Saturday, March 28, 2009

Stranger In My Home

As I listen to the strangely haunting den
Of a whistling train in the distance
In a place where no tracks exist,
I am reminded of endearments
From a man I loved in vain.

The sneer upon my lover's face
Does so much more
Than anyone’s smile ever can.
The touch of his hurtful hand
Feels so much better
Than a loving caress.
The hearth of his malicious home
Offers a safer haven
Than the unknown.

I am his prisoner.
I am my passive warden.
He tortures my soul.
And I condemn myself.

No time will heal my wounds
As long as I carry his burdens.
Happiness teary not.

But if I escape
Will my mind drift away on a billowing cloud
And then disintegrate into the falling rains?
If I cease to be his
Will I not exist?
Or will I finally belong to myself?

Will I try to find higher ground
Before I drown in his sorrows?
Or will I try to chase happiness
In the field of his life
And throw away my tomorrows?

Peggy Mintun, April 1995 (dedicated to LL)
This poem is obviously about abuse. All forms: physical, emotional, verbal, psychological. I watched a friend suffer through this and tried as much as I could to help her along the way.

There is a certain amount of impatience that someone on the outside has regarding the person taking the abuse. It is hard to understand how the cycles of abuse can beat a person down and change them, make them not as brave. Often a person on the outside thinks, why don't you just leave him/her? I wanted to talk about that in order to explain the lines:

The sneer upon my lover's face
Does so much more
Than anyone’s smile ever can.
The touch of his hurtful hand
Feels so much better
Than a loving caress.

I'm not saying that a person enjoys that, what I am saying is that may be the perception of someone who does not understand why they stay and take it.

Things did not end well with my friend. She did get out of the relationship, but on her birthday following the divorce her ex decided to take his own life.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Mmmmm...Banana Bread

So, I thought I would share my banana bread recipe. Enjoy!

5 very ripe bananas (yes...5)
1 cup sugar (LOW SUGAR VERSION - USE 3/4 c Splenda)
2 eggs
3/4 cup margarine (butter is better)
1 tbsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp all spice
1 tbsp vanilla
1/2 tsp. salt
1 1/2 (or up to 2) cups Bisquick mix

Blend everything but the Bisquick together.
Just throw it all in a bowl and blend it.
Then add the Bisquick mix.

Put it in a loaf/bread pan...I prefer stone.
Bake it at 375 degrees for about 55 minutes.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Ahhhhhhh.........Another Weekend In Paradise

Ahhhhhhh.........Another Weekend In Paradise

Another installment of stream of consciousness writing.

Went to the dentist.
She talked about banks non-stop.
I was totally high on nitrous oxide.
Get me high and then spark a conversation about finance.
You are ruining my buzz.
Huge misconception.
I am a designer.
I am not a financier; but please, do go on.
I am interested.

I need to answer some interview questions.
Maybe I should wait until I am not on meds.
Nah, fuck it.
I'll do it now.
Send it later.
It is about art marketing strategies.
Hmmmm....I like art and I like marketing.
I think he picked the right person.
But then I like astrophysics.
Yet I may not be the right person to ask about string theory.
Nah, I've got a pretty good handle on shameless self promotion.

The novacaine is wearing off.
I am getting my feeling back.
It is a crap shoot...messing with nerves.
Never mind.
I have another MRI this month.
I keep on thinking about how this will affect the steel plates in my spine.
Will it magnetize the metal?
And make me the largest refrigerator magnet ever?
Probably not.
But these are things I like to consider.
I started reading Flowers for Algernon today.
A friend suggested it for me.
My increasing dyslexia is a concern.
The language centers of my brain may be in peril.
I am a walking textbook of neurological pathologies.
So the doctors say.

Capital gain. Capital loss.
Looks like the new game room is a go.
And a dedicated studio space.
My tooth is killing me.
Another vicodin.
Makes me tired.
I wake up in a panic.
I stopped breathing.
No breath.
I have to force my breathing.
No oxygen.
Empty lungs.
Cannot get air.
So, I start running.
This is not a dream.
And I am still alive.
Another weekend in paradise.