Harmonious Dissonance

Resonating

2010-04-02T16:03:00.002-04:00

Brick-colored eyes
I’ve wished to
take in
and wet it self
To mine, reflecting—

to measure
what I do not wish
alone
to measure

When I share
my voice
echoing back

It is only
these four
slick,
egg-shelled,
plastered
boards
that know,
what it is
impossible
for them to know.

Reverberating
what it cannot
Understand…

me.

-Susie E.

'Tis the Sum

2010-03-20T06:10:00.004-04:00

The day and her spotting rain
Turning dry embankments
and clear rivers to mud
'Tis the drizzle’s sum of one year
As the night's crickets moan
For the hunter’s meat that clung to my bones
Lay dead of thirst
Untouched nor pursued
beneath this hungry flood
With its cracked lips and blistered tongue

-Susie Edging
3/13/2010

Gray

2009-11-20T03:49:00.006-05:00

There,
right here
This
smooth spot
in the wind
Between
wilting magnolias
and sad proverbs
I find
myself
Senses
coolly swept
as Autumn
Hung
gray
in paradox

-Susie E.

Photography and Life

2009-08-25T17:11:00.005-04:00

Here's just a few things I've been up to since I haven't taken the time to write or comment much. I hope you all enjoy. You are most welcome to critique anything you wish. It is always helpful to get suggestions and to also know what's liked. Hope everyone enjoys and my favorite bloggers are doing well! - Susie

Macro-Redherring

2009-05-02T03:31:00.004-04:00

I'm back from the realm of school and work and being generally fatigued and angst ridden. Exams are next week, ugh. However, I have some Logics / critical thinking papers that we had to discuss with other students. You might find them interesting. On contemplating this very strenuous semester, I'm even more amazed at just how little thinking happens in today's minds! I am sure that Socrates was wisest to use questioning as his weapon against unthinking.

I've always said that everyone should take a critical thinking class. When I finally took my own advice, I conclude that it should be mandatory every semester of high school and college! It was tough but my mind is better for it! YAY!

Moving along, here is the result on one of my papers in Logics/Critical thinking (a branch of philosophy) upon being asked: "Is Macro-Evolution True?" There was mandatory reading material and other sources I gleamed (as if that was hard for a Dawkin's fan). If after reading my position you would like my references and links, please let me know and I will be more than happy to post them for you. I'm just too lazy to do it right now because, well, I am sleepy damn it =P.

Here's the paper:

So called “macroevolution” seems to be an elusive term. I have found myself chasing a circle of articles refuting macroevolution, especially ones referring to Michael Behe’s book, “Darwin’s Black Box,” and even Michael Behe himself. On the opposite side of the spectrum, I found myself reading evolutionary articles implying that macroevolution is the large-scale changes in various species over time--which I had long since thought was evolution. Still, I have religious and nonreligious articles referring to macroevolution as a switch from one animal to a completely different animal without the benefit of time. I can only conclude I am crazy or conclude that everyone is as confused on what macroevolution is exactly.

Fortunately, on Nova’s website I found a question and answer article with Dr. Kenneth Miller (a professor at Brown University and author of the textbook Biology), “In Defense of Evolution,” in reference to, “Intelligent Design on Trial.” Contained within his answers he states:

“The people who say that macroevolution, by which they mean really big evolution, has never been observed, inevitably cannot give you a strict and rigorous definition of what macroevolution is. They'll simply say it's the formation of new categories or evolutionary novelties. They're loath to put specifics on that idea, to tell you what percentage of the genes or how many base pairs of DNA have to change, because I think they know very well that once they make specific what they mean by macroevolution, some darn biologist is going to go out into the field or into the lab and follow exactly that rate of change and show that macroevolution really does occur.”

For me to come to a conclusion of whether macroevolution is true or not, I would need a confirmed definition. Can anyone possibly provide this?

In terms of Intelligent Design, the whole concept leaves a lot to be desired to be proclaimed a workable scientific theory. ID appears only a mere objection to evolution, not a testable and/or workable scientific theory. Nothing about it has withstood miniscule scientific testing much less rigorous ones. As a matter of fact, Michael Behe’s infamous prototype to his notion of irreducible complexity, the bacterial flagellum, has long since been proven impossible…and of all things proven impossible in a courtroom.
To be sure (and for time’s sake), I suggest watching, “Judgment Day: Intelligent Design on Trial.” You can find this for free online on the PBS/Nova website.

I mention my objection to Intelligent Design above because the term, “Macroevolution,” appears to be tossed around a lot among its advocators and appears to leave evolutionary biologists guessing as to what it is or what Behe means.

If Behe implies that macroevolution is evolution and microevolution is random mutation, then why doesn’t he just say so? My thought is that speaking real science might make his already disproven hypothesis of irreducible complexity clearly shown to everyone (I also have wondered what Behe is paid by his employer).

Frustratingly, I just cannot logically grasp how Behe can lecture for 20 minutes about a mousetrap, an analogy for irreducible complexity. If Behe can make sense of what irreducible complexity is by demonstrating that any one part of a mousetrap that goes missing loses its mousetrapness then fine. However, continuously defending his analogy as a good one will never prove irreducible complexity. Behe either misses the point of random mutation and natural selection (and therefore obviously doesn’t understand evolution) or purposefully is inserting a red herring. What I mean to say, his point is mute and irrelevant.

In conclusion, could Behe disprove evolution by disproving Darwin when he said:

“If it could be demonstrated that any complex organ existed, which could not possibly have been formed by numerous, successive, slight modifications, my theory would absolutely breakdown.”

he is still faced with proving ID. All he has presented is a false dichotomy, not a scientific theory.

Here are the discussions:

Question for me:

Where do you land? It seems that you do not answer the question that the assignment is asking.

Where do I land? The question is a trick question. The whole point of the question, “Is macroevolution true,” is to shine a light on the word, macroevolution.

Macroevolution is a term that is not used by any biologist to describe anything about evolution though Intelligent Design proponents use it as if they are critiquing a real scientific claim. Further more, macroevolution in and of itself is not a scientific claim or theory. It’s not even a term that describes any part or parts that characterizes any scientific claim or theory. Even Intelligent Design’s own researchers use the term inconsistently that its meaning cannot be deduced to anything consistent. Intelligent Design proponents don’t even have an established definition of its meaning. Using the term gives way to confusion for scientists and laymen alike trying to understand the ID argument.

Philosophically, it is a fallacious argument of ambiguity: equivocation. All this really means is that it is an informal argument that bases a position on ambiguous evidence and the meaning of a term or phrase changes in the course of an argument making it a big ol’ fat red herring.

Perhaps now you see why you were confused on where I land on the assignments question. If I “land” on a definite answer of yes or no to this question, I cannot possibly give a logical response because the term, “Macroevolution,” has no true consistent definition. Many unqualitfied person’s or laymen have postulated on what it means. Indeed, every student has landed on one side or the other but no one can give a consistent definition and there papers inevitably fall short of anything sufficient. Why do you think that is?

Asking this question is like asking someone to lace up and tie a Velcro shoe. They think it is a direct question. If the person assumes that it can be done they’ll just keep at it until infinity. Holding to this assumption, the person will have to hold that their logic is confused and not the assumption’s—their assumption which claims that a Velcro shoe can be tied.

In the case of a student who never chooses to abandon their assumption that macroevolution is a real term., they will inevitably be lead to have to make a yes or no stance. After all, X either is true or is not true. No matter how many hours one spends researching macroevolution, I’ll bet they’ll never come to a clear understanding of what macroevolution is exactly and have to rely and base their argument on unqualified authorities to create their argument for them (and to note, sense there is no established definition for macroevolution there is no qualified authority). It’s like chasing a rabbit down a rabbit hole.

In answering your question, I think it is illogical for me to take on stand on the truth of so-called macroevolution.

I go on to refute ID (we had to read and watch a bunch of debates on ID vs evolution to answer the macroevolution question) because ID proponents are the ones that keep using the word to refute evolution in which evolution make no macroevolutionary claims. It is true that IDers could just be using the word macroevolution synonymously with something else that is a scientific claim but the IDers never specify which claim…even when asked.

My theory is that if Behe cleared up the muddle here he wouldn’t have a salary anymore…that’s where I rest =P

On your alternative theory notion: If Behe is, like you suggest, not arguing for the "theory" of intelligent design, then I am confused. Or am I?

Michael Behe is stating: 1) irreducible complexity is fact 2) the bacteria flagellum rotor is too complex to be irreducible 3) therefore evolution is false. If he just stopped there I might buy that he is just desperately trying to disprove evolution on what he thinks is a good argument. Unfortunately, he doesn't stop there.

Michael Behe goes on to state that the evidence from his “hypothesis” not only necessitates the theory of evolution wrong but also a designer! You cannot say that Behe is not suggesting an alternative theory to evolution with that statement. Even Behe will tell you that his theory would win by sheer default to evolution.

I might add, that all the evidence Behe has, has already been rendered emphatically and resoundingly false. The bacteria flagellum HAS been reduced to the bacteria blamed for the Bubonic plaque, and even the reference Behe uses (which he only used one) to back up his claim that the flagellum’s rotor is irreducible, was a guy who has studied the flagellum’s rotor for years and was interviewed in a scientific journal and on contemplation on the motors remarkable nature the scientist remarked, “It looks design.” The scientist himself said he did not literally mean it was designed.

So what about the other “facts” Behe suggests? There are no more facts. That’s it for Behe’s supposed workable refutation of evolution and replacement theory of ID.

I would show the other discussions but only the questions are authored by me and I do not have permission, as of yet, to post them. Hope all of you out in inter-space are doing well. Ta-ta for now

Free Speech...or is that just too offensive for you?

2009-02-27T17:09:00.003-05:00

(found on Richarddawkins.net)

This is our First Amendment and inherent in it lies the consequences of offending persons. To stamp out open questioning and criticism of absolutely anything not only teeters the practice of tolerance, it blatantly begs for a nation full of intolerant people because they are pregnant with ignorance.

Religion is already treated with an air of taboo because people are too afraid to say or question practices that they do not understand or do not agree with. If anything, religion should be the most important concepts to critically question. Women rights, homosexual rights, eating rights, and your right to practice your own religion (and to share it) without fear of reprobation is all dependant on being able to question and disagree with the very ideas and ideals of any religion which would confine, stifle, and imprison your own beautiful voice, your way of sacred worship or the lack of it.

Free speech gives us the very right to take a stand against intolerant acts that take away a women’s right to work, an African American to vote, a Christian to witness, atheists the right not to pretend, and it even gives Free Speech’s attackers the ground to suggest its removal from our mouth’s, inked hands, and printed words at the foot of our door.

Do you remember the Swedish Islamic Cartoons? What about the terrorist attack on 911, the bombings on London’s Underground, the vile murder of Theo van Gogh, and the endless list of intolerant actions? Think about your own questions or the conversations you have had with friends, do you believe those conversation should never again exist? Please take a few moments to read and learn about a country who does not believe in Free Speech, Turkey. Ask yourself, “Is this the way I want me, my family, and my friends to live?

It all sounds sweet to spare someone’s feelings until one’s feelings control a nation or a world. There are natural consequences to Free Speech and heinous consequences of its absence.

Cheers to the right of being offend and to offend! Now, lets talk about it.

Of Montreal: Gronlandic Edit - Great

2009-02-10T12:20:00.004-05:00

This is great stuff: "I guess it would be nice to give my heart to a god
But which one, which one do I choose?
All the churches fill with losers, psycho or confused
I just want to hold the divine in mind
And forget all of the beauty's wasted

Let's fall back to earth and do something pleasant
We fell back to earth like gravity's bitches
(Physics makes us all its bitches)"

Candy From Stragers

2009-02-05T00:06:00.002-05:00

Braids and pigtails woven by the wind
Framed a glossy crease
Chewing pink cotton candy bubble gum
And two smiling eyes blazed inside-out
Skin rouge and nurtured
I was told then, “Never talk to strangers.”
And so I never did,

But when I was 14,
and scrawny bones fashioned to brawny flesh
sweating pebbles and curvy streams from the yellow sun—
And proudly adorned with two new unbuoyant risings,
They offered their sweets instead,
Fingers still playing in the dirt, I slowly peered up

“Little girl so pretty,” they whispered
Calloused hands loosening my hair and skidding my cheek
“Let me teach you about love,”
Just long enough to hear the hum of unfolding metal
As the nook of my neck’s spine hung on the ridged end of a naked crib

And so, there I lay
Encapsulated in love and prickly cracked leather
Like sandpaper, scratching my tummy raw, red, and numb
My irises flickering back and forth, blue and white, turning outside-in
Tracing faces and shapes with the white drips in the ceiling
In-between the opaque and transparent whizzing of wood

15, 16, 17, 18…
Standing in front of a mirror
A used painting of camouflage and idealistic dreams
Dressed in crooked saline and fears
Scared to love, scared of lies
And haunted by the smacking echo of dry liquorish, so tearingly bitter

Susie E.

Moral Relativity

2009-02-01T02:11:00.001-05:00

Alright all you Philosophy buffs, I need your help! I am currently taking my first philosophy class, my first two philosophy classes: Intro and Logic. I have a paper due on Tuesday asking the question, “Is morality Relative?” My first reaction was, “Of course it is relative!” Though, after some contemplation it came to me that I didn’t believe ‘morals’ existed, rather, no universally binding ones anyway (which is what Dr. was truly asking). So if that is true, then morality wouldn’t be relative because it wouldn’t exist. However, I talked with my professor to examine my own logic and my conclusion is that while this thought would be an acceptable paper, he hounded on my logic pretty hard (though constructively, of course). Honestly, I have no idea what the hell he was talking about…I think he thinks I’m more hip to the lingo than I really am. Consequently, I politely told him, “Thank you for confusing the hell out of me. I shall have to go contemplate. You must be a good professor. Damn you.” Seriously though, Mark, Jonathan, Billy, Lee, Phillip…get my brain going, I have a philosophers block.

Thine Journey

2009-01-31T01:26:00.000-05:00

I watched a leaf hang steady to its tig
Until one day it flew
Back and forth, weaving the air in crisp blood red
Life from limb, what a miraculous fall
Mine, a bittersweet death

Susie Edging

Lot's Wife and One more...

2009-01-26T17:34:00.002-05:00

In the light of Mark_W’s adventure with the prose of Anna Akhmatova, I’ve decided to put some of my absolute fav’s on blogger. Considering most of my readers are what I can only describe as “Contemporary natural-born philosophers,” the first poem I will post should raise a few delighted eyebrows even if you generally do not like poetry. I hope you enjoy!

Lot’s Wife

And the just man trailed God’s messenger,
His huge, light shape devoured the black hill.
But uneasiness shadowed his wife and spoke to her:
‘It’s not too late, you can look back still

At the red towers of Sodom, the place that bore you,
The square in which you sang, the spinning-shed,
At the empty windows of the upper storey
Where children blessed your happy marriage-bed.’

Her eyes that were still turning when a bolt
Of pain shot through them, were instantly blind;
Her body turned into transparent salt,
And her swift legs were rooted to the ground.

Who mourns one woman in a holocaust?
Surely her death has no significance?
Yet in my heart she never will be lost,
She who gave up her life to steal one glance.

-Anna Akhmatova 1922-24

Mark, this should please you and give you a taste of who Akhmatova was. Other readers, you may enjoy the tone.

Untitled

He loved three things alone:
White peacocks, evensong,
Old maps of America.
He hated children crying,
And raspberry jam with his tea,
And womanish hysteria.
…And he had married me.

-Anna Akhmatova 1911

Quoting Myself

2009-01-25T16:59:00.000-05:00

Various people have often told me that they know god exists because they feel ‘him’. On the contemplation of sin, the same people have told me that no one should trust their desires.

Susie

Invigorate your senses

2009-01-10T11:36:00.004-05:00

Ray Lamontagne is one of my favorite musicians. His music takes you to another world to what I can only describe as gentle torturous beauty. I don't believe anyone could listen to his music and not feel his sincerity. He's real! You can feel his insides screaming but he doesn't have to scream at you to get heard. Instead he uses the perfect harmony to blend his emotions with some of the most eloquent verses.

So for those of you who dare, there are 4 video's to sip on your preferred beverage, be it coffee or tea, open your ears, and feel... Enjoy =)

Soul Remembered

2009-01-09T01:47:00.002-05:00

Fist in the sheet, weathered with the sea
Hung and clipped to the line behind the grained fence
Where the white whirlwind teased
It was a sweet smell that evaporated and lingered with winter
I prayed for snow to come and still the world,
But the clouds did not stretch, flatten, or shadow the ground
The stars that shone brightly quieted years ago
in my corner of this universe glows still
Was it deemed to resist my plea for me to see the sky at this night’s hour
what we know does not exist?
Like this cool and coiled waft - convoluted and passing through my recollection
Reminiscence of what was my own soul

Where to Find Me

2009-01-08T22:19:00.002-05:00

Southern pavement lined in detached stems of dry amber
The breeze and mellow hum of wood and bronze strings
Telephone wires trim midnight as the sky slowly edges left
Calming vibration on my back as my eyes peer up, my heart begins to slow
On the hood of my car, atop this mountain, kissed by the chilled air
Buttoned in silk and wool, as soft red tresses tinge my cheeks into shivering rouge
With black stained finger-tips, tracing the numberless dots above
And the still beady eyes singing that eerie song in his naked home
Stolen by the road that leads the way back to that small city below

Susie E.

01-08-09

Mind in Matter

2008-12-11T03:38:00.003-05:00

Ask not of me, of me in whisper
or hollow echos from bellowing tones
I've yet been kind enough to answer
or reveal my curious fro

Give me time, sweet and patient
like the fawn by her doe
before appearing clear within the fog

I shall not listen nor give you my tongue
or ear for banter anymore
for the lust reveling in these eyes
like teeth craving the cut from the ivory stone

Have I not given my vow to this endless endeavor of yours?
The tiring circles of yearn...leave me be and escape!
Let my skull tap out a lowly tune so my mind, that is me,
does not have to accomplish another self defeat

The Sense of Failure

2008-12-09T05:23:00.002-05:00

I want to take a moment to feel, just to realize the verity of what has happened today. But, I can’t. I cannot simply be in this second for this particular glimpse in time, for every tick of now’s hand drones gently, “Tic, tic, tic, tic…” reminds me that this near quiet present has been my genesis. My own self’s creative genius of failure. I can’t stop crying. My cheeks have become prunes and my eyes feel like anchors desperately clawing for sand. Yet in the very pit of my being, delicate warmth is lingering.

Looking back over the last fours months, I see all the different steps I should have taken…and did not. They say that hindsight is 20/20 but at every critical juncture and with every ounce of my being I knew the wiser choice. Yet, still, I chose unwisely. Foolishly I conned myself, “Later, later…always a later.” It was the yearning to believe my own deceit that this next “tic” is able to bellow out its next dispassionate nonsense…’Tic.”

There will be those that critically judge my decisions and I could choose to do so as well but what good would come of it? Surely I did not continually make fully aware bad decisions because it felt great to do so or for experiencing my present’s consequence. I chose what I did in attempts to fulfill a need that was demanding inflexibly louder. It is my sincere conclusion that people truly are doing the best they can do at any given moment. That is not to say that they can’t be/do better than what their present illustrates. However, how does one do the ‘better’ they are perfectly capable of when the tools for doing said better things are unavailable? For me, the only way of describing the sheer and quite raw agonizing conundrum of knowing my capability and not rising to the occasion is by asking you to imagine seeing a life jacket in a sealed inch-thick Plexiglas box while drowning. It’s right there but something else is seemingly in your way. Though invisible to you, it’s like hitting a brick wall trying to grasp for it.

Life is so beautifully crafted in irony. As soon as I finally discovered the means to bring healthy attention to calm long ignored needs just so that I can concentrate solely on nursing school…I fail out. This causes a whole new host of other major life issues to attend. The vastness is unfathomable, even to me. So why do I feel utterly at peace? Why am I grateful that time keeps ticking one uncaring chime after the next? My answer seems odd but the drive to be a nurse, to truly be of help and service to others and to hopefully do my part in changing the world in my very small and seemingly insignificant corner of it, forced me into facing up to a long held illogical belief. When one’s behavior is little understood, presumably a plethora of fears arise. In all my full fledge bloody psychological fights with my brain, it has been my consistent experience that truth, once ventured upon, is always glorious in her unveiling.

Looking back at my proverbial “failures” in my brief life I’ve noticed a definite pattern. Failure doesn’t dictate your actual capability, your present ability, or even knowledge. In high school I was told I could never be better than a C student because I had/have a learning disability, A.D.D, and statistical test scores were there to back up teacher claims. So much so they seemed never willing to take a look personally at my capabilities. Besides, I did always think these kinds of things made me a little less capable. My mother saw this as an outright absurdity. She’s my mother though! Mother’s don’t typically think their child near retarded. I did not outwardly appear to listen to her nor cognitively gave credence to disbelief at the time. At the time the entirety of my environment clearly communicated, even if nonverbally, “You’re not smart.” And so, after 2 years and every ounce of energy I could muster, I finally completed ninth grade English to never pass tenth because I eventually just dropped out. During that time I won an Editor’s Choice Award for a poem I wrote. Never-the-less, for many years afterward I truly believed I was dumb and discounted the award as a fluke, perhaps even a sham.

Many years later I would finally get up the courage to put myself out there for another ‘inevitable’ failure. I got back into college and found myself with a 4.0 and an English teacher who saw something in my writing. I started finding out I could contribute to the world. I could be better than a C student. Even though it took me to my toddler age of 3 to finally talk and after being told countless times that tests like the T-caps and large red pen marks across my English papers proved me to be a person of “severely below average” capabilities and/or intelligence. Some tests would confidently determine my ‘place-in-the-world’ without taking into account the actual individual, me. It seems to have let me fall through what many call, “The cracks.” Though I find there happens to be millions of these cracks that people like me just seem to slip into…constantly. It makes doing anything we’re perfectly capable of doing very difficult. Without the benefit of a family that saw and/or sees the true worth in me, I have no idea who or what I’d be.

I am not ‘stupid,’ ‘unworthy,’ ‘unlovable,’ or ‘bad’. I suppose many of us struggle with some pretty nasty, well, shit inside of our heads. Conquering my own life’s seemingly inescapable low points have given me the audacity to believe in the human race. So when I contemplate over today’s ultimate failure, I could choose to isolate it or focus on my growth. If I listen to the inevitable gossip that surely awaits, I wouldn’t see the truth in me.

I find it somewhat amusing that nursing has taught me to care for a patient holistically. As a student I feel that testing measures, though a seemingly objective measure has again proved to not prove my actual current ability. Though, I could have taken some steps to mandate legal aid in my endeavor, I did not. In the end I have no one to blame, in a sense, about not getting help I needed. Lesson learned.

In the end, I’ve found great joy in life and a sincere love of people and their own personal experiences. When I pathetically wallow in my own self-pity I lose sight of what makes us all human and what makes life worth living in this abysmal and complex journey. It’s because I’ve overcome such unrecoverable self-destructive behaviors that the foundation in my faith in the true ability of the human race is quite superbly immeasurable and yet…so absolutely ordinarily vulnerable and susceptible.

I’m painfully vulnerable but I also feel. Oh, to feel is a double edge sword that has caused a history of people to produce some of the most impossible of tasks, like jumping on a subway rail to save a child or the will to stand up to unsightly odds to found a country, like America. The brain and all its mysterious neurons produce emotions so quick that one would also abuse their spouse while being comparatively loving toward their children. The consciousness of the mind bewilders logic and yet these are the limits we are all bound. I know my brain is a constant game, while fun at times, can really mess me up if not watchful. How can I be any different than the abusive spouse. I'm only a different choice of defense mechanism propelling toward ever encompassing confusion of logic. Yet the place all this comes from is all from the same place. Put simply, a need screaming to be met and a person desperately trying to feed it so they can get on with life. It all has been dully noted. I have a pink post-it note with bright blue writing above my computer, as I write now so I won't forget to remind myself how to get back from the detour to the lost and found bin.

Susie E.

Fragile

2008-12-01T13:27:00.001-05:00

Scattered rhythm, like my heart
Speckling my bedroom windows with beads
Dull as the sky, pale grey drops of bent light
Transparent as I feel, fragile in this bark

Gentle whisper, be now easy on yourself
The sum of one endlessly undone from her marrow
Folded from the day, shutting out
Everything I’ve let expectation gain from me
Except one, to be ordinarily human

Crushed under all the happenings
Begging for my spine to disappear,
This is all a hefty weight of bare
Just a little too much
I shall allow none more
This lesson from beneath my windowsill and rain

Dissapated

2008-11-29T03:01:00.001-05:00

Found wondering in the maze, between Earth’s vines and speckled night
When I was to be discovered, cold and shivering
I begged to be tooled with draping wool and lips
I do not remember the eyes that led me
Eagerly to the center, cowering by its walls
But as the numbness dissipated into that green fabric,
The sting of warmth returning to my flesh, I will never shake

Proposition 8

2008-11-27T21:30:00.000-05:00

I think that about sums it up.

Perfection and Consequence

2008-11-18T03:49:00.003-05:00

It’s the instinct to shiver tangled in the wind
Twisted, knotted, and hung on the warm mist--
Streaming out and shuffling in
Its heaviness won’t be what I remember but the stitched guilt
Quietly, calmly, now I’ve gone

The other too busy begging under nail splatter drops of maroon
While I cried over the flow staining the water below
And it was just as easy to swirl away
This November, like two Novembers ago
Nearing the day I grow old
Caught alone…

Ever grateful for faithful friends
Blessed I can smile, guilt free
With them, their ‘wretched’ flesh
Never have I the need to be cleaner than…well, just me
Though, my heart still has room…room for love

Perfection, an expensive illusion
A history in circles and fixed
I shall not exchange peace for eternity
Not I
Not me

Susie E.
11.18.2008

First Honor

2008-11-06T16:03:00.005-05:00

Never have I thought being American was something to be shameful. America is my home after all. Even so, I’ve never owned the proud feelings I’ve seen many others in my nation demonstrate either. Today, however, something has changed. For once I’m joining in on that particular special feeling I have sensed exuding from my neighboring Americans. No longer am I simply aware that I am American. No. Today, I feel privileged and a sense of pride to be American and that awareness offers me hope!

"In this country, we rise or fall as one nation, as one people. Let's resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long.
Let's remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House, a party founded on the values of self-reliance and individual liberty and national unity.
Those are values that we all share. And while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress.
As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, we are not enemies but friends. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection."

"But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you. It belongs to you...This is your victory." -President Barak Obama

Congratulations, ‘My fellow Americans.’ YES WE CAN.

Spiritual Square?...More Like a Spiritual Hole

2008-11-01T04:55:00.007-04:00

I was commenting back to a, if you will, 'blogger buddy' many of you know as Mark and became so immersed in the topic at hand that I couldn't help but make my comment a blog post. Thanks Mark_W.

I've only met one Christian in my lifetime to allow me to question his rationality on god with complete acceptance of my questions and dare I say even likes to ponder them. It seems to me he has never gone about it from a nonbeliever's point of view and he seems to like the challenge. However, debating with him is like trying to pinpoint where he comes up with some of his 'wild' beliefs that have no bases in the bible. It's like unraveling a mess of cords so that you understand where ONE electronic device's plug is so you can unplug it to fix the device's dysfunction safely.

Jean Piaget, as I am sure you know, was a developmental psychologist who theorized cognitive development into 4 stages. It is interesting to note stage 2 (2 to 7 years of age) of his theory, Preoperational thinking, in which the child uses symbolistic type of thinking. Wikipedia describes it best, "They use intuitive rather than logical reasoning." In the subcategory of this stage, "The intuitive stage is when children start employing mental activities to solve problems and obtain goals but they are unaware of how they came to their conclusions (wikipedia)." To illustrate this type of thinking I will try to reiterate a class I had one day long ago. We had watched a video in which they conducted an experiment with many children using a measuring cup, 2 different sized drinking glasses, a large shallow baking dish, and a pitcher full of water colored blue. All the experiment's supplies sat on a table and each child would sit with the experimenter in front of the table. Before the child sat an abnormally tall and skinny glass filled with exactly 2 cups of water and a fat and short glass filled with exactly 2 cups of water. The examiner asked the child to tell him which glass held the most amount of water. Some children pondered for a moment but every last child that sat in front of that table pointed to the tall and skinny glass of water to have the most amount of water. The experimenter then asked the child, "How do you know this glass (the tall glass) has more water than this glass (the fat glass)." It was obvious that each child was not prepared to be asked this question but every answer, though somewhat varied in their logic, approximated there was more water in the tall glass because the water rose above the other glass' water. Without telling them that their thinking was plain illogical the experimenter continued onward. Next he pulled out 2 measuring cups exact in make, height, and width. He looked at the child and asked them if the one measuring cups was just like the other and could hold no more or no less than the other. Each child closely examined the measuring cups, careful not to be tricked, and each child agreed that indeed, each measuring cup was just like the other. The experimenter then poured all the contents of the tall glass into one measuring cup and all the contents in the fat glass in the other. He then asked the child, "How much water is in this measuring cup?" The child replied, 2 cups. The experimenter went over to the other measuring cup and again, the child replied two cups. The child didn't even think about what had just transpired just minutes earlier. He was too enthralled to see where all this was leading. So to remind the child, the experimenter pulled the two drinking glasses in front of the child and asked the child to tell him again why the child thought there had been more water in the tall glass than the fat glass. Again, the child answered that the water in the tall glass was the obvious choice because the water was higher in that one. So the examiner looked at the child and asked the kid if he (the experimenter) had heard the child correctly, "This measuring cup has the same exact amount of water as this measuring cup." The child replied, "Yes." Then the experimenter asked to make sure that he understood that the tall glass held more water, again, "Yes." "Ok, if this cup has the same as this cup then if I pour it in these glasses, they should look even?" "Yes," the child concluded. So the experimenter poured the 2 cups into the fat glass and then...poured the other water into the tall glass. The child's jaw instantly dropped!

I know that was a long illustration but I think you can see where I am going. I hope you can bear with me a while longer because this concept is kind of hard to communicate in terms that will make sense to another reader, but here it goes.

There is no way for believers to go through a kind of spiritual growth and development because they cannot tangibly interact with an invisible environment nor manipulate the objects in it. This comes as no surprise as there is no such environment for one to possibly be able to participate in basic fundamental tasks necessary for development. What I mean to say is that their spirituality is only an inner knowledge of their beliefs. It's not an outside entity for which they can objectively see. When they make a mistake or make correct conclusions in their spirituality, they cannot observe or measure their mistake or correctness. For instance, it's like the child sitting in front of a plastic box with different shaped holes with matching blocks made to fit within them: a star, a square, a circle, a triangle, etc. They can try to fit the square in the circle but it will never work and they will eventually discover that it can absolutely never work. We've all seen this; they'll keep plugging away at it until they just give up and pick up another block, and plug at the same square hole with, say, a triangle this time. They keep doing this until they fit the square block into the square hole. However, come the next day, their doing the same nonsense. It isn't until they've been working at this toy for so long that they finally get the idea that a square shape goes into a square shaped hole and eventually their able to do it with ease, get bored, and move on to the next challenge. Yet, finally mastering this seemingly small task, you can only imagine the vast amount of effort and time that child had to put into memorizing, hypothesizing, correcting themselves, adjusting their thinking, the frustration, and the strength and fine tuning their muscles undergo to finally just be able to put a square block into a square hole consistently and without fail every time.

Getting back to the idea of a spiritual growth and development, a believer and god can never go through the above stated undertaking because god is, of course, not there tangibly to interact with. If that child had to cognitively think about how to put that square block into that square hole, without ever laying their eyes on the square block or hole, could the child do it? It seems absurd to think that they could. Even if by some magical chance this child had an adult understanding of language, with no other cognitive ability other than their current stage of development, would any amount of telling and explaining to this child, "Somewhere out there is a square block with a matching hole and I will tell you all about it," would the child ever be able to fit a square with a square. I associate the same concept with believers. They can do a lot of speculating. But what in the hell is a square in the first place, what the hell is 4, what is a side, what is a cube, what's a hole? Who knows what this child's imagination might conjure up? I can almost guarantee you though, if that child was caught shuffling about in his toy bin and coincidentally pulled out the block/hole toy, he'd have no clue what he was playing with. The same goes with theists. With absolutely no physical form, god's followers only have their imaginations left to figure out who and what the hell god is. To me this is interesting because, if you think about it, imagination can only be used to manipulate or tweak reality, i.e. a lion with eagle wings, an alien—a roundish triangle with 2 black pointy like ovals for their eyes, etc. They do not have the opportunity to test out their god hypothesis objectively. The only thing they DO have is contradiction of thought. If one imagination contradicts another enigma then they have to "squarely" imagine something up to heal the dissonance of the nonphysical imaginative alter reality.

Need I remind them that the very notion and concept of the term, "Contradiction," initially comes from understanding contradiction fundamentally—i.e. black and white. To further illustrate this point, one can not know what the number, "Two," implies until someone sits in front of them, for example, two apples. "Here's one apple Timmy and here's another apple, you now have two apples."

All that digression to finally get to my point which is: a believer stays in a stage of intuitive and illogical thinking pertaining to matters concerning faith because without the opportunity to manipulate their environment/god growth and development with god cannot occur. They can imagine it to occur but all they have available is their imagination to test another imagination. Whatever imagination makes most peace with the other imaginations stays…and in cycles we go. Though philosophically speaking, if god is the creator of everything and he created our minds in this fashion of G&D then did god intend us to ever be able to know him at all!?

It is a challenge debating with people of faith, no matter how intelligent they can be and are. Trying to prove factual evidence to the contrary is, I can only describe, like breaking THEIR law of how they imagine the science of the supernatural work. If you can't figure out how they have arrived at their current conclusion, nor they, then communication becomes null--the tall and skinny glass will always and forever contain more water than the short and fat glass. Though I must confess, they provide the oppurtunity for me to own up to my own irrational thinking to myself. Which we all know is a rarity for me to have any irrational thinking ; P

Compared to God: We Only have a Limited View

2008-10-30T17:29:00.007-04:00

I had a discussion today with a Christian (now a few days ago) in which we discussed time and how god was not bound by its constraints. As obvious as this is to this person, that god isn’t bound by time, her conclusion left me a bit puzzled as to how she arrived at her ‘undenialable’ conclusion. In an effort to understand her position I asked, “Wait, how do you know god is not, as you say, bound by time?” She seemed to think my questioning into the reality of time and god was unworthy of any dignified answer for the only answer I received was an irritated reply, “Please! He’s god, he can do anything he wants!” Apparently, my question seemed juvenile to this lady. Though I could see the annoyance of my simple inquiry was building, I couldn’t help but to ask a few more. “Ok, so god isn’t bound by time because he is god. So why does god let bad things happen to innocent people, like children molestation and people’s mother killed, or 9/11?” Her reply was as expected, “I don’t know why. Sometimes bad things happen and we, as God’s children, can’t possibly understand God because we only have a limited view. We just have to trust God.”

I do not know how people can't see the inherent contradiction they exude with such explanations that snub away tangible, uncomfortable, immoral acts that happen to people under god's supposed omnipotent power and yet at the same time they know precisely how the unobservable science of God manifests itself invisibly...but apparently rendered obvious. How is it that of all the things 'god's children' possibly cannot know concerning god, like how he escapes the laws of physics, space, time, etc., people of faith 'just' automatically know? Yet, when it comes to actually physical observable matters and situations, like child molestation, the science of god and all of his previously known magnificent powers is suddenly lost on them? It seems convenient at these times to all of a sudden not know how God works, except to say that he has some 'unknowable plan' for which they KNOW is holy. I can only figure that the belief that God is all good, all powerful, all knowing, and everywhere makes the knowledge of situations like, again, child molestation quite uncomfortable for those believers to continue to swallow. That is, unless they can come up with an explanation that allows a good-god and child molestation to exist peacefully side by side.

The psychologist, Leon Festinger's, included the process that one’s cognition follows when one merges a belief that contradicts another belief into his widely accepted theory of Cognitive Dissonance. For example, the dissonance between the belief that god is all powerful and good and the belief that child molestation is bad/evil is healed, by the faithful, when they conclude that ‘god’s children only have a limited view’ disabling anybody to conclude that god may not be so good after all...or even doesn’t exist all together. That is, if you choose to believe the absolutely unverifiable resolution of the ‘limited view’ position.

The simple notion that we all have a limited view compared to god's is a contradictory statement in and of itself. If they truly believe they have a limited view, how do they even erect the ‘limited view’ belief? For, if they truly had a limited view how could they know for sure they don't have a limited view on having a limited view. As a matter of fact, if they have a limited view, how do they discern that god is good? Furthermore, how do they KNOW they even have a limited view?

The whole ‘limited view’ position begs a person not to think for themselves. For instance, would rapping a woman ever be moral? I’m sure that everyone reading this blog, religious or not, will maintain an absolute, “No,” to that question without hesitation. Though, I invite anyone reading to contradict me if someone feels otherwise. However, in all of our ‘limited view’ the ‘holy’ book by ‘God’ states in Deuteronomy 21: 11-14 :

11: And seest among the captives a beautiful woman, and hast a desire unto her, that thou wouldest have her to thy wife

12: Then thou shalt bring her home to thine house, and she shall shave her head, and pare her nails;

13: And she shall put the raiment of her captivity from off her, and shall remain in thine house, and bewail her father and her mother a full month: and after that thou shalt go in unto her, and be her husband, and she shall be thy wife.

14: And it shall be, if thou have no delight in her, then thou shalt let her go whither she will; but thou shalt not sell her at all for money, thou shalt not make merchandise of her, because thou hast humbled her.

Not only does god say it’s ok, but he makes it an act worthy of a month preparation ritual of humbling. Not only does this man get to rape her at his will, but desecrate her as well. Who cannot stand up and say that an act of this kind is not wrong in any given situation? I certainly can. Yet, were I to maintain a limited view on God then how could I possibly disagree with god’s own words. He is, after all, all good and knows more than me and my ‘limited view’. And to go ahead and refute the popular rebuttal that Jesus’ returned to abolished the old law I shall insert Matthew 5: 17-18 here:

17: Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them.

18: I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished.

Has anyone changed their mind that rape of a woman under any circumstance has changed yet? Even though god, supposedly himself, maintains that it is just fine to rape in time of war. Hey, a man has to satisfy himself somehow, right? Yet, I presume everyone remains disgusted with the idea of woman violence, especially under god’s name.

Still, had the Christian followers maintained a ‘limited view’ on this matter, would we still see these kinds of acts still happening today? I imagine some may disagree but I would like to remind people that atrocities still happen in the vain of those who fervently persist that the bible is an absolutely moral book for which one must read and follow. Immoral acts are endured everyday by homosexuals, atheists, women, African Americans, etc., because those who believe in the bible’s complete morality thrush it upon these people. Furthermore, the ‘we only have a limited view’ excuse exacerbates the problem of clear injustice retained by these people. The very idea that one only has a limited view compared to god’s, chokes any independent thought from his followers. And so it follows, those who desire power cannot preside over a people who freely express independence in their thinking and rationality.

Can people of any faith really not comprehend that their confident answers about god consist of absolutely no obtainable evidence and that the time their “I don’t knows” come rolling out of their mouth the “we can’t possibly understand god because of a limited view” notions are always correlated with actual observable happenings? Do they not see that making something up that is improvable bodes well to never having to withstand ever being proven wrong? Indeed, whatever one has made up to feed the dissonance in their head stands a good chance of keeping a delusion valid. I suppose that is why those with schizophrenia and other mental illness rarely come to the conclusion they are actually schizophrenic. They feel that the delusion, hallucination, etc. is actually happening; therefore, it is actually happening. I really don’t think most are daft enough not to grasp this concept. However, whether or not they want to grasp it, I think, holds the answer and is a whole other blog altogether ;)).

An Armoire

2008-10-25T04:12:00.002-04:00

To this distant memory, an armoire, and one night
My veins held within them a boiling fire of haste and naught
Feeding my flesh with calcium, brazed cotton, and lacquered wood
Never had it been predicted, but shall remain unknown
As abstract melodies sing,
my lungs cried and inhaled the smoke,
Breath that night was lost in the stars falling to earth's craters,
but awoke this early morn I did,
To find nothing but my pillow, tea, and book
Not a rain cloud sprinkled for those lusting in thirst
Tis but life's brave surrender after summer's birth
And what shall move onward through winter's blessed death
Will await by the stolen hearth
to contemplate the lowly chill of that memory and of an armoire

Susie E.

6 Billion Heroes, 1 Reality

2008-10-24T13:38:00.006-04:00

Doesn't the word hero seem to impress on one a kind of inferiority to another's characteristics or materials? That is the thing about the phrase, "My hero," it is convoluted with a connotation of someone a person can always aim to be. "Heroes" are chosen and revered on the sheer pretense by the ones whom give their hero their status by something they can "honorably" try to be.

Yet, the term honor is like another hero all together. Society’s Superman if you will. What is defined as “honorable” is learned from one's familial background and one’s cultural environment. The individual who grows up in their particular surrounding will ultimately build a schema upon his/her immediate reality shared by those who neighbor his/her unique individual reality. In essence, the quote, “No man is an island,” explains the affect of one’s ‘nurture’. Though, the reason for aspiring and the consequence of said aspiration is lost.

Taking the assumption that one is shaped by ones environment to one degree or another one has to then follow that individual’s choice would also be shaped by one’s environment. For what is a permissible goal for one to achieve will be revered, or not, as worthy, or not, on the various levels set by the individual’s society and/or family. This serves to give the achiever the illusion that making the proverbial choice of his/her life’s direction will or will not make him happy. This conclusion comes from the idea that if one’s schema is built upon his/her direct environment then driving the same road to happiness will also serve him/her in the same way.

However, as one grows and detaches from their initial ‘reality’ and sets out on the road to become an ‘adult’ different individual schemas abound and one’s prior realizations must once again be reworked. With an ever-changing environment, it is no surprise that a single constant is desired and gives hope to individuals constantly having to readapt themselves to merely survive and attain what they need or desire (Maslow’s hierarchy may help to pinpoint more precisely what various persons need (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hierarchy_of_needs). With a single thread one can grasp onto, they can find security in a world filled with many different realities and/or delusions. It is here where one’s hero is given genesis.

Be it Jesus, Allah, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, a celebrity, or whom-have-you, these individuals seem to be common heroes throughout the world that give various individuals a constant ‘thing’ they can always try and attain. These types of heroes seem to be used as a measure of how far the striver is from their ultimate destination or even how ‘good’ the person is to their immediate surroundings—giving the immortal a very good illusion of honor and quality (or lack thereof) through prior inserted beliefs into one’s schema and the reactions of others to them and their choices. Though, it stands to reason that if a hero is chosen based on the hero’s ability to be a forever aim, how can one ever hope to reach their dreams? That is, unless one’s dream is to please those around him/her (which in this society, is not highly revered, even though, giving or sacrifice for others is)…

Unfortunately for some and fortunately for others, the future is not a destined or designed absolution but an abysmal uncertainty. In a world of an estimated 6 billion unique individuals living out and through varied situations, one's destiny is surely directly related to the limits and freedom of one's own creativity and will in the present to shape future reality. After all, there is but one reality and any deviation from that reality is wishful thinking, delusional, or false. The world is not ‘flat,’ it is round no matter how many persons of authority or one’s society denies this reality. Their denial does not change the fact that they still live on a round earth. There are not varying realities, there are only illogical misinterpretations of reality by one’s consciousness.

So when I am asked, "Who is my hero or heroes," I have to make clear that my varied collection consist of those whom have taught me something…anything. For it is those who have been able to ‘positively’ teach me, that provide me with an opportunity to realize I can become what is commonly meant as a 'hero' unto myself. The opportunity they forward, perhaps unknowingly, is their ability to contradict my thinking so that my ego can subside, just long enough, to allow a tinny, tiny, little-bitty seed to be implanted into this very small, insignificant mind, with an abundance of stubborn and irrational beliefs so that I can be more present in the one and only reality.

Ultimately, then, those who aid in the attainment of one realizing their greatest and realistic potential as a human being are the true unnoticed heroes in this time of 'presently' wherein the fervently clung words of perfect and imperfect exist not.

Am Gone

2008-10-24T10:59:00.006-04:00

Perhaps I am naive, missing this ship completely

Sailing against the tide and shore, my feet molding grains of sand

Tell me if you find that island, if they make paper on such isolated grounds

But, if your compass breaks follow gravity above the level of the sea

You will find me seated under the orange moon and clouds

Just follow the dispersed imprints that shall begin at the pointed bow

That is, if the salty foam has not washed them smooth and even with the ocean's floor

The Night

2008-10-04T17:26:00.005-04:00

Beware, beware, the night approaches!
Riding on the heels of day.
Chasing it out of the sky,
Keeping it at bay.
Beware, beware the night approaches!
Now the world is at its pleasure.
Whipping the wind into a frenzy,
Doing it for its leisure.
Beware, beware, the night approaches!
Travellers, take care!
For the darkness will target you,
Of mishaps you'll have your share.
Beware, beware, the night approaches!
As you snuggle down in your bed,
Branches will beckon from outside your window,
Frenzied figures will fill you with dread.
Beware, beware, the night approaches!
But now the day peeps through,
Chasing on the heels of night,
Dispelling the darkness from you.
The last shreds of night now disappear,
There is no more for you to fear.
The night is gone, and the day is here,
Your mind is now quite clear.
The dawn has broken
The night has gone-
All is quiet
Except for bird song.

Author: Jonathan Ward

Posted with permission of its author. To make mention, this quite outstanding poem was published in a book of poems called, "Over the Moon: Bedfordshire, England," when he was just 12. Amazing, no?

Little Creature Creator

2008-08-02T06:01:00.002-04:00

Wishing I could paint these straggly arms
If it were possible, into 2 semi-transparent sturdy thin yellows
Dotted, veined, and trimmed in ebony
Freely I would prance from each silky petal to the warm powdery center of a daisy
With each nudge of the wind caressing a gentle glide then hurried flap,
Into that guiltless love affair with sweet misty breezes
Tis’ the time in which that bright beamy orb would flicker through my orangey sails
During that awkward, but oh so graceful, zigzag
Perhaps I could be the creature, invited and peered upon in curious wonder,
Landing on a little joyous finger to lick the tiny crystals
With my curly thin tongue, could I even inspire girly spirals and swirls?
Oh, I could find meaning in moments like these—
In-between the purpose and service of pollinating and cocooning—
To be only but a spec of beauty, even if for a little while
And then…one sudden, but glorious…death
As the wind began his departure from my sheaths:
from fresh blossom and birth, kissing my bellowing gust goodbye
Gladly I would fall, long and weaving, to the soil
In my home, where I would have lived an ‘insignificant’ life
with ‘tiny,’ ‘unimportant’ wings, with ‘irrelevant’ affect
Yes, I have desire for this ‘triviality’
Fore, as surely as one cannot help but to stand in awe and be humbled
Discovering the need for breath while gazing on a field of wild flowers—
Swaying in a grassy valley wound between stony mountain-peaks and stray clouds
Tell me, who then could forget…The Butterfly?

Susie E.

Mother, Mother

2008-08-02T05:59:00.000-04:00

Girl skirts mended to my little gal hips
Mother stitched, mother’s tells me, “You priss and special surprise.”
The crook in her neck a shouldering smell
Where all tears seem to ground and dry
“Keep those blue eyes right there on that starry prize,”
Big girl jeans carry on my young woman thighs
“That’s right baby,” she whispers
“Believe in yourself, that mouth deserves a smile”

Susie E.

Under the Glassy Pane

2008-07-30T06:22:00.002-04:00

The narrative of crooked hands coiled in a skein of lolled limb and sheets--
When torridly burned from skidding the shroud of a fleshy hull shaved from its pith,
Can only gesticulate a bitter thieving moan

A pale overlay laced in powdered-blue veins bending a foreshortened dot,
"Swindler of shivering susurrations, owner of hasty palms,"
Dripping sentiments of silence, "You cherished regret!"
Scrawled from the womb of hollow compromise
Of nails that scratch shallow erubescent lines of beveled fortune

And still the twine limps unaffected or moved
Covering the foundation and bloody chest in mesh
But under the glassy pane, a soft gaze still sings

Susie E.

Dawn Could be the Most Beautiful Ending

2008-07-27T05:31:00.001-04:00

In the tiniest of gesture lies the shallowest acceptance
Though I've paced the squiggly line drawn around me
From all obtuse and blank angles
somehow, the guilt stirring for a game I've fairly played churns
Burdening my ears shut with a pale orange buzz
While keeping the door ever-so slightly cracked

Never be my shaping
I beg you, be your own contour with pastels for which only those eyes can dream
Go through it!
I refuse to lower the horizon on woven sails
sewn with the need for an ocean large enough for unconditional gusts
This, I understand…as naively I am being portrayed

I wanted to be gentler!
I am only following the script for which was written,
passing the time locking myself out…
Even so, I am not hollow

Susie E.

Untamed Tethering

2008-07-13T02:25:00.009-04:00

To feel a firm saturating warmth, confident and steady
Entangling my hair into a mirage of knuckly sheaths of comfort and scruff
Gently tethered in velvet and smooth azure
Tiptoeing the outskirts of self-visceral borders
A niche without wrists choked underneath ticks or chimes
Only loosely taking up space among books, broken-in pillowcases, and hand stitched quilts

The bright feeling of home—
when the plow's upheaval of dust rendered recrudescent blossom and blush
An estival reminiscence and wild piquant lingering of
gummed fingerprints inked sweetly in blood drops, purple sap, and pulp—
Tis' the faint scent of an innate niave's dwelling

Though neither-one a yellowish owning or belonging nor unfitting endearings
But perhaps an embracing intermission, a restful unwinding
Fore I shall never be bound to willfully peer out from behind iron shafts or stone

See, while wings and beaks have need for the nutrition of seed,
will consequently rise up and expand itself eventually
Albeit, I may find myself nesting in gusty willows alone...but weeping, no!
Instead, you'll find me making love to lusty experiences and philosophy,

Yet, to have cherished tresses encouraged and combed—for unclasped hands I would return

-Susie E.

Two Seeking

2008-07-11T13:20:00.003-04:00

It is not my history repeating but my hands remembering
A walnut shell with a fibrous casing able to crumble into saw dust
For those lips to lick a sweet lingering
Though I refuse that textured metal-crusher to crack and loosen

I did this, fallen from my own pocket out beneath the blood red pavement
Though naked and bare, you do not see me nor could you know of it
Tis’ to simple to grasp, though free as feathers on fleshy dynamic structures
I should step back from your ungrateful imagination
Yet, I still desire those lines to wrap around my thighs and waist

Yes, I will always contradict your reality,
Deal with it!

-Susie E.

To Thy Own-self Be True

2008-07-10T03:23:00.010-04:00

Today I read a poem from a another blogger on his poetry site, Mangled Verse entitled, "I am/Not." It reminded me of a recent post that I published on my myspace that I neglected to repost here, on my blogspot that I now presume relevant:

I am learning that accepting someone completely does not equate their complete acceptance of you. As a matter of fact, sometimes it just simply means that their reality doesn't match yours. Sacrificing oneself is always too much for anyone to ask. When the relationships in your life prove to come to these crossroads, I think it is important for one to remember and practice simply allowing the other persons to be themselves without writing labels. In my personal opinion, this is real unconditional love. And unfortunately, fully accepting that person sometimes means to also let them go. Indeed, I have always struggled with this concept. But, in the end, we all are imperfectly beautiful people and we all need to be encouraged and to encourage to accept ourselves and to accept someone else for not being fully accepting of us. It's one of those major grey areas of life. It doesn't mean anyone is bad OR good. Contently, I am as large as my limitations and perspective, just as you are bound to your limitations and perspectives. What will be will be. I wish nothing but the best for all the people I love, here with me now, or not. Be true to yourself. Trust in this and everything else will follow.

What do you believe it means to be true to yourself? I am quite interested in hearing what your life lessons have taught you.

Is a Memory

2008-07-10T03:17:00.002-04:00

In my hand, hers held
We pushed against the air as her arm raised
Above my head and I spun
My hands gripped my knees and hers around her waist while bending back
Laughing—these are the nights to twirl under the moon
When I awoke this afternoon, I smiled
Now, what is a memory, us girls

Susie E.

Self-Portrait

2008-07-07T04:52:00.007-04:00

Recently, I bought a new fancy digital SLR camera pieced together with all those tiny little buttons that do all those things I have little clue. Well, I'm starting to figure it out... While I am not gay (smooches to all my beautiful gay friends) , I am becoming fascinated with the woman body, real women bodies...freckles, curves, lips, eyes (oh yes the eyes are great), or bone structuring...especially in awkward contortions. Not only is it a great work out but it is a good lesson in how to work with shadow/light.

Since no one seems to be willing to sit for me, I've been sitting for myself. This process alone has inspired a new fondness of self-love with my own body--a new kind of comfortability. This new found acceptance has inspired my brain to contemplate on people's, including me, self-loath and abhorring emotions toward ourselves. Our bodies truly do so much for us! Why would any of us want to pick at all its little "imperfections"? I've participated in plenty of ridicule and cried many tears over my own body's flaws. However, now that I am opening myself up to being vulnerable (which required/requires an enormous effort), I am discovering just how beautiful my body can manipulate its environment and I personally find this quite fascinating. There is something miraculous, indeed, when you see a set of photos of yourself and really feel, well, beautiful. The little freckle on my right mandible--right under and in front of my ear suddenly becomes beautiful. A "blemish" I once thought I wanted removed. Why take the parts of yourself that make you uniquely you.

Exciting still, the other night I was able to take pictures of a friend who has always been shy and inhibited in front of my camera...even fully clothed! However, this night I was able to sit up an environment in which she let loose and WOW! I watched her smile at herself and get excited about her own face and body as she peered over the LCD screen! I know she has a long way to go but what a glorious unraveling to watch unfold. Those pictures will be up in a few days once I am able to load them, so I'll encourage you to look back. That is, once I get her permission to post her face on my rarely visited blog to the whole wide world! Muhahaha

Anyway, I happen to have approval for my own go ahead to post my photos. This is me playing with the camera by myself and a tripod (Ooo la la). Yes, I am naked and while this is a bit risque* even for myself, all nude parts have been cropped. In these, I am learning what angles I like, how light works in pictures, exposure, and how to setup (what I believe) to be interesting photo layouts (among other elements). If you have an opinion/suggestions, let me hear them. I am, by all means, a rookie. So, be gentle but honest =P Thanks for looking and reading about my experience.

Thanks to Jonathan for catching the misspelling*

-Susie E.

Collapse to Rise

2008-07-03T04:08:00.005-04:00

I am not the one to contain water
But, for this night, I’m going to collapse myself
into the palm of my bed, knotted in my knees
beneath charcoal dust and lines
Only just a little, let the drips weep
But, when the oiled pavement and green metal fence
welcome the orange horizontal beams
On this dotted intersection, when my window rattles,
“You are meaningless…’ping’.”
In respect and wonder, I will make my way back,
Over this indention, out from under these sinking covers
Into these sandals, pearl anklet, and stethoscope
To be bound and humbled to peer up at a pink awning
Fore, there may be nothing more…I’m sure
Not lonely, but warmest home—to soon be but a particle for which light to refract,
And, for eyes to misinterpret as “God”
But tomorrow morning, I’ll simply step, one at a time—
Brightening my smile, my content, to be omni-unpowerful, yet bold and curved

--Susie E.

Whisky Tea

2008-07-02T14:01:00.000-04:00

My perspective is sinking
Between the ice and glass of my whisky-tea
Chemically different but with similar transparency

My fingers dance around the rim
Humming a low squeak and selfish need
This sometimes’ grin, melting with those frozen squares
Technically, you could call them cubes or dares

That’s the thing about whisky and its vague amber color
It always just sits, raining a ring
It wants me to think, again and again about that sip and its cover-lid
Keeping that little rounded line tucked and hid
For purposes of a higher virtue, I just do not transcend

When everyone else knows what is best
I watch it swirl, evaporate, and finally descend
And the longer my mind drones, the more I recent
The decisions being made for which, I on myself, apparently can not depend

Call me pretty or just ask me please
A million times over, it doesn’t ease
Till’ the only thing afloat is my peace of mind
And something resembling a beverage made of pekoe leaves

Sitting my ass on the sidewalk asking for dimes
Does this make one worthy enough to appease?

Aim at Mirrors

2008-07-02T13:45:00.006-04:00

Down, these blues, not my mood or mind
Highlights sweeping in
Iris in bloom, periwinkle with white trim
Stare right here, try and define
And when I close them…determine what I should dream

Slow tug and stretch of polyester and silk
Round and dimple, then…red mane swaying over peach fuzz and milk
Take it, make it, and dish your principle upon it
Constrain me into a terri-robe

Come back to this space, this time…you still looking right here?
I'm unpainted, undrawn, visibly covered in ink—for just one more from the million before
All that you feel, that disgust, is yourself dipping below
When the sun meets its perfect geographical location
On you, will you shine brighter or beg for the light to dim?

I'm gonna grab hold, the wind, this breeze, be the biggest twinkle
Lift my legs from this concrete, switch the sky on
Through the break in this board, I see the water rushing around bumpy ankles
Keep glaring up, protecting your pupils under wood
No consequence…no life
Tell me what I can and cannot do/be

Years as they have turn, I'm getting softer, thicker, lighter
Into the waves, legs are sinking,
get the hell out
Run for the door, "Turn it on, Turn it on!!"
I've worn the same shoes, over this rail—plunk, plunk
I am not your horizon, not even in your gaze
Not your permission, destiny, or design

I am this history overcame, a moment, right now—I
Spinning, swinging, pointing my toes, shifting my hips
Manipulating the air, gravity and grace met
Humming, honing, toning

If those crooked arrows want to launch,
let them point, tear, and maul—toward a drowning mirror

Susie E.

Unarmored

2008-07-02T13:44:00.000-04:00

10 pale, half anxiously chewed
Half raw and dried, smell of raspberries
They have been trained to save a life
But fix this, no

I loosen them from hopeless endless endeavors
So I can feel the prominent beating hump
There in the crease of my breast
Where I pulse, unarmored and open

I refuse to hide my smile
Or sacrifice my peace of mind
Nor, shall I deem it worthy for you to do the same
Me, Myself, and I,
Take pleasure in today's breathtaking sunset

I feel, see, hear, have…
Each day, grateful
For everyone I have loved
For every tired hand I've held
For each exchange of bliss and sorrow
For every moment of ecstasy and disappointment
For every betrayal and loyalty
For every imperfection—for in those wrinkly lines
I have found, love for all
...for me

Susie E.

Omnipotent Pimp

2008-06-26T20:57:00.006-04:00

Whoa, back up Mister
Or would you prefer I ask, “Pretty Please?”
With my bottom lip sticking out?
Don’t expect to find me strewn and pouting all about your laces
Loosely hanging from your vapid shoes
There is not enough bitter salt or rusty nails
Adam’s Eve, ‘Bating-the-Master’
Best played out while you console your limp ego
To all you disillusioned boys, praying to find something alabaster and malleable
Dreaming of sticking and squishing it between your tongue and the roof of your mouth
Its tough skin and red fiber making a sweet and grainy resin
But don’t forget—something you can protect
Making daddy proud as you detach from your mother’s hip
To give me your last name and seed
With a womb for which to carry it
Like this makes me biologically incapable of actually enjoying a good fuck
Heh, well now that’s a calling to save my soul
All us pussy-cats and paper dolls causing you to salivate and lust
They’ll try to sit my dirty ass in a velvet pew, kind of kinky don’t ya think?
Listening to a man drone on about my proper submission
What? To you? Ha!
Shnookums, I thought you liked it when I was on top?
“But not past this patriarchical line,” some of them bock!
As they circle signs and petitions declaring my body a lawsuit
How dare we carry such a natural power
And if it was just one night, would you just call me a fornicating slut
Healing your self-respect as if I was in need of some special humbling
Or, if I said, “No!” Sit begging while prescribing me a tease
Could I then be your wife?
For example, Deuteronomy 21, 11-14

11: And seest among the captives a beautiful woman, and hast a desire unto her, that thou wouldest have her to thy wife

12: Then thou shalt bring her home to thine house, and she shall shave her head, and pare her nails;

13: And she shall put the raiment of her captivity from off her, and shall remain in thine house, and bewail her father and her mother a full month: and after that thou shalt go in unto her, and be her husband, and she shall be thy wife.

14: And it shall be, if thou have no delight in her, then thou shalt let her go whither she will; but thou shalt not sell her at all for money, thou shalt not make merchandise of her, because thou hast humbled her.

Well, let me give you a Revelation, particularly

14:3—And they sung as it were a new song before the throne, and before the four beasts, and the elders: and no man could learn that song but the hundred and forty and four thousand, which were redeemed from the earth.

14:4—These are they which were not defiled with women; for they are virgins. These are they which follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth. These were redeemed from among men, being the firstfruits unto God and to the Lamb

God, your hero, the Man’s man
Staking me his “Bride,”
Oops, stole your trophy
In this gorgeous white lace and gown
Honey, sugar, baby, I dare you to make this fruit my fault
Trying to mold me into something that makes you more comfortable
As if I was a syrup tart, satiating only to your saliva
Put that damn chain away, I am not an extension of you
HE couldn’t handle that, could you?

Susie E.

A Devious Innocent

2008-06-24T21:33:00.001-04:00

Were I to peer out of those green and sometimes bluish spheres, could I still sing?
All along, the crow’s purple feather crookedly pointed
But never toward any glimmer or stream of warm sun
Yes, you have seen this grin
Indeed, I am well aware of my place behind these pores, bent teeth, and smirk
Childish runaway that is me, do not mistake my integrity nor my deeds
Summing me up to a 9 x 3
Selfless, please, any mention of my intention
None is above your shun and tease
And so, my shining steel and silver plate, or so you say
How dare I not recognize your saving grace when I am but on my knees
Here, within the round dents of clay and grey moon moaning for its blessed birth
I beg you to make sense of this?
Newly painted nails tirelessly chipping away, expecting me not to hurt
While misconstruing my very words only to have them shoved down my throat and choked up for tonight
I never meant to let you down, nor color those pupils sandalwood
Always, I promise, I loved you every inch of the way down while crossing the waist line and belt
What a shameless, pathetic thief
Tell me what I should think of myself…a bitch?
Better yet, why not just call me a slut
Tossing and braiding my hair into perfect pigtails, “Smile but never feel.”
If not animosity, then I am at a loss and finally put these two hands together
Pray tell me, “What then?”
My pulse has slowed and my mind numbed as you keep demanding,
“What did you expect from borrowing MY clown!”
Betrayed hero, I never meant to disappoint you nor thought I could
And you were right, I am hurting
Though, not by whom your crystal ball had formerly predicted
Silly girl was I…

Susie E.

Resign Yourself to the Risk

2008-06-18T03:05:00.010-04:00

I stand in awe at the end, thankful I can hurt! Yes. Thank this biological mystery that allows for the bitter twang of vulnerability; as were I to close its door, what would life offer? The passion I posses for all that encompass my existence has filled my body with joy and my days hope. Indeed, I have a need to share love. If this human condition exposes me to the possibility of pain from unreciprocating adoration, only then to be left alone and betrayed, then so be it! Emphatically I resign myself to the risk, gladly fling myself upon it. Fore, I have laughed a million times since.

--Susie E.

Stitching a Tailored Dress to Suite Soul

2008-06-13T12:55:00.000-04:00

Wicking a honeyed background through my finger-tips
Licking its lambent flickering air
Shameless digging for that mood
Trying to get that slight slit in this smile
Coming to terms that my teeth are not the color thought of as bone
But I'm told it's genuine
Though I know stitched to skin freckled with perfect ivory hues—
Warmed and at times removed
Noticing the stone has finally been smoothed and found adrift
Underscored with a mask that tirelessly draws
Nonetheless, finding I am prone and susceptible
So I hold it gently in my hands—
My within and vulnerable core
Praying for it to root and blend itself with my soul—
"Guard me from becoming concrete,
Keep my feet soiled with summer and dust,
Dancing ballet in rolled up jeans and belly button free"
If only at the end to keep one inspired verse
To paint it in grey and eggshell
I think of this as the street's lamppost rhythmically puts aflame that atmosphere
Like fireflies at dusk by their pond
mmmm—the hunt pours out with ambient glows about this room
Living, if only a moment, in this unguarded tailored dress

--Susie E.
6.13.2008

My Bare Soles

2008-06-12T00:56:00.000-04:00

If it had been yesterday
I would have been but an imagination
But that night, my flesh fashioned to the humidity
As the crickets hummed their low vibration
And the moon's evil grin stirred the tips of my nerves,
For air they begged

—breathe—

To what term do you know best?
You didn't directly ask, but emphatically I acquiesce
What had been last year my pelvis twisted to erase
Her favorite song, long forgotten guilt
Indeed, I sung as my curves lifted from the deep indentions of cotton
Let me go—and, so, my stomach stretched and back bent
While fingers dripped the salt from mesh and skin

The morning hint tip toed across the floor
Hinges hollowed out a shallow squeak
My state of mind held me through tomorrow's half luminescence
As I kicked off my shoes to feel the dirty pavement spin under my toes—
and soiled it did—my bare soles

And what summer could it be, without that one night only?
My heart finding content with life's complexity
Another chapter, by chance, I scratch down on blue lines and type
With my beloved friend—
Who twirled under the same warm bright night
While mellow tunes danced between tin walls and leather
To embrace choice, laughter, and to enjoy what it is
This is "last-year's" lesson—gracefully mastered
And if I could choose, nothing I would change

Susie E.

New Day

2008-06-08T02:09:00.002-04:00

I felt smooth cotton wrinkle under my toes
Slinking and tangling between peach and bone
While watching yellow slip through slits blurring lines into waves
Weaving a warm ocean and all its little specs or creatures
Exquisitely dulling all geometric shapes
Interrupting, but invited none-the-less
Swung past favors served on a broken plate
Yawn and stretch,
How I wish I had a frame for those turning points and gold ribbons
Soft, sable, poof, bouncing, licking my fingers, begging—pick up that round stringy thing
So here's to the next day, no longer dreaming to live,
And…to those who dare to brave dirty hands

-Susie
5.28.2008

The Simple Beauty in those Three Little Dots

2008-04-21T05:30:00.003-04:00

I remember, the trees as they blurred in lines,
With the telephone poles, as my hair snuck out the split of the car window
Or, the moths as they lifted from the lawn around that beige skirt

Simple atmosphere only comes with the energy this requires
But just like those trees, that memory—1 second laced with my chest's forgetting

That salty taste I licked from my lips
The night rain sung on the window, as the sun moaned in its ancient chair
I know this vague tip on my tongue keeps me pulsating
Trying as I do, to write this next line—
All the beauty that it could be
I leave it with those three dots
Each finger, one by one—relaxing as they should have long before
To let be what 'let' means—whether my understanding comes or escapes
Those words will never make contrast with this page
Nor find their place …

-Susie
4/18/2008

The River that Swallowed the Bind

2008-04-11T00:03:00.004-04:00

Took you
Eyes placed inch by inch a mission stubbornly circled
Around that white column, it spun
What is left, only that river keeps
Somewhere, as I write now, a silver stone shapes with the tide
This makes sense

I recall, many, many years ago
Before that café was known
In my own handwriting, I asked
For a dreamer to dream
Never had I believed it was my wish
To have ridden with him on that wave, but I did
I shall sleep no longer with, nor see that yawn
It was another’s reality, it wasn’t mine, but it was
A distant ach owning my steel, rapping my trust, with those image perfect hands
I do not remember—but the words, that time—I always will

What that river sows, will remain hidden beneath the sand
Through the thousands of summer’s yellow ovals that drift upon its surface
As it was, it is, always, will be there, long after you or I leave
This makes sense

One can not rewrite what was crafted
For they were made, they are what can not be taken back…
But perhaps, retold—well, gather that red ink and your imagination
Author of the one on a quest to find the adventure of themselves
While sacrificing the very path
Soon, might he discover, that an elevator isn’t a door, nor I his enemy
But certainly not his friend

A year ago, I stuffed your bandana into my drawer—this I intentionally kept
To remember a boy I once imagined sitting next to his tired unlaced boots
By the bend in the river, an apple core and a peanut butter jar
With his arms tugging in his legs, ankles crossed, cheek resting on his knee
Wrapping me in the blanket he found, before the creek knew of you or I

I ripped up everything else, sometimes I regret that
But those tares manifests what has become
That boy, did I ever know? Existence goes without, as did I

Peace I now have, with trust I struggle
As surreal as it seems, as different as I am
Even though I cannot remember, our awkward past
I guess the river keeps not everything
To me, this makes sense—the story that was us

Susie

The Blindfold is for Justice, Not Justifying

2008-01-25T23:11:00.000-05:00

Black threads woven through a seam
Two holes in-between without the option to speak
Paired with two squares and 10 even spokes
Once containing a soul, now an enabler of death
With their master, they enter a tomb
Granting only one wish: You were never here
Their laugh can bounce off the stone and make the roots vibrate
And their hands flirting with all the textures of a cave
Their breath engulfing and collapsing without a mist

What is a witness without a hint of evidence?
When those who sniff believe their ears,
They are the allies, who rally by their master’s side,
Listening to them recount alibis of character and grace
Refusing to toy with a match as if their hearing were made out of bright sunshine
Denying that an expert has the wisdom to communicate
Playing checkers with no red pieces, but competing anyway
Never noticing the lady with the blindfold can no longer balance her cones
Who cares when all stand to gain the right to judge and dance on Broadway for their 15 minutes of fame?
Never believing their fortune is doomed the same

Justifying their ground, what friend will be able to blame the grave robber?
When a thief’s prickly package is one they helped to design
With the aid of their ears made of righteous flames
And their nose, brown from a nutrition of lies
When they have given their last nickel for a promise and spoiled inspiration
Their voices will go unheard, as that boyish charm slithers past
Left with only their beds, finally burning a candle
That what they are surrounded, are snakes and mice

Grow a Stone

2007-12-28T18:24:00.003-05:00

Those of you who judge
You know nothing of these soles
What kind of love are you dishing out?
Is love and trust given through a glide of hand?
Doesn't this take years?
Years it took to build, days it falls, am I to grow a stone?
I am vulnerable,
Is everyone that numb?

6/22/2007
Susie

Underneath the Maple Tree

2007-12-28T18:24:00.002-05:00

I've tried painting you into all light and the absence of it too
My fingers are stained, my nails edges uneven and fed
The last splinter was tweezed minutes earlier and I realize my teeth's job is done
Those carved and beveled pieces of wood have better future uses
Reddish-pink convex shapes surround me; indeed I am still loved,
And this is all I need, all I ever wanted—my own family
Like the reflection of jagged mounds that linger in the drafty double-pane

Reminding me that I once had a seed, shaped like two ovals merging with a single point
As a child, I planted it next to a sprouting twig spiraling from the dirt
I expected him to grow,
Like the beautiful maple tree I adored,
In which I watched as its leaves turned from green to yellow
Every fall, through that sliding glass door
By the envious house plant I watered off and on
Waiting for our day to dance underneath those bright leaves
I looked at that twig, still but a speck above the soil
Peace lily drooping at its side
I had too much expectation for a mere fig
Realizing I am no longer framed by ringlets
Digging out that awkward oval was my responsibility if it were to be saved

I'm dancing now, through September
And in June, oh sunny June, I rest my head on a pillow of bark
Beneath its shade, we all watch what I salvaged mend its branches to the wind
Inviting those half moons under as they touch my skin with warmth
I am never alone; they ensure my purpose and support
In my home, fertilized with content, I write…that is, on recycled paper

Dream's Harvest

2007-12-28T18:23:00.004-05:00

I am the queen of instantaneous breath holding
Waving my flag through a river of dirt
Unwilling to accept,
That what I want, I will never have
As if by forcing it,
I could unlock some magical door yet discovered
But, the new world has already been found
And the finding is not within you
That is my burden to bear,
My truth of terms, coming and going
There was never any slick armor or pony making miles of imprints,
Just my lonely feet, stubborn, pale, and remaining rooted
Eye stretched across the pasture
Still, I sigh with frustration,
After 27 years, I still have expectation
A grand ideal, to one day harvest mere words,
From dry soil and brown vines
Clung to a memory the earth was never designed to support
I admit, I accept, pick up that white material, my life crumbles, I pick up my feet—
And then it happened, the first smile I meant

-Susie

Blessing the Soul with Helium

2007-12-28T18:23:00.003-05:00

I twist my ankle in, toes rubbing side to side
Hands in my pockets, confused and sometimes angry

I suppose memories will always be there,
Like the clutter you save for some special use
Never thrown away, but always in the way

Yeah, memories, no matter where their stuffed
Seem to make their presence known on cold winter days like this
The crunchy brown leaves scraping the pavement as the wind shoves them about
Yet, unlike boxes stored away with tinge of papers, jars, and junk covered in dust
The remembering comes in drifts—
Stored in colored patches, they have cycles of rebirth
Catching one unprepared for its visitation and their offerings
No matter how much one convinces themselves, they carry a weight called "feel"
As if ordered or directed, moving you along in phases

Forgiveness though, an expensive grace when my blood is not yet clean
My nerves are still in knots! And the untangling is a distant being
Perhaps finding a reason to buy it is not hinged on your worthiness to have it

It will never be for you, can never be—as emeralds and rubies aren't instantaneous
You were always off scrambling for coal and a coat of soot as if it were a spontaneous treasure
Never knowing what you have, eyes always on the sparkling rock you could own
Blind to the mine you're caved in and the dirty lungs you speak with

Memories are a dealing, an offering of growth if one so chooses
I have felt dieing, I can appreciate life
Even the memories inviting themselves to thought, sometimes I smile
I can't help but wonder, is this the process of preparing
to give what my consciousness resists: a blessing of letting go and filling my soul with helium?
Maybe, I think so, I believe, I know

Susie

Soft Discovery

2007-12-28T18:23:00.001-05:00

Soft glimpses, those moments in which life's reason exists
When questions cease and time wavers somewhere below
To feel, to understand, flesh can burn and you'll remain
I can hear the white keys plucking the iron strings, velvet hum and mood
Like the grain of a pear with its bumpy smooth fiber melting on your tongue
Living streams of pleasure saturating your buds, and the growth of a woman
The clock has lied and truth never hissed nor ticked but sung
These are the sacrificed stings of trying to conform and the lilac smells of being free
Who can not thank their troubles when one loves to laugh?
The time of awe doesn't package gifts of pure joy but treasures conquering, earned and understood
Bless those who force lessons, humbling those who run
Smooth feeling, mellow, innocent with dirt under the nail beds
How do you describe discovery or light?

Eyes Upon Opening

2007-12-28T18:22:00.000-05:00

Dark, slanky waves
Floating on the walls, almost resembling me
It moves when I do, reminding me of a whole
Accepting her means knowing myself too
And so it is said, light does not exist without its night
I can never understand until I know my shadow, or so I translate
That dancing silhouette, all along never mocking but inviting me home
The aching of unchaining, what I wanted to believe verses the truth
History has a way of altering when one can not trust themselves
And still, it is my midnight I am running into searching for that wick
For a flame, steady and flickering to keep me safe for the moment I open my eyes

Withholding Equal Morals

2007-12-28T18:21:00.002-05:00

Those hands playing with the numbers
Round in circles and the black and white lines
Dreams stand, steal memories and yet they are only shades and tints
The fingers point forward but I know my innocence isn't pure
As if denial could muffle the screams, perhaps the treble sends its intentions anyway
Like trying to catch your breath as if the boogie man is just your imagination
Pretending the covers over your head keeps you hidden, acting like you had control
What illusion is this, "the human conundrum?" Things just are the way they are? I don't think so.
Stop trying to strip the responsibility out of your hands

Let's call it what it is--It is a withholding of truth, as if its omission kept you moral
No, it is a struggle to stuff it in a "box" hoping that its waters never surface
This is what you call honesty? Being chained to a door, demanding that its departure never unseals from its molding
Smile, so you can keep the façade "and the truth shall set you free"

Mother Teresa vs. Dale Earnhart

2007-11-07T22:45:00.001-05:00

You know, Southern America is odd. I mean where else can you see a scented car air-freshener that claims "I Love Jesus" and a bumper plate which depicts a fish swallowing Darwin and hear Hoochy Choochy (sp?) blaring from the car's speakers at the same time? Yes, we all remember Dale Earnhart because, well, people like Mother Teresa didn't die in a spectacular explosion. Not to mention the number 2, 3, 4, or whatever number it is, is stuck boldly and proudly on all the cars that will put you into cardiac arrest if you're caught off gaurd and make any dog, especially mine, bark incessantly. Oh yes, the South…this is where I live. I find a reason to laugh everyday.

Coo

2007-10-13T00:05:00.000-04:00

It was awe
Naked and independent
Singled out
As a peg
Like a pigeon
Twist, bend, and spin
Take flight
Only to perch upon a roof
Oh but the view
Scattered dots
Flying fast
Red and yellow streaks
Separated and blended
As a crowd
Only to land
On the paved sidewalk
Grateful for the crumbs
Let it coo
See the world in a different view

The-Self, Untamed and Blooming

2007-10-06T14:26:00.001-04:00

I sat in-between the tall purple stalks
Picking each feathered flower
Bending my fingers, biting my tongue
I was the blossom princess
"Thank you, thank you" as I bowed to the sun
That was when imagination was no greater than or less than reality

And then…

The valley grew wider, and the grass rose higher
My stance became steady, my ringlets disappeared
Curves took to my sides
When it rained, 7 colors always appeared
Vigorously, one foot in front of the other
The straw whispered "tis, whisk, tisk, tis" on my bare legs and frayed cut-offs
It kept beat with the drum of my own fantasy
In time with the vessels beneath my smooth flesh—
Perfectly fashioned with tone,
Yes, time with every thought of what I could be
Independence desired and untamed
That was when the unknown was about discovery and sexuality

But then…

The mountains flattened with expectation
My vertebrae bent backwards and my palms became dry and clean
I dug beneath my fingernails to remove the brown specks of earth
Frowns and smiles became the man in the moon, an orb that shone
Glowed and illuminated what was deemed mistakes, it suddenly became night
Dark atmosphere, still I watched my wrist for the waning to hide
Validation was the key
Rusty teeth that always left a trail of copper dust behind me as I went,
Smeared with imprints that placed weight on my shoulders
Still the metal withered killing the bit of pasture left underneath my toes
Till my saving grace, I saw the waxing and a picture of a golden light at a very long tunnel
My hand drop that piece of metal as the space between my joint and knuckle acquired a curiously comforting yellow ban and another hand
That was when the prison of perception desperately needed an inmate to cover up a tired self-concept

And then…

The patch of itchy spokes turned to gravel and then a rock wall rose
Little piece of rough and textured bumps wrapped around a smooth core
Green triangles drifted above in waves, a harness hung taut and a rope stretched
Pulling my hips upwards and forwards, at the end of that long thread my hope griped the ledge
If that wish slipped, I caught it with all the strength my fear could cling
My eyes peered up
I watched as everything I was skid, scrap, and tumble across the surface of gray mossy stone
My ankles shook and the love line in the center of my fists held steady through the burn
I felt a yank; the cord went limp but no thump sounded
My lashes blinked, confused, but all I found was a lonely 190 foot concrete sheet
I felt the layer of oil jiggle then a halting feeling of defeat
Red streaks left stains and indentions
My cuticles no longer sat upon a beveled rung
Muscles of my stomach churned
Vibrations of various layers--lava, decay, and bones hummed
F# rang my stubborn ridges and the white chaos above formed
Drops fell, jagged ice bounced, and the wind laughed
My silhouette drenched and mourned the loss of its best friend
That was when illusion and a façade striped my delusion and lessons of commitment and betrayal stung

I felt a bump…

The green fuzz gathered around my knees and expanded as far as I could run
I saw those former hues appear, warm banging between my breasts
Continued I aimed, quickly past that rusty heap, slipped through those bars
Held my hands to my ears passing all those tracks and bitter tongues
I tore that wall down to an appropriate size and kicked the pebbles around
Whoosh, whoosh, my ribs throbbed and my spine straightened
Suddenly, I saw it, that long forgotten crown
My mouth opened, my breath froze
In slow motion, I plopped down and spread my limps open
The spot light danced with the steams and ties between my thighs
Infant of pink and blue softly begged
There, in that field that bore a princess and laced my DNA with hope
Never asking for nothing-more-than this, love yourself
So I just sat, my legs open, my shoulder blades hunched
My elbows slightly bent my arms drooped
My wrists crossed at the crease between my natural stilts
Mesh and tangled with my hair
In-between the purple stalks with that woven crown

Sweet Awaking

2007-09-29T01:41:00.001-04:00

I wear, flowing wrinkle skirt
Tinge of five petals scattered throughout
Speckled natural fuzz,
The spaghetti straps dangle
As the corner of my eyes catch
Colors of pink and yellow swaying with my dusty hair
As my chin slowly rises,
In awe, drops of peace, of hope make their way down my cheek

That glowing sphere, warming my soul
I run in circles, spin and spin
My arms flung open, giggling with the wind
I grind my toes into the firm texture
Breath in, hug the tangy spray
I take a step in
Ankles, legs, knees
White hem floating about my beautiful curved thighs
Palms of my hands skim the gentle bubbling tides

There is truth in this, when one is willing to totally break
To truly be free
Steady on my back, I just laugh and laugh
Crystal and pristine, I need no reflection
When my heart is the rhythm keeping the ocean waves rolling
Taking Earth’s lead, I am no more then this, me
Recycled minerals and dirt and I love every inch of it

Cinderella Wears Black

2007-09-27T22:54:00.001-04:00

You’ll never see a bride wearing black
Nor carrying black roses
Or wishing for crows atop their big fluffy gray cake
This would be as awkward as a white canvas with no hint of paint
I’d laugh at the fool trying to describe it as a masterpiece
But that is the fantasy one sees on “their” most spectacular day
Ribbons and perfume strung through the atmosphere
And the words from a groom promising to cling to his wife
Heard by everyone in the room
But no one sees her feet as they make indentions on the vinyl kitchen floor
Yes, the wife,
She who has rights in the world, watching her spouse wind his way out the front door
Wiping the fingerprints behind him, waiting for something more
Her fingers swell, and leave a black ring of betrayel
Watching him break all the vows of honor and grace
What a sight to see when she walks in on he who masturbates
To the sound of his ego he vigorously beats
Clung instead to a skinny, six inch pillar of waste

-Susie

The Theory of the Hymen

2007-09-27T22:15:00.001-04:00

It was in June when she erupted from her cocoon
Spreading those moth like wings over his nibble legs
This was the first time
or so it was thought
Out of the hundreds of DNA between that green slit
There his slimy one sat
Rotting my finger off
Stealing my grandmother’s ring
Thrown at me during his violent proposal
I should have known when he put his hands around my throat
As I objected,
“This crosses the line”
I begged, but he just squeezed
“We’re just friends you jealous slug”
“Stay hidden behind our painted door”
But he always came back
With a smell I’ll never forget
Of turpentine and mud

-Susie

Quiet

2007-06-25T00:46:00.000-04:00

I’ve not seen the spot light lingering in the sea
No, the seagulls refuse to fly amidst the throw abouts
The homeless have move from their fiery bins
And the boardwalk is harboring no traffic
The only greeting is the meeting of the tidal waves and boats
The paper’s date marks eternity and the cotton goes stale

Caught a Firefly

2007-06-23T02:51:00.000-04:00

My toes drip with rain
The droplets dust shimmers of monochromatic schemes
Blues, with grays
Calmness lends its hand
Through the puddles swelling with the sun
Their ripples no longer blurring my vision
As my heart bears a white sail
My eyes reach to the sunset, my pupil shrink
My first breath in five years, I stand with no remorse
As the wind whips my skirt round my knees
This is my truth, I sleep well, I live with myself with ease
My bones twist with pussy willow, my lips purse and blow little parachutes across the earth
My dreams firmly rooted with the maple trees
And the grass lye with its snowing yellow leaves

Colors Blend to Gray

2007-06-22T15:28:00.000-04:00

Blotches of ink bound your dreams
They told stories, once reflected with hope
Now a mirage with webs in my dresser draws
What imagination, dwindled to mere confusion
The string hangs and the truth detaches
The colors blend to gray, love’s naive child
The wind no longer sooths the swelling beads
I’m left cuddling the air, and carrying you along
Please, making it right has no appearance in your blood
These are YOUR choices, don’t try to hang your coat at my door
You took everything I own and invested it into delusions
What I’ve earned, you’ve given away, what I bled for, you stole
I’m begging, I’m crying, stop, let me grieve!! I can’t lick your guilt clean
Those scribbles with a blue overtone, coated with a thick layer of bleach
Your fingers never marching but scrambling, that laid once upon my breast
With all your masks, who can hold, what only I have delayered
This was your shame. I bore witness to your vulnerabilities
Your promises held no anchor and your fears nailed you to the padded door
And still there is not a tree that gathers enough shade for you

Stab Thy Back

2007-06-22T12:04:00.000-04:00

My back only has so much surface
And I just have one
You’re going to have to quit all that stabbing
So here it is, the cheek you’ve been begging for
As your guilt pleads for my open arms
Don’t you think I’ve done enough?
I’m simply drained, I have no more blood
You cost dearly my “friend”—my husband
And you fork yourself over too cheaply
So willing to explore anything but yourself

Gifts of the Cold Shoulder

2007-06-16T12:04:00.000-04:00

Those eyes so high
Glazed over like ice
His skin pricked with chills--
Unconditional cold-shoulder
Those were my gifts from him
Given to me like a knife

This was our love, hopeless
Through his cold dead smile
Me, the source of his unrest
Like winter,
Egg shells laid innocently on the ground,
The debris from our white wedding bells
I was ravaging, he a clown

And life was never as he hoped,
As I became a fleeting dream
Unable to satisfy his head stuck up in those pink puffy clouds,
Nothing could compare

The rain that followed,
Not one drop from his duct

His nose so high in the air,
Never realizing his emotions were taut with jealousy,
Of the girl he despised
The wife, me,
The light he could not reflect

Nook of my Spine

2007-06-14T14:54:00.000-04:00

It was never sacred
Amusing to you, till you collected all your dues
Gone, taking your presence but your words stayed
Stuck to me like a crooked knife right in the nook of my spine

You are blind to your future, and I am no psychic
It’s only that your denial screams the truth as she grabs for your hand
Both scared, but never whole
Does it seem surprising?
Hope has spread her legs to the masses
Hope like a vulture circling, waiting to feast on my leftovers
Does she know? That the only pleasure you’re willing to give is a comatose bed

Use, USE up all that your path leaves for you
Use it while the warmth last
Chunk it when the fear returns.
Quit
Just Quit when the real world over powers your shove and the horizon begins to choke you
When the glow fades, the promise and commitments will drain
You’ll demand for a new distraction as you fall deeper into your hole

You were never capable of love, only the glimpses
Till the river sinks and what you leave behind is cracked sand
Trying to fill that shallow hole inside your chest
You’re dead

Three Whole Eggs One Scrambled

2007-05-16T18:04:00.000-04:00

A new tree was planted in the backyard just a few weeks ago. Excitingly, the tree now has a new resident. A few days back we noticed a nest with a metallic blue egg. A few hours later we noticed another one. Today there were four eggs (supposedly robins lay an egg a day), but as I was sitting outside I heard the robin go crazy, squawking, and making a fuss. I looked up and low and behold a crow had invaded her nest. I know that the crow was just following the cycle of life, but I have become quite attached to this mother robin so I shewed the crow off. Unfortunately, the crow got an egg but three remain. Here is another shot of those beautiful eggs.

The Very Life of Art

2007-05-16T00:12:00.000-04:00

Life drawing has given me new perspective on the actual use of space. It is nearly impossible (at least for me) to just put line to an object. Contouring objects, I found, requires an extreme amount of patience working with details and angles to create realistic space and proportions. In trying to perfect an object, it is easy to lose the emotion or life in it. No wonder artists like Michelangelo, Picasso, Monet, and Escher are known the world over. While all four had four completely different styles they had the capability to bring life to their art. Contouring is the approach I first took to drawing. It is slow, technical, and while it can be nice to sit back and look at your work after you are finished, it can be quite a boring process and as stated earlier, can be some what lifeless. Here is an ink contour of corn I did within our first weeks of class.
Don't get me wrong, it is not completely a bore, drawing each little kernel showed me the different characteristics of each one. Pictures can still be good and sometimes quite unique with just the use of contour. I just thinks it falls a little flat without tone, maybe too stiff. However, Life Drawing opened me up to the wonderful world of gesturing! It is energetic, fast, and often times (for me anyway) allows for my emotion of the study to shine. I was never good at lightly gesturing. I always got too involved with the movement to worry about the darkness of my modeling. However, when we moved on to having to put contour to the gesture, I of course had to move to a harder/lighter pencil. Here is one of my first comprehendable figure gesture. It is a 30 second study.

As the class moved on throughout the weeks we were able to increase the time of our gestures to make them more "complete". Here are some of my favorite 3 to 5 minute studies.

I am sure there are some major technical errors (phooey on technicalities in art)in all of these gestures. But, what I like about these quick studies is that they are the starting point in which I am getting the idea of weight. You can not see the chair that she is sitting in, but the weight of the figure tells me that it's there. I am also getting more accurate with the twists and turns of the figure. Moving on through the class we began to study specific parts of the figure. Here is a a 3 minute feet gesture, it is my favorite of all the figure parts.

The left foot (right foot to the onlooker) seems to want to float away a bit but I like it still.
Nearing the end of the semester our model took to poses that would present challenges to the drawer. In this gesture our model is laying down and my view was severly foreshortened. Adding to this difficulty was her long flowy skirt she decided to wear instead of tights. I had the make the skirt look like a peice of clothing and not a big blob.

If anyone out there draws, then you know what I was faced with. It is a gesture that took me 20 minutes. It looks like a 3 minute gesture though. At first I hated this gesture, I thought it was a failure. At the 20 minute mark I should have technically had put some contour to the gesture. However, looking at this gesture now, it has become one of my favorites. It is almost abstract and I like the layout on the paper.
Here is another figure drawing, but this time, some contour has been added to the gesture. I didn't like this study at first either.

Again, there is that flowy skirt. This view presented a few challenges. Her chest was spread out and that knee wrapped in her skirt gave me the weirdest foreshortened view with an extreme twist in her hips. This was definitely a challenge. I HATED this at first, I wanted to throw it out, and I would have if my teacher had not stopped me. A few weeks later though, I scanned through my sketches and found this one again. I immediately like it then. Like the other figure from above, I think it is a bit abstract. Abstract is good (in my opinion).

Redneck Roadway

2007-05-14T22:29:00.000-04:00

This picture was taken in Chattanooga as my mom and I were headed to Tunica. There is a joke out there: If you mow your yard and find a car, you might be a redneck. Ironically, as we were driving through Alabama another truck had just a mound of junk on it. We got the shot of it, but I was afraid that if the wind knock one thing lose the whole pile would crumble on to us. I am a southerner myself, but southern stereotypes give me some of the best laughs.

If My Diary Could Draw

2007-05-14T21:59:00.000-04:00

This semester is over! Not only am I done with my pre-nursing courses, I learned A LOT about drawing. This is my final art project from my Life Drawing 1 class. I pushed myself hard in this class to make an "A" and it paid off. Hard work is bitter sweet and I am proud of myself. In case you are wondering, the assignment was to find a place one felt most safe in and a secret that you had kept only to yourself and put it in your drawing. My safe place was my diary, my secret--well it must remain a secret. I don't know if the picture is done yet or not. I have to think about it for awhile.

Standards

2007-05-14T20:05:00.000-04:00

You wear your hypocrisy on your sleeve
Asking me to help buy your golden gadgets
As you slam the door in my face

What happened to the dreams of meager?
Skipping around across the world
With all of its gifts of enlightenment
Making you squeeze out all hazardous responsibilities from your soul

Another chance sacrificed to the highest standards of quality
Forking over all your childhood dreams
Fruit, succulent and crunchy as you wink to your starving squire
Wipe your fucking mouth or am I in the way?

I know your secret
While you stitch a beautiful pillow of denial
Go on, convince yourself

Release

2007-05-14T20:04:00.001-04:00

Maple leaves, yellow, rained down like rice
I never expected a fairytale nor has it been conceived
No not in three Falls--anniversary
And now, there are green leaves on the oak
And my heart springs forgiveness

Expect Anything

2007-05-14T19:11:00.000-04:00

You’re quiet
Muddling around
Soaking up all my blankets
Silently, striping my decision to stay

Yes, you’ll always be able to say you tried
If appearances deem it so
While you safely tuck your guilt into a corner
Pruning all its grey leaves
Meanwhile, pushing me back across the threshold

Forgive me my dear, I don’t mean to point the finger at you
I’ll back up across the nicely drawn line—
Strap my tie on,
Tip my hat,
Show my crooked teeth,
And be your amusement
As you slip beyond the pines

Don’t worry, I don’t dare expect anything
You’ve done your job
Lowering my expectations
While you salivate your outlook to tunnel vision

Wrap me in and make me spit it out
Even so, you’re not the villain when you have a midget to pawn off the evidence
Besides, villains grin

Don’t stress
Your indecision makes your choice clear, I get it
I won’t shout it to where everyone can hear
I’ll harbor it beneath a white sheet of blame
Your mask will remain free from staining
I’ll bare the mark like a check on a list and give a curtsy
So you can cuddle and cling secretly to your fears