Thursday, August 31, 2006

effing blogger

yeah ... effing blogger booted ME outta me own blog!! some fucking upgrade this bullshit is, man! oh well ... whatever ... so, yeah - i hadda make this blog thing un-private again, just so i could see it. UGH. i really got nothing to say here, these days.

well, i do - but not anything anyone wants to hear.

its like this: if i speak up about politics/foreign policy, i'll just sound like some sort of anti-semetic, i'm sure. i know how we all like labelling people. so ... i'll keep those opinions to me-self. the bush-bashing chorale of despair is starting to sound REALLY stale to me ... like - its not gonna change (the guy's a fucking nut bar ... we just gotta live with it, i guess until the americans vote some other creep into the white house who'll also lie, cheat and fuck the world up some more). also - the we-hate-evil-islam chorus is getting really quite tiresome.
and the whole god-fearing complacent, absolutist fucking lark ... THAT PISSES ME OFF THE MOST!

i wanna know why all y'all, who believe in 'god' as absolute, think you got the market cornered on spirituality. how do you know? how do i know? how the HELL does any of us know? and ... i sure as hell ain't gonna seek 'salvation' for my soul from some fucking pedophile that calls himself a 'priest' ... or 'father' ... (fucking hell - one 'dad' in my life is surely enuf, ain't it?) i'd like all you self-righteous smug types out there to go and look after all those unwanted children ... the ones that never should have entered this world ... the ones who's mothers had no access to abortion/birth control. and while you're at it, how 'bout stopping by and checking out all those dudes with huntington's chorea disease. yeah ... y'now - those dudes (young men, mostly - my age many of them) who COULD benefit from STEM CELL RESEARCH if blasted christianity would get outta the way of our society's technological progress.

before you drop your jaws ... or drop an acid bomb comment on this page, tell me ... have you ever looked after the unwanted? the forgotten and grotesque cast-aways of humanity? yes, virginia, there is a goodly many portion of humanity, cast aside like spoiled fruit. do have any clue about these? about their existence? likely not. because ... its good 'nuff y'all think, to just wear your prettiest dress and make sure the whole FUCKING neighbourhood sees ya when you go to church on Sunday.

yeah yeah. i'm pissed off at a world of hypocrits, liars and thieves. why not? as that song said ... 'its my party and i'll cry if i want to ...' so deal with it! i'm not gonna cloak my anger, hostility and rage in a nice party dress so y'all will feel more comfy here. nah ... there ain't no fluffy stuff, or rosey words here ... just me, in the raw. yes -- raw, BUT ... always true! truth, i find hard to come by, since most humans are lying sacks of fecal waste matter.

i'm still partially of the mindset that this whole blogging thing is a pile of crap, basically. but ... well, its a good way to unload. and contemplating the whole living and dying thing. and how it all seems so damned random. RANDOM. the moment of impact flashes through my head constantly ... and thoughts of how it all coulda turned out a lot worse for me.

image credit: ROXI G, 2006 (taken at the manitoba arts council building)

i've decided that i will not be a good citizen of the blogosphere any more. well, because, there is really no blogosphere and there never was -- its all an optical illusion we've conjured up to fill a pathetic gap. the only friend one really ever has is oneself. and that, dear reader (lol i seriously doubt i have any of those left at this point: i've likely scared you all off by now) is the unfortunate truth. so .. i guess what i'm saying ... is ... don't expect a comment on your blog from me unless you have made one here. i reciprocate ... no longer will i waste time initiating or extending the olive branch. no one really wants an olive branch ... they just want what they want. ok ... it sounds a little harsh -- but you get my drift, no doubt. and if you don't -- well then i hope you're not operating that computer without supervision.

in sum ... i'm plain sick and tired of trying to maintain ties with individuals who seem so disinterested they take eons to return emails/comments .. or worse yet ... never return them at all. i've decided i'm still here doing this fucking blogging thing because it suits me .. not because of the illusion of any connectedness about which i deluded myself. DELUSION. any sense of connectedness - its a god-damned delusion! plain and simple. so ... like me ... don't like me ... comment ... don't comment ... whatever. its all the same to me. just know that i will no longer initiate. only reciprocate. my time is far too precious to be spent chasing aliases that have no interest being caught.

if anyone is still reading at this point ... i just wanna add one more thing. seriously, i'm asking - people with a serious appreciation for poetry to read my stuff and provide an honest opinion. i'll provide the link if anyone wants it. and ... lol ... if no one wants it ... well then - fuck you all, its your loss.

and .... that's all i got to say about that.

Monday, August 28, 2006

maybe this is my last post here

i'm told that this feeling i have - the one i get whenever i get into a car that tells me i'm gonna die - i'm told it subsides in time. argh - ok. but, transit tom's still my preferred method of transportation. i've decided i'd only ever drive again if someone would die if i did not. otherwise -- no chance i'll ever sit in the driver's seat again. ever.

what's even scarier than thinking i'm going to die whenever i leave the house is the fact that my dad - 70 years old - is truly and seriously a moving menace. stop signs are just places where you pause, not stop, the car. and shoulder checks are optional. oh yeah - and so is looking out for oncoming traffic when you're turning left. ACKK! i really think there it should be MANDATORY to re-test everyone over the age of 70 years! honestly.

now i'm not really sure how to proceed here. either way i'm gonna come outta this one with shit on my face - i'm the bad person if i take steps to get his license revoked (i really really should investigate how this gets done) and i cannot live with myself if i say nothing and allow him to kill someone - my mother or someone else. ahhh - aging parents. so much fun - NOT. how is it that cognitive deterioration and short term memory loss just seem to creep up ... i'm convinced its those people that are unsociable hermit types that suffer from cognitive deterioration of aging first. y'know - its like anything else - ya use it or ya lose it!

i think that lupin and i shall go hiking in the forest and just not return when it feels like we have reached 'that time' in our lives. why is it that we humans can't just look death straight in the eye and walk into it? preserving life at all cost ... its soooo short-sighted and pointless and selfish.

ok. so what've i been up to lately? weeeeeelll ... i've tired tired tired tired of wasting keystrokes in this here place ... and so went in search of a place where people interact ... found a new (poetry) hangout here and that's where i have spent alot of time lately - writing .... writing ... writing. and receiving lots of feedback. feedback - yeah! imagine that - some place that's interactive - the way this place used to be, before it became a place where people stroke their fragile egos.

its a long shot, but i will see if i can get published - that's my next project.

also ...i'm reading some Edgar Allen Poe, Pablo Neruda, and also reading Lady Chatterly's Lover - (how can a man, writing in the early 1900s, be so right re: his take on men and sex ... ? its remarkable). oh! and ... i found someone - a wonderful artist - to immortalize my late afghan hound in a painting. the piece in the link is acrylic and watercolor on watercolor paper soaked in tea. artist's name is laura pelick. i absolutely ADORE her work. more of her stuff here ... check it - she sells prints of her stuff.

i have not been around here much because i really had nothing to say. i have been toying with the idea of making a post on medical marijuana - or maybe reefer madness - its brewing right now. but y'know what? i really think before i expend all that time and energy, i oughta find a place to post it where people will actually appreciate such a post. sadly, i fear its not here.

anyway ... lately i'm not in the mood for reality. the news is basically ridiculous lies ... and the liars that get the most airtime are fucking stupid. so, i am not wasting my time on those god-damned idiots that are running the world into the ground. so ... i don't really wanna talk politics or religion or anything else really really reality-based. WHY BOTHER? it solves nothing. absolutely nothing. it seems almost narcissistic - like just spouting one's mouth off to hear oneself speak.

the only thing that has really stayed with me of all the recent news - is Stephen Lewis being interviewed about AIDS - that women are the group now most afflicted by AIDS, worldwide, now the women of africa ... are dying ... and no one gives a flying FUCK. well, i guess they got no oil so the west figures to hell with them, eh?

oh ... and then there's new orleans ... are the americans all too busy playing soldier to realize that this city is just as vulnerable as it was a year ago when it got levelled? why do i have to watch a canadian network to see a documentary about katrina and its aftermath a year later? er ... could it be because all the american networks are playing war games or have their heads so far stuck up osama bin laden's ass hole?

i really really think that humans are the single greatest menace to this world and universe. we will be the destruction of ourselves yet. what a great legacy to leave our children -- whom, by the way, we absolutely SUCK at rearing. but ... that ... is a topic for a post that may never get written. honestly - this all feels like a silly time wasting exercise. i guess i come back, hoping for a connection. BUT THAT HAS EVAPORATED. and i don't know why.

so ... i don't know if i'll come back here. HONESTLY. i mean, what's the point? if this is a conversation with myself, then i can find another avenue for such. i really used to treasure this place for the connection it gave me ... but it appears that was merely an illusion. a mirage. there is no connectedness. and there never was. only one-ness. cuz ... in the end ... that is all that each of us has - 'number one' -- ourself. no one else.

we kid ourselves that connectedness to other humans exists ... ain't that the greatest psychic illusion out there?

Saturday, August 19, 2006

i have the bubonic plague ...

ok ... not really.
but -
just testing ...
if anyone reads this
mindles dribble
i don't think
anyone does anymore
maybe i have the
bubonic plague?

that must be it ...

Friday, August 18, 2006


i made a list
checked it twice
got myself a plan
and could not leave here

submerged myself
in poetry
and more poetry
and produced


still inert though
shock -
a thick veil
of oppressive dread

Thursday, August 17, 2006


i envision standing in front of lupin, snipping my driver's license in two right before his watchful gaze. that's what i thought after it happened, standing there, spaced out, watching the other driver sink into a melt down. i hate driving at the best of times. really. but it's a ticket to convenience -- of sorts. the car ... any car ... its a blasted money pit. and ... well ... its just a pile of metal in the grand scheme of things. and ... er ... my sister did not live to tell about her head on collision. and that ... that's trippy!

so ... the airbags work folks. and that shit they put inside them? its fucking foul. it smokes, and its not healthy to breath in - seriously. and ... well ... my brand new tom petty CD is stuck in the car stereo because they had to cut the battery cable to get the horn to stop bleating. so ... while the other driver is having a melt down and the fire paramedic dudes are trying to get the two cars untangled and out of the middle of this busy downtown intersection ... so what is velvet doing? ugh ... why are people in the throes of shock so ... spaced out and completely out of reality? velvet's busy obsessing on her stuck tom petty CD ... and on how the heck she can get to wal-mart without a car to get that coffee bean grinder she wanted to get this evening.

i'm guessing that's part of the reason they detained me at the scene for like 90 minutes. because i really was not fit to be walking away unsupervised. seriously. i cannot tell you, though, how horrific the anxiety that rained on me when i sat in the back of the cop cruiser while the constable took my accident report. i had no idea police cars have no inside door panels. there ain't no way out, folks! and the windows have that metal mesh stuff on them. claustrophobic velvet really had to do some serious self talk to prevent a total panic attack from ensuing.

ok. so likely we don't got a car. ok. highly over-rated. and now ... i hate driving even more that before. it really would suck if i had to buy another CD, though. and ... well ... i never did get that coffee bean grinder yet! smiles to anyone who reads this. leave me a paw print or somethin'!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

a few things

1. HEAD ON collision. FUCK. i'm positive the car is totalled. FUCK.

well, it was just a bloody money pit anyhow. ok. so ... now i'm gonna pretend like this neck and chest pain are figments of my imagination. just shreds of aftershock my body has yet to purge. and that wrist and shoulder pain -- its nothing. i'll ignore the fact that the old operative scar on my wrist (an old carpal tunnel release surgery from 10 yrs ago) hurts. its nothing. ITS NOTHING VELVET. there. i feel better. really. the real hurting will occur in my bank account. FUCK.

ain't life grand?

2. did anyone else out there see the 'blogger beta' link on their dashboard's sidebar?

the new version of blogger is currently being rolled out but only to certain people - only those with a link on their dashboard can switch at present. lots of improvements, but it flipped the counter on my profile to "0" ... wtf?! well, by the time everyone else gets to beta maybe i will be ahead of the game, lol.

3. a rhetorical question - mostly to myself. is this blogging thing really worth it?

i mean, really? i'm starting to think its an awfully huge time consumption for little or no gain. i didn't always think that. at one time, i really treasured the connection i felt here. life evolves, i suppose. and now this feels like a frivolous time waster. i wonder ... the jury's out on that one, i think. seriously ... i'm contemplating it ... concentrating more effort and energy on writing for publication, as opposed to writing for frivolity. i think -- it feels like it to me -- i have a gift for writing. time for me to step up to the plate and use it, hone it, let it grow.

4. another rhetorical one - does a nurse really hafta work in a hospital?

the answer i've given myself -- NO. despite the BS and mythology about nurses promoted by the popular media ... nursing goes beyond the profusely bleeding wounds, the sick bowels and the weak heart pumps. i don't need to step right into the disease carnage to feel like a worthy nurse. don't even hafta wield sharp objects and stick them into people's veins. nursing ... its a job. not a vocation. not a life sentence. its the way i pay myself thru life. its not my life. there's one for the books - MY JOB IS NOT MY LIFE.

Monday, August 14, 2006

ethereal embrace


Thursday, August 10, 2006

feedback, please

if you visit this blog
i'd be interested
in your feedback
with respect to
the previous 2 or 3 posts

many thx to anyone who does share their thoughts.

17 and 39

[the following is a poem about an affair i had with a married man at the age of 17. he had stalked me - at a distance for months prior to actually pursuing me -- meeting me. he lied about his age -- shaved 5 years off his true age -- still it made him old enough to be my father. a father. i guess that's what i looked to this man for -- fathering. its a shameful thing. yet, another ugly blemish on my past. but --- its all behind me. and angst, sorrow -- these create the best artistic works. and so ... here it is.]

"hello, my pet," he called from the far room.
her heart jumped to her throat.
he always surprised her like this.
she never knew when
he would show up at her door.

in his absence -- the long periods of time
he would just drop out of her existence --
days. weeks. months at a time ...
she grew languid. limp.
lifeless and cut-off. passive.
a tormented, hungry soul ...
aching ... aching.
and -- paralyzed of will
to extract herself nonetheless.

and so it went.
undulating -- passion, sorrow, shame.
oppressive: her longing for him.
it caught her --
the energy of their union.
forbidden union.
it caught her and ravaged her ...
the same way a leg hole trap
ravages a wolf's unsuspecting leg.
her young, tender soul
could not escape its grip.

at times, she felt as though
a faerie for his amusement --
he: a middle-aged, worn man,
suspending her in front of his gaze,
holding her daintily by the wings,
watching her writh, struggle
and then surrender sweetly - wilting
under the weight of his
desperate, empty lust ...
he loved to slowly crush her spirit ...
feel it disintegrate into his own.

she -- an enchanting, beguiling creature
a young, virginal female spirit
perched on a cusp that sits
like a delicate, stilettoed spire
between girlhood and womanhood

shame. and unrelenting sorrow
lurked there, like slivers, embedded
into the deepest corners of her heart
her shame - secret and dark -
melted into the soothing warmth
of his voice, and
the gentle strength
she felt in his fingertips

she-an innocent, unripened green shoot
with angular boyish curves
and a child's flat and meager bosom -
she loved him ...
loved him to the point
of pain

reality -- it showered her heart
like acid poured onto living flesh --
a reality that she and he
would have NO future
still ... her heart loved his
with a florid devotion
naive ... sublime ... divine
17 and 39

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

lady with the lamp

[there is an old poem, dating back to the crimean war, that writes about florence nightingale - mother of the nursing profession - as 'lady with the lamp,' link here. it provides the patient's perspective of a nurse. what follows is my own 'lady with the lamp' -- an ode to all those whom i have nursed ... and all those who have ever been hospitalized ... these amazing spirits that teach me something new and precious each and every day i work ... these amazing humans that keep me in this profession]

lady with the lamp
am i --
like florence nightingale --
the original mother of mercy

sailing thru the night
skulking from room to room,
witness to unspoken pain,
silent moans in the darkness

fluttering among the dying
the newly born, and
a sea of sick bowels
it is i, lady with the lamp,

who stroke your brow,
hold your hand
while a feverish waking nightmare
threatens to swallow you whole

it is i, lady with the lamp,
who soothes you with the sound
of my calm and gentle voice
and my needle -- sweet morpheus

and, in the tiny precious moments
that seem as endless and painful as eternity
i, lady with the lamp,
feel complete awe at the entity of 'You'

i, lady with the lamp,
receive your tangible gifts --
sweet and bountiful --
given with touching grace

no greater gift could i savour
than knowing your comfort, peace, dignity
remain intact - unbruised -
after your battle with the illness demon

how privileged am i
for i have walked into your heart
and seen you there
raw, unformed, unfiltered

truly, you are
most amazing --
of body mind spirit
a mysterious wonder

do you know?
that you have given me,
lady with the lamp,
more than i could ever give you?

new poetry --

here ... its some new stuff i just wrote, mixed in with some (my best) old stuff. if you're wondering about my love life, it's all here - the whole wild story. if there are any literary buffs out there ... i am trying to decide which direction this story should take. any ideas? i have this feeling that, where i 've left it, is not the end.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

broken arrows

i saw you today. the anger, the outrage -- it's all crumbled away. i can't explain it really. except to say that, in the grand scheme of things, none of that stuff really matters. so very long ago. a lifetime ago. a different time. different place. and the distance. between us. and the choice. its mine to make.

still - i look at you. and see myself, sort of. i remember the countless times you got abruptly roused from your sleep in the wee hours of morning to attend to yours truly in the throes of a violent gastric outlet obstruction attack. i remember the cummulative hours spent, on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, heading resting on the toilet seat. with you talking to me ... your deep gentle voice keeping me grounded in reality.

i have a choice. k9 was right when he said not to let all the bad stuff destroy me. i have a choice. and ... i choose to move on. away from that dark blemish. i choose to seek out the rotting berry, and toss it out before it contaminates all else around it. i have seen and experienced too much to allow myself to slip into complacency over life. i must seize things as they come. and once the dragon is slayed ... then i move on and thru. and that i can do now.

you know something? my body does not act our nearly as much with disease and chronic pain, since i have chosen to move on. since i have chosen myself. since i have chosen to channel my anger and outrage constructively. i know you will not change. you both, so set in your ways. rooted ... into your spot in the ground. but for me.

life is change. and so it goes.

Thursday, August 03, 2006


that's me.
plain and simple.
no doubt about it.
on the moment
of waking i think of
my sweet morpheus -
a substance upon which
i have an
unshakable dependence.

that's me ...
dashing into work
at the last minute
because i JUST had to have
one more hoot.

that's me ...
in a moment of
abject weekness
snorting that
white stuff
in the washroom
at work.

twisted -- ?
what addiction
drives one to do.
what ... what ... what
possesses me?
a savage beast?

a little sadistic, even
that's my savage beast


the sweet skunky odour rises from her work surface. lingering. hanging gently in the air - an earthy smell. potent. undeniably distinct. and she smiled to herself. she sat on her makeshift bed - a foam mat topped with a featherbed, the whole thing wrapped together with a faux lambskin. her back facing the giant blowing fan. she felt it - rolled it with her fingertips and across the scissor's blades cutting. cutting. tiny budlets pulverized. cutting. and finally - a pile of fine dust. green with rusty flakes. the high starts when you just buy the drug. every junkie knows this. and also, the sinking anxiety that descends when you're smoking your last joint. anxiety. sweet.

its what makes the highs so intensely pleasurable.

[originally written april, 2006 while i was hiding out in my mum's spare bedroom]

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

stress will kill you?

we've all heard that expression, right?
well its true.
stress will kill you
and scientific evidence exists
to prove this claim
and to question the science
behind the following claim

"smoking causes cancer."

in his book when the body says no, (click title for link to gabor mate (pronounced mat-eh) walks readers through the biochemistry behind the mind-body connection. fascinating stuff? anyone with a uterus will tell you that stress can toss the body's delicate hormonal balance off kilter. so, then ... take this one step further. a guy - british thoracic surgeon who calls himself Kissen - did take this further. he noticed, via his clinical practice, an intimate connection between emotionally repressive personality patterns and incidence of lung cancer. and then, a longitudinal study, conducted on a stable population in europe over a 10 year period, confirmed Kissen's insights.

essentially, it all boils down to this:
smoking no more causes cancer than being thrown into deep water causes drowning ... a combination of factors is necessary to cause drowning. fatal as immersion in deep water can be to the unprotected non-swimmer, for someone who swims well or is equipped with a life jacket, it poses little risk. it is the same with lung cancer. (p. 85)

so. what am i saying?
  1. repression of emotion, particularly anger, is the single greatest risk factor for death, esp, but not only, d/t cancer (emotional repression potentiates the effects of smoke and other carcinongens within the body)
  2. psychological influences create physiological changes in the body which contribute to the onset of malignant disease (science and clinical practice tell us that, at every level, a mind-body connection exisits)
  3. individual internal perceptions bear as much influence as external threats in development of disease , esp. cancer, in our bodies

lets expand no. 2, shall we?
  1. thru the HYPOTHALAMUS-PITUITARY-ADRENAL nexus (a pathway of glands in our bodies that govern metobolism and general bodily function), both physical and psychological stress influence our physiology -- ie stress activates the HPA nexus, sending our delicate hormonal balance out of its equilibrium
  2. unmet emotional needs -- ie uncertanty, lack of control, lack of information -- strongly activate the HPA nexus
  3. consummatory behaviour (behaviour which removes the danger or relieves the tension cause by it), and restoring sense of control, each result in immediate supression of HPA activity
  4. emotional stress impairs the body's built-in DNA and cellular repair mechanisms (i)habitual emotional repression leaves a person in a state of chronic stress, (ii)creating an unnatural biochemical environment in the body; (iii)the perpetually high levels of steroid hormones (we secrete hormones when we are stressed out) can interfere with normal programmed cell death
  5. depression ("a mental state in which repression of anger dominates emotional functioning") potentiates the inhibitory effect of smoke on the natural killer cells (ie it compromises our body's ability to fight off disease)
  6. disease is not a simple result of some external attack, but develops in hosts in whom the internal environment has become disordered
  7. the human endocrime system is an important mediator between the psyche and the tumor (a) a person's emotional personality pattern plays a role in either facilitating tumor promotion or dampening or accentuating the impact of environmental stressors (b) tumors are hormonally dependent, arising in organs that interact hormonally
  8. social subordination activates the HPA
  9. the stresses that create the problems with self nurture are also the ones that predispose to disease
  10. for most cancers there is no identifed carcinogen. it is the internal environment that plays the major role in deciding whether the malignancy will flourish or be eliminated.
  11. key to fighting cancer is not just prevention and/or control of its spread ... but understanding under what conditions existing dormant tumor deposits become malignant
  12. inability to express emotion, particularly anger, has shown up as the most consistently idenified risk factor for cancer in various studies
link to the book's website here, in case you're interested. simply put, this message in all this? that we can influence our health status simply by means of our response to life. our ability to process what we encounter. to stick to our convictions. to set our own limits. constructively express our own emotions. our friend ben writes: "life is change. life is energy. life is your chance to create yourself and your world as you wish them to be." i think that's what gabor mate means, too, thru his writings and work. we CAN make a difference. it sounds almost too simple, doesn't it?

its all about ME

  • i'm roxanne, and this is velvet, the voice inside my head. and this -- this is her blog.
  • i'm that wild, passionate and unruly girl your mum warned you about

    i'm a maelstrom, a whirling dervish, a minx. i run from "same-ness" - i find it oppressive.

    change is good. change is necessary. life is change.

    if change scares you, if change intimidates you, if change makes you uncomfortable, then you're a BORE!

    this blog changes to reflect its continually evolving creator - moi.

    so ... adapt!

    you never know what you'll find when you get to velvet's place. that's the adventure of it all.

    this place continues to take shape, as velvet finds her voice in all this darkness.

    velvet rants, rages, throws the occasional hissy fit, launches the odd venomous tirade, and intellectually contemplates all the stuff of life, love, and soul

    its depressing, and enraging because the world burns and crumbles before our eyes. yet we sleep.

    we sleep. apathy, greed, power sit atop our eyelids like lead weights

    so, welcome to my world.

    i aim to pry your eyes open, to pry your mind open, to get you thinking outside the box, to shock you even.

    i ask the questions most choose to ignore. i think the thoughts most consider unthinkable. i'm alive. i'm awake. are you?

    hey -- WAKE UP!

  • fury wrapped in a daffodil, confused, undecided, wild child, indigo child, impatient, insomniac, rebellious, outspoken, artistic, restless, bored with routine, i love change, afraid of commitment, i work to live - not live to work, claustrophobic, perfectionist, odd and maybe downright wierd, anxious and maybe a l'il (ok, a lot) neurotic, dichotomous, a teensy bit vitrolic, prone to nastiness, a maverick and a cynic, highly intuitive, sensual, erotic, intense, spiritual -- NOT religious, a bitch, a wordsmith, poet, storyteller, addict, mother, caregiver, dog lover, voracious reader, Mac person, Coke drinker, cannibis appreciator, clean freak, prone to hissy fits, attitude - i got one, fav. colour: red, perfume: estee lauder pleasures exotic, voluptuous, afraid of falling asleep, afraid of the dark, hate being touched, still get flashbacks - PTSD, nite hawk, into fetishes, got a sadomasochistic streak in me
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methuselah lives here

    i have several poetry blogs on the 'net. essentially these contain the same stuff, just presented in differing formats. this methuselah just likes digging around in more than one corpse at a time!

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      afghan hound

      yes to madness





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    velvet poetry

      bell jar dreams

      you held me in your arms,
      my trembling alabaster fruit
      and savagely,
      you trampled me, underfoot
      as master of my shattered freedom
      you - the twisted and beautiful lord
      who sealed me in a windowless bell jar
      with anguish and solitude,
      as my only companions

      captor! my demented master!
      my withered soul screams for you
      it howls for the soothing barbs,
      hidden, in your voice
      and your frail, orgasmic vulnerability
      my withered soul screams your name,
      raging delicately,
      for the gaping hollows of my existence,
      which melted into yours:
      dessicated dreams,
      vanquished innocence

      this sick hunger in my heart for you -
      will it ever ebb?

      copyright ROXI G 2006

      your grace grotesquely crumbles

      your grace crumbled
      into grotesque flakes
      as your fingertips slashed
      my tender silken face
      with rage and vengence,
      that drench my frail child-spirit

      steeped in self-loathing,
      you infected me -
      my gauzy soul
      on your poisoned barbs
      of hatred and lusty greed

      once, i loved you -
      worshipped you, adored you
      and darkness
      eviscerated my heart
      as i watched this adoration stream past
      your inert, stoney heart

      my trembling eyes splinter
      into a thousand tears
      when i look upon your face -
      my reflection - in the looking glass
      you, who deserted my child-trust -
      remain, achingly, ever present

      this dark riverbed of adoration
      that flowed in my viscera for you
      has dried up; my heart --
      which once glistened sublimely inside yours,
      now lies in eternal anguish:
      dessicated, petrified, searingly denuded

      your grace crumbles
      into grotesque flakes
      of grief, rage and greed,
      soaked in the brine of remorse
      you beg, like i did, for a morsel of mercy
      but -- i will STARVE you of forgiveness

      copyright ROXI G 2006


        "there's no way around grief and loss: you can dodge it all you want, but sooner or later you just have to go into it, through it, and, hopefully, come out on the other side. the world you find there will never be the same as the world you left." (johnny cash)

        "i wore black because i liked it. i still do, and wearing it still means something to me. its still my symbol of rebellion - against a stagnant status quo, against our hypocritical houses of god, against people whose minds are closed to others' ideas." (johnny cash)

      poetry masters

        if only you would touch my heart
        if only you were to put your mouth
        to my heart
        if only you were to put your tongue
        like a red arrow
        there where my dusty heart is beating,
        if you were to blow on my heart
        near the sea, weeping,
        it would make a dark noise,
        like the drowsy sound of train wheels
        like the indecision of waters,
        like autumn in full leaf
        like blood,
        with a noise of damp flames
        burning the sky,
        with a sound like dreams
        or branches or the rain,
        or foghorns in some dismal port,
        if you were to blow on my heart
        near the sea, likea white ghost,
        in the spume of the wave,
        in the middle of the wind
        like a ghost unleashed,
        at the seashore, weeping.

        ... Pablo Neruda, from 'Bararole'

        By a route obscure and lonely,
        Haunted by ill angels only,
        Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
        On a black thrones reigns upright,
        i have reached these lands but newly
        From an ultimate dim Thule -
        From a wild wierd clime that lieth, sublime,
        Out of SPACE - out of TIME.

        ... Edgar Allan Poe, from 'Dream-Land'

      anais nin

        "and the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

        “i do not like to be just one anais, whole, contained. as soon as someone defines me. i do as june does; i seek escape from the confinements of definition.”

        “i speak of relief, perhaps when i write; but it is also an engraving of pain, a tatooing of myself.”

        “we are like sculptors, constantly carving out of others the image we long for, need, love or desire, often against reality, against their benefit, and always, in the end, a disappointment, because it does not fit them.”

        “life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. this is a kind of death.”