tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8586919606994533042024-02-18T18:39:52.885-08:00Mutual ParadoxPoetic ramblings and prose meanderingsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-13168557044485377082018-12-19T20:09:00.002-08:002018-12-19T20:09:33.500-08:00An open letter to our insurance adjustors<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dear insurance adjustor,<br />
<br />
Please stop telling me that inventorying my belongings will be easy and that it will only take a couple of hours.<br />
<br />
My shell shocked brain has tried to do this repeatedly over the last several weeks. I have stopped and started and deleted and started over a dozen times.<br />
<br />
I realize it's in your best interest to rush me through and make me forget half the things I had, before cutting me off.<br />
<br />
But for me this is both closure and torture. And it is NOT the bloody cast iron pans and and 3 bloody sets of dishes from every time we changed the color of the kitchen that is tripping me up, nor the model of the fridge.<br />
<br />
It's not even the bubble VCR tapes of what felt like every Disney video in existence. Big collectibles, but they were just bought to appease my growing daughter. <br />
<br />
It's not even, though it does make me tremble slightly, the leather bound complete hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy, out of print now. Or the original, unmodified, untouched star wars trilogy from before Lucas went back and fuc... Er.. touched it up.<br />
<br />
It's the first edition paperbacks of the entire Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and Dirk Gently series that I bought new as they came out, starting in junior high school. <br />
<br />
It's the edition of Illusions that my father bought me at 14. And Das Energi. And Ishmael. Its the books my grandmother, long deceased, handed down to me. <br />
<br />
It's the sandstone with a quartz inclusion I have used as a bookend for 30 years and the memories of that trip to the Grand Canyon.<br />
<br />
It's the star wars trading cards I lovingly swapped and collected from elementary school on, then cheerfully finished up the missing ones as an adult with disposable income and ALL the memories attached.<br />
<br />
And it's the completely irreplaceable things... The necklace with my Dad's ashes. My Dad's ashes. My daughter's baby teeth. Cards and letters and original artwork and poems gifted over the years by my many talented friends.<br />
<br />
My own decades of writing that had never quite been transcribed to the computer age. <br />
<br />
You see, 50% maybe, of my losses were utilitarian. EVERYTHING else has memories attached.<br />
<br />
I haven't set up an appointment for you to try and rush me through this because after the PTSD and shock wore off, and while I've been trying to find some place to live, what with my town burning down, they finally opened up to let us go stare at the soggy ashes of what once was Our. Entire. Lives.<br />
<br />
That was a bit jarring and emotionally exhausting.<br />
<br />
So the next time you find yourself talking to someone who's lost everything, do me a favor. As the words, "it will only take a couple of hours" begin to roll off the tongue or the fingers, stop yourself. Completely. And then say, "it will take a minimum of a couple of hours... Up to however long you need. Because I know and understand that you. Lost. It. All. And I know that takes time to describe. And I'm here for you."<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-11006492692664867432018-01-26T19:59:00.000-08:002018-01-26T19:59:28.354-08:00Life Rolls On<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
He was always there for her,<br />
Through the schemes and drama.<br />
She caused more trouble<br />
Than anyone he'd known.<br />
A life of chaos and trauma.<br />
<br />
Lying and hitting, she tore him apart.<br />
Stole his money, beat on his heart.<br />
Late nights alone and calls from jail.<br />
"Got into some trouble, honey, can you bring bail?"<br />
<br />
He should've left a long time ago,<br />
But he loved her and he loved their child.<br />
Couldn't deny that girl her mama,<br />
Couldn't deny himself her smile.<br />
<br />
Life rolls on,<br />
Where there's a will there's a way,<br />
Baby, we'll make it work,<br />
Just promise me you'll stay.<br />
<br />
She had no trouble moving on,<br />
She'd always traveled light.<br />
The next big score just down the road,<br />
The future in her sights.<br />
<br />
Loving and hopeful, he held on tight<br />
He'd never been much for letting go,<br />
He clung to her long after she'd gone,<br />
And the days rolled on and on.<br />
<br />
Life rolls on,<br />
Where there's a will there's a way,<br />
And if I had a choice,<br />
I would get you to stay.<br />
<br />
She landed light and found new friends.<br />
Whisky and weed helped her forget about him.<br />
He struggled to his feet and he learned to forgive.<br />
But he never forgot how he'd wanted to give.<br />
If only she would receive.<br />
<br />
Life knocked him low, a few times or more,<br />
He'd try and talk with her, understand what it was all for.<br />
He cried out his heart, lost his mind, crushed his soul.<br />
She just sunk further and deeper into that hole.<br />
<br />
Life rolls on,<br />
Where there's a will there's a way,<br />
And if I had a wish,<br />
you would be here today..<br />
<br />
The years went past<br />
And he found a new life,<br />
Discovered new interests,<br />
Got a new wife.<br />
<br />
And he found someone to<br />
Receive and to give,<br />
Found himself new reasons to live.<br />
And he moved on.<br />
<br />
Life rolls on,<br />
Where ever there's a way,<br />
Guess maybe I'll run<br />
Into you someday<br />
<br />
Now she didn't make out quite as well.<br />
The ship never came in,<br />
And the memories were hell.<br />
She couldn't forget the love they had shared.<br />
<br />
And the years rolled so fast,<br />
People came and they left,<br />
But nothing would last,<br />
And nobody seemed to care.<br />
<br />
So she looked him up then,<br />
Told him all that she felt<br />
How much he'd meant to her,<br />
How life had dealt.<br />
.<br />
And he listened to her,<br />
And then he turned away.<br />
The tears stained his eyes,<br />
But he had nothing to say.<br />
He had a new life now. He could grant her no reprieve.<br />
<br />
Life rolls on,<br />
Love finds a way,<br />
But you've gotta give it back,<br />
If you want it to stay.<br />
<br />
Photo:. Matthew Wilkinson<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-457188646388219282017-04-04T00:33:00.000-07:002017-04-04T00:42:16.943-07:00Guitar Lust<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Guitar lust is a problem. I own two functional guitars, and Dark Matters. I've got a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00GTV4GEU/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=mutualparadox-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B00GTV4GEU&linkId=078d47cf69d137a79bcafab2c43373ee" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">cheap, light electric Davison </a>that exists primarily for Rocksmith, and a lovely <a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01FGHM7ZM/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=mutualparadox-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=B01FGHM7ZM&linkId=37522e2f031d419aef2d085f1290a4ce" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Oscar Schmidt acoustic electric</a> that is my daily driver and had been plugged in all of twice, because I've no real need to be loud.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't NEED any more guitars. As a rule, most of us can only play one at a time. I'm not ready to test out the concept of playing bass yet, nor do I plan on taking up classical at this time. Speaking of which, all links in the article are of the affiliate kind, the better to fund more guitars I dont need.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The problem is that music stores are a thing that exists, even in my somewhat conservative neck of the woods. Wandering downtown Chico today eventually led Raven and I to <a href="http://www.hmusic.com/">Herreids</a>, the local music store, where we observed and played with Ukeleles, something she's considered taking up. (I am for this.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">After browsing the ukes, we, of course had to take a turn through the guitars. There were all of three, which kept temptation low. No basses, a heavy monster Squire, and two acoustics. One was a nice acoustic electric, but not any nicer than my daily driver in terms of sound. Action was a little lower, super easy string presses.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">The other made me pause for sole nostalgia:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This baby, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01N37VTS8/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B01N37VTS8&linkCode=as2&tag=mutualparadox-20&linkId=07dcbf7e1a357e3c04a31f0e39562af1" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&MarketPlace=US&ASIN=B01N37VTS8&ServiceVersion=20070822&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&Format=_SL250_&tag=mutualparadox-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=mutualparadox-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B01N37VTS8" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">reminds me of Daddy's, growing up. Nice deep sound on the thing, which always draws me... If I've one complaint about Oscar the Grind, it's that he's just a tiny bit tinny... Not so much as to make him unplayable, it's more a mood thing... He's actually a really nice fella, but sometimes, very slightly, too shallow for me... He just only wants to go so deep, ya know?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This pretty was only $200. I didn't buy it. I'm not sold on my need for it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">What drew me, MAYBE because we'd been looking at the tiny little ukes, which made guitars seem so much bigger, were the baby Taylor's. That seems like a real pretty little travel guitar and they felt kinda nice. Maybe even a lot nice. Thankfully, there were no lefty versions. And ya know...they cost a bit more than the fender did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">How do you righties manage to keep living indoors with all this temptation around you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So, I guess the Taylors spoke to me because not 3 hours later I was googling away. The one I loved is, in fact, available left, and at about the price I expected:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B007IVUOAK/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B007IVUOAK&linkCode=as2&tag=mutualparadox-20&linkId=5d717afbf37e5098d469df2111516784" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&MarketPlace=US&ASIN=B007IVUOAK&ServiceVersion=20070822&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&Format=_SL250_&tag=mutualparadox-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=mutualparadox-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B007IVUOAK" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can ALMOST justify it, given its portability.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I need a roof, and the driveway regravelled. Being a grown up sucks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">PS. Raven got a tie dye soprano Kana for her first Uke. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01MQK2VVX/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B01MQK2VVX&linkCode=as2&tag=mutualparadox-20&linkId=2a95ebea385e02da63dd2a202cf40655" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?_encoding=UTF8&MarketPlace=US&ASIN=B01MQK2VVX&ServiceVersion=20070822&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&Format=_SL250_&tag=mutualparadox-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="//ir-na.amazon-adsystem.com/e/ir?t=mutualparadox-20&l=am2&o=1&a=B01MQK2VVX" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important;" width="1" /> <span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="goog_458127157"></span><span id="goog_458127158"></span><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: #fafafa; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.870588); font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">If she takes to it, she'll have the same problem I do.</span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-21704752138344626462015-07-01T23:18:00.001-07:002016-03-27T23:49:09.375-07:00The Alleged Guitar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Alleged Guitar, is arguably, one of the best presents I've ever received. It speaks of love. It speaks of KNOWING someone. It speaks of sacrifice. It speaks of thoughtfulness. It speaks of faith. Yes, the Alleged Guitar has a LOT to say. The one thing it doesn't speak of is music. Let me explain.<br />
<br />
The Alleged Guitar was a gift for my forty nth birthday. Which one doesn't matter. It was the last one if you're reading this as a fresh post. It might not have been if you're reading this in the future. It was an awesome gift.<br />
<br />
Robyn KNEW I'd always wanted to play guitar. Robyn KNEW I'd regretted not sticking with it. Robyn KNEW I loved music. Robyn KNEW I could learn to play now. Robyn KNEW it would be good for me- I carry a lot of stress and she knew this would help unwind me. <br />
<br />
And Robyn ain't got a dime to spend on such high falutin nonsense. So Robyn WORKED to get me this guitar, from a neighbor. Robyn also sucks at surprises... But she kept this one!<br />
<br />
The surprise present was a beautiful black rogue dreadnought, 3/4 size, excellent learning guitar, beautiful sound. Which happened to have a quite broken and quite repaired neck. So long as you didn't tighten the strings. <br />
<br />
Stepfather Mark worked his butt off to try and repair the guitar. And he did. And it was solid. So long as you didn't tighten the strings. Meanwhile, I did try and learn, and Robyn, hero of this story, went back to work and for a SECOND guitar from the neighbor, which was just missing a string. It's alright, but it is NOT the Alleged Guitar. The sound is thin. Action is high. It's not as pretty. But it IS a guitar.<br />
<br />
Here's the deal in all of this. I am left-handed. I was left-handed when Dad bought me my first guitar. I was left handed when the Alleged Guitar became the keeper of my heart. I was left handed when the Replacement came home. The more I played, the more I understood being left handed. <br />
<br />
Many assume traditional guitar will be easier for a lefthander, which is why NO LEFTY HAS EVER made a left handed guitar, or restrung a righty, and why all rightys immediately restring their guitars left.<br />
<br />
The fretting hand, is, after all, all about strength and flexibility, which you'd have more of in your dominant hand.<br />
<br />
Here's the problem: the strumming hand is all about speed and fine muscle control, and rhythm. <br />
<br />
Now for some, this may make no difference. While I am left handed, I can wrestle a steak right handed out of my best friends fist, AND cut it up and eat it. The steak, that is... Not my best friends hand. He needs that. The point is every lefty is a little bit ambidextrous. <br />
<br />
However, when I tap rhythm, I do it with my left side. When I clap, I lead with my left. I cut, bat, throw, hit, hammer, screw, tie knots, and pick up tiny things with my left. I'm pretty into this lefty thing, is what I'm saying. So, while I was reacquainting myself with the guitar, I'd throw it upside down and left, for awhile, just to set how it felt.<br />
<br />
Turns out it felt better. So I bought myself a lefty electric, cheap knock off fender style, no whammy bar, one pickup, basic as it gets. I didn't buy it to shred. I bought it to learn to play guitar. I bought an electric because it's a bit easier on the tender princess fingers you find out you have when you start trying to learn. ( gender is unimportant here, we ALL have tender princess fingers, especially us desk job, geeky types.)<br />
<br />
She has no name, though Craving will do. I don't LOVE her, the way I love the Alleged Guitar. But she fills a need. I end my workday and ache for her. She gets touched and played with more than anything or anyone in this household. My dog is barely speaking to me. I'm surprised my partner is. She's a bad affair is what I'm saying... An obsession. My electric, that is, not my partner.<br />
<br />
And meanwhile, the Alleged Guitar? She has a place on display, and always will. I love her and sneak glances at her, even as I practice each day, with the electric. She is the symbol, of hope, of faith, of rebirth, and of someday making pretty sounds. Her name is Dark Matters and she is helping me to reinvent me.<br />
<br />
One more time for prosperity: best present ever, Robyn.<br />
<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-73834604585155887472015-06-30T21:18:00.000-07:002016-03-27T23:49:40.094-07:00My failed career as a rock goddess<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So long ago, and far away, before the million fires of the inter webs raged into the night, back when folks often concentrated on things for minutes and even hours at a time, back then in the dark ages of libraries and FM radio, I... I became a teen. <br />
<br />
I'd say if they existed back then I would've been a Goth, but Goths did exist back then, and I wasn't one. I was considered a stoner, long after any interest in drugs or experimentation stopped. I'm told I would've been called a Hessian in some circles. <br />
<br />
So I was the (totally imagined) cool chick in black leather and jeans, who listened to mostly metal and hard rock, and wrote bad poetry, some of which you've read on this site, ( and you've only just begun, because it's kind of like a bad road accident that you just can't look away from) and was sometimes in bands that didn't really play. I wanted to be a rock star, because being a poet seemed kinda sissified, and, of course, what I had to say had deep meaning that needed to be shared with the world.<br />
<br />
But it was so much worse than that. You see, I grew up with parents who loved music. Music was how folks communicated when words were hard. My Dad was an incredibly talented NATURAL musician, with the voice of an angel, perfect pitch and he played a mean acoustic guitar. Because of this, the guitar is an almost mystical being to me, comprising my earliest memories, feelings of home, feelings of longing, belonging, expression, connection. Wow. That's a lot to put on a piece of wood and some strings, is it not?<br />
<br />
So I wanted to play guitar: to be like Dad, to be a rock star, to impress the ladies, to be one of the guys, to impress the guys, to be a demi god, really. I begged and lobbied for a guitar. Dad finally gave in and got me one, along with a pitch pipe, chord book, and some picks.<br />
<br />
He even tried to teach me a bit, but that generally ended in tears and frustration, since I was incredibly stupid, musically. How stupid? I have no pitch, I sing off key. I have no rhythm. I was the kid they gave the sand blocks or triangle to in elementary school, then took them away because I kept missing my beat. LOVING music does not equate to talent, it seems.<br />
<br />
So I tried, some, but at that age, (14 Ish) I also had: no patience. No determination. A low tolerance for pain. Arguably, a life. People to see, places to go, ya know? In short order, I gave up, accepting my fate as a talentless music lover, and to some degree, set my rock star dreams behind me.<br />
<br />
Flash forward 30 odd years: I have no rhythm. I have no pitch. I rarely write actual poems now. I am fully aware the world has no need to hear what I have to say... It rolls on just fine without my participation.<br />
<br />
Now here's what I do have: patience. Determination. An insanely high pain tolerance ( thanks, psychotically angry uterus!). No life. Seriously... I've been making a living and raising a kid, and only now that she's grown, have I looked around and said, " right... So where was I? Oh that's right... Writing, ren faires, music, geekdom". <br />
<br />
Here the amazing, freeing part: I DON'T HAVE TO BE COOL ANYMORE. That's right. Not at all. No one's around to bully me for not fitting in, and if they do, I can call the cops on their ass. I've done my public service, been a minor captain of industry, paid my taxes, supported others, raised a useful addition to the planet. Furthermore, that useful addition to the planet will sometimes think I'm cool and other times not, and there's not much left I can DO about that. <br />
<br />
This means: I get to dress like a fool and go to faires. I get to watch hours of doctor who and Xena, and if you don't like it, go elsewhere. With today's technology, no one has to watch what I am watching or do what I am doing. (In my day, kids, video type entertainment could only be watched on a tv, and most houses had exactly one.). I get to write. I get to post my poems, because it doesn't matter if everyone hates them. And I get to finally try and learn to play guitar. I would make a hilarious geriatric rock star, so the pressure is off to make something of it. <br />
<br />
So that's what I'm doing. Just carving out bits of love and passion and fun along the way, while not having to worry what they amount to. And that's arguably, the best place I could POSSIBLY be.<br />
<br />
And that leads us to...<a href="http://www.mutualparadox.com/2015/07/the-alleged-guitar.html">The Alleged Guitar</a> .<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPL9wIAykLhO_wRn-VtZEN5vBkBj2klIlCC0hWFVd86xXPG0AfpIFUufcaH8cYS5GsXOQQqNKJleuDSbjTEc_sKo7bWPqeQkW0b6j3XZEJmJVpJgfzgHeNo4iKOVTc3DEx6SkdVtKfrvs/s1600/11154921_1062923003722581_8675250726972426117_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPL9wIAykLhO_wRn-VtZEN5vBkBj2klIlCC0hWFVd86xXPG0AfpIFUufcaH8cYS5GsXOQQqNKJleuDSbjTEc_sKo7bWPqeQkW0b6j3XZEJmJVpJgfzgHeNo4iKOVTc3DEx6SkdVtKfrvs/s320/11154921_1062923003722581_8675250726972426117_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-71876129432456832062015-04-14T20:43:00.001-07:002015-04-14T20:43:37.880-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQHZwNyEQ8iDYYzUvoiAGwBDAg9-tPk1LnOyiet77-T3eG4_m5RlVkCd6ujAi5IQhvaOYhGluJ0dbD_0zrwA7JGlHdRXVpwC2ly8NhtOpA8uNsu2gMkHkVTWHJFDiN0SglAbo8v3dQoU/s1600/sunset+clouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQHZwNyEQ8iDYYzUvoiAGwBDAg9-tPk1LnOyiet77-T3eG4_m5RlVkCd6ujAi5IQhvaOYhGluJ0dbD_0zrwA7JGlHdRXVpwC2ly8NhtOpA8uNsu2gMkHkVTWHJFDiN0SglAbo8v3dQoU/s1600/sunset+clouds.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Landscape</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sunset.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The landscape freeze-frames.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Clouds slow their motion,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and the sun halts in the sky.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
All to show off,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
for a long slow moment,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
this day's quietly gathered masterpiece.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
One day for us.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A lifetime for a cloud.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
February 16th, 1997</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-8866334243007688822015-02-10T18:52:00.001-08:002016-03-27T23:50:08.276-07:00Emily<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrG0LEad3e1mM_t34qV7RAyxe5OrgixLffmNydtwUCUpgeaLbYgfDD9NfovqOT_im1eRj_36_k4wJmbvamuHBOX6HTp8RHdOIJY4dBBEG4M65j11Spp2FGJRY4chstzYBvLUhlbic5ZU/s1600/Baby+woodcut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZrG0LEad3e1mM_t34qV7RAyxe5OrgixLffmNydtwUCUpgeaLbYgfDD9NfovqOT_im1eRj_36_k4wJmbvamuHBOX6HTp8RHdOIJY4dBBEG4M65j11Spp2FGJRY4chstzYBvLUhlbic5ZU/s1600/Baby+woodcut.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
EMILY</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Welcome to the world, </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
little one.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We're awfully glad you could make it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And very pleased to meet you, indeed.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
You have a lifetime of learning, ahead.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I should warn you, </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
some of the faster thrill rides </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
can be frightening.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And there will be bumps and scrapes</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
along the way.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
But time enough for that, later.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
For now, it's enough to say</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
that you have every potential in the world </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
right at this moment!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And you are surrounded by many</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
to love and care and teach </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
and help you grow.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Sweet dreams</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
and sweeter wakefulness,</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
friend.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
1997</div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-15367916485036635962014-09-29T19:57:00.003-07:002016-03-27T23:50:54.458-07:00SUBJECT CHANGE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.keepcalmandposters.com/posters/1306920.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.keepcalmandposters.com/posters/1306920.png" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the subject is phobias-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Your fear of love is obvious,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
locked down entrances to your heart,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we slip what we can through the mail slot,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
look for carelessly unguarded windows.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Somehow, we always find a way in.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I keep bravely approaching </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the edge of the cliff.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But whenever I look down, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
find myself scrabbling back to safety.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The rocks are slippery on the edge,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
adn each time I recall that it's</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
not the height I fear, it's the eventual fall.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The subject is relationships-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You sidestep the very question,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and from what you say, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the action as well.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I get caught up in the past,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
or the impossible,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and find it difficult being </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
present for whoever's truly there.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The subject is love-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
you see it as imaginary,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and as something to avoid</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
falling into.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I see it as the highest form</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
of human expression,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and would gladly fall again</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
if I werent so damn afraid of heights.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
At least we have the sense</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to laugh at ourselves</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and each other </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
while changing the subject.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #202020; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">Mutual Paradox© Cammie S. Sinor, 2014</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-82697594356509211652014-09-24T21:19:00.000-07:002016-03-27T23:51:48.152-07:00Attention Span<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKchBngRIZpMWdtbCceND7tbhwrP53ocbZXi-Uant_ZgysCHQbZMDZL4DibCahl0Ny3zzfJ151ul2r3oZc11c4Ue7wjEMFaSSWRSmqYe25TCfQIsuGRHHycLrZOrYMBXhl_PyRWCGh_oY/s1600/CameraZOOM-20140903163649456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKchBngRIZpMWdtbCceND7tbhwrP53ocbZXi-Uant_ZgysCHQbZMDZL4DibCahl0Ny3zzfJ151ul2r3oZc11c4Ue7wjEMFaSSWRSmqYe25TCfQIsuGRHHycLrZOrYMBXhl_PyRWCGh_oY/s1600/CameraZOOM-20140903163649456.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
It has come to my attention<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
That you don’t give a damn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And I should leave this place<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Yes it has come to my attention<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
That you just don’t give a damn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I can see it on your face<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I stayed too long<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I just wanted us to be<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
All that we could never<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Well I didn’t pay attention<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Didn’t think much of the competition<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Now it’s gonna cost me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Well I didn’t think you’d ever<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And I was so damn sure<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I saw forever standing there<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And now I’m gonna think too much<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Now what do I do?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Because<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
It has come to my attention<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
That you don’t give a damn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And I should leave this place<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Yes, I’m fine with it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Doesn’t matter.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I need to think it through<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
(I need to be with you)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Yes, I’ll be alright.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Just let me be alone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
It has come to my attention<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
That you don’t give a damn<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
And I should leave this place<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
What? No, Forget it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I should leave this place.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
I’m leaving.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
If I could just find the door.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #202020; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">Mutual Paradox© Cammie S. Sinor, 2014</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-27763513515856179462014-09-22T19:00:00.000-07:002014-09-24T21:19:59.671-07:00Road Trip<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIHEdj0f1Dt6jQdT3jbTMgyp_tkSu2i9FxoTkTQqhfHIDDUwodrzZWOzh3aRZpAoZSa16JozgTCLOvaMmtFo_p5AcAHZCIcbgII9EEFzstfP3RmWFLFytiDi1cKS7k9jm37O_VogOVPc/s1600/FEMA_-_37845_-_Flooding_in_Seminole_County+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIHEdj0f1Dt6jQdT3jbTMgyp_tkSu2i9FxoTkTQqhfHIDDUwodrzZWOzh3aRZpAoZSa16JozgTCLOvaMmtFo_p5AcAHZCIcbgII9EEFzstfP3RmWFLFytiDi1cKS7k9jm37O_VogOVPc/s1600/FEMA_-_37845_-_Flooding_in_Seminole_County+(1).jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by George Armstrong (This image is from the FEMA Photo Library.) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Detour" said the sign, and I agree.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's been a long, long time.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I must have missed the turnoff</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to take me back to the main road.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've been lost on these little backroads </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and I can't find my way free.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Left turns are a great way</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
of catching a glimpse of what lies behind you.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But life in the rearview mirror</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
is closer than it appears.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Step lightly on the brakes,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
or the past will overtake you.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's a shame that life has so many</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
damned blind curves.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Well, if the road is winding,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
at least the scenery's nice.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And it looks like it's all downhill</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
from here.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
July 18th, 1996<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; text-align: start;">Mutual Paradox© Cammie S. Sinor, 2014</span></div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-59339092531154269462014-09-22T18:30:00.000-07:002014-09-24T21:20:27.950-07:00Insomnia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_g45ToOSB2faV0iC3mzfmsg998fzB5nAwDWJRm86x1hCKdlKGMF8NL5WKf1c_x16gUU4XuPZTkrS_ZtnjZxqdrFKKJ66tXstXTlMebUf2zLCr6uort4Mg90DSmgcvx2CoSJkcXAKRB4/s1600/CameraZOOM-20140904102149531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI_g45ToOSB2faV0iC3mzfmsg998fzB5nAwDWJRm86x1hCKdlKGMF8NL5WKf1c_x16gUU4XuPZTkrS_ZtnjZxqdrFKKJ66tXstXTlMebUf2zLCr6uort4Mg90DSmgcvx2CoSJkcXAKRB4/s1600/CameraZOOM-20140904102149531.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Up past my bedtime again.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I sleep best</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
when I wrap myself up in the belief</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that you are here beside me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Curled up around my memories,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
along with an old, tear-streaked</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
shirt of yours</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that probably smells more like me</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
than you at this point.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I convince myself</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that the pillow is your back,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
until I can almost feel you</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
breathing up and down.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So I drift off,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
for an hour or a minute,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
wake cold, restart the process,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and work myself fitfully toward</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
morning.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
March 3rd, 1997<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; text-align: start;">Mutual Paradox© Cammie S. Sinor, 2014</span></div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-3056826270780343872014-09-22T18:00:00.000-07:002014-09-24T21:20:42.463-07:00Transformation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsuAdmiZ98u8I4NOI4EA8ZW7nZastytzKONyNira8YvOPfsr4IzJUAkXjslKpxFG2_6YaIl82099GMilkIUhIJ5F_xJiBAZfES8JEathjY5j8sBBVWxWxbuwW44QpidusIqHttkmmBeVo/s1600/CameraZOOM-20140903163451686.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsuAdmiZ98u8I4NOI4EA8ZW7nZastytzKONyNira8YvOPfsr4IzJUAkXjslKpxFG2_6YaIl82099GMilkIUhIJ5F_xJiBAZfES8JEathjY5j8sBBVWxWxbuwW44QpidusIqHttkmmBeVo/s1600/CameraZOOM-20140903163451686.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
My life is different, now.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It revolves around car repairs and bills</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
instead of chases and thrills.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I write, instead of poems, lists.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Life is planned now.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It doesnt just happen.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sometimes I miss my freedom.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I was so sure of my identity, then.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Even if it was mostly a fantasy</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
of my own making.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Now, it's too rooted in reality.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mirrored reflections grow unkind.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yet, I am not blind to the past.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I remember pathos, loneliness, yearning.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Looking for a place to be me,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a woman to share with,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a life of fulfillment.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This I don't miss.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For I have that, now.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No longer lonely, I'm loved.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No longer empty, fulfilled.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No longer Knight Errant,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lord of the Manor?<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; text-align: start;">Mutual Paradox© Cammie S. Sinor, 2014</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-2093963915159216482014-09-22T17:30:00.000-07:002014-09-24T21:20:54.373-07:00DIANA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoPlainText">
I have chased her across many lifetimes. I don't remember when or how, in which lifetime I finally realized this. It was a gradual awareness. At first, I would simply recognize her on first meeting; recognize her from some place deeper than my mind. My gut would cry out to me that this was the one. I would tighten up, preparing for the chase, the hunt, the eventual capture. This time, it will happen, I'd think. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
Oh, it's not what you're thinking. Not THAT kind of a chase. I can understand why you'd think that way, though. I too, thought it was simple gut attraction, the old sex appeal, in those early lifetimes. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
Gradually, I'd come to remember more on those initial meetings. After all, a felon can only elude capture so many times before their habits, their eccentricities become obvious. She's certainly caused my death enough times for my Integrity to become wary of her very presence. You folks would call it the soul. <br />
<br />
Anyway, the next step was that I would recall that she was my foe, and start looking for evidence of her crime in this lifetime. The crimes of a fugitive, eluding capture. The crimes of an ever-expanding consciousness that knows too much. <br />
<br />
Your Hindus and Buddhists have it right, by the way. Enlightenment IS a gradual process over many lifetimes. It's just, uh...well, not quite the Nirvana one would assume when enlightenment comes. At least not for us. Maybe not for you either, judging from how hard you AVOID enlightenment. Maybe you're afraid you'll become like us, an entourage of thinkers, not doers. I'm not really sure. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
You see, we have to play by the rules when we go chasing after a rogue. It's not that either they or we are so fair-minded; it's just the natural law. And the natural law cannot be broken. Not without repercussion. Luckily, it doesn't happen too often. <br />
<br />
So if they flee to a dimension where there is a brief "life" and then a chrysalis phase before moving onto the next one, and if they, by their natural laws, don't remember the succeeding phases between sleeps, then, neither can we. At least not as clearly as we'd like. As I need to. <br />
<br />
It makes sense really. Can you imagine the damage an immortal could do to a world that believed in mortality? Even if that belief was false? Each dimension has it's own natural laws, like gravity, and when you enter that dimension, you just automatically take on the weight of it. No pun intended. It's just easier that way. <br />
<br />
But we are also what we are made of, and therefore, once an interdimensional being, always an interdimensional being. You folks have your afterlife where you go during your sleeps. So do we, but ours is a different one. <br />
<br />
You tend to make up for whatever silly mistakes you made during your last active stage, rest up a bit, chat with old friends, and then plan the next life. You sign your contracts, including your agreeable willingness to forget all that's true, and move back into time/space. <br />
<br />
We generally avoid time/space. We are chroniclers by nature, a bit more boring and serious than you fun-loving Sol Revelers...err...Earthlings. We want to observe...and remember. <br />
<br />
I was chosen for this mission primarily because I have chronicled you Revelers for so long. That's what we call you. The Revelers. Always anxious to feel good, always anxious to not feel bad, always anxious to Forget. <br />
<br />
By the way, not that you'll listen, but I think you folks need to reconsider this whole "contract of forgetfulness" pact. It seems to me your society has taken on an increasingly violent and shortsighted path, and that enlightenment now takes longer than ever. Maybe that's the way you want it. I have never seen a dimension so doggedly determined to forget...you even ignore your sightings and intuitions. And this lame nag, science...but in a way, that's our fault too, isn't it? I mean, we GAVE you so many nudges to your science, to help you figure out your world, figure out solutions. I don't think we realized that, in doing so, we robbed you of your own mystique. <br />
<br />
She was a Sol researcher too, back in the beginnings. (That's where your fond term "soul" comes from, by the way...that pretty little yellow orb that warms that planet you're polluting, even as you depend upon it). Anyway, she chose to interfere. And in OUR prime agreement of remembering, THAT is what we contract not to do. Not to interfere. Even these simple nudges we've given...well. They were never CONDONED. Simply unnoticed. Or ignored. She and I gave you so many of those...too many. Galileo...what was I thinking? And Davinci on her part…Jefferson...Tesla, well, before he did too much harm, but who knew Edison would come along and take so many of his ideas... <br />
<br />
At first, it wasn't actually considered a crime, this decision she made. After all, we'd been monkeying about (again, no pun intended) in your business for thousands of years. Many of her fellow researchers cheered her. (I have always been of a cautious nature, and reserved judgment pending the outcome of the experiment). It was when you were first getting violent, moving beyond the little struggles for resources, that she got the idea. <br />
<br />
From the point of view of the proposed experiment, it really DID sound wonderful. She would spend 50 to 100 years, a standard life cycle for your folk, on the planet, forgetting, of course that she was a researcher. She would live. And then she would return at the time of the rest cycle, and at that point would remember it all. <br />
<br />
By FEELING what you feel, and reporting back on it, perhaps we could understand this developing penchant for violence among you. You see, we worried for your kind. Not just the committed sol researchers like she and myself. We'd all sort of adopted you, a sister species if you will, watching and enjoying your antics. But we didn't take into consideration that WE would never be able to forget it all. We are bound by our own natural law, not by yours. We couldn't ignore our dreams and visions or play them up to fantasy, as you, apparently, are impelled to do. The normal constraints of your society, coming from so many centuries of recycling through your environment, would not weigh us down as they had you. <br />
<br />
So, she went to live among you, a babe in the woods. Those first lifetimes must have been desperately hard, desperately lonely when she realized that she could not, in fact, forget. Not everything. How haunted she must have felt. All we know for sure is that she did NOT return to us, as she'd agreed. <br />
<br />
Did she show up in your afterlife? I really wish I could ask, but I have never been allowed admittance to the one place where you DO remember, and your emissaries always dodge the subject when we meet with you. If so, how did she get around signing the Agreement of Forgetfulness? Or is it non-binding, after all? But it CAN'T be nonbinding, or more of you would break it, and break it utterly. More likely, bound by our laws, but committed to yours, she went somewhere entirely different. Someplace neither here nor there. Was it accident? Or did she prudently avoid being recaptured to OUR dimension? <br />
<br />
After awhile, we chroniclers detected a pattern in space/time that pointed out to us that she was following the process, living life after life, and NOT forgetting. As a conscientious researcher, she soon realized that she couldn’t simply flit from society to society and gain any real understanding. And of course, she recognized the pattern of violence and conquest originating from only that one part of the globe. So she picked a society and kept being reborn into it, traveling down the female line, watching it’s changes. She kept a low profile, but let's face it, lifetimes of wisdom are going to catch up to you. She became a grand prize. <br />
<br />
It was the Battle of Troy that first caught our attention. Of course, your poor chroniclers, with their pitifully short memories thought that was all about physical beauty and social positioning. But really, she shone because she was a powerful mage, trapped in a limited form. Who WOULDNT want her for their people? After all, she knew so much! When we checked back through the records and recognized that each successive mother died on birthing this particular daughter, who would in turn die in childbirth...well, the progression of the Integrity was obvious. Yes. Your history books have it wrong. There's much that's wrong in your "history". Don't bank on it as truth. Once the progression of Integrity was obvious, that's when I was sent. <br />
<br />
The reason I suspect the first few lives must have been horrible and lonely for her is because mine were. In each, my imperfect memory of having lived before caused irreparable harm to my social standing, and I was seen as a simpleton or worse. I knew too much of the wrong sorts of things, and I spooked people, until I learned to hide it. I succeeded only because the urge for self-preservation in ALL beings runs high, and because, I thankfully, returned to my own people for debriefing after each life cycle. I don't recall any other choice, on death, and I wonder how she avoids it. <br />
<br />
At first, we tried to follow the policy of complete forgetfulness to the letter, to stay in tune with your natural laws, but, no matter what was done, I couldn't forget, in my next cycle, some imagery, some symbology, that kept me aware of the hunt, the chase. Furthermore, it was clear that I couldn’t even meet up with her in that condition, for SHE had awareness, and would be prepared against me. If I did meet up with her, what would I have been able to do? Or to say? She simply sealed my fate, and with your long childhoods, I had to wait before I could even begin the pursuit. <br />
<br />
But we had also seen that Remembering in a society that Doesn't Remember, was dangerous to the Integrity, maybe even the reason that she went rogue. So, I was allowed to remember more, selectively and carefully. I was not transferring full memory as Diana was. This keeps me at a cruel disadvantage. And now I have made the crucial mistake. <br />
<br />
I‘ve fallen in love with my prey, with the fugitive herself. Years of admiration have slowly, inextricably led me here. I've realized, in the last five lifetimes, I've thrown myself to my death, to prevent her capture. Everything has changed. Permanently. I know not what this bodes for your future, dear Revelers of Sol. There are times when she seems to be making progress against your violence. I believe, from my studies, that this is her goal. There are other times when it seems you are more on the brink than ever. She often, unwittingly, begins a war. And your weapons now, can take out far more than a battalion. Your weapons take out civilizations. I can but hope, that she is no longer the "face to launch a thousand ships" and go rogue myself, casting away these limitations imposed on me. <br />
<br />
I'm dying now. To live again. Either to join her, or to destroy her, is yet to be shown. But while other's chronicle, I have broken free. I will not return to my own dimension this time. I WILL REMEMBER. And I will pursue Diana. <br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;">Mutual Paradox© Cammie S. Sinor, 2014</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-858691960699453304.post-78880048989069658142014-09-22T16:30:00.000-07:002014-09-24T21:21:04.473-07:00IN SIGHT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivw52nSEOAyZyjTldCKDA5iHMtqf7Yw0bS0xtYs9wu3gO25x-2N5Sq608rkWLVHjTVNb9RbY4-1kBeQ6eE9zd6AC5rX6RDjUDIV7mMkKXk4gn47p3IJ8WumwU6rNFVD0qJwxEo21C6_z8/s1600/CameraZOOM-20140904095729688.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivw52nSEOAyZyjTldCKDA5iHMtqf7Yw0bS0xtYs9wu3gO25x-2N5Sq608rkWLVHjTVNb9RbY4-1kBeQ6eE9zd6AC5rX6RDjUDIV7mMkKXk4gn47p3IJ8WumwU6rNFVD0qJwxEo21C6_z8/s1600/CameraZOOM-20140904095729688.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
If I could give you just one gift,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'd show you the monsters under the bed</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
are not near as terrifying</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
as the ones in your mind.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'd free your heart to love,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
take down the walls that lock you in.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Show you how much you're hurting you,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and how much that hurts me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
If I could give you just one gift.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I would give you the gift of confidence...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in yourself, in your strength,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and in your ideas.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'd give you clarity and sight,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
an end to your confused run.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The perserverence to follow</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a dream to it's end.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But all I can give you </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
is my own love and support,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
clear and true. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Is it enough</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just keeping you in sight?<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2000007629395px; text-align: start;">Mutual Paradox© Cammie S. Sinor, 2014</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01005755560790957783noreply@blogger.com0