I am HDMItting a Weakness

It is a terrible shame.
to crumble under pressure

I'm.....

Having Delirious Male Inclinations
(HDMI)

Oh how I lust after
the pixillation
titillation
Of just one monitor.
and a recliner.

A couple of floor jacks.
HDMI (How do Men Imagine)
No Anticipation.

I'll rip down the posters.
Scale the walls.

Hungrily mounting.
Falling into recline.

Slip, slide, tap, tap tap.
Jack up the Chair.

Higher, I can't see.  Is it on?

Oh the savor of this covet.

HDMI (How Does Magic Imagine)

Raw and wriggling.  Golem down at Best Buy.

Honey Does Money Itch. (HDMI)

The Final Day that Plays Out

Every year, I go through a nightmare.  A nightmare that began 12 years ago.  Today is the final day.  The day her casket closes forever.  The day they put her in the dark.  The day that has reverberated to the point of shattering.  Higher than opera singer.  The glass of my heart.  The glass that always was half full, and I held it smiling because the empty part I drank.  I think of this glass and want to smash it, yet still clutch it close to me. 

My sister died.  And died.  For the longest days of my life she died.  And she's never coming back.  Twelve years have gone by.  I can still hear her laugh.  I can still hear that Pink Panther snicker.  Time has only made my heart miss her more.  She wasn't perfect.  So far from it.  But she was my sister.  We had the same Mom and the same Dad.  We were two of a kind.  I was hers and she never let me forget she was mine.  It's the little things about her I miss.  I miss hearing Faye-Faye.  I miss being her Faye-Faye.  Someone she looked up to and was proud of.  Her big sister.

She sacrificed for me.  She stuck up for me.  She had so much heart.  She stood up like a super hero in front of what might as well have been a bulldozer.  We took licks for one another.  We licked each other's wounds.  She kept the emptiness away and I didn't thank her enough.  I was too busy with my self important life to really see who she was and how much she mattered.  She still matters to this day.  Right now, she matters because I keep her memories close and in the deep dark she still chases demons away.

 

Me and My Sister Lynn

 

It never gets easier for me.  The loss of my sister.  I live each year trapped in this horrible event .. holding my breath until the end.  That's today.  I want to feel different, yet I do not.  I don't accept her death at all.  I still feel like she could bust into the door at any moment.  I look for her.  I chase her in my dreams.  I see her in my daily life.  I look down into my daughter's face and see her laughing eyes looking back at me. 

She won't ever know my daughter.  It makes me sad and angry.  I stopped pointing fingers a long time ago.  But I'm still mad.  Every year, on the 19th, I go to the cemetery and I let myself feel that pain and I cry.  I cry for everyone to see and I don't care.  It hurts.  I don't want to stop hurting.  Somehow if I stop feeling that feeling, her death becomes just another meaningless tragedy.  I won't give that up.  She will always matter.

 

Who Are You to....

Who are you to follow me?  You shadowy lost thing.  Crumpled little memories, cards and pictures and such.  Who are you to follow me?  You who cost so much.

 

I used to be scared to see your shadow lurking in my path.  Now I'm not, since I forgot.. you.  Why should I revisit you?  I find myself reading caught up in this time of grief.  My journals made me sob with memories shoved deep down.  I haven't read them in years.  I wasn't ready to cry and share my tears thinking about you.

 

But I did.  So many things cross my thoughts as I ponder years ago.  I am surprised to realize I don't hate you.  I think I read my journals because I wanted to.  I can't anymore.. I don't think I ever have.  Instead questions tumble out of me...

 

How are you?  Have you been alright?  Have you found happiness?  Has God touched you?  Have you let go?  Do you love yourself yet?  I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hope so.

 

Still, who are you to follow me?

 

How could you?

Why would you?

Is this spite?

What does it mean?

What do you want?

What would you say?

What is your angle?

What do you have to gain?

 

Who are you?

Are you new?

Are you so sure,

What are you following me for?

 

Juicy and full of Pulp

I am minutes away from going to the dentist and I think I should go pick over my teeth one more time for pieces of the pulp fiction that flew around last night.  I'm soggy to say ... I never got that stiff drink.  It's a shame too.  I need to hunker down and not turn into a lush I think.  I witnessed the consequences of what happens when it goes to your head.

And yeah, GOD.  I want a sip.  Ok, maybe two fingers.  Not too much.  I don't want people to talk.

Bright Shiny Day of Ministering to the People

Yesterday was pretty amazing.  Snazzy, Jazzy, Voo-doolicious even.  Yah.  I went to see the VooDoo Lady.  I have to say I had a tough time following the matron in black complete with awful snow boots into her den without laughing, but I managed.  Man, you had to be there to understand.  But anyway, I think she is beginning to understand my sense of humor, because I gladly told her I was thrilled Vybrid didn't cause me to want to knit a sweater!  This realization is kinda scary and on the other hand, a compliment of such.  In other words, she hasn't locked me in the loony bin because she hates my sarcasm.  *whew*  I say that in advance because we were discussing the only side effect I disliked and I had to really grasp for language at this point as not to be vulgar and say the word Fart.  So deadpan I told her that it occasionally makes me afraid of Flatulation.  Her eyebrows went up and we both shared a three second stare and moved right along with my happiness that sex is still on the menu. *snicker*

After that I decided to go grocery shopping.  My mom decided to call me and I had to answer the phone because she had threatened me in voicemail form that translated to:  You are a douche if you don't call your mother.  Nobody wants that, so I answered.

People my mother decided to discuss God and the Gospel.  I pulled my buggy over and sat down on a recliner deciding on how to get her to stop talking about the whole subject.  She advised me to read the gospel if I had any questions about life.  Really?  OK, Who is this woman and where is my mom?  So I told her I didn't think God brought up nosehairs in the Bible.  Behind me I hear a pink panther like *hhehheheheh* and the guilty party laughed openly at my obvious discomfort of being in the middle of Big Lots thinking blasphemy.  My mom picked up on this finally and asked me to call her later.  I sagged in the lazy-boy, stuffed my phone in my purse and continued on shopping .. all the while wondering how God decided to talk to me through Big Lots.

WOW.  I found personality at Big Lots.  This is highly unusual for me.  Sadly though, I needed candy.  Yeah, he was 18 and thinking I was hot stuff, and told me so.  I tried to be grown up.  I failed.

On to shop at the Dollar Tree.  Then stopped at the ABC store.  Tom Jones' What's New Pussycat was playing.  I just had to comment I had that on vinyl.  The lady behind the counter said Ummm HUmmmm I loved him and his tight assed pants growing up Ummmm  HUummmm.  Which prompted me to say I feel the same way about David Bowie and then we both smacked our gums and had it not been in the ABC store, we probably would have high fived each other and bumped hips.  It was a transcendental moment.

I got home and was a hero for thumping my chest and hunting and gathering much food and laughter.  Life was pretty shiny huh?