This week theme: birthdays!

Thinking about birthdays! On Sunday, our River will be 2! So let's write anything and everything about birthdays. I'm floored its already been 2 years. I'm thinking a lot about life and mine, the precious lives I've brought into this world, and birthdays in general. Be creative with BIRTHDAYS!

Lost (7/31/13)

Just because they never grew,

Because they were lost when they were new,

Almost before you even knew,

Doesn't less the pain you had to go through.

It doesn't take the pain away,

And your heart will never be okay,

Although you hide it away each day,

It's the pain that will always stay.

You always wonder what could have been,

If it had not ended so quickly within,

Really before it could even begin,

You lost it all to your chagrin.

So you keep it hidden away inside,

With time the pain only slightly subsides,

Buried deep, it lives where it hides,

Close to your heart where it forever resides.

7/31/13 TLA

Another Example of Theme of The Week

Last birthday, around March, we were eating fried Jalapeño - so, the theme was  of course, Jalapeño- here is the original writing on my part that ensued-which is the beginning rough draft for me, a character I started to fall in love with. So here is an example of my writing process- I write short stories as long as I can possibly go, then in this case, Benny J is actually turning into more of a screenplay, inspired by my love for the movie, Forbidden Zone:

Jalapeño  

As Benny Jalapeño drove his Taco Truck down Sepulveda, he contemplated his recent divorce. He met her when she was a waitress at that road side topless bar, the one with the terrible Mexican food. It was actually sitting there at Lefty's swilling Chamucos, staring at his future ex wife's perfect tits, that he came up with the idea to invest his dead mother's life savings in a fleet of food trucks.  He found it funny that he wasn't even a Mexican, but a half breed  Navajo. Benny was his real name and his mother had been a whore at the Nevada brothel where he grew up. He got the name Jalapeño from Maria Louisa, one of his mother's coworkers-when she had seen him naked at 14 years old, after he was busted spying on her and a client doing it doggy style. She took the money from the old bald man in a dress, winked goodbye, flung open the closet door to find young Benny jacking off. She flicked him hard:

"If you're going to play with that little Jalapeño in here while I'm working, you must pay five dollars!"

From then on, Benny was known as "Benny Jalapeño". One day, he got drunk and jumped in the back of a pick-up truck bound for Los Angeles, filled with illegal migrant workers. He picked fruit in the Central Valley, worked in a factory in East LA, and eventually scored a job washing dishes at a Taco joint in Manhattan Beach. Because he never had a father, and never really liked his drunken, whore of a mother, he took Jalapeño for his last name. 

He bought an old surf board at a yard sale and spent several years winning amateur surfing competitions, becoming semi-famous with the locals. Several years later after he was promoted to Bartender, he was surprised to receive a certified letter, telling him his mother had died of strangulation, and had saved every cent she had ever earned working in that brothel. He guessed she wasn't so bad after all, so he decided to celebrate. That was how he found himself at Lefty's staring at the craziest pair of eyes he had ever seen. And as luck would have it, the crazy eyed bitch just happened to also have the best tits he'd ever seen. Drunk, they headed for Tijuana after her shift  and got married early the next morning. 

Polly was from the Deep South, and liked to pretend she was a southern belle. She had escaped from the foster home in rural Georgia at 15, after her Foster father stopped paying her for hand jobs.   Hitch hiking across country, turning tricks wherever necessary, she finally found her way to Lefty's. Sick of men, she wandered in and met a bouncer who described how Lefty had gotten her name:

In Tampico, Lorena Alvarez had been a semi famous contortionist, in El  fenómeno 

 de la naturaleza, the local nude circus. Lorena, was caught by her husband/pimp/owner of El  fenómeno, lapping between the legs of la señora gorda. He reached for one of the prop swords and hacked off her right breast, as punishment for her crimes against God, and so she became known as Lefty. She continued to work for her husband for two years, until she discovered where he hid the money; shot him in the crotch, and absconded to Tarzana, assuming her dead sisters citizenship and identity. From then on, Lefty avoided sleeping with men, decided with the help of her ex con brother in law to take over the Topless Taco business. When Pedro, the brother in law, went back to prison, she decided to rename the business, "Lefty's Topless Tacos." Business was good because she kept her bitches in line. No one seemed to mind that the food tasted like it had already been eaten. 

On a Tuesday in May, in wandered a scrawny kid with round boobs peeking out of a thrift store tube top. The kid reminded Lefty if herself at that age.

"Aye, Wetta, you look like you have parasites."

Polly batted her eyes and popped out her tits.

"Prolly from eating in dumpsters, Mam". 

"How old are you, baby girl?"

"16 years today, Mam".

Lefty took pity on Polly and gave her a cot in the shed, and a job washing dishes, on the account of Polly being under age. But at 17, Polly had already started turning tricks on the cot, so Lefty scored her a fake ID, and also let her dance, at took a healthy percentage of Polly's "extras". Polly became Lefty's most popular girl. With her demure Southern drawl, and baby soft skin, long dirty blonde hair, in a house filled with Latinas, she melted the hearts of all the Truckers who frequented Lefty's Topless Tacos. It wasn't until after Polly turned 18, that Lefty discovered Polly's dark side. One day, during a power outage, Polly freaked out on an aggressive customer. During a candlelight lap dance, a rich but filthy Trucker, squeezed her boob so hard, she broke a bottle and slashed his face. Not wanting harm to fall on her young lesbian lover, Lefty was forced to pay the Trucker a lot of Money to keep quiet. 

"Wetta, it's a good thing you so red hot at licking pussy. But you WILL work of EVERY dollar, I pay that Man, aye, with me-your Mama, and with the stupid filth that come through here."

Polly rolled her eyes. Since birth, life had been hard.  She was the quintessential victim who in turn, victimized everyone in her path. Manipulation was her strong suit and she learned to use others as much, if not more, than they used her. She was kicked out of school in the 6th grade after violently attacking Leilani Scamp, the local female bully. After setting a track house on fire, she was sent to Juvie and bounced from one foster home to another, where she learned to manipulate any situation with her sexuality. Ungrateful by nature, Polly felt no loyalty to Lefty for taking her in and was game to escape to Tijuana  with the newly rich bartender who kept talking about Taco Trucks. Polly not only planned to suck the marrow, out of life, but also the lifeblood out of anyone stupid enough to fall for her disintegrated Southern charms. 

Brave (7/31/13)

I don't believe in fairy tales,

Or knights in shining armor.

Not after all that I've been through,

With the liars and the charmers.

I used to believe, long ago,

Before my heart was broken,

And before it was all swept away,

With words that were never spoken.

I miss the days I could believe,

That there was one to save me.

Before my dreams all turned to dust,

And loneliness it gave me.

But now I know I can be brave,

Because it's only me that I can save.

7/31/13 TLA

Fallen

O' wicked heart's foolish whim

You drown me in the night again

I asked for this; I saw it so

No light lingers; time to go

In looking back, I cut myself

Down to the basest stones

Hit with the reason I always felt

In the pale hollow of my bones 

You cannot love a phantom man

What's past is past as you can see

You cannot hold a devil's heart

What never was can never be.

(An old one, written 2.13.2009.)

In Between

Things I forgot about me

All surface so quickly

In this life in between

Truth remains to be seen

In this, the in between world

Shadows carefully swirl

In our souls, in our minds

Are we what's left behind

Wondering why we cry

When our hero poets die

Are we sad because they're free

Or because we're whats left a drift 

In this space in between?

L, D and E

Loneliness sat on the velvet barstool, contemplating life and all it's profound mysteries. After all, it was her choice to be alone, the lack of quality people burning so flagrantly in the vortex of her soul. As she fingered the rim of her martini glass, she realized she hungered desperately for a change.

There on the other end of the bar, she recognized Despair. He had the deep, watery eyes of so many others before him. He was the living breathing example of the kind of guy she usually fell for; probably even a Bass player. She knew she could catch his eye-playing with her unruly raven hair, maybe even dancing by the old Juke Box. If she played Leonard Cohen, she could bewitch him into falling in love with her, moving in to her flat, his paintings of redundant shades of black, choking her solitude. For a while, she could make him worship her, believing she must be the authentic incarnation of Pele. He would tell her all his tragedies, as she kissed every scar. For awhile, she wouldn't be so alone. Until eventually, she would dig so deep, deeper still, journeying to the essence of his core, only to find it hollow and dull. Loneliness would be bored and inevitably solo.

She downed her drink and got up to walk out and hail a cab. Tonight would be different. She'd go home, eat something and read herself to sleep-alone. It's better to be alone and lonely, than with someone and lonely, right? RIGHT. As she flicked her hair out of her face, she felt the hard crash of his steely muscles against her delicate body.

Excuse Me.

What?

Since I literally bumped into you, I owe you a drink. Otherwise it's a total jinx, isn't ?

She looked up into the eyes of Satan himself.

Loneliness struggled again with her inner dialogue: Oh god, here we go. Green eyes, black hair, six foot five, toothy grin, cocky. This is the hellbound train of love and I'm getting on fast and hard, knowing full well I'll be wrecked by morning.

Loneliness smiled. Martini please.

The tall man grinned. What's your name?

Loneliness. You?

Loneliness, it's lovely to make your acquaintance. I'm Ego.

All Alone

Sometimes I was playing around with tonight. This is a different form for me as all lines have the same amount of syllables. I am really enjoying trying out different ways of expression.

We are all alone,

Lost deep in ourselves.

We try to reach out,

But grab empty space.

We think there will come,

A time in our lives,

When we're not lonely.

We are just deceived.

We deceive ourselves,

With false illusions,

Of finding someone,

To share our lives with,

But they never come,

So we stay lonely,

And go on with life.

We are all alone.

7/18/13 TLA

Trying to Understand/Pissing in the Wind

She skulked up Haight Street, scowling at the smelly hippy clusters making empty noise and peace signs: The damn 60's have been over for thirty years. Don't these assholes have anything better to do than impede my walk of shame to work? It sure is easy to fund a revolution with your evil parent's blood money. The revolution is against showering, if you ask me. God, how I hate the smell of Patchouli. 

Ewww!

One approaches: "Spare change, sister?"

"Piss off! And I'm not your god dammed sister!"

"Peace, Man!"

Ughhhhh! How dare these putrid rainbow wannabes get in her way! She hoped she didn't have to wait on any of them today. Her time was worth more than serving DeadHeads the dollar-ninety-nine special. They hung out all day, taking up one of the big booths, leaving piles of pennies and hand written notes on napkins: Dear sister, it takes more energy to frown than to smile....Fuck that!They think they are so cool! After all, she is the real revolutionary-escaping drunk abusive tyrant at a young age, lighting out, all of the abandonment since. People just didn't get her, and she didn't like most people. Most people didn't know what it meant to wake with night terrors, to always be on the run from that feeling of not being good enough to be wanted.  She had long since given up trying to understand where she fit in to the world. Instead, she decided it was HER world; her rules, her game. No one was allowed to see the inward pain-only outward hostility. 

She lit a Camel - anticipating being late for her shift. Her stagger sped up, imagining a lecture from her idiot employer. She was ungrateful, almost ashamed of her own beauty. Her long reddish brown hair, catlike green eyes, and slim body attracted many players, but her swarthy manners scared off most of the sissies before they could buy her a whiskey. At 20, her soul felt 220-jaded. Ashen, sunken in cheek bones; anemic. She couldn't remember her last meal. Yeah, she ate something a day or two ago. Who cares. Coffee and cigarettes-what could be a more fitting breakfast? What are you, my mother? Better get a quick bite to soak up last nights booze. Bla bla bla. Last nights clothes full of smoke and glitter, complimented her faded eyeliner; the perfect uniform for today's shift. Glamour at its height of discarded glory.

She stepped on the butt at the front door of "Hippy Hell", the nic-name of the cafe where she worked; the tips that payed for club clothes and rent; booze and drugs; rock n roll, head shots and acting classes- so one day, she could be something more. One day when she was good and ready. 

What would it be today? Would she wait on that hot celebrity? The famous writer? Grunge rock star du jour? They all came in to check out the bitchy devil with the angel face-or was it her perky boobs? She didn't notice  the impact of the scene as much as they did. She was simply lost in the surrender; the haze of not caring about tomorrow. No fear, no apologies. The party tonight would be a new death; tomorrow a rebirth. Same as every damn day. Trying to understand the future was the same as choking  it. She didn't need that bullshit. She had the iron instinct to survive; stronger than a Chinatown cockroach.

This Week's Theme

"Trying to understand".

Remember: it can be a poem, short story, article, picture, or anything really. 

That Night

There were 3 of them there that night,

But 2 of them aren't talking;

To give a reason for the fight,

Or why the one was walking.

(Why did it start; why did it end?

Why would you do that to a friend?)

One of them just ran away.

One never left their chair.

The other didn't know what to say,

And simply stood right there.

(Whether to stay or whether to go;

Whether to follow, no one knows.)

The one looked up and made a choice.

The truth she had to hear.

She had to hear it in his voice.

She needed to be clear.

(But all he did was mumble low,

And asked her please if she could go.)

So go she did and that was all.

Another word was never spoken,

But on occasion she does recall,

How much her heart was broken.

(A broken heart she couldn't avoid,

But a broken heart that was not destroyed.)

7/14/13 TLA

A Haiku

A strong woman soars

Beyond shadows of self doubt

Letting go of fear

(I hope more people will write and that someone will suggest a topic for this week.)

Ballad of P Star Belle (Written Feb 11, 2013)

Southern faded beauty

Draws bony fingers

Ashes long cigarette

Quarrels with forgotten enemies

Exaggerated eyeshadow 

Closes heavy lids 

On the Bayou Sunset

With over ripe wine 

Staining lines in lips

Communing with inner

Ancient queen

Running from broken heart

Chicken fat nights alone alone

Weeping for faded glory

Of past beatitudes

And glitter days gone by

In the whiskey boneyard

Hush lil baby hush hush 

It'll be alright.

New Theme For This Week

As introduced by Tamara in her lovely poem, this weeks theme(s): Letting go. releasing, endings, liberation, etc.  Remember, it can be anything really, picture, poem, short story, haiku, etc.  Hopefully too, some more contributors will be present.  Also, feel free to start a new post with each contribution, or if you are more comfortable, leaving your contribution in comments is okay too.  I just think each contribution deserves it's own blog post.  Also, next Saturday, anyone at all is more than welcome to introduce the next theme. 

Ended Chapter

That chapter has ended.

It's over and done.

I'm not the same person.

No, not that one.

The one that waited,

And wasted those years.

I got tired of waiting;

Was tired of tears.

With never a word,

Your silence was plain.

Your reason for hurting me,

You would never explain.

Now the book will be closed,

Locked with a key,

And seal in the person,

That is no longer me.

**I wasn't sure how this was working. Are we just doing the weekly themes or just posting if we finish something?

Piano

Her name was Helen, but I called her Nanny. She was my Mom's Mom, and she was more than just a grandma to me; she was my constant companion. She was also the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Her husband, my Grandfather, was madly in love with her. After all, everyone was madly in love with her; that Jane Russell - raven hair, and that mischievous sparkle in her eye- she was magical. 

She loved playing her piano, and used to teach me to play as well. We'd sit for hours and have lessons. We also listened to records together; Andrews Sisters and especially Bing Crosby. We loved Bing Crosby. Nanny taught me to whistle, and comforted me when I whistled so much, I gave myself a headache.

When she got sick, I was too young to understand what was going on. There was a lot of back and fourth to the creepy stinky hospital, which seemed to me, an awful unfair interruption of our constant fun. I had no idea what a brain tumor meant. One day, they took me in to see her. I was especially frightened because, not only was there crying going on in my house, but the whole world seemed to be crying. I watched on the TV, as people talked about the death of some fat man who wore capes and had big hair. In the elevator, on the way up to Nanny's room, some boy around my age whispered, "The King is dead". I didn't really know what that meant but it did seem a bad omen for Nanny. My Aunt and Mom waited outside as I went in alone. Bewildered, I asked Nanny what was going on? Why was everyone in such a bad mood. Had I done something wrong?

"Listen," she said as she held me tight, "Things are never going to be the same after today. I need you to be brave and remember no matter what happens, that you are a good girl, and I will always love you." 

Later, I watched as they wheeled her down the hall. The gravity of the situation must have set in, because I remember kicking and screaming, crying for her. I stopped playing the piano after that. 

My whole life, she has been by my side; an incandescent angel. She's saved me from bad situations, advised me in challenging ones. I believe she has even had a hand in helping me to find my amazing husband; a man who loves me just as much as my Grandfather loved her. Recently, we celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary. On the same day, we purchased a beautiful old piano at an estate sale. As I watch my own children enjoy this new piano, I think of Nanny's old piano, and feel her beside us as we play. Her spirit now watches over my sweet children, through the honey tones of the black and white keys.