Dear Muse,
I LOVE YOU!!!
Me
Snippet One: He had a strange smell. It wasn't a stink...but it would never be a perfume either. Perhaps it was the blend of unwashed skin, deodorant, and clean laundry. Tangy musk perhaps; mixed with warmth and slick hands. They weren't the gross, icky hands that came from those nervous guys that drool and stare too much. No, it was more like a slickness that comes after hands have been dipped in lotion and then wiped off before the moisture was absorbed leaving the skin smooth and slippery. I was comforted by that hand, that hand that laid on those jeans of soft and abused denim. I was comforted both by its size and shape. Artist hands they were, and I knew that if I had hands like those then I would never have sold my life to be a weaver slave. I stared in silence at him as we sat on the transporter. He would never know me. He would never ask. He would sit in his molded plastic seat as we rolled along and stare out of the window, thinking thoughts that he would never say out loud to a stranger.
Snippet Two: The harvested trees reminded me of carcasses. Woodland bodies that had been slaughtered for the sake of mankind. Dark, Brown, splintered bodies that lay on the bed of iron trailer, sagging and bouncing as the rubber wheels chugged through their turn and rode off towards their final destination. I watched, disgusted and fascinated at the same time. Perhaps it was all my reading on the holocausts...or maybe it was watching Bambi a few times too many, but I could help but think of those logs as dead bodies. They were murdered corpses that were tossed and thrown helter skelter between those iron poles. Little red flags were nailed to their longest ends to warn cars to keep back. To me though, as the gas blowing trailer moved forward, I could see the red flutters dripping out like a small and sad trail of blood.
Snippet Three: It was a lot more fun to go riding with short hair. She no longer felt restrained by the cords and braids that once fettered her head. Her face felt lighter, more free. Naked, nude and free for the first time that evening. She reached her hand up and smiled as her fingers met no tangling net of tresses. The strands bounced with a think lightness and she could only wonder why she had kept up the demands that the golden mass had demanded for so long. Perhaps she would be free as her head. Perhaps the gesture would be taken for the declaration that it was. With her hair, she was hacking away their shackles. It was a new era after all! She had no reason to be locked into that portrait of the wilting maid. Princess they called her. Bah. Did princesses have cropped locks and snug hats with short dresses that swung as they danced? No. Princesses were delicate things that needed a protector. They were constantly getting captured by the devilish villian and having their honor restored only at the skill of the shining knight errant. Well the shining knight errant could go hang himself for all Carina cared. She was NOT a lady any longer. No matter who she once had been, it was gone now. Now she was a slim and deadly creature of the darkness. She was a silent protector for those who needed a voice. And if that meant being a pain in Lou's side until she realized it, well then she could just roll over and take it.
And finally, the poem I need to write for class.
A Truth will set you free of the
boundaries and holds that
capture you in lies and
deceit. The words will liberate and
ease the discomfort and
fear that you have held.
Gloom no longer will
hinder you from the
independence that you so desperately seek.
Justice will be served and
knowledge found as you
learn to give up your
mind's warping of
non-existent drama. You will
open your eyes to the facts as they
push themselves to the forefront of your
questing imagination.
Resist the urge to spread and malign those you know with
superficial words that
taint the
unblemished soul and encourage the terrible
xenophobia that strikes without need and gives rise to the
yearning for the acceptance of those who are ready to become
zephyrs of spirit, freely floating forward.
Me
Snippet One: He had a strange smell. It wasn't a stink...but it would never be a perfume either. Perhaps it was the blend of unwashed skin, deodorant, and clean laundry. Tangy musk perhaps; mixed with warmth and slick hands. They weren't the gross, icky hands that came from those nervous guys that drool and stare too much. No, it was more like a slickness that comes after hands have been dipped in lotion and then wiped off before the moisture was absorbed leaving the skin smooth and slippery. I was comforted by that hand, that hand that laid on those jeans of soft and abused denim. I was comforted both by its size and shape. Artist hands they were, and I knew that if I had hands like those then I would never have sold my life to be a weaver slave. I stared in silence at him as we sat on the transporter. He would never know me. He would never ask. He would sit in his molded plastic seat as we rolled along and stare out of the window, thinking thoughts that he would never say out loud to a stranger.
Snippet Two: The harvested trees reminded me of carcasses. Woodland bodies that had been slaughtered for the sake of mankind. Dark, Brown, splintered bodies that lay on the bed of iron trailer, sagging and bouncing as the rubber wheels chugged through their turn and rode off towards their final destination. I watched, disgusted and fascinated at the same time. Perhaps it was all my reading on the holocausts...or maybe it was watching Bambi a few times too many, but I could help but think of those logs as dead bodies. They were murdered corpses that were tossed and thrown helter skelter between those iron poles. Little red flags were nailed to their longest ends to warn cars to keep back. To me though, as the gas blowing trailer moved forward, I could see the red flutters dripping out like a small and sad trail of blood.
Snippet Three: It was a lot more fun to go riding with short hair. She no longer felt restrained by the cords and braids that once fettered her head. Her face felt lighter, more free. Naked, nude and free for the first time that evening. She reached her hand up and smiled as her fingers met no tangling net of tresses. The strands bounced with a think lightness and she could only wonder why she had kept up the demands that the golden mass had demanded for so long. Perhaps she would be free as her head. Perhaps the gesture would be taken for the declaration that it was. With her hair, she was hacking away their shackles. It was a new era after all! She had no reason to be locked into that portrait of the wilting maid. Princess they called her. Bah. Did princesses have cropped locks and snug hats with short dresses that swung as they danced? No. Princesses were delicate things that needed a protector. They were constantly getting captured by the devilish villian and having their honor restored only at the skill of the shining knight errant. Well the shining knight errant could go hang himself for all Carina cared. She was NOT a lady any longer. No matter who she once had been, it was gone now. Now she was a slim and deadly creature of the darkness. She was a silent protector for those who needed a voice. And if that meant being a pain in Lou's side until she realized it, well then she could just roll over and take it.
And finally, the poem I need to write for class.
A Truth will set you free of the
boundaries and holds that
capture you in lies and
deceit. The words will liberate and
ease the discomfort and
fear that you have held.
Gloom no longer will
hinder you from the
independence that you so desperately seek.
Justice will be served and
knowledge found as you
learn to give up your
mind's warping of
non-existent drama. You will
open your eyes to the facts as they
push themselves to the forefront of your
questing imagination.
Resist the urge to spread and malign those you know with
superficial words that
taint the
unblemished soul and encourage the terrible
xenophobia that strikes without need and gives rise to the
yearning for the acceptance of those who are ready to become
zephyrs of spirit, freely floating forward.