

Tell me of my insecurities that caused worlds to slip by

Tell me of the flowers and colors not yet known to my eyes

and the hues of clouds above that float in different skies

simply because I’d rather not risk the safety in my life.

Tell me of tastes and sounds that I’ll never have, nor hear.

Tell me how the smells get sweeter the closer that you near

and the tastes, they taste, like tastes of fantasies my dear

simply because I could not overcome my fears.

Tell me of a life that I’ll never get to see played out

Tell me of the praise I’ll never get to savor as they shout

and each and every fan that I’ll never know about

simply because I wasted my life wallowing in doubt.

When your daughter’s school is anti-woman

I don’t do a lot of blogging.  I prefer to lose myself in creativity but something recently pissed me off and I wanted to vent about it.  It’s going to make me jump off of a cliff of ranting but it’s frustrating and doesn’t seem to be changing, despite the bullhorn placed to its mouth in today’s society.  I’m afraid it’s just going to fade away.

My 11 year old daughter told me on the drive home from school last week that a boy called her a Stupid Ass Bitch in class.  She said it without any emotion and it didn’t seem to upset her but it made me mad.  I asked why he did that.

She said, “because I wouldn’t let him use my glue stick.”

I seethed during the ten minute drive home from school.  I ran things through my head about just letting it go because it didn’t bother her, but the more I thought about it the more angry it made me.
She wouldn’t let him use her glue stick and that’s the natural response he gave?  It was extreme and vulgar considering it was a boy calling a girl these names.  The word bitch has much worse connotations when directed at women, so there is no “it’s awful when anyone gets called a bad name” nonsense.

I asked my daughter if she told anyone and she said she did, she had told the teacher but the teacher was busy and didn’t hear it.  The only answer my daughter was given was “okay, sit down,” and a passing “I don’t want to hear any cussing” to the class in general.  This boy’s verbal assault was not addressed individually.

So I decided to email the teacher and I wasn’t satisfied with the response.  I didn’t tell her the exact words that were used, simply “some vulgar language was directed at my daughter.”
The teacher’s first line was apologetic in favor of the boy.  She said that the girls were rude to him but she would investigate further (this despite her saying she didn’t hear what was going on).   At that point I decided to let her know what words were used and was further let down by her follow up response.

My daughter is a rule follower.  She is pushed to tears if we’re going to be late for school because she doesn’t like the attention of walking in after the bell rings.  She finished homework well before its due.  I’ve asked her numerous times to skip half days because no work gets done anyway and she refuses to stay home.  The information that the teacher gave in response to my email and her follow up goes against everything I know of my daughter.

The teacher said that the boy had his feelings hurt by nearby girls not wanting him to use the glue stick.  The boy then lashed out with “you stupid…” but managed to hold back the nasty words.  Yet, according to the teacher, the “bolder and more outspoken girls” filled in the blanks and spread rumors of what he said.  They then went onto harass the boy at lunchtime so he had to go to the Vice Principal.
The teacher followed this asinine description of events by informing us that she told the boy to ask other peers or her for supplies if needs them in the future to avoid these kind of triggers.

I was floored by her response to this situation.  I was not expecting them to string this boy up on the flagpole by his underwear, but she completely ignored any wrong doing of his and took his words as to how the events occurred!  She called my daughter a liar by saying he never said mean words.  (We confirmed that she heard the “stupid ass bitch” part first hand and she said yes, she heard the words out of his mouth).

The way she categorized the other girls as bolder and outspoken made it come off as a negative trait.  That these were mean girls picking on this poor, little boy.  That they were a scourge of the playground and the boy needed to be coddled.  How can a woman in today’s society be taking this position?  Outspoken behavior should be encouraged when constructive.  Boldness should be cheered.

I didn’t respond to that email.  There was no point in doing so.  I wanted to.  I wanted to email the principal and ask if this is how the school sees the female population.  I wanted to ask why the boys take on events were accepted as what actually happened.  I wanted to cause a fuss and make problems about this incident.
The reason I didn’t was my daughter.  She didn’t care.  She didn’t want the attention and I didn’t want to cause problems for her with a month left in school.

Which is a shame because I wanted to be her guardian.  I wanted to defend her and if she said this boy spoke those words then she isn’t lying.  I wanted the school to know that this kind of bullshit is unacceptable.  I feel like I should have kept pressing and made a bigger deal so the next time a boy verbally assaults a girl a proper punishment will be applied.  I wanted this boy to know that he can’t get away with talking to girls like this because he’ll grow up and it’ll be acceptable if that’s his initial response to adversity with women, to call them a nasty name.

I’m glad my daughter wasn’t bothered by it because, unfortunately, I’m sure it won’t be the last time some neanderthal male calls her something awful.  I just hope she knows that I will always be there to defend her when she needs it.

When 4 am is too early to go to bed

I don’t know if I can lust after you any more and that feeling is so strange.  The urge is there but the push to do it has faded.  You’re like a flower picked from the garden and wilting under the sun.  It used to be something quite pretty but now the petals are showing their weakness.  How much longer can you last?

This is tired, this whimpering lust.  The forced need to suck the blood from your lips after biting my way in.  Eye to eye so I can watch you flinch when the skin breaks.  I want it but only because of muscle memory.
We’re like a long drive in the middle of the night.  I need your voice to keep my eyes open and my mind sharp.  You’ve been asleep in the passenger seat and my eyelids are getting heavy.  Wake the fuck up, I need you.

So will you be gone eventually?  Just like the girl with the killer smirk and the devil woman?  Karen with the fluffy bra and the one with the legs and the smirk?  The misleading girl who injected so much into me?  Will you survive or will you be a memory of something I want to bring back but can’t seem to find?

Maybe not.  Perhaps it’s just a hot day and a little bit of cool air will bring back your color.  The pink and purple in your eyes.  The lift in your limbs.  You’re the one who survived the longest and if anyone has a second chance it’s going to be you.

Chirality

There are two sides of me and I find it fascinating how far apart on the spectrum they are.  You’re responsible for one of them, the world is responsible for the other.  I’ve indulged in both and fed them until they’ve grown into separate entities.

They’re ravenous.
They both hibernate.
There is little that can stop them when the scale is tipped in their favor.

Despite the appearance of one, they are both extremely passionate.  One shows it in a traditional way, while the other in symptoms.

I want your skin in my teeth.  My fingers should puncture the still plains of your skin and press a white knuckled intensity into them.  You should feel how I want you in the palms of my hand as I grip every fleshy part of you to take as my own.
Fuck you taste good.  Just a little bite?
The indentations of my teeth along your shoulder won’t fade as quickly as the moments of lust I drive into you.  That little stare you gave made my eyes squint.  The brush of your hair behind your ear caused my teeth to grit.  The side glance and head tilt was the on switch.  The rest belonged to me onto you.  So Mr. Hyde feasted.

The other side is not subtle, if Mr Hyde can be considered it.  Where Hyde uses his teeth Jekyll uses his mind to fuck the submission away from the dominant.  It all leads to an explosion of want and greed without gratification.  A turn of keys and cogs to push everything in me further and further to the pinnacle.
Ask of me what you want and it will be done.  Push the limits of every listed limit.  Find limits that were hidden and break them.  I’ll worship your steps and burst with praise.  I am yours, always.  So Dr Jekyll indulged.

When one is awake the other’s asleep.  They do not cross and they do not meet.
One up high and the other down low.  One side tells and the other side shows.

Good enough was never good enough

You were a piece of something special in a lumberjack shirt hiding the most lust worthy bust I had ever seen, and I threw it away because I’m really quite the idiot.

I got scared.  That’s the part I told you.  It’s not like it was a lie, it was the truth.  Someone barked and my head couldn’t keep focus.  The gun shot threw me off, which is stupid because things like that never throw me off.

What really did us in was me being unsure.  This may be the undercurrent in every fucked over relationship I’ve ever had.  I never know if I want to deal with another person all the time, every time.  If I commit to one person and I’m stuck with them will it all turn out the same anyway.

And I know where this is coming from.  Even if I never could put my finger on it before, you were the best example of it.  That relationship to end all relationships fucked me up.  I hate being the poster boy for commitment issues because it always seemed like bullshit to me, but here I am.  I’ve got commitment issues because when I was fully committed I felt like I was physically committed.  You suffered for that.  All of you did.

Now I only have our words and their bittersweet smiles.  You were always so fucking good to me and even when it was unequivocally one sided I never knew whether you were for me or against me because of my own bullshit.  You were always with me though.  Always on my side, no matter what.

But it’s been two years now since we last talked.  I don’t know where you are or how to get a hold of you.  I guess you’re as good as gone.  I’ll hope not but it’s not promising.  I’d at least hope to get to say thank you.  A chance to rectify a goodbye that shouldn’t have been.