A Perceptible Abstract

The pages of The Secret Speech begin with the imminent destruction of a church in Moscow. I don't yet know the context behind this. The first characters are apprehensive, conflicted, and have no way out of participating and witnessing the event. The crowds in the area have a different notion.

As I do when reading - I interrupted myself with thought.

I pictured scenes from the Ireland, Middle East, Africa, and Selma, Alabama. Destroying areas of worship has a far more profound reach than neighborhoods and business districts - not in the loss of life, but rather a deep loss of self. As for the human population goes - we can create more, and we can rebuild. But, sacred areas can never be restored. Sacred spaces are one of a kind. Original. They are like Tibetan Sand Mandalas, the minutes ticking by - all of which will never exist and be experienced again. No other human, nor sunrise or sunset will ever grace the walls - trees- sands and earth. It's a far more significant loss to the individual than it is to the whole of the group.

Well, that's enough ramblings for now. I return to page 5 and finish chapter one.

-- (c)deyanira.

Jesus on a Greyhound, Shelby Lynne

I was on my way to somewhere to the Mexicali sand
A man sat down beside me, he had scars upon his hands
He told me some stories - I told him some lies
Light shone through my darkness, cast shadows from my mind

His eyes they looked right through me
Oh I knew he carried weight
Something real was going down that day
Oh I told him I'm a sinner

He said that's o.k.
I'm not here to change you anyway
He was gone when I turned around
Was it Jesus - Jesus on a Greyhound

Oh we talked about the world gone bad
The troubles we had seen
We talked about the dirt
Brown shoes he wore on his feet

He said I'm tired and weary
I've been riding a long way
Let me rest my eyes now
Let me drift away

He acted Like he knew me
Then he fell asleep
I had no More secrets
I could keep

Oh I told him I'm a sinner
He said that's o.k.
I'm not here to change you anyway

He was gone when I turned around

Was it Jesus - Jesus on a Greyhound
And I'll rise again
Ain't no power on earth can keep me down

And I'll rise, I'll rise again
Oh ain't no death can keep me in the ground
Was that Jesus

Songwriters: Glen Ballard / Shelby Lynne

Jesus on a Greyhound lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., The Bicycle Music Company

Fading, Not Fast Enough

He called. I didn't answer. He needs something from me. Looking out the window, an uneasy chill swells throughout my body reminding me I'm alive.

He's dissolving into the past, like this winter's melting snow. Except, he's still around like the iced over melt, every morning. I spent a few days looking over my shoulder. 

• Was he in town?
• Is he watching?

I forget my fear until reminded; and, I tremble. I'm the first one to ask, "Why did you stay?" At the time, it wasn't that I forgot he stole my breath one night. He insisted I not linger on the memory. The act. The betrayal and danger he's made of. Instead, he used a steady stream of wine and cheese, perfectly seared steaks, and episodes of 'Vikings' to convince me it didn't happen. His survival method is insidiously quiet and devastating. 

Writing helps as you know. I filter through the noise made up of emotions. I cleanse and purge the tar the memories of him are (and there are many). The words will pour out until the cauldron is empty. Sorry, friends. Who the hell is this for, anyway? Certainly, not for you. 

// Trainwreck by Banks

Hey
I heard it from the state
They told me you were never gonna let me get away
And if you tell me fiction, you will never get me back
I had to get away, I had to get away, ay, ay
Hey
You try to compensate
You thinking with your one brain, watch you decapitate
You show me all your letters and I should've confiscated
Put my eyes away, and I had to get away

Talking to ears that have been deaf for as long as I can remember
A self-medicated handicap so I speak to myself
And I try so hard to get his stupid deaf ears to hear
That have become illiterate, I've become dumb
Hey, hey, hey

When I'd come through
You were dark blue
And I saved you
From your darker days
Born to
Take care of you
Oh, I thought so
Baby, it was just a phase

Hey
I heard it from the state
They told me you were never gonna let me get away
And if you tell me fiction, you will never get me backI had to get away, I had to get away, I had to get away
Hey
You try to compensate
You thinking with your one brain, watch you decapitate
You show me all your letters and I should've confiscated
Put my eyes away, and I had to get away

Shut down by a guy I never wanted to kiss
Not gonna hear this singing of this ringing triumph thing
And I'm chugging along in a train
And I'm heading the wrong way, and I'm a trainwreck
And my heart goes beat, beat, beat to the music of this sad same song
It's quite depressing, there's no fixing to the problem
When you're talking to an idiot

When I'd come through
You were dark blue
And I saved you
From your darker days
Born to
Take care of you
Oh, I thought so
Baby, it was just a phase
Saving
Only made me
Just a dreamer
But I soon found out
That the traintracks
Were behind me
Tried to warn me
Oh, but my ears went out

When I'd come through
You were dark blue
And I saved you
From your darker days
Born to
Take care of you
Oh, I thought so
Baby, it was just a phase

Hey
I heard it from the state
They told me you were never gonna let me get away
And if you tell me fiction, you will never get me back
I had to get away, I had to get away, I had to get away
Hey
You try to compensate
You thinking with your one brain, watch you decapitate
You show me all your letters and I should've confiscated
Put my eyes away, and I had to get away

Songwriters: Dacoury Natche / Jesse Rogg / Aron Forbes / Jillian Banks / Tim Anderson

Trainwreck lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc

Old Words

I woke up to read old words.

In the quiet of the night, under a dark sky, and far from twinkling stars, I open up an old journal. In 2009, I published my first online blog post, titled Random's Sunday. What it meant, I don't know. The sun was bright on that day. I sat in my backyard with my three pups, Tibby, Lokie, and little Peanut while they laid sunning themselves alongside the pool. The citrus trees in full bloom of Orange and Lime filled the air of sour and sweet. Southern California is a magical place - even more so is the sun above Palm Springs. 

I don't remember why I chose the online forum over trusted private paper journals. I recall a sense of urgency that handwritten notes no longer satisfied. At the time, I struggled financially along with everyone one else feeling the adverse effects of the explosive burst of the housing bubble crisis. A year in I was filled with a quiet frenzy. A paralyzed state. All I could do to survive is move about mechanically. Wake. Work. Sleep. Wake. Work. Sleep. Wake. Work. Sleep. Etc.

"Peanut, Tibby, Lokie" circa '08-'09
Photo Credit: ©deyanira.

In between, I'd eat some days, feed my dogs the other days. Made sure to have enough gas in my Volkswagen to get me to work a week at a time. Them there were dark days under a bright sun. My mechanical approach to life soon rusted and cracked. Wake late. Work daze. Sleep not. Wake late. Work daze. Sleep not. Wake late. Work daze. Sleep not. Etc.

Ten years later, I still write while you sleep.

"The Hobbit Writing" GIF