tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58005982011-04-21T20:46:56.841-07:00Crackerjack Soapboxraves and rants of semi-derangement by a headstrong lunatic. Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comBlogger311100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1080793208085237772004-03-31T20:20:00.000-08:002004-03-31T20:48:18.060-08:00The firehouse lake, my calm refuge.
Today I borrowed my neighbor's dingy and decided to bid one of the places I call my own my farewell. An insurmountable slew of mad emotions shook my soul and pinched my heart, knowing I won't be seeing this place again. The water was strangely calm, everything I cast my gaze upon bear the earmarks of my reality. The reality of deep sorrow, my familiar Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1079551863008471902004-03-17T11:31:00.000-08:002004-03-19T18:44:35.280-08:00Lasts
A sweet kiss, warm farewell
Somber face, eyes glazed
Burned on my reel of memories.
Laughs and tears,
A hug or two,
The plums in my basket.
May your bowl be full,
Glad tidings come your way,
Farewell.
I have no more words, only pity. Disappointment can never even cut it.
Thick branches of my own muliebral rootstock tripped my feet, bruised my face, drove through my chest. How Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1078327811740695882004-03-03T07:30:00.000-08:002004-03-03T07:32:20.593-08:00Once I had a dear friend, who spoke of whistling and peeping birds. In the attic I could hear the little hungry rascals, then felt the truth in what my friend said.
Sometimes I wonder how our species are always swamped with worry. Worries that never do much of anything else aside the unrequested slew of premature wrinkles and anxiety attacks. It is amazing that we all presume we crafted a Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1077922123647955322004-02-27T14:48:00.000-08:002004-02-27T14:52:45.140-08:00Ghosts. They come small, they ride big. Sometimes they come in parcels, delivered by an innocent six foot carrot top.
Handed to me is a boxful of ghosts, small but potent apparitions I wish to no longer remember. Arrived in bullclips, the evidence of my existence, photographic memoirs of a life I have known, wanted and loved. Ghosts.
Hot in my hands, I sifted through each page as it Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1077349531703053792004-02-20T23:45:00.000-08:002004-02-20T23:47:29.030-08:00Hurt. Pain. Throbbing, empty, cold.
As the eyes turn glassy from unshed tears...why? What do you want now? Did not you get what you always wanted? What more could you want from me?
Late.
The soul is tender, but resolution is strong. Bruised pride blooms heftier than a sunflower. Slim chance, very slim.
I'm tired and hurt.
I'll heal.
I will.Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1076900813698850672004-02-15T19:06:00.000-08:002004-02-15T19:08:46.373-08:00Truth is so much stranger than fiction.
What is truth? What is fiction? Can one co-exist with the other? Real or not, there is truth in everything that can be heard, seen, tasted, felt and read.
I am grateful for the inner sanctum of my thoughts. Untouched, collected, impenetrable and pure. Do I own a worthy enough dwelling for it? I can only hope so. How the indistinguishable and Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1076871709492641072004-02-15T11:01:00.000-08:002004-02-15T16:48:03.326-08:00More than a month ago I packed my bags seeking a breather from my daily grind, and who would have thought that a breather is minutive to what was served to me on a blinding silver platter? Who would have thought that too much stuff laying atop my platter is enough to have me trailing on a preemptive unmitigated and depressing ruminations? No one I suppose, not even I saw it coming.
It was Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1073855590908556922004-01-11T13:13:00.000-08:002004-02-15T10:19:25.390-08:00Two days ago I boarded a plane going east. Since I hardly slept any Zzzzs at all, I crawled from my bed an hour and half before my plane's scheduled takeoff from the ground. The time that was left on my hands gave suffocating leeways for brushing my teeth, getting myself dressed, brewing my coffee, and that 30 minute drive to the airport.
Since I booked my flight without so much of a sudden Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1072922777427384362003-12-31T18:06:00.000-08:002003-12-31T18:07:24.200-08:00Last day of 2003.
What do I say? What do I say?
Absolutely nothing.
Memory run-throughs, smiles, heart pinches, twinkling eyes, hearty frowns, soul warmings, frigid spurs, warm embraces, passionate kisses, enriching friendships, furtive dreams, searing longings.
All that I could have, and all that I could ever want.
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Living the penultimate hoursIconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1072299245549687152003-12-24T12:54:00.000-08:002003-12-24T12:55:05.326-08:00A thousand words swirling in my head, not even one is a mile close to illustrate how I feel.
Holidays. *sigh*
Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1071778051293807482003-12-18T12:07:00.000-08:002003-12-18T21:39:46.233-08:00Twenty-Three
Nice number.
The most perfect pair of consecutive numbers good enough to name a bombshell moshpit, two baker's dozens of olive foccacia wedges minus three sampled along the way back to the house, the number of socks I lost in the last ten months, and my transitory natal year.
2003 and 23. It has been kind. A year of doubles, a year of even triples.
For every good news, a Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1070922740911822082003-12-08T14:32:00.000-08:002003-12-08T16:12:57.700-08:00What the hell is this? Foreign monster of stupid proportions!
I'm hot, flushed, beet-red, temperature's shot five degrees higher than normal, and eyes glazed.
NOOOOOOOOOO!
I'm not spared from the trivialities and caprices of womanhood. The sharp fangs of jealousy imbedded in my neck!
Ok, think, think.
She doesn't know you, you don't know her.
*breath*
You are both very different. (Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1070598054348951752003-12-04T20:20:00.000-08:002003-12-08T14:37:38.873-08:00Aaaaaah! a flute of Asti paired by Italian sausage pizza. Plenty of crushed pepper flakes, fresh grated parmigiano reggiano, I am in culinary heaven. Now if I can find my provolone sauce...orgasmic.
My preteen, noses snot-dripping posse invaded my home in search of refuge from aging parents whose sole concern is to keep their Italian tile floors sneaker-print free. An xbox, overflowing Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1070402010587315382003-12-02T13:53:00.000-08:002003-12-03T23:13:55.653-08:00December, and for ugly pussyfoot reasons, I cannot seem to find the holiday bug. Come here boy! BITE ME!
Any updates on Sascha? Nada. Any courteous copper calls to caringly update me with the loss of my car? None whatsoever. Sascha is dead and buried in Mexico.
Word of the day: LETHARGY.
Quick cure-all: ALCOHOL (A bottle of Martini & Rossi's Asti, partnered by a sloppy meat chili Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1069295642719041702003-11-19T18:34:00.000-08:002003-11-21T13:27:39.186-08:00It has been eight days since the last time I saw Sascha parked in my driveway. Cool, black, handsome and dressed in patchwork jacquard. *sigh* For days I moped and I scratched the tops of my knuckles raw. In my hands I am clutching my insurance claim check, hallelujah! now this lady will start shopping for cars.
It is the vixen's birthday today and she would be so pleased with what I have forIconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1068361203499500812003-11-08T23:00:00.000-08:002003-11-10T10:16:19.180-08:00Just as soon as I got my lovely navy piece of luggage packed, and my kikay kit safe and sound amongst its female arsenal kin, my feet brakes kicked in as my boss (pudgy Elaine) flippantly rapped that she needs my ass three hours before my scheduled arrival on Kennedy.
Me: "You want me to find a new plane at a moment's notice when I am already set to fly in six hours? That's insane. Tell me, Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1067555608908051972003-10-30T15:13:00.000-08:002003-10-31T09:44:31.263-08:00Phlegmaticism. I seem to grandiosely personify the word at an average of thirteen hours a day. Not that I am momentarily rendered as the goddess of stoicism, my soul is voluntarily stepping out of the urban intoxicated shell to breathe. This woman is lucky to have both body and mind resilient against tsunamic douses of nutsy abuse.
Perhaps four hours of Stephen King's The Shining last night Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1066944170188275952003-10-23T14:22:00.000-07:002003-10-23T19:52:50.783-07:00
A triste spell where no vestiges of my personal control can wrap its tentacles over runs my present life. What to do? Get a haircut. I did get one and goodbye to my three year old bra-strap length beautifully streaked hair. With about two pounds worth of hair off of my head, I do believe I can turn my head with more grace and the cranium is more nimble. Somehow the seven individual pieces Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1066879418393231972003-10-22T20:23:00.000-07:002003-10-22T20:36:18.703-07:00
Florence. My temporary adieu. The most mournful thing I ever had to bid, a melancholic goodbye without even meeting my destination.
I made the unwavering decision yesterday to ditch all my relatives on my graduation day and present them all with an eyebrow-cocking dishonorable eloping note, at least until after I talked with my immigration lawyer. (I'm starting to resent lawyers to the tips Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1066683438228284402003-10-20T13:57:00.000-07:002003-10-22T13:42:13.820-07:00
*sigh*
With the Venus of Willendorf flying back to Austria left this woman attempting curating minus one job. I did not think I would miss it, but I certainly do. It has been two days and all I'm thinking about are prehistoric art mobliers. A couple of days ago this woman tried to furtively seeth as she was compensated with less than what she's worth. Then she had to remind herself, "Aw! Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1066248893198251702003-10-15T13:14:00.000-07:002003-10-15T21:29:29.290-07:00
Two months. Three women. Three babies.
Spontaneous abortions.
Enough reason to have me extendedly perturbed and disheartened. Though I do not have a child of my own, hearing three women talk about their losses, their tears and sudden gasps for air are more than enough for me to slightly grasp their sorrow. Collectively it struck a chord of empathic remorse.
Case A:
ES - 8 weeks Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1065731990100053072003-10-09T13:39:00.000-07:002003-10-10T00:54:08.130-07:00Turning to my exit, my eyes are blessed with the sight of the Libran harvest moon and the fiery sun as he welcomes the mother with all her glory. Such sight is only worthy of reflective reverence.
I called. I received.
Receive Goddess,
the smoke afloat made with the bounty of your love.
Glorious night, crimson moon
hear my plea
I ask for the muse
to set me free
"Be free!" my spirit Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1065643376945481772003-10-08T13:02:00.000-07:002003-10-10T08:42:44.610-07:00CALIFORNIA RECALL ELECTIONS: Dissatisfied Californians finally decided to kick Davis out of office and park the Terminator on the Governor's seat of power. So long for the skinny, uncomely, crow-beak nosed proponent of negative campaigning and yellow journalism.
A Hollywood ending for a Hollywood imbibed population. The Golden State, home of wheels-obsessed people who are willing to have Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1065236846898783992003-10-03T20:07:00.000-07:002003-10-08T20:54:18.133-07:00Neto's Sausages Sampler Pack countdown: 24 hours behind schedule.
Tomorrow if my mother doesn't get it I will wreak audible devastation that can rival the collected seismic activity in the last century in the whole of San Francisco .
Writing Sensibility: Rusting. Too much science is killing my well-pampered skills. I'm committing typos. My mentor will have a fit.
Speaking of science,Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1064879530479390382003-09-29T16:52:00.000-07:002003-10-02T20:23:17.593-07:00A Sick Sad World episode.
Damn. After all the work and burning my bottom off to send myself to school for more than a year now and clutching a surprise Bachelor's degree, nobody seems to be happy but me, my maternal unit and my lovely friends. How about a little validation for my hard work? Gawd. Not even one small congratulatory sms. How sad is that?
The woman engaged on a three-way, she Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1064644232486705412003-09-26T23:30:00.000-07:002003-10-10T13:35:04.570-07:00Hurrah!
A surprise voicemail from my academic councilor prompting me to give her a call. She left me her cellphone number and a number of thoughts flashed through my head. I wonder if I failed a class, (that will kill me in an instant) or my high school Chemistry and Physics didn't go through. I mentally muttered enough expletives to kill a tenth of the world's population.
So I dialled.
Me:Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1064463173172686332003-09-24T21:12:00.000-07:002003-10-10T13:37:05.556-07:00News and more news.
My darling brother called and happily proclaimed he will emigrate to the state of New Jersey, to both my consternation and delight. Instead of 5000 miles or so, now he will be within 3000 miles reach. Not so bad as I can always diss him via fiber optic lines. How I miss his regular updates on the throngs of girls he never failed to reel in, and I'm just the perfect sisterIconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1064176591770302962003-09-21T13:36:00.000-07:002003-09-24T21:34:34.040-07:00Another languid slow-paced day. Perfect for unwinding.
Nice surprise phone call from drunken vixens, six hot chicks out on a night of good food and alcohol intoxication. Amidst the static, boisterous horn-honking by Manila bay, slurred speeches, belted out laughter, and SMB bottles clinking together, I can never miss they are having fun. Mostly by stabbing and plucking my raw envy nerve. Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1063991350604621922003-09-19T10:09:00.000-07:002003-09-24T21:36:03.663-07:00In between dainty (yeah right!) keyboard key tapping and folding sweet-smelling, fresh from the dryer whites brings me to a state of complete relaxation. Then I had to tear open the envelope flap of my bank statement. Oh my gawd! ok, breathe in, breathe out. I'll be fine. Have to temporarily bid my adieus to Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik and Hermes.
Frantically grabbed my latest purchases Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1063667556993985592003-09-15T16:12:00.000-07:002003-09-24T21:39:04.426-07:00How do you supposedly deal with someone throwing dagger stares at your back? Heck, if she was one ordinary woman whooshing the mediocre scene, easy enough. But this is a woman who's been through quite a lot, no average lady with an immense inner strength, matched with an equal dicey temperament and sky high insecurities housed by a size 12 body and an A cup. What a pity.
Last night as I Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5800598.post-1063320762899948902003-09-11T15:52:00.000-07:002003-09-24T21:40:42.520-07:00In honor of my lost blog, I name and dub my new tenacious slate of my lunatic upperworks the "Iconoclastic Doxy".
Salut! to both muliebral and mannish musings, brilliant rhubarb-associated game plans, blessings, light of cosmos, darkness of the underworld and the celebration of humankind.
"As above, so below"
The Muse slips right back to the Netherworld, leaving me with mere scraps of Iconoclastichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03587818521554179750noreply@blogger.com