This is to all my friends near and far
i know where you're at
who you really are
you changed me 
deranged me
shaped the person I am right now
i didn't get a chance to tell you how
do you know i owe it all to you
time spread it's wings and flew
tomorrow i will catch a second
say thank-you for the time we've spent

SMALL

WE ARE SMALL

FLOWING IN ALL DIRECTIONS

EXPLODING IN COLOR

  
MIRRORING PERFECTION

 RISING TO UNTOLD HEIGHTS

SINKING TO UNKNOWN DEPTHS

 RETURNING TO WHERE WE CAME

WE LEAVE OUR MARK ON OUR MOTHER

LISTEN TO THE WORDS OF OUR FATHER

PATIENTLY WE WAIT, SMALL, TO SEE WHAT COMES NEXT...

WE ARE SMALL

WE ARE SMALL.

Fox

His slender, index finger extended from its white tipped paw to reveal a claw whose length and sharpness was shocking. He ran it languidly across the deeply etched fine scroll work forever forged into the high backs of the sturdy oak dining room chairs. In the other paw he held a steaming, delicate tea cup filled with the aromatic juice left from the loose leaf oolong blend. He pointed his slim, triangular muzzle down toward the brimming cup and took a lengthy breath in through his narrow snout. With eyes rolling sensuously back into his head an uncontrollable grin spread across his face, twitching his long, wiry whiskers and revealing his jagged, diminutive fox teeth. How delicious his devilishly clever plan had played out.

The sunbeams snuck in, with their dusty tails hanging in the air through dainty tea-towel curtains. Round stained glass windows on either side of Fox’s kitchen held up these curtains, filtered cobalt blue and forest green through tiny glass panes, and illuminated his home. The glow of these colors reflected the swampy, overgrown forest and permeated the hollowed hull of an enormous redwood Fox called home. Greeting the day, wisdom crackled along Fox’s brain synapses where they shown themselves as sparkles in his eyes. A half-grin, once again exposing dangerous teeth, Fox was positively beside himself; this time he had outdone even his most wicked trick.

Tramping with agile hind legs on soft paws he walked around the sturdy natural oak chair. Reaching the front he backed up to place himself in the seat. How lovely, the way the craftsman had carved the perfect curvature of the back support, flowing down right into the seat that cradled his fox bottom with its fine, enormous bristling tail! The extraordinary chiseled design decorated the backs of the four chairs, matching that of the vining, swooping, lazy flower pattern across the table top. Admiring both his wit and elegance of the fine furniture, he leaned back confidently.

Fox jerked, suddenly brought out of his mood, to turn his head toward the persistent rap of an axe head on his front door.

Moods Are a REAL Bitch- First You Must Look At the Emotion- Or Some Nonsense Like That

@This is for a friend, and all my friends for that matter, who I use to find inspiration and get something worth a damn on paper.

I like to see what my buddies are following and where they are finding all their never-ending knowledge. I try to take a peek into the book, paper, and/or blog that people with generally sound minds are interested in. No offence to these friends, but they are really reading some boring shit. I’m looking to stumble across the next great inspiration and I get the equivalent of the daily newspapers police blotter: there might be something interesting in there- there probably won’t.

There seems to be no shortage of lukewarm writing. I am incredibly guilty of this, and I know why; future employers. Damn them and their peering eyes into your creative life. I say creative because there is nothing private about the lives we lead. This is the true reason I’m pissed about the shit writing, the writing that actual humans are getting paid to write. REALLY? Keep it gentle and we will give you a paycheck. There is no inspiration to be found in columns about the five easy steps to take to live a so-so life.

The guy who can teach you to be an early riser is quite the fellow. He throws words like “shit” into his mix and somehow he is automatically socially-acceptably-edgy. Boring is what we used to call it in my day. Again, I’m no better than this guy. I don’t want to go too far and write something that will give others the impression that I’m a bad mom.

@See above double hyphenated catch phrase.

I’m sick to death of myself with all my recyclables, organic food, bargain shopping, glass bottle drinking, plastic purging, mini-van drivin’, school involved in, teenage son hassling, baby raising, balanced meal eating, globally thinking, locally acting, open-mindedness, politically frustrated, sexually frustrated, mentally exhausted, thinking plastic surgery is creepy but using anti-aging crap, looking at everything I buy and sizing up the packaging, the damn dreams that are so hard to force to materialize, the loathing I have towards the assholes that don’t give a fuck about anything that really matters, laundry that consists of clothes I can’t stand to wear, piles of clothes that I can’t seem to whittle down, the whittling I can’t seem to pile up, and on and on and on.

I have become a damn product of the society I was always so against. Here’s how I know for sure; I was anti-education and I’ve been back in school for the last 2 ½ years. I never believed that anything could top the true life education, the kind you achieve by living your own life, throw in a little read intelligent writing, have intellectual conversations and there you have it. Now, in my mid-thirties I realized that the stupid piece of paper is important. It still isn’t to me, but it is to the ones who give you decent cash. A degree does help, but the sacrifices you make along the way to be a normal part of society sucks.

BUT WAIT… perhaps there is something to this normal society. Since I’ve spent my entire life rebelling against The Man and Government and Injustice, I actually found the only way to really stick it to ‘em; I am one of them. Not in the conventional way, but the even better way. The way the P.T.A. hates it when I attend their meetings because their husbands wish their wives wore as much make-up as me and showed their racks. They hate it that I have simple solutions to their lame problems, they hate that I can save them the money they so desperately want to blow. They despise the fact that I’m the bartender at the fundraisers they go to.

Normal Society wishes I was stupid so they could group me into an easy mold, then glares at me when I pay for my $100.00 grocery bill with a one-hundred dollar bill and not a food stamp card. They hate me as I get into my mini-van with Wu-Tang blasting, cracking-up with my kids, as we swill our all natural juices and look forward to dad/stepdad coming home from school.

It eats society up when they see all of us, ex-husband, step-dad, granny, sister and brother-in-law, and the WAY too many kids, all together having fun. They don’t think it should be like that- we are supposed to hate the exes and NOT be racially mixed. We stand like that together and watch our soccer star boot the only goals scored in the whole game and believe me, they really hate that! We cheer together and laugh, just hoping that tattoos aren’t cool anymore.

There are no “steps to take” to make your day easier, no magic formula, just a satisfaction you might be able to find hidden in everyday bullshit.

There. I found my inspiration.