A Portfolio of Sorts

 A running portfolio of my work and not posted in any particular order. Some are duplicate uploads and some are near-misses of what I intended the canvas to show. I don't believe that I am finished by any stretch of the imagination - which presents as a delightful mental note to savor.  At a time in the near future, I hope to add these images to a published work...a story of the unfolding of justice.  The title of that work sometimes cycles 'round in mental lyrics as well, but I have yet to nail down a precise title. 
I welcome comments and hope you enjoy!

The Buck Stops Here

By my calculations (and mind you, I have had to learn a quite irresponsible way of calculating this scenario) this situation is as precisely screwed up as it is allowed to be.  I walk in with a semi-smug grin upon my face thinking that maybe for once, the truth shall set the situation free.

No dice.

Stupid dice.

Whoever signed me up for this game anyway?

Be that as it may, in the case that one might not be completely accustomed to small claims court - let me shed some light:

They care not so much about the issues that you bring legally, but the best defense offered by a skater-brained dimwit on the opposing side who happens to have the much desired ESQ behind the initials of her name. ESQ mind you, means little more than "extremely & stupidly qualified" to speak...I digress...

I defend me. I do blush a tad and skip a word here and there, but hey! I'm a layman.  Give. Break. Jerk. And besides, Esq didn't defend honestly anyway. She blathered on about inconsequential numbers that she read directly from an order that was A: old, and B: illegitimate (and we're all about illegitimacy here I thought, no?)

In addition, and to be completely fair, one such person in position of judgeship stated that he did not care to (and I paraphrase) "address a situation which was clearly a debacle of mass proportions - ergh, dismissed without prejudice...sorry lady, take it back to the party that has done NOTHING for you for five years and counting. Good day."

I'm striking on the court system!

Join if you feel ye are capable of holding one such sandwich board large enough to discuss such lunatic rantings as I feel the need to rant.

On a sunnier day I might consider this to be part and parcel with the matters of divorce, but at five years - this crap is getting old, and curdling my blood. Besides that, I swear I have a new set of divinely inscribed crow's feet upon my forehead.  (Did I mention "strike"?).

Eh.  I consider this a fallacy and will call this week a "week" to the capacity that my vocabulary allows with children in the room (they don't need to hear my real feelings).  And tomorrow...tomorrow, I will consider myself lucky if I don't rack up a charge or two.

I get it though, I really do.  One court has the extension of their legal arms, criminally speaking - which goes only so far as public housing issues and that of the stereo-typed baby-daddy's crowding Main Street, but C'MON!  You can't exert power as legal ramification upon a man so delusionally human as to help a woman out?!  What happened to the foundation of this place anyway?  They all leave or something?  The only answer that we conjure is to return to a place which has obviously accomplished squat in half a decade that would, might, probably should on a highly-medicated day have me believing that they will do something? 

Malarchy.

[Side note: Lovey, get the bail money ready]

She

She was amazing.

She was innocent and uninhibited. She spanned the time from dawn to dusk; never realizing that it mattered. 
She encompassed the entirety of true, unadulterated love and compassion toward that which brought her happiness.

Her happiness is him. 

He knows that. She reminds him as much as that delicacy allows and pushes the limits of mushy, smushyness that would make grown men bashful and red in the face.  She doesn't care though.

It is important to tell; to talk about and be reminiscent of.  That is what she believes anyway.  She is currently in the process of comparing her romanticism to the novels of Shakespeare and love that cannot be compared to.

Carrying on with the wings of a cupid (minus the semi-nakedness).

Ahhhh, love.

It Was Not Plainly Clear

Of course, it often isn't plainly clear. Moreso, it comes across as paralleling a bad night in Mexico with some persons that are not. so. trusty.

I happened on the scene with a lofty head filled with idealism and a mouth wrought for writing...or speaking. Wrought for speaking; wait, no writing.  At least that is what I had been told by persons not so wrought.  Personally, I didn't see it.  It was a combination of being blinded by the light (as my buddy Bruce dost protest) and a labor of love that would, might, possibly, eventually enable me a better person capable of transient work and bestowed efforts of the family context that I so desired. 

I was hopeful.

Hopeful bites sometimes.  A lot of sometimes, sometimes.

The point was to gain enough experience as a person, an advocate, a mother, speaker-of-truth, and outright human being, that I would gain enough strength points to move to the next level.  Truth be told, I often used cheat codes and moved along passively because I thought I'd mastered the lamest of elements only to find that I was the lamest and would be moving back several spaces until I conceded to run due course. Phewy.

A side note of suggestion offers that I have mentally compiled a resolution list of ideas toward my next role: Awesomeness.  I have a book-signing (equipped with author-signed pages of my first and best-selling novel; currently untitled and missing each page beyond that there signed page), a children's book of characters who parallel the life and times of me and my son (and Lovey -- Lovey's always there!), and the perfect act and wording for when I am let go due to budget constraints.  Seems profitable, right?

Ought to.

This has taken me a lot of years to compile.


Where to now?  That is the point at which I currently reside.  It is either continue down the road of least-resistance/no achievement and no forward-movement for the sake of being "easy" -- OR a big, fat: double-barrel bustin' truth on the situation, eat-my-grits, bite my dust and go big, or go home kind of circumstance.

Big, fat?

Yeah. I'm leaning in that general direction too.

I find a large issue with the legal society that happens to run, organize and fund much of society. WHEN the heck did that happen?!?!  And why wasn't I invited? Doesn't seem right. Isn't right.

But...

I have had this pot on the stove for far too long, finally turned the heat up and have a reduction of fine, unadulterated comprehension that will pair nicely with a baguette and the "No BS clause" that I put at the opposite end of that book-signing deal where all I have is a cover page. ( I guess that isn't entirely true -- I have the No BS clause as well).

Put My Finger On It

Dear Lacking Self-Esteem and Void of Security,

You bring me nothing but problems.

I'm leaving you.

Don't call,
The Biebs

Resolution Solution

I, ______________________________ do hereby resolve:




- To no longer be bound by critical overviews, self-serving perspectives or ego-filled commandments. They are not mine, I shall not harbor or accept them

- To act in the sole interests of safety and well-being for my self, my children and my family and to negate all other efforts of control by parties unaligned to this objective, with the strength of faith over explanation

- To be a seeker of truth and be cognizant that there are times when what I may want may not coincide with what I need – and greater still, that it is not I who is in charge

- To ask for help and be unafraid of receiving it

- To place greater belief in the challenges that are placed before me that they will make me great

- To say “thank you” more than I have expectations

- To lose expectations, or rather, replace them with anticipations and preparations for the glories that will undoubtedly be bestowed upon my life

- To hone my focus on forgiveness

- To pray for contentment over understanding, explanation of, or worry

- To return the smile lines to my face, dirt to my fingers, sunshine to my shoulders, and blue paint to my toenails

- To engage in more random acts of kindness

- To journal and pen letters more than I document wrong-doings

- To dissolve anger, hatred, and jealousy to the grit of sandy beaches – that it will be washed away not by me, but by time and the act of being forgiven

- Above all, I resolve to accept that where I now stand, what air I now breathe, and the placement that I now exist in is precisely where I am supposed to be



Signed, this 24th day of December, 2010 with much Faith, determination and God as my witness,



___________________________________________

Just Thinking

I feel that I have given more than enough thought to this.  It circulates around the fact that I am semi (emphasize "semi") sorry that you are in fact, lame.  There is not quite enough emphasis in your language to justify giving thoughts of you another go-'round and there is definitely not enough justification to allow your words to breathe any longer than the air they encompass when passing through your lips.

That's not all.

You are, in fact, wrong.  You do not care as deeply as a mother should.  And arrogance does not compensate for immaturity.   Nevertheless, it is not my place to pass judgment, so I am simply stating my perspective and shall leave it as such until someone else is willing to validate the truth that I see and speak.

On a day that one is willing and able to be as much of a strong person as one verbosely claims, then ...and only then, will I listen contently and move accordingly.  That. Has not happened so far. 

I stand on the accounting to one motivation only - that is truth.  Truth, (not to be confused with truth) shall set you free and in as much as I would like to assist, I cannot.  Truth can only be found through long-plodding, and sometimes sorrowful efforts as a seeker.  truth, on the other hand, is often confused with and linguistically challenged by the commonalities that bind mankind.  ( I personally feel it is the capital "T" that does it in).

Evermore,
and with much anticipation,
Selflessness-in-measure-yet-slightly-perturbed,
Me

The Hardest Wall

 A hair's breath from Christmas and the air is still. There is something that lingers, untold truths, begotten lies that fill the space between right and wrong.  It never comes easy to stand on faith alone but that is where we reside.  The effort at mental creation of black and white has long since dissipated in this stale and stagnate environment.  Try as we may -- it feels harder to gather the energy to remain calm and present the facts as they stand, hoping someone will listen. 

I wonder why?  Why is it that what presents as evil, manipulative and coercive is more easily accepted, welcomed almost, than the truth?  What has brought us to the brink of extinction among ourselves? I know I didn't start out this way, but yet, here I am. Wondering...

Unsettled with what my mind returns to me as an answer.

Attempts to reason with the unreasonable fumble the hope and I watch it wobble across a field that a growing part of me doesn't believe in.  To justify this feeling would be to suggest that once again, the essence of life must be fortified in faith.  That one small and tender offshoot of a larger, and dying mainstay.

 Faith don't fail us now.

Why is precisely the reason.

Why? Because it is fun. Because it brings laughter, enjoyment and wedge of memory that will not dislodge.

Why?

Because there are too many reasons why not. That is why.

There was a time when I thought that in order to perfect the art of planning, one had to immerse themselves in some delicate field of professionalism that gave enough weight to their purpose to justify the end result.

Not so.

After boiling down the crude ingredients of what it means to be human; to learn and live and wonder...and wander, there is so much more able to be said about the unanswerable "why?" than there is to be explained by the "because".

Just live.


Let it be.

Enjoy. And dammit, hold on for the ride with the most zealous hairspray in your bouffant and the zestiest of nail polish colors on your digits. Do not fear the answering of "why?" -- live it. And when you do decide to unbuckle to let the next rider board, smile a smile that says "Brotha, it's worth it -- but I give you no more than that" and make sure that smile spreads ear to ear.

When all is said and done, it is for mere pleasure of the ride, not the safety restraints or the approval received beforehand.

Breaking out the rule book, solely for the intention of burning it as soon as the burn-ban is lifted.Or before...before would be alright too.

Wham! Bam!

Absolutely; Positively

I am currently finding myself absolutely, positively irritated to the maximum of my being over the issue of absentee-parenting and ignorant-fueled "guidance" (if you can call it that).

It's late.

My little one - the essence of childhood, heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Sibling-trickery is the name of the game as he goes about explaining to his older sister why he spread hand soap across the bristles of her toothbrush. There's a hint of laughter in the air as the reasoning makes its way to the excuse.

He says that he always has to deal with soap in his mouth. That he's always being directed to consume a sudsy matter when the step-mother of the West comes into play with her dictatorship antics and lack of good parenting style.

What?!

As he's being reprimanded for the sake of health over concerns that soap will cause sickness to someone he cares about, he's duly-explaining that this kind of thing happens constantly when he's at his dad's house.

Since when is that kind of guardianship allowed to run freely over the land? It's not.

He says he has to do it when he's forgetful. Or when he mistakenly trips down the stairs because, (as she believes) he's not paying attention.

And this woman runs a daycare center?

Oh, to get my common sense in an injection form and inoculate the charge-parties of the county government seat.

In an honest token of biology, it doesn't take more than a misguided effort to create a child -- and though that might make one lost soul a "parent", it by no means, makes you a father...or mother.



Take head dear stand-in placement of guardian-over-my-child: your concurrent acts of embarrassment and degradation, while your husband remains inattentive, shall be construed as direct and intentional efforts of abuse; not "guidance" as you may conceive them to be.

Likewise, the same establishments which have naively supported your daycare establishment will be noticed of your poor judgment and inadequate, lacking, and immature parenting. And though I understand this may mean nothing to a county which oozes corrupted policy, you surely comprehend that it means worldly-measures to a woman that simply does. not. give. up.

Absolutely, positively,
Me

Memento

There is a delicately planted lipstick kiss mark on the rearview mirror of my truck. It arrived a few weeks ago from a dear friend of mine, who I can just picture as she smacked her kisser together with a nice shade of Burt’s Bee Balm and was perfectly poised before planting a reminder for me on what I would have thought was entirely too dirty a surface. In her defense, love knows no boundaries, which applies even to muddy mirrors and parked vehicles.

At this point, the balmy reminder is slightly coagulated and speckled with the remnants of brazen little bugs that dove head on at 65 mph into my memorabilia, only to discover the sticky surface too late. I'm going to leave it there – and what a great token it is.

I’d contemplated a visit to the car wash because the postal delivery lady was kind enough to put on e of those nifty 50% off coupons in my mailbox. However, after I did the calculations on my would-be savings, I’ve decided that my smooch is worth more than the $4.28 credit that I’d have in my bag.

I laughed this morning to the idea of this little muse of mine, jaunting through the side yard and curiously contemplating how she’s leave her mark on my world while I was away. These moments; those actions – come at precisely the right time in a life that sometimes is too rushed to gather your breath from. So little red-headed muse – THANK YOU!

You mean the world to me.

The Hourglass

February of 2006 delivered a lyrical blow with the release of Cowboy Mouth’s Voodoo Shoppe CD. Every note, each word, I swear was targeted at me and if ever I dreamed to purge my emotions of the black-hole voids, it was then. And purge I did! The love of my life (who, I might add is not crazy) stood beside me as I landed stage side, rocking the stones right out of my costume jewelry rings and mutilating the semi-precious metals because of all my beat, beat, beating on the sub-woofers. That concert rocked my soul in early 2006; I was alive!

And now, September 2010 as the summer draws to an end, this surging desire rears again. This time though, with Zac Brown Band’s fall release of “You Get What you Give,” CD and particularly, the “Let it Go” track. Repeating over and again in my environment, the “let it go” phrase and ideology reverberates through every waking moment and interrupts my subconscious while I sleep. Tonight marking the Autumnal Equinox and a very full moon, I'm prefacing all thought patterns and emotive reactions with the tide receding; finally. It’s clear skies ahead and full intention of loosening my grip.

I do feel however, that with the heavy-handed suggestion of “just let go”, there should come a warning. Something akin to: “Not as easy as it sounds”; or “Expect a ration of retaliation”, or “internal combustion may occur if occupant happens to be a Type-A personality”. Something.

Mid-month September marked the New Moon, a phase that I was sure would linger longer with the coming of dreams, the going of nightmares. It seems to have been short-lived given the knock-about I’ve endured these last two weeks. Though it is suggestible there may be a reasoning there too. I don’t know. I was pretty certain that a weekend at a cabin in Vermont with the leaves changing, the smell of apple cider in the air and my best lovey, would cure my heartache, but…

I'm processing.

That’s what it is. Processing.

Similar to that little hourglass symbol that comes up on your screen when you’re waiting for the next function to take.

Processing.

I did purge again recently, actually am in the process of purging to take it a step further. This here and now involves a conundrum of empathy, memories, intentions and a boat-load of “Yes, but why…” questions. That. Needs to stop. Let it go! Then I recollect – thinking of the times spent in sessions, sitting, waiting, wishing (again, to quote a musician with lyrical mysticism). Sitting, waiting, wishing. And all that time spent in an oversized, stuffed chair with a delicate golden-weave and a fifteen dollar co-pay – well, I thought it counted. Maybe in some sense of the “process” it does count – but right here and now it doesn’t feel like that.

I think of the purging as if a vomitorium; in layers. Or a timeline. Peeling back the layers of stuffed baggage, and damage, and …crud, is no easy feat. And I actually enjoy picking through what others might consider “garbage” – that whole trash/treasure idea you know. This one though, aye. This purging situation leaves much to be desired and actually, I think it’s given me an ulcer, a headache, and has most-definitely affected my sleep patterns.

So, as long as we’re on this musical road to recovery, I’ll leave you with the mental picture of Ray Lamontagne’s verbiage: “I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest and said ‘Do your best’”.

I don’t think they have the moxy, to tell the truth.