Monday, October 05, 2009

Over the Hill and Through the Woods

I went home to IN this last weekend and as I was driving down one of the country back roads I came across this hill in the road. I've driven down this road before but at that moment, as I approached the hill, it just kind of washed over me that life is like going over that hill.

One of the last times I drove on that road with someone in the car with me, I drove up that hill so fast just so that I could get that little spike at the top that is like the feeling you get when on a rollercoaster with a big drop. Visibility is terrible, the road is narrow and you can not see over it. It's like the world just ends on the other side of it. You can't tell if another car is coming over the other side, if they are within their own lane or if anyone is stopped just over the hill in your own lane. I knew it was careless and dangerous but I took the risk anyway. I was scolded for being careless and reckless and rightfully so.

This time going over that hill it felt like advancing towards the future. Some go fast and carelessly into the unknown, some go slow and cautiously. Either way you approach it, you have no idea what waits for you on the other side and really don't have much control over what does lay ahead. It could be a car crash or it could be safe and sound.

This time I drove over it slow and cautioulsy.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Sick and Tired

of a lot of things but really I'm just sick and I'm tired. I am also sick and tired of looking at my feet below. The funny thing is I don't even like feet. Feet bother me. I don't really even like my own feet and I'd venture to say I don't have bad looking feet. They just irk me. I won't get into my feet speech.

Seriously though, I'm sick. Probably just a combo of a basic cold, allergies and stress. I'm just run down and getting old! I'm not going to freak out and think I have swine flu, although many in my company here have it or had it.

Speaking of the job, I had my review yesterday and right after I had to go home early b/c I was about to pass out. Nice, right?! In case you're curious, I had a glowing reveiw. I'm not surprised b/c I bust my ass here. Why wouldn't I have a good review? Contrary to what was said a month or so ago, raises aren't completely out of the question. We are waiting on the answer to a couple big pieces of business I think before they start dishing out the dough. If they do, I was assured I'd be top on the list in line for one. Fingers are crossed. I could really use it. So at least for now I am semi secure and not in jeopardy of standing in the unemployment line.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

HNT XII - "Cinderella Bound"

For this week's HNT, I produced from the back of the closet my old "glass slippers." These mixed with the pink ribbon reminded me of Cinderella when she was up in the attic making her own dress for the ball. It was pink with lots of bows before the evil step sisters ripped it to shreds right off of her. Is it twisted that I associate a Disney movie with this submission? Maybe but it does seem to be a good fit, doesn't it?

Wednesday, September 23, 2009


I'm having a particularly hard time staying focused lately. Probably why I can't seem to write on here as easily as I did in the past. My thoughts are so scattered and unorganized. About the only time my brain rests is when I read a book and even then it's a conscious effort. Right now I am reading "Lasher" by Anne Rice. It has been a faster read for me compared to the first in the series. "The Witching Hour" took me roughly 3 years to finish reading. Over a thousand pages but I had a lull in my desire to read. Perhaps b/c I had a life back then. Either way reading is the only way now to cease my overactive thought process. My escape from myself.

I had forgotten how much I enjoy books. A friend of mine proudly announced to me today that she won a Kindle. I'm a fan of the technological advance and the benefit of potentially being more "green" then traditional books. But I have to say I can't give up the guilty pleasure of real printed books. It starts when I hear or learn of a book I want. The hunt to find it, most likely in a bookstore. I haven't stepped foot in a library since college even though there is one about 2 blocks from my condo. Shame on me. I can't help it. I enjoy new, crisp unsoiled books.

Once in the store, being surrounded by all those books is stimulating. I become overwhelmed with all of the knowledge and entertainment surrounding me just waiting to be absorbed. There is so much of it. Then there is the smell. Fresh ink on paper. mmmm. (sidenote: part of the reason I like my job so much is I get to go on press and experience this at the source.) The other hook to books is the way it feels in your hands. So smooth and clean under your fingertips. Turning that first page is a thrill. Sound plays into the experience too. The way the spine cracks when you first open it (if it's a hardback) and the soothing swoosh of flipping page after page. It's such a satisfying feeling each time you turn a new page.

The only bittersweet component of books is the end of them. No matter if the story was captivating or bombed, there is a certain sense of accomplishment mixed with reflective sadness. The sadness is shortlived though, as my mind starts to wander on to whatever the next book is I want to read and the whole sensational experience repeats.

Plus all the cool bookmarks are fun to play with too. I know. I'm a book geek. But I can say I don't get this giddy over every single book. Some give off a bad vibe in your hand and you just know to put it back.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Authentic Melmar

Well all of it is authentic but a handful of people have suggested and encouraged I post some of the "real" stuff I've written. Which again, everything I put on here is "real." The word "real" is subjective. But I know what everyone means, they want some of the deep down, inner poetic Melmar. Not the observational journalesque writing I churn out. So to appease the masses (ahem) here is something I wrote worthy of Beginners Lit I.

"Perpetual Encore"

The vibrant sun melts into the horizon
and eventually the black velvet curtain is drawn.

The haunting stillness and silence of night
replace the ordinary sounds of day.

Through the skeletons of trees
flicker tiny images of white.

Soon a cameo of the moon appears
during an intermission of clouds.

In the distance, dehydrated leaves rustle
in response to earth's chilled breath.

Before long, the shadows of gray and black bow out
and like clockwork the curtain begins to rise,

as night slowly fades
into the familiar shades of dawn.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Sweet Dreams

I wish I could. I'm not allowed I guess. I dream vividly and violently. I try to explain it away as it's just me pulling in whatever it was that I saw or read last before slumber but it doesn't always add up. Then I think it's me trying to cope with my fear of the unknown. But not just regular life unknown, the evil unknowns of the world. The unspeakable acts that you never want to say out loud for fear that if you say them they will come true. And for that I bet I can place the blame on our media. Just read the news and it will scare you daily. For example, just recently a woman was abducted right across the street from my 2 o'clock in the afternoon. They ripped her clean of her jewels, beat her and tossed her in their van. Lucky for her they dumped her out not long after (raped or not they didn't say but at least she was let go). So maybe my dreams are a pitiful attempt at facing my fears or worse it's my way of acting out what I secretly desire to do deep down inside of me.

To give you a glimpse of what I speak, here is how last night's dream played out:

I'm driving my old white '93 Chevy Cavalier out to Orland Park from Chicago (for those not familiar, Orland Park is a southwest suburb of Chicago). It's late afternoon in the middle of a rainstorm. It's all grey and hazy. I can't seem to keep my eyes open or keep steady control of the car. It's like I'm really drunk and numb. A few times I drive off the side of the road or drift into the other lane causing people to honk at me. I say to myself i I need to get off the road and rest or I'm going to die or kill or both. I pull off onto a frontage road that leads up to a new Holiday Inn hotel. It's new construction so the roads are all gravel, muddy and wet. I barely make the turn for the road leading up to the hotel, I fishtailed it. I roll my window down to look at the ditch I almost flew into. My hair gets all wet and stringy from the wind blowing in the rain through the window. I remember how it smelled. Like wet concrete and wood.

That's all I remember about that part. The next scene is where the getting gets good. I am pulling into the driveway of my old childhood home where I grew up. It's now evening and the house is lit up all warm and glowing. It's humid out. I walk inside and run into my father. He asks me about my golf clubs and where are they? I think for a minute and say they are at that club where I was going to play a game with friends but we hadn't decided the date yet so they let me just leave them there for when I came back. My father says I should really go get them in case they lose them. I agree and leave the house through the garage. The garage door is open so I walk right out to the driveway. As I get in my car and start reversing out of my long, dark tree lined driveway, I look up to see my mother walk out into the garage to get something. At the same time I see two twentysomething men appear from out of the shadows and walk across my driveway in front of me. Almost like they didn't even see me. I immediately sense very bad thing will come of this.

I watch them walk up to my front door where my brother lets them in. They seem to not notice my mother and the open garage. I watch how the black doorstep is flooded with light as he slowly opens the door. They push their way in. I drive back up to the garage and tell my mother to get in my car and lock the doors. She's questioning me and I have to tell her there are intruders in the house as I shove her in the direction of my car. I have to save them. If anything goes bad, I tell her to drive away. I frantically look around the garage for a weapon. I panic that I'm not seeing anything suitable (imagine that, no weapon in a garage??) Then it comes into view, high up on the wall but not so high that I can't reach it. A hatchet. Perfect for my small hands and for what I know I'm about to do. I grab it and I can feel the weight in my hands, I smell the old rusty steel. It suits me well.

I head for the door inside my house. I glance over at my mother one last time to make sure she is secured in the car. She is terrified. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it against my breast. My wrists and neck are throbbing. Just as I am about to climb the steps inside one of the men descends down toward me. He has a smug look on his face. He's blond, large build but looks to be older now, 40's, deep lines in his face. I know what he's starting to think. Lucky him to find this petite, defenseless girl. I can't possibly give him any trouble and the kind that I can give would just excite him.

I let him draw nearer. My fingers grip the hatchet behind my back so tightly it hurts. I refuse to let it leave my hands. He is now in between the two cars parked in the garage (our old orange '77 vette and my brother's red Camaro year 90's). Soon as he is standing in front of me, ready to claw and clutch at me, I swing the hatchet with all of my being around my right side and impale him right in the middle of his chest. The dull thud reverbrates through my hands and up my arms. I yank backwards. He stumbles to my left and falls on his back onto the front corner panel of the vette. I proceed to hack the holy hell out of him. Blood splatters, pieces of flesh fly but I don't stop. There is no sound except the gruesome sticky sound of me hacking him to pieces. I stand back, wipe a bloody strand of hair from my eye, take a deep breath and look at him. Clearly I have killed him but, like most of my other dreams, I can't believe he is dead. I have to take it further to be sure. I lean over him with one knee on the car and proceed to chop away at his neck until he is headless. This all happened in a matter of minutes.

I look back at my mother and she is speechless. I start to head into the house again and she crys noo! I tell her I have to go. I can't leave them in there. Again, just as I'm about to walk in this time my father steps out. He is scared and just says in a monotone voice "Hello Melmar. How are you?" I know he's trying not to give anything away just like the intruder told him to do. At that moment the other intruder slips past the door and sees me. He too rushes out to meet his fate. I let the same situation play out. The intruder comes towards me but is not smug, he is angry and just wants to murder me. He's yelling something. Then just as he is within arms reach I axe him the same as I did the other. Repeatedly until his chest is a shredded mass of skin, organs and fat. Only him I leave intact, believing for once I have killed sufficiently on my first attempt.

My brother slowly walks out to the garage. We are all there now, as a family and unharmed. I look down at my bloodied hands and feel for the first time how swollen and raw they are. Just like how they feel after I've hit buckets upon buckets of golf balls with no glove. No one speaks. We just stare at each other frozen in stunned silence. End dream.
Welcome to my dreamland. This isn't even the worst of them.

Thursday, September 10, 2009


For lack of anything better. The three areas on my body I want to ink up; shoulder, wrist, ankle. What would you color me with?

Friday, September 04, 2009

F -

Serious case of writer's block.

Monday, August 31, 2009

White Wedding

A distant relative of mine was married on Saturday. Good for them. I wish them luck. Given the odds it won't be easy. The only things worth noting about that night are my sister and I both left our own home, there was an Elvis impersonator, my Mom and Dad came in second as being married the longest in a room full of about 160 people and another relative insisted on arguing with me about how old I really am. After about 15 minutes of being called a liar, that conversation ended with me saying "Yes I am thirty fucking five years old. Now drop it." My age seems to arouse such curiousity in people. Do I really look that young or is it that I just act too juvenile? Don't answer that.

Friday, August 28, 2009

The Sign of Four

"With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction."