Three Part

today is a three-part kind of day

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I know.

I used to see Phillip Seymour Hoffman in the Village, head-down, unassuming posture. The year was 1995, I was studying acting and a mega fan. My brother saw him on the subway, asked for his autograph for me. He graciously signed a pack of matches, he was kind. Addiction, Mental Illness are merely misfirings, faulty wiring in the brain, that cannot be fixed with duct tape. People judge, self-involved, some do anyway on any given Sunday. He didn’t judge, why should you?

I know – part 2

I look nothing like I felt yesterday. I have two friends who knew me when, and still like me now. I might be peculiar, have you looked in a mirror lately? Be prepared if you get around to The Vast Landscape, just sayin.’ I don’t feel like playing nice, I’m a grown-up shouldn’t have to. I try, was brought up with manners of a sort. I’m stuck in a place I don’t belong, temperatures below freezing. The agoraphobiac, surroundings don’t matter much. State of mind is the devil’s business.

I knew.

I knew from the age of five, I was different. My father remains alive in my heart, my most favorite person. He draped me with love and kindness. I was rich, well rich enough, spent time in exotic places. I rarely said, “sorry.” Thought thousand dollar bags, shoes would make me happy. They never fit, are of little use now. I had ‘fancy friends’ who stopped coming by, when I started seeing visions. My family didn’t understand, yet hung around. Obligation or not. I was skinny, young and less sad, some time ago.

I hope.

God’s listening to the internal discourse going on in my head. Maybe he can show me a future, one with me in it. Give me a reason to choose hope, not hell. I best get back to the  make-believe world of Georgia Pine. I’m so enjoying the bayou, lingering spirits, the deep south. Three stories intertwined gets complicated, direct descendants, sisters and friends of Harrison. The character I adore, who doesn’t exist in real-time. She shines bright and  vivid in my imagination. I dare, hope.

To carry on this one piece of madness I love.

Cover Candy Darling

They say choosing the ‘right cover’ for your book is critical. Who are they, anyway?
I know what I like when I see it. Finding the image for The Vast Landscape cover was a stroke of luck, and believe me I’m not that lucky.
I went back and forth between two images, ultimately sticking with my gut. Your first is always your first, or so they say, again who the hell are they?!
Welcome to my world the last three days, working on visuals. Trying to find the perfect cover image for Georgia Pine., the sequel. Georgia Pine. is complicated enough, three stories intertwine somehow, somewhere, someplace. Sounds a lot like the beautiful, crazy mess we live in. There’s time to read The Vast Landscape, before Georgia Pine. She’s a work in progress, dependent on me to set the pace.
I kept a few mock-ups aside, that have potential. Surprise, surprise.

Got you covered? Which image catches your eye?

 

 

 

 

 

Shutterstock credit (I’d be broke if I purchased every pic. I’m on Aries, we can’t see black and white.)

The Write Therapy

They ask too much, expect more from me. To sit in a room with gut wrenching, broken, beaten down souls. There is too much pain, upon the blood, stained walls. I cannot, I will not. I refuse to spill my intimate, tragic, sad story. This fight is personal, entirely my own. Between God and me, she is not the enemy. I wonder, I do. I can’t help but be curious, where did the cracks begin? The precise second the dam opened, were the leaks there all along?

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The words don’t betray me, they remain strong. I trust the visions, the intangible guide. As I work Georgia Pine., the sequel to The Vast Landscape, I am back there. The oh, so familiar place, I have not known. I have visited and revisited the soulful jungle, inside the hidden crevices of the mind. “Sweat trickling down her face. She envisions swampland, mossy bayou, a green so vibrant she cannot describe the magnificent beauty. Massive Cypress’, musk smell, painstakingly slow-moving, gator filled muddy waters.” 

I am reminded I have dreamt Louisiana before, bluegrass bayou. Through the eyes and mouth of a wild, reckless, blond angel, with the devil tattoo on her bicep. I loved her tales, I will visit sometime. And dance the day into night overtaken, losing track of space, obligation and time.

I choose the write therapy, for today that is what I decide. The stories drift in and out of memory, always returning in due time. The words sacred, a safe place to call mine.

For Kathleen, Reckless Beauty  -Milan ’95

Walking the streets

Wandering with no direction

Dancing in my negligee

The heat of the pavement tells

My tongue

Tastes the warm rain possibility

New Orleans, swamp and rust hinges

The blues brings me up

I dreamt of you, again

Riding your bike and laughing

You were young, glorious and free

Sitting a pinch above my right shoulder

I reach out my arms

Hug the damp air

Take a breath

Inhaling remnants

Smelling your skin

It’s fine

Everything will be

If I can only, get back

Thoughts of you, dead brother of mine

Spirits a’ plenty in the bayou

I’ll be back home, soon

In summertime

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Death by Tongue

baby Lupe

I love my dog, she’s my baby. Anyone who knows me, knows Lupe is spoiled rotten. Hour long walks, gluten-free dog food, homemade treats. If chicken broth ice cubes count. I love her, a little bit less when the temperature hovers at zero and she doesn’t want to go out. Shit man, neither do I. Five layers, boots, double hats, gloves, kill me now. Burnt nose, numb extremities, (mine), her- frozen paws. She refuses to touch ground, doing the weirdo, mexican jumping bean dance. We go to the pet store, to buy her some booties. Yeah, so not happening. I pick up  paw relief balm, rub it in, she licks it off. Now, she’s really trying what little is left of my frozen arse patience. Short fuse and all. I’m thinking, a cat sounds good right about now. Except, I don’t like them. Ever since my Miami days, when a devil black and white kitty, (that’s what I called him) pissed in my suitcase. Every single chance he got. The putrid smell, is beyond anything I’ve experienced. I’m a dog person, can’t help it. Next life, I’m coming back where it’s warm, sunshine 24/7. 0 degrees, zero tolerance. At least she’s indoors, where it’s toasty. Not all of us were born that lucky. Onto Depends for dogs, and a new area code. Preferably one that doesn’t dip below freezing. Sidebar: We bundle up ready to brave the shit storm. Lupe decides to lick the frozen metal pole, promptly ripping off her tongue. Seriously?! At least her paws don’t hurt, bring on the Friday fun. Good thing I didn’t have kids. I would’ve killed them by tongue.

Tongue remnants

Lupe 2014 Blizzard

 

 

Keep your animals warm, and help your humans stay out of the storm, however you can.

Snake Charmer

 

I never paid much attention to a normal, calendar year. When you have a serious illness, days are measured in hours, minutes and even seconds. On a good day, when the mind is quiet, belly laughs come and go. That usually happens when my favorite people are around, the ones that know me best. Yes, being loved without the label or judgment, counts. On a bad day, I fight. Alone, no one can do it for me. I have to choose life, the want to live, dimmed by shredded, twisted neurons of a misfiring mind. I don’t count years anymore, I count the seconds. The good and bad days a mashup, strewn together like broken bulbs on Christmas trees. I prefer the lunar year, where the sun, stars and moon align, and misalign. That, I can relate to. Goodbye lost friends, career, moments I won’t experience again. A warm embrace to those that stuck around. Yours are the ‘likes’ on Facebook, the thoughtful cards, the small kindnesses that make time bearable. There have been happy moments; love, laughter, May sunshine, colors in bloom, life filled with  purpose. Personal goals, I set for myself. Come hell or high-water. In the middle of the raging war inside my head, I set only one, besides getting better. A lofty, intimate, soul fulfilling, goal. To write, and finish a book. Not any book, but a glorious, life-affirming story filled with raw, flawed, humanistic beings, who choose hope and love. The things that truly matter. No small feat for the ‘normal’ everyday person, a gigantic leap for someone like me. I hate labels, I find them abhorrent, run of the mill ordinary, much like holiday festivities. There is no other me, or you. There never will be. Embrace it, give yourself a hug and pat on the back for enduring another year, gracefully, humbly and with integrity. All of it, the messy, and the emotion. Say good-bye to the evil snake of 2013, welcoming the Chinese New Year, 2014. The year of the majestic, elegant, lithe, spirited, strong, dreamy, ageless, wild, fast, beautiful horse.

Horoscope 2014, forecast for the 2014 year of the Horse

The 2014 Chinese Year is the 31 number in the sixty-year cycle called Chia Wu and described in Chinese tradition like “Horse in the Clouds”. 2014 is the year of Green Wooden Horse. 
The upcoming compassionate 2014 year of the Horse is going to be attentive to all our troubles and quick to react in protection of those who cannot fight for themselves. The optimistic nature of the 2014 allows us to cope with financial hardships in the belief that good fortune will soon be on the way, while kind-hearted nature of the 2014 year provides us with supportive friends, ready to help us in difficulties just as we have helped them.
More:http://www.gotohoroscope.com/chinese-zodiac-horse.html

The Vast Landscape on Amazon.com

Afterglow

AFTERGLOW – excerpt The Vast Landscape

A precocious little girl, with ringlets and carrot top hair wears bright colors and lace stockings. From a not so distant place, Zack sits perched on a bench. Enjoying an ordinary spring day, ice cream drips down his granddaughter’s chin. The back and forth sing song of the ocean, sand, surf, her own personal backyard.

The Vast LandscapeThe Vast Landscape

-Some days are B & W, and some are backdrops of dazzling color. Some days just are.

Oscar Wilde

Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar.

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Far far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Vokalia and Consonantia, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in Bookmarksgrove right at the coast of the Semantics, a large language ocean. A small river named Duden flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regelialia. It is a paradisematic country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful Pointing has no control about the blind texts it is an almost unorthographic life One day however a small line of blind text by the name of Lorem Ipsum decided to leave for the far World of Grammar. The Big Oxmox advised her not to do so, because there were thousands of bad Commas, wild Question Marks and devious Semikoli, but the Little Blind Text didn’t listen.