Oh the humanity!

"A clay vessel"  - the human body.
-Anna Kamienska

I have been sick since last Thursday with some fucked up flu bug and it seems like everyone I come into contact with is snuffling about with it.  I shudder to think of the amount of mucous I have produced in the past 5 days.  As a result I have not written anything...bummer, because the goal is to write one piece a day.  Ah well....

Recently, I signed up for a retreat and writing workshop entitled Composing Women's Lives.  According to the facilitator there are no requirements other than a desire to wrap words around my inner thoughts.   I am hoping to explore some form of expression there that will help me find I do have a voice.  Also, I am just now learning about blogs, although what I know could fit on the head of a pin.  One thing I do know is my passion has always been reading and appreciating the writing of other folk.  My first addiction and means of hiding from real life is getting lost in a book.

There is one exception to the above though -memoirs.  It seems to me that writing about your own life and expecting others to pay to read about it is indulgent. I mean are you really that special?

Hypocritical much?  If I'm honest I'd like someone to read this blog.  Yet I can't stand memoirs, especially  when they always seem to be future Lifetime movies of the week.  Pot, this is the kettle....you're black!  Denial can be such a beautiful thing cause let's face it, how much more indulgent could I be? But at least you can read this for free!

OK, I've gone on long enough.  I am making a cup of tea, taking a Zicam and curling up with the only things that comfort me when I feel like shit...

Another Saturday Night

It's quiet here in the 'burgh, at least in my neck of the woods.  No poem today, no comic strip.  Looks like its a cup of tea, an Oscar nominated film, and some Alka Seltzer plus.

BEST COMIC STRIP EVER

Created by Stephan Pastis

Yeah, so gas went up by 15 cents a gallon and according to the news will only continue to rise.  Tunas revolt INDEED!

What I Believe

What I Believe

by Michael Blumenthal

I believe there is no justice,
but that cottongrass and bunchberry
grow on the mountain.

I believe that a scorpion's sting
will kill a man,
but that his wife will remarry.

I believe that, the older we get,
the weaker the body,
but the stronger the soul.

I believe that if you roll over at night
in an empty bed,
the air consoles you.

I believe that no one is spared
the darkness,
and no one gets all of it.

I believe we all drown eventually
in a sea of our making,
but that the land belongs to someone else.

I believe in destiny.
And I believe in free will.

I believe that, when all
the clocks break,
time goes on without them.

And I believe that whatever
pulls us under,
will do so gently.

so as not to disturb anyone,
so as not to interfere
with what we believe in.

Poetry

Poetry is my religion.  It is church.  It is where I find God.

In 1915, Edgar Lee Master's wrote about  212 characters who lived and died in the fictional town of Spoon River.  I am one of those characters.

George Gray
I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me -
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.
In truth it pictures not my destination
But my life.
For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;
Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;
Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.
Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.
And now I know that we must lift the sail
And catch the winds of destiny
wherever they drive the boat.
To put meaning in one's life may end in madness,
But life without meaning is the torture
Of restlessness and vague desire -
It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.