Now, don't let the title fool you, and it's not as if this is what I'm experiencing, but am in a way, and in a good way. As with everything, my life evolves around my writing, and about six weeks ago I forced myself to take a break from my passion and re-energize. Allowing myself only to write blogs, greeting cards and letters. And let me tell you, I've done this in the past, and had no problems, But this time, I find myself craving the craft, almost like an addict. But I refuse to give in, trying to hold on to the amount of time I've allotted myself. It's a constant thought though, every where I go, the words, ideas, characters follow me, like a welcome spring breeze after a frigid, relentless winter. I pick up my aged thesaurus, Roget's, which I've had since age twenty. The cover is scotch taped, worn and torn with use throughout the years. A good friend, as well as my Webster's dictionary, which I received from my parent's upon my high school graduation. It too, showing the signs of constant hard work. This feels good, sitting, writing, letting my mind flow free. Doing what I should be doing all the time. And this is why I take breaks. To make me re-realize the power that flows within. I'm back! Hope you enjoy!
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I dreamt I saw a lady run across Loring Park's duck pond in a tight leather mini- skirt and a red tank top barely covering her breasts. Her feet slipped into black spiked high-heels. Her hair, long and black. She walks on water.
Around her on the hills people pour down like mud after a spring thaw. They come by the hundreds. "Mistress, Mistress," they chant as though in a religious gathering. I sit in awe dispute with myself, not really being who I am. I run, while all around me people sit and chant for this woman who walks on water. I scurry into a coat check closet filled with boxes upon boxes. A little old lady has gotten lost in there too. I tug her arm trying to hide her from sight. She is carrying a plastic bag and when I pull it tips from her hands and all of these toys go spilling to the ground. As she bends over to pick them up, a guard comes to the door and orders, "Lily, come with us." She looks at me briefly, her brown eyes filled with sorrow, and yanks herself loose from my grip. The guard never notices me. I crawl beneath a sleeping bag draped over gymnasium folding chairs. tented away from sight of anyone, I sleep. Waking, I find myself roaming down a rusted street. Everything around me is rust. There is a power line erected above the river, all rust. The grass is rust, the trees are rust, the water, rust. I hear stomping of feet, non-consistent, yet persistent. I clench my hands around a part of the electrical power structure, and pull myself up. I climb to the second tier and look below me. Wires of rust sway from my weight. Guards walk beneath. They never look up. I'm in a bathroom, suddenly I am myself and sitting next to me is the person I used to be. Hearing voices on the outside of the door, we huddle in a corner. The bath is filthy. The door opens slowly, muffled voices hang in the air like humidity in July. I look at me, me at I. We look toward the door. "I'm just going to take a shower, and then I'll be right out. Wait here." A strained voice says. No reply. Dark, blank eyes peer around the open door, we duck down unseen. I poke my head out, the door closes. A woman stands there. Eyes brown, furious. "I know you're there, you can stop hiding." I run. I'm walking down an alley filled with overstuffed garbage bags spilling out onto the concrete. I hear a motorcycle engine echo off the decaying walls. You drive up, a man's arms harnessed around your waist. You smile at me, unlock his fingers and get off. "Come, will you help me wash my hair?" I don't answer, just follow. We walk into a room, black in color. I look at you, you at me. You place your hands on your head and remove the blond wig you are wearing. Your hair is short dark brown. winds blew the weightless snow
the snow was of no help i pulled them away i saw animals come to life winds blew the weightless snow it was like touching hot and cold i blinked twice mercilessly at the same time the figures disappeared i thought i saw animals come to life in a cloud of distorted images i remembered the warmth of tunnels dug in the parking lot near my parent's house the tingling of soft picks i expected the inside to be cold arouse in my toes again but it was warm and soothing i shook them furiously once i took my coat off my body hot i remembered the warmth the snow cold of tunnels dug i touched the white walls in the parking lot near my parent's house felt the snow i expected the inside to be cold but it was warm and soothing i pulled them away my body tightened once i took my coat off outside the winds whirled i touched the white walls i felt the snow melt excorcising heat You've killed me.
Any part of living love I possessed, you assassinated. You strung your bow, straightened your arrow, pulled, aimed, awaited me your target---swoosh through the air, direct and narrow, the last contempted shot. You killed me. Any part of living I loved, you assassinated. So, I'm watching the news and they have a story about how a new video game is supposed to be released this week with the subject matter being the latest trend, school shootings. From my understanding there are two choices in which you can participate in this derelictic idea. You can either be the person going into the school and killing your classmates, or be part of the swat team that rushes the building. REALLY? As you would imagine, there are quiet a few protest to stop the launch of this so-called-game, and I hope they prove true. I tell you, there are some things in this world that just blow me away, and the bottom line is, it's all for the sake of money. Why can't this techno-generation create videos that aren't violent, that don't show children how to kill, fight, buy a whore. How about a video showing how to plant flowers, or make a bed. How about the happy home-maker video where you can learn how to cook, clean, be a hygiene conscious human being? Or, how about a video to help people be more compassionate, maybe going to a nursing home and volunteering. Or create a game about Homes for Humanity and how to build one. Put a hammer in these kids hands with a positive purpose, and not a gun, where eventually, if their chemical make-up is just right, will watch a violent video, and act on it's contents. For anyone who cares, killing is not cool! Neither is making games about it, whether it be a war simulation, or a school massacre, it's not right. And as long as we allow these delinquents to produce these social crippling games, I truly believe things will not get better! Think about it!
In an attempt not to get burned out with my writing, I'm taking a little break, except for social media blurbs, from my passion, and as I mentioned before, or believe I have, that I am now reading a book, and loving it. But I'm beginning to jones, beginning to feel those first inklings of my addiction tickling my brain. I long to sit down, look at my latest draft of my latest book, and write, write, write. But, I won't. I'll remain disciplined and give my mind the much needed break, and clear the clogged channels of old thoughts and ideas. Every profession, in my opinion, needs a break. Time to refresh and revitalize the senses. I tell you, I forgot how easy and comforting it is to read a book, and even though I'm a published writer, I'm still learning new things each and every time I read something. It's exciting. So, I tell myself, that even though I'm not writing, I'm still working on my writing. And that eases my cravings, keeping me from over-dosing. So, I guess the bottom line is, this is an addiction that betters me! Thanks for listening, folks!
Good morning all you bloggers and followers, this is my question for the day. Let's see, what shall I answer first. How about, when I was in high school, we also had bullies and those who were bullied, but the difference between then an now, (there are many) is that, back then the mode of torture was wedgies, swirlies, and wet willies. The good old days, where packing weapons in the old back-pack and ripping through your school, shooting and killing those who rejected you, those who laughed at you, those who just didn't wish you a good morning, didn't exist. Is the mentality of these Ridalin, (however you spell it) popping teens finally making its mark and we're now seeing the affects of these chemical transformations in the brain through the eyes of mass murders? Who can we thank? The parents, who maybe should have spent a little more time with their kids, taking them to a playground or any other physical activity instead of immediately shoving a pill down their throats. Or the doctors and pharmaceutical companies, who push these drugs onto people. Oh, yeah, that's make 'em feel better! Are these acts of unspeakable violence one of the side affects of these kiddy drugs? Is irrational behavior one of the perks of these mood altering chemicals? I just don't know. All I know is that, there are more children dead, and wonder if the focus on the problem is the lack of focus on the problem. Let's think about this, people!
I really don't have much to say this morning, as with most mornings, but it's been a while since I've written anything, and the itch is getting uncontrollable, so here I am. It's funny with writing and me. Sometimes I can't get enough and there are other times, far and in between, where I can't bare to sit down and jot even three words down. I guess, that yes, there are those times when I burn out and want to just re-energize. But the funny thing is, during those periods, I crave to read. It's like an addiction. So, I found a book, a really thick one, and have been drowning myself in it since last week. What a release, to experience someone else's tales and adventures, grabbing hold of my imagination and taking me to a place where I've never been or thought I'd ever be. It's been a while since I've read a book because I've been so focused on my writing. And I'd forgotten how calming the act of reading a book can be. the quiet that surrounds me as the words tumble around in my brain. I hope that my books do the same for those who crave reading like I do, and I'm always grateful that I've been blessed with this gift and am able to share my craft with others. Keep on bookin, people. It's the right thing to do!
The other day I looked out on my backyard and saw a Red Racer snake laying in the grass. It has been the second time I've seen her, and decided to name her Roberta, since I believe she's now a new resident of the yards eco-system. She was wriggling around, and then I noticed she had a snake in her mouth, a baby. She was having trouble containing the reptile, and I watched as Roberta twisted her body and held down her prey as she continued to devour the victim. I sat in awe as she swallowed her dinner like a spaghetti noodle. I turned on the hose and sprinkled water on her to try to chase her away, try to defend any other spring baby snakes, but Roberta seemed to enjoy the shower and basked in the hot sun, full belly and soothing bath. Who needs YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, and any of those other techno sites to show people what's going on right outside their windows. I say, just open you door, look out, let the innocence and availability of nature soothe your troubled soul. Because after all, aren't we all entwined in this mysterious gift, and shouldn't we always keep that in mind, because whether we like it or not, one day we might find ourselves being one of those two snakes! And let me tell you, I know which end of the tail I want to be on!
So, it is true. Water does fall from the sky. For the past few months I've been very skeptical about the nature of things and felt that the Mother of all things has forgotten us here in the great state of New Mexico. As I watch the weather forecast all I see are reports of weather in every other area of the country, except, The Land of Enchantment. I'm not sure if the rest of the country still doesn't believe that we are part of the great forty-eight + two, or that the atmosphere that we all have grown to love and appreciate is of no concern to anyone else but us. Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy the lack of awareness for our state. A run on our borders, Texas, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, could be a misconceived concept that we have something here that no one else does. Well, let me tell you buddies, we're just like everyone else, except for one thing. You can't get New Mexico Chile anywhere else! So, on that note, I'll take any kind of moisture we can get here in the high desert. Tallyho!
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AuthorMary Maurice wrote her first poem when she was in the ninth grade, and hasn't stopped writing since. Catching the fire at an early age, she continues to dedicate her time to the craft. Archives
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