tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66447212959264877622024-03-04T23:44:02.949-07:00A Writer's LandscapeMy view of Literature: What I write and create, what I read and critique, what I see and hear.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.comBlogger374125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-57911791386652038502016-12-07T10:20:00.000-07:002016-12-07T10:26:53.570-07:00You Shouldn't Say "Should," Unless You Mean It!People often ask me: What's my favorite word? I don't like this question and always have a difficult time answering. Words are my favorite. In a way, they must be; words are all we have to convey our world to any other, therefore I cherish these symbolic references like old friends. I can, however, answer the question: What's my least favorite word? The answer is "Should." I don't like the sound, the way it makes my mouth move, nor its connotations. Perhaps I dislike its connotations the most because they create emotion and reaction within when confronted with a "should." Think about it; Do you like when I say you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">should</i> read my posts or you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">should</i> vote for my candidate. I would naturally react the same way: with a trepid thoughts forewarning of unknown cognitive dissident trends revealing uncomfortable worldviews. To have such a solid, repetitive reaction to a word among many differing people holds that the word has been imbued with meaning from times past. <br />
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The etymology of "should" reveals a lot of the reasons why I dislike this word. Its sources in English stem back to the Old English world "Sceolde," the past participle of "Sceal," translated to "Shall." They both hold a strong sense of obligation in their meaning in Old English and were closely related to "Scyld" which means guilt and the Germanic world "Schuld" which means guilt and debt, pulling these definitions into the connotation of "should" whenever spoken or written in the 11th century. After all the language used during the 12th and 13th centuries had high religious conviction, binding the laymen to a socially normalizing culture by region as prescribed by the Church. As Old English progressed into Middle English after the 12th century, "Should" took on a future aspect in the encompassed action. For example: One should vote; meaning the individual has not yet voted and is obliged to take part in the action lest they be judged for the lack thereof. At this point in the history of the word "Should," "Sceolde" became related to the Middle English word "Shild," so much so that we now have a hard time detracting guilt, sin, crime, fault, and liability from "Should" today. One should not eat 'x' because 'y'; or one should believe 'x' because 'y'; where the statement 'y' has an intrinsic negativity closely associated (i.e. "One should not eat sugar because it triggers diabetes over long term use," where diabetes is bad). <br />
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Nowadays "Should" still encompasses a lot of these connotations, more so than "Shall." Where the latter has become more of an affirmation or action (i.e. "I shall go to the store."), the former is more of a directive laced with the aforementioned judgmental mentality. This is due to the close association of "Should" with philosophy in our time. In recent history this term has been closely linked with the ideology of right and wrong and morality. Now we see "Should" as prescriptive language asking the subject to question the immediate action at hand for its value in order to acknowledge another point of view as more correct (i.e. "You shouldn't cut onions that way; you should cut them this way"). The tone of guilt, sin, etc. may not be as strong in our language, but drawing morals into the discussion with current connotations of "should" echo the Old and Middle English linguistic trends. We know this because "Would," the second and third person predicate, does not hold the same connotative meaning of wrong doing, though it can be accusatory as in the derisive proclamation: "You would." Since the word has taken on a philosophical note it has also encouraged an authoritative aura, where the speaker/writer utilizing "should" knows best and is obliged to instruct the listener/ready of such knowledge. From my experience, those who use "should" in their speech often enjoy the dominating effect of the word. We can easily see this in our managers and they way they interact with their employees. Those who manage instead of lead often utilize "Should" where leaders open a conversation and preface ideas with "could you" or "what do you think about this" as alternatives to creating a change in their proletariats. <br />
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Then again, "Should" has its purpose in authority. One should (in fact) do a good job at work, if they don't consequences will come up. One should follow the law, because again consequences will arise. One should be healthy, share love, think less, etc. I can say these things wholeheartedly (even with my dislike of the word) because their prescription follows suit with my beliefs and larger understandings of the Verse. I take the philosophical stance, acknowledge the value of good and bad in actions and things, and draw conclusions that mirror those truths with which I assign my authority in saying this word in order to bring a balance and harmony into my world. When using language properly the full weight of the word can be harnessed. If we imagine a word highly overused (like love), we lose the power of the word. You can love a person, an animal; and a cup, or an idea, or a figment of imagination -- all just as much as you would like or admire or desire these same objects. Instead of using a more descriptive term we lump the idea into a larger term: Love. This is happening with "Should," where requests are disguised with knowledge, where authority covers insecurity, and when we can't accept other and attempt fixing it.</div>
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My experience with this word has colored my Verse. Living in America we're faced with a list of expectations in being a good and proper American. My generations were practically told that we should be straight, married, educated, hard working; that we should have a high credit score, go to church, save money; and by not adhering to these expectations we should expect scorn from our family, peers, and community. History books pointed to the righteous (those "shoulding" everywhere) always claiming victory, so why would we want to question these edicts? At the ripe age of 30, I've finally found footing to question these ideologies for myself and build a repertoire of "Should" in my life I can stand behind. That's all I ask of you now: look at when you say "Should" and begin to question if that's the right way to use it. Remember where this word has come from and what its use embodies in our language today. You may find when you start utilizing "Should" in the future people will listen more closely.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-36887669583496041452016-11-22T16:58:00.000-07:002016-12-07T10:27:01.084-07:00What Labels Mean in our World.<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We are introduced to
our world through sound in the beginning. Our mother's womb allows vibrations
to penetrate the protective sack like nothing else can, save the nutrients she
provides. From these vibrations we become acquainted with the outside; and when
we're born sound is the first thing we experience clearly. Eventually our
brains can grasp what is going on and the chaotic rhythm of life forms into
manageable compartmentalized associations that help us cope with the myriad of
options before us. Words enter our schematic of the universe and these words
become labels for the intrinsic, mundane, specific, beloved, and desired. In
fact, we would not be able to succeed, prosper, and potentially enjoy the
societies in which we live without the basis of labeling quite literally
everything; though a few intellectuals might enjoy discovering the unlabeled...
so they can label it. As we grow and learn, experiencing the various modes of
life on this precious planet we call Earth, certain connotations creep into language
further coloring our Verse with little judgments that express our ideology,
morals, and, most importantly, our Self.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The given designation
we call a Name is the simplest, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a priori</i>
transition into labels humans come across. It's usually the first thing to
which a baby responds after many days/weeks of repetition and engagement. This
name, however, does not give us our identity, but rather creates an Identity
Space empty of the person. Because my name is Josh does not mean I josh people
or am a josher by nature, though jovial and jocular utterances do engage my
communities in laughter frequently enough; my identity is larger than one word
or phrase or label. Life introduces us to many labels that we cannot choose:
our gender, race, sexual orientation, age, etc. Over time humans discover what
factors in life associate them with defining words: a job, a social group,
fields of studies, and even relationships; and even these descriptions of the
self are not guaranteed depending on region/state/country in which one might
reside. Then there are the self-chosen labels that we identify with: religion,
politics, and regional affiliations. We call ourselves Democrats or
Republicans, invoking all the denoted and connoted meanings to these
qualifiers. We set ourselves as this sect or another of Christianity and set
boundaries that group others within that specific label. We believe region sets
us apart from other humans because cultures differ between mountain, swamp, or
island inhabitants. But these are all words created by humans to help us
understand what we see, feel, taste, hear, and comprehend. What if it's all
really just meaningless babble? </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It can't be
meaningless because you would not be building greater concepts through my words
if meaning were absent. The image of a cup -- yep, that one that just popped
into your head -- is brought forth because the word "Cup" has an
undeniable meaning attached to it. Perhaps this is why we label ourselves like
processed food. One serving of Josh comes with a healthy view of Pagan
ideologies, a small dosage of fiscal conservatism, heavy portions of social
progress, a coating of Green Party propaganda; injected with college education
in Literature and Astro-Physics, music appreciation, culinary ingenuity,
artistic ambitions; less than 2% moody, judgmental, irrational, conspiracy
theorist, etc. Do not take if Close-Minded, Judgmental, Homophobic, Racist,
etc. Would this mentality disrupt the abhorrence for the other in society, by
putting forward all our identity ingredients for those to choose whether or not
to engage? I think not, merely because this would give the judger an automatic
right to judge based on the facts of your existence. Remember my warning: Do
not take if [fill in the blank]. We already judge people based off labels.
Doctors are seen as intelligent to some because the title Doctor comes with
years of education. But we also question whether Doctors are educated
thoroughly (they study pharmaceuticals and their effect on health, not a full degree
in bodily health). We judge people based off age (too young, must be wet behind
the ears), gender (women aren't as strong as men), "race," and
ethnicity. This is so second nature by this point we can barely notice the
difference between a simple label (i.e. cup) apart from the more intricately
laced labels (i.e. gay).</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In order to label
something we have to distinguish its difference from other objects. Human
nature till this point has been to analyze for "goodness," a property
of inherent wealth corresponding with desire, necessity, or social status, and
thus judge separate it from others by this designation. Our daily practice is
to analyze driving patterns, nutritional information, and social morals,
amongst other things. America is currently in the heat of a label war within
its own borders: Republicans and Democrats vying for justice against a backlash
against liberal ideology present under a conservative Democratic presidency.
The labels have interfered with relationships, at least in my world. My
conservative extended family through my partner voted for President-Elect Trump
(a label that sours my mind, squelches my heart, and demeans some respect I
might have assigned that role in our nation) and has repeatedly approached us
with words of wisdom, consolation, and misunderstanding. They've labeled us as
"inexperienced" politically (overlooking academic studies in
Political Science and sitting on a Congressional Advisory Committee), as
"whiny liberals," as "misinformed." Rather than looking
beyond their own label as Republicans to see what comes with the package of a
Trump presidency (support from terrorists groups like the KKK, Neo-Nazis,
Extremist Christians) and correlating that with our reactions to such an
election turn out. But even here I have labeled entire groups of people with
the same mindset, which is absurd. These are, however, the regular thought
patterns which stem from the simplest of labels which assigns us a sense of
pride, segregating us in our own prejudices, unable to grow from the lack of
connection.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Pride is what helps us
feel comfortable in our own labels, and I don't mean to say we shouldn't be
proud of who we are. We must be careful with our labels, with the words we
choose to associate with our being. Words are power: they create feeling, memory,
experience. When we start piling on meanings to words, expanding them to
encompass a large survey rather than the individual, we lose the Truth. As
Eckhart Tolle so elegantly states:</div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">The word God has become empty of meaning through thousands
of years of misuse. By misuse, I mean that people who have never glimpsed the
realm of the sacred, the vastness behind that word, use it with great
conviction, as if they knew what they are talking about. Or they argue against
it, as if they knew what it is they are denying. This misuse gives rise to
absurd beliefs, assertions, and egoic delusions, such as "My or our God is
the only true God, and your God is false," or Nietzche's famous statement,
"God is dead."</span></div>
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Before you label yourself, ensure you know what your labels
really mean. And before you confront the ideology behind another label, make
sure you know what it means for the labeled. This will help banish the
confusion and misinterpretation of actions by individuals because our
expectations of them won't be misguided by our own prejudice. </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Know your Labels. Know
your Words. Know your Verse.</div>
J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-26827132856525838512015-08-08T20:41:00.002-06:002015-08-08T20:41:42.605-06:00From This PlaneI want to jump from a plane<br />
and fall for falling free from form<br />
at peace with the journey to Earth<br />
where attraction takes me into the<br />
defined, as gravity: a one direction.<br />
Velocity has answers graphically<br />
approaching the endless line bound by<br />
orbit -- the same force holding true.<br />
To fall, however, far, one must rise<br />
even in a system of inevitability --<br />
balance is the only Truth --<br />
we must rejoin from whence we came.<br />
The pull accepted in a priori comprehension<br />
as that to our orb by bodies first<br />
is but our charge, our will, acceptance<br />
regardless verity within -- so to jump<br />
from this plane is to fall away<br />
toward the home beyond all homes<br />
without need of the chute on our backs.<br />
No wonder we fear and accept such lesser<br />
as Truth.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-82924751283057884132015-08-05T15:18:00.000-06:002015-08-05T15:18:07.117-06:00PainFire drawn over skin<br />
Sinking waves pulling the heart<br />
Drums thrumming inside bone<br />
<br />
They speak of moments<br />
both then and now completely<br />
without holding reason to cause<br />
<br />
Perception allows reality's presence,<br />
perspective frees us from antipathy.<br />
Pain is momentary, unless desired.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-58599575774114251502015-08-05T15:04:00.000-06:002015-08-05T15:04:06.100-06:00I Can Feel A Pulse WithinI can feel a pulse within,<br />
awakening slumber, providing dreams --<br />
Dare a smith create a gift from without?<br />
Heart to head, heart to hand,<br />
the blood runs black upon the light<br />
bearing mind into the world;<br />
bringing beats upon the still.<br />
Coded messages in a will unknown,<br />
feral hopes, sacred desires, shallow dreams<br />
emanate from one to an other<br />
in perspective learned and shared.<br />
I feel. I fear. No words are there.<br />
And yet the drum sounds on,J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-4714125309328144622015-08-05T15:01:00.001-06:002015-08-05T15:01:18.481-06:00Where has it gone?Once roots reached deep into the world<br />
seeking such nutrients only darkness manifests.<br />
They built paradise and life, a haven for the mind<br />
where words stained a naive leaf<br />
and reality flourished in sun-drenched canopies.<br />
All that was seen was merely created.<br />
All that was reflected what could be.<br />
<br />
Yet, as even the Sahara dried over time,<br />
my roots see, bound and shallow<br />
like settled cacti in sun-drenched sands.<br />
A longing for the sea to fall upon land,<br />
for life to flourish as once perceived.<br />
Selene pulls life out by night, where<br />
waves of vision reach into our eyes.<br />
<br />
Even barren, life relegated into minimalism,<br />
the cactus flowers and smells sweet.<br />
Though roots wade the warmed earth<br />
and feel light without the touch of water<br />
for life prevailing in the desert -- but strokes away<br />
from lush perseverance and endless artistry.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-63537474968067789972015-07-18T19:32:00.001-06:002015-07-18T19:33:26.652-06:00Viva Las VegasSitting in the hotel room in a new sort of quiet is handsomely rewarding as it gives me a moment to think, to ponder, and to figure out the expressions I dare hold within my breath. Early morning traveling has conquered my three companions, though I daresay I expected nothing less as sunrises are plentiful for me alone out of this gang. My boyfriend and his mother are the ones who stay up latest, and sometimes forging on through the night till predawn before turning in; my grandmother whose recovery from surgery is going very well though the effort of travel and movement tires her still; and myself who lives for a community of work-goers craving energy first thing in the morning. My 4:15 wake-up call came as a nearly nonexistent hinderance, even though yawns pervaded the motions. Others were less fortunate than I. My love found himself startled awake partway through the night with rummaging in the house and our guard dog barely able to contain herself, my grandma's restlessness and excitement seemed to get the better of her deeper journeys away from the waking world, while my soon-to-be mother-in-law found it easiest to remain wide-eyed and bushy-tailed for her 5 am bus ride to the airport. And now the beds are all utilized and I sit on a chaise-lounge looking out the second story window into the foliage of a tree unnatural in this barren landscape.<br />
<br />
A landscape that has transformed into a haven of supposed joyful sin. Mind you, I enjoy this place as much as any for reasons as similar to any who come here yet my perspective misses the <i>sin</i> of it. If you can find rest here, as easily as my three companions, then what wrong have you encountered? What wrong have you possessed within yourself? What mark have you missed? Truly gaining the ability to travel to such a marvelous city as this, one whose wealth has stemmed into the acceptance and portrayal of fine art on a grand scale (and on a small scale as well), and finding pleasure in whatever way within the acceptable limitations (however few) afforded here does not garner the denotation of such a loathsome word as sin! Our lives are meant for experience and knowledge, the foundation of which can bring us to love and enlightenment -- but how do we accomplish this? Well that's easy: find situations that open your mind and push your limits and expand the possibilities within the world. Sure Las Vegas isn't a city for innovation (outside architecture, art, gambling, and entertainment), but it seeds the hope of continuous joy.<br />
<br />
Now don't get me wrong, gambling in an extreme beings little joy, love, and appreciation for life. Seeing the faces of high rollers stacking their thousands, if not millions, on the table, eyes glued in furrowed expectation while lips are pursed in frustrated loss, shows me the dark side of Vegas. Even the overabundance of sex, lust, and drugs phases me less than the absurd amount of money that flows from the richest pockets; yet I know they sleep as soundly as this hotel room through the early morning hours (to wake up to sorrow, and hope of winning their losses again). Which brings me to my point: what I want from Vegas can't be as bad as the experience of high rollers pursuing riches they already attained.<br />
<br />
Pleasure. Simple, honest, evocative pleasure is all I seek from Vegas. Whether that be intoxication of the mind while joyfully spending twenty-five cents in a slot machine or a group of beautiful men touching each other in order to satisfy some physical climax or simply learning about the intricate history of this divergent city, pleasure is my "sin" in Las Vegas. My eyes seek the beauty of Vegas, my ears hear the wonder, and my body feels the pulse. My experience is a roller-coaster of emotions when coupled with drugs (alcohol primarily...) and the sightings of the dejected. But all-in-all, Vegas has a special place in my heart, in my mind, and in my desire.<br />
<br />
So here's to a week in Vegas with family coping with the thrills, desires, and sins the world can throw at me, all boiling up while I sit in silence in a fabricated living space intended for short term rests.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-61096529044705187142015-07-13T15:46:00.001-06:002015-07-13T15:46:42.501-06:00SunsetThese are the last moments of a day, where filigree splashes across the sky in bright torrents and the land is forced to mimic the reflection of the sun. Ironically the jagged horizon spites the brightness with a deep and vibrant purple seen once a day as the rest of the world turns to passionate fire. Speeding northward on 287 affords one of the best views: Long's Peak crowned by the effervescent spokes of our Sol, slopes falling onto golden pastures ready for harvest, the occasional green tree standing tall amongst the shorter stalks, the lonely farm wrapped by its own fields and the encroaching end of day. My breath was stollen as we drove home last night.<div>
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It's not often I witness the sunset, nor the sunrise, but last night was a joyous moment to behold with my love. We drove with silence between us, apart from the sporadic exclamation of wonder, as time pushed onward and we flew homeward. Questions crept into my head once we arrived. Why don't I appreciate moments like that more often? Why can't I appreciate every moment in the same way as this particular sunset? What can I do to mend my perception of my time, my space, and the free flowing experience which is my gift in this world?</div>
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One easy answer is to write; to create moments that will forever exist in one form or fashion. Here I am, writing down the basics of a short drive home as the sun set. As I continue to birth new ideas, new pleasures, new ways to express myself, I realize this is the one passion which always draws my attention. I've painted, played music, and I sing often; but writing, putting words to paper (or digital code), and filtering through the myriad of words available for one feeling gives me an immense sense of completion.</div>
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<div>
I long to paint this vision that came upon my love and me last night, last eve. I'll share that with all of you as soon as I find it on the pages in front of me; and then my words will have sight as well. </div>
J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0Longmont, CO, USA40.1672068 -105.1019274999999940.0701363 -105.26328899999999 40.2642773 -104.94056599999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-74140605804645588042015-07-11T23:51:00.001-06:002015-07-11T23:51:08.664-06:00A Re-IntroductionThis feels rather rusty, like old cogs turning with a squeal in the dark; for I am in the dark. I've brewed ginger-garlic tea, not because I am ill but for the enjoyment of comfort in a time of unknown and the possibility such a tonic will permit me health without the aid of others. So recently have I been in that sterile environment, closed in with white walls, women, and wherewithal. What else could I do but assess the values of my life when such a clean slate presents itself? Once value I treasure: I am able in my functions within this society. A value I humbly embrace: I live a blessed life. Then there are the ones I instill as ably as I can: to learn, to see, to hear; be kind, love, appreciate; seek beauty, wisdom, and the future (whiles knowing the present is all). I fail occasionally, but my effort remains on this path. Four years ago I would never consider making myself a tea strictly of ginger root and fresh chopped garlic, to which I would add apple cider vinegar and an organic juice; tonight is different: fresh pressed ginger-garlic tea with rosemary for memory and beauty and honey to help sweeten those synapses.<br />
<br />
Something within me called for a healing medicine. I know a few methods to heal wounds, but not all. I went to the emergency room a few days ago due to a laceration of my left forefinger, an injury incurred while fighting jalapeños, a primary ingredient in green chili, at work. Normally preparations would have been made by me, continued on course by myself, and done away with a precision only I could hope to muster. The cut is fairly deep, and to this day it looks a little scary with five stitches holding it together; my remedy calls for a traditional American remedy: superglue. The doctor's prognosis was to keep my forefinger erect, allaying the possibility of a snapped tendon (one such nicked by a stainless steal blade). My naivety would have caused me further injury, and this band-aid for which I think to remove for the first full night since the incident would have remained red and I could have lost far more than blood and dignity -- jalapeños should never conquer an hispanic, right? Regardless, the issue remains that my own perception of healing fell short of the necessities for such an injury, and after even a few days I feel rusty at the modes to which I need to heal myself.<br />
<br />
An age ago, though that sounds melodramatic, my life changed. I realize now that change took more away from me than I thought I would garner. Perhaps that isn't entirely true. The world into which I stepped gave me a whole mess to deal with; and after four and a half years I've realized that mess is still around. To be frank, nearly half a decade prior to this moment I broke away from a past which seemed to be hindering me from actively engaging with the world as myself. My desire to please love was causing a blockade to hold barren the passions of my personality, to store away a freedom of expression. Though love was my witness in these atrocities, I couldn't justify true love when my self was hindered from being by me. A life, or two, then ended.<br />
<br />
Possibility reigned for a short while until I realized I was far broken and aiming wildly into a future I couldn't imagine. My memories of this period are as dark as the room I sit: light filters in from the kitchen and radiates in soft glows from the television before me and the golden-red lightbulb barely energized above. It seems I lived life at night, hidden from the light of day, the truth of moments. This is not to say I could not remember the time spent between January and August of 2011 -- but I feel remembering this summer of nightfall is to question my life now.<br />
<br />
My band-aid is not ready to remove.<br />
<br />
I've pulled off the band-aid upon my finger between delicate sips of hot tea. The itch demanded liberation from the suffocating permanence of safety. My heart thrumbs in a chasm deep between two lungs. Soft clicks tell me my mobility is not hampered by the cross stitched curve atop my index. My mind slows the progress of the flashing vertical line dancing before me. Such action feels rusty, unpracticed, and forced, when it once flowed as freely as the visions of other worlds flickered in the darkness of my eyelids. There is a bandage here, something blocking me from myself again. Writing is its sky. Words will fall upon the leafs blown in autumn winds.<br />
<br />
Summer is present again and questions brought by the gentle night press against my brain. Bubbling persists, words dance in colorful attitudes pressing me to find answers without thought, and fear wafts from behind veiled clearings bathing in the sunlight -- or the moonlight. As days progress, words will come; and the pages of this artifice will expand.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0Longmont, CO, USA40.1672068 -105.1019274999999940.0701363 -105.26328899999999 40.2642773 -104.94056599999999tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-63318352589206934052012-04-10T11:26:00.001-06:002012-04-10T11:26:41.749-06:00WordsWords, or whatever you wish,<br />
fall slack upon this page.<br />
They've overturned themselves<br />
pouring the unmistakable, the black,<br />
upon springtime snows<br />
like churlish smatterings seeking<br />
the unknown expressions lost within.<br />
<br />
Pointless ballpoint pens,<br />
void keys clacking onward,<br />
hazy disillusionment of<br />
measurable ambiguities,<br />
compression leaving marks on my chest...<br />
I stand at the bottom of an emptied pool.<br />
<br />
Blue never looked so isolated,<br />
delineating regulatory spacings.<br />
Please pardon my white legs--<br />
They tast not he freedom of language<br />
turning leaves like<br />
unprecedented heat waves.<br />
<br />
I fear a recessive winter's eye<br />
peering between two lungs.<br />
Perhaps summer's burn will brown<br />
unlike the scrawling phallus<br />
whose pleasure is permanence<br />
in symbols<br />
between the mournings.<br />
Do we know best that which<br />
darkens?<br />
Keep us white?<br />
<br />
Where vibrations soar in unvisualized<br />
mediums<br />
signification clings to no answers,<br />
like the burdened charring<br />
upon unfettered clouds.<br />
We'll fall in pursuit, hoping<br />
our tools will free us from<br />
the emptiness.<br />
Thus here we are...<br />
But from where,<br />
and with what?<br />
<br />
I've stared into the page,<br />
beneath the walls perpendicular to my eyes,<br />
soaking in the emptiness...<br />
until I decided to start with<br />
<br />
<br />
Words.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-35916930592777827992012-04-10T11:21:00.001-06:002012-04-10T11:21:21.476-06:00Weapons Range QualificationsBasic instructions:<br />
1) range of intent<br />
2) special field qualification detection<br />
3) marking multiple timed targets<br />
4) conduct field-fire standards testing<br />
5) alternate targets<br />
6) mark<br />
7) phase single target<br />
8) observables<br />
9) conduct timed training<br />
10) record rifle marksmanship<br />
11) alternate courses<br />
12) section intentJ Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-11431231495963522592012-04-10T11:19:00.001-06:002012-04-10T11:19:04.660-06:00Drug AbuseMethods withdraw body and mind.<br />
Scientific drugs rehabilitate strictly necessary<br />
futures.<br />
Entrepreneur Wellbeing, his dependence overcome,<br />
can't be bad for you.<br />
Calculated facilities -- abusers tried misuse;<br />
Reduce life, fix chemicals!<br />
Getting together, that slippery slope,<br />
freely admits symptoms tested<br />
in effect, brainwashing addiction.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-23221386542699095962012-04-10T11:17:00.002-06:002012-04-10T11:17:27.985-06:00SkiingTime the of most bills your pay.<br />
Still... and day powder every ski.<br />
Possible as little as work:<br />
To how here's happen, lifestyle.<br />
Bum!<br />
Ski the make, actually you do how.<br />
Answered be to question<br />
Important, an there's us<br />
upon is.<br />
Winter that now.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-41843579490881143792012-04-10T11:16:00.002-06:002012-04-10T11:16:24.153-06:00Moving in with your parentsmore than<br />
ages<br />
living at home in<br />
at least<br />
.com found<br />
in<br />
their early<br />
saving up.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-46083866264042045032012-04-10T11:15:00.001-06:002012-04-10T11:15:16.618-06:00ShopliftingPrevention provides programs:<br />
Petty professional property...<br />
Problem: poster people.<br />
Promoting pay, Peter<br />
paces personal potential's<br />
perceived plans. Physiological<br />
paybacks perhaps profit<br />
PAIN PARADOX PERCENT:<br />
Personal Pulled Pressure.<br />
peer primary presents.<br />
prior publish prevent.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-55949789701758588932012-03-20T12:23:00.000-06:002012-03-20T12:23:25.563-06:00If you hate your life, then 2 equals naught.Conditioning of the impervious existence,<br />
where the undeniable contracts within constant forward motion...<br />
We see, we feel, we are, we choose:<br />
and the choice to pleasure<br />
experienced and given<br />
is the choice which defines the ruts we tread.<br />
<br />
What when the choice is negative?<br />
Negated negotiation of expectation:<br />
What is foundation is lost in nothing.<br />
It is between the two, a space of reason<br />
from choice and chosen --<br />
sunshine and void<br />
teeth and absence<br />
One and one<br />
<br />
Love and hate shifted paradigms of choice.<br />
<br />
What choice, when one makes all for naught?J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-67169271102944168582012-03-18T20:13:00.001-06:002012-03-18T20:14:32.776-06:00How does the world reconcile love and belonging? It feels disconnected sometimes: love inhabits the undeniable a d belonging inhabits a space somewhere outside the realm of possibility. Perhaps belonging is in the mind, I admit... I will always learn from the obvious truth that perception rules the cosmos more than truth. A truth: my boyfriend and I don't belong together. He belongs with his own, I belong with mine... And I don't know what mine is... I thought I knew who I was, where I belonged, and to where I would go... It seems I was wrong.<br />
<br />
Well, one thing is true: I know what I will do, where I'll go, who I will be... The trouble is always in the moment. Moments change the mind more drastically than truth.<br />
<br />
I can't let this moment change my mind. I'm happy. But I'm not fulfilled. I know why, I'm just scared to face the truth. My uninhibitedness has waned drastically.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-40751791454806828742012-03-13T12:17:00.003-06:002012-03-13T12:17:20.781-06:00Would Messier See Me Falling?<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
The arrows move</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
drawing me down</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
onward toward the inner dark --</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
whiteness berating noise --</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
neither in nor out --</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Falling into the inner horizon,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
diving where known cannot be,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
to be torn apart as</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
thoughtless instability drifting in space</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
creating new space</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
in spacelessness</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
I look to the sky:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
underneath calls beauty black --</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
spreading wings into a nether</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
we fly down</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
like arrows in gravity</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
turning language into dust</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
air becoming the throne</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Emit</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
caught in the lines of imaginary rainbows</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
absorbed lines cutting in the void.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
My mind falls</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
the words are gone.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Sitting alone with peers</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
grasp endlessness with a desk</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
intent slips into an anti-verse.</div>J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-36783877243983870182012-03-08T21:55:00.002-07:002012-03-08T21:56:07.541-07:00Distraction1) Surfacing discomfort<br />
coupled warmth and<br />
[incomprehensible] (agendas)<br />
--a meaning hazed-- drowned in language<br />
skimming consciousness<br />
--<br />
They mumble<br />
something[s]<br />
about importance<br />
[learning][teaching]<br />
stuck by a chair, in [without]<br />
(what thought [-----])?<br />
. . .<br />
Droning on,<br />
I slip away into . . .<br />
<br />
2) jealousy another<br />
--what love has wrought--<br />
waves crash, bring<br />
(what was already brought)<br />
[love] [him] [him]<br />
like a choosing<br />
no choice -----<br />
Abundance, overly!<br />
I say I love [ ]*<br />
I say I want _____<br />
I say I am.<br />
. . .<br />
In love, broken amongst many,<br />
searching what's found . . .<br />
<br />
3) words flow like red rocks from the mountain top, molten rivers creeping upon the lush splendor of fertile habitats. This, the language in black, moves through the [vestibules] [wings] like tormented zephyrs (waiting to speak [a godly] truth about what dares [not] be known)_. [I] listen ([un]consciously) and feel the pen scrawl across the symbols like a soothsayer pointing at my hea[d][rt].<br />
<br />
She whispers<br />
"you [don't] know what [they] [you] want.<br />
"you [can't] know what [they] [you] need.<br />
"you get what you hold."<br />
<br />
4) I [hold] love<br />
Three, four... five<br />
too much.<br />
I [hold] want<br />
Freedom, one... all<br />
too much.<br />
I [hold] need<br />
Together, apart... commitment<br />
too much.<br />
<br />
5) "Turn in your essay questions."<br />
I'm lost in the trails of my thoughts,<br />
wrapped in<br />
love for<br />
too much.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-76463027035909824632012-03-08T10:28:00.000-07:002012-03-08T10:29:04.820-07:00Essay Exam for Critical Thinking[<i>This is an essay exam for my critical thinking course. Enjoy reading, and go pick up </i>A Gathering of Matter, A Matter of Gathering<i> by Dawn Lundy Martin and read her poetry. It's really quite good, once you get past the odd forms of the poems.</i>]<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Form in Between<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Dawn Lundy Martin’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Gathering of Matter, A Matter of Gathering</i> is an intense book of
poetry that sits between two distinct forms of poetry while still exemplifying
characteristics of both. One form of poetry is language poetry, while the other
is lyric poetry. These types of poetry utilize language in drastically
different ways, one focusing on the actual use of language and the meaning
forming from the language while the other focuses on the addressed emotion.
Martin is able to bridge the difference and bring a unique harmony to the two
forms.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Language poetry, according to the Academy of
American Poets, acknowledges “that language dictates meaning […]. Language
poetry also seeks to involve the reader in the text, placing importance on
reader participation in the construction of meaning.” Martin plays with the
language in her poetry very poignantly. One example of her expertise with
language poetry is her poem “Butterflies Become.” The portion of this poem in
brackets seems very heavy, yet innocuous at the same time. Each bracketed
phrase, “[Fatwa] [Faucet of defiance] [From mesa] / [Desert stinge] [Vulva
stiffening] [Sulfuric blunder] ….”, holds a very relevant emotion but does not
explicitly derive that emotion for the audience (Martin 20). The language
creates the emotion as we read through the poem. Not only are these emotions
build through the language, the diction needs investigation for many people as
well. As the audience learns what “[Fatwa]” means (a ruling on a point of
Islamic law given by a recognized authority) the following brackets change
their meanings (Martin 20). Without the definition of such a word, the poem’s
meaning would be less solid. The language of “Butterflies Become” creates the
meaning, whereas the meaning is buried deeper and harder to find without
examining the language directly.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
The other aspect of Martin’s poetry is its
lyricism. Lyric poetry, according to Types-Of-Poetry, is “a poem […] that
expresses the thoughts and feelings of the poet. […] Lyric poetry addresses the
reader directly, portraying his or her own feeling, state of mind, and
perceptions.” All of Martin’s poetry attempts to portray an emotion through its
message/meaning. However, Martin does not allow the narrative of the poems to
obviously address the audience with pronouns of “you” and “I”. “The Symbolic
Nature of Chaos” is a superb example of this. The poem itself is addressing a
direct emotion or feeling but Martin doesn’t address herself or the narrator,
much less the audience. She puts out the emotion “ … like a yelling and a tree”
and allows the audience to sit in “… the darkness of this bereft body” without
any explicit declaration of what is being read (Martin 3).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
The best example of Martin’s duality of
language and lyric poetry coalescing in one poem is her poem “After Drowning.” The
diction used is baffling at times, skirting obvious meaning and burying it
beneath the language used, but still suffuses a meaning, an emotion, a state of
mind within the poem as it stretches across the pages. She also utilizes “I”
within “After Drowning,” giving the distinction that there is a narrator
expressing something, but it still takes a deeper reading and comprehension to
bring that meaning to the surface.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Spontaneous Feelings Resisting Intelligence!<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Martin creates poetry that both expresses a
“spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings” and “resist[s] the intelligence” of
the audience. She writes poetry that feels infused with so much emotion, heavy
meaning wrought from some very heartfelt place. I felt as though the poems were
dark: dealing with the feelings of being an African American woman writing form
a standpoint of having power and not being able to express it because of her
sexuality. There are times of very heavy emotions shining through (“After the
Death of a Young Poet”), and times when after reading the poem I sat dumfounded
as to its intent (“Blackface Caricature in Thirteen”). Most of Martin’s poems resist
categorizing themselves into either just powerful emotions or simply resisting obvious
understanding. “The Symbolic Nature of Chaos” is just such a poem. It holds
such a vital feeling as it flows out nearly chaotically; it resists easy
interpretation, and still holds the audience’s engagement because the
feeling/emotion/meaning carry through the pages. In fact, her form on this poem
really dives into both interpretations of poetic style expressed by Wordsworth
and Stevens. Starting on page 4, Martin creates a very different form that both
represents chaos (in the first portion on the page) and slips back into prose
poetry to gather the audience back into comprehension. She does this several
times with several poems, using form to instigate a feeling and break easily
intelligible understandings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Form Forming Formulations of Form<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Martin plays with form all throughout <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Gathering of Matter, a Matter of Gathering</i>.
Her first poem in the book, “Last Days”, automatically engages form. It
presents a question and answer session where the answers do not necessarily
answer the questions posed. However, the reader will intrinsically assume the
answers relate back to the question just asked. This builds connections and
meanings, even when these aspects are not explained in the poem language of the
poem. “Last Days” uses the form
very well.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
Another poem where form is very important is
“The Symbolic Nature of Chaos.” With the title of this poem, we should expect
the poem to resist the natural forms of poetry: structure, meter, rhyme, etc. None
of the pages that this poem crosses look the same or are structured the same.
This continual shifting of the form really do lend to the feel and meaning of
“The Symbolic Nature of Chaos.” Adding to the chaotic form of this poem are the
brackets, which make their first appearance in the book.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
The third poem that utilizes form in a very
distinct way is “Blackface Caricature in Thirteen.” It’s a list poem with
thirteen points. As the poem is read, the audience believes that each point has
a connection to what it means to be a blackface caricature. With this form, the
reader tries to create a picture of what is being described. This poem, however,
is more of a language poem and the meaning of the poem is created by the
language used coupled with the structure. It is hard to draw a picture from
this poem, but looking into the words creates a meaning much deeper than an
easy, explicit poem.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">And Within</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">
One of the poems that struck me was “Violent
Rooms” which seems to dance between the idea of having sex for the first time
and rape. This poem relates to the book as a whole by addressing an important
step in life that primarily women experience. Women in many areas in
contemporary society are seen as an ‘other,’ or marginalized in society, much
as being African American. Several of Martin’s other poems deal with being
black, like “Blackface Caricature in Thirteen” and “Negrotizing in Five: or,
How to Write a Black Poem.” Both of these poems work with ideas of a
marginalized person as well. Not only do all of these poems share the subject
of a marginalized person, either all the same gender (female) or simply all
African American, but they also deal with juxtaposed emotions.</div>J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-77007747129761505322012-03-06T10:14:00.002-07:002012-03-06T12:04:16.746-07:00Bravery: Letting Go<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
[<i>My professor told us to write a piece that we would never show our family. I wrote it. He then told us we had to invest obstructions on our writing and a classmate gave me many obstructions to the prose... I changed what I wrote. I've decided to let the world know my deepest secret... and if my family should read this, read at your own risk. Know I'm not ready to talk about this... I hope my prose are touching, provocative, and worthy of the read. Thank you.</i>]</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I look in the bag, staring my past right in the face. There
is something about these shirts that makes me remember more than photos or
stories ever could. These shirts went through life with me, and nearly from my
own vantage point. This shirt experienced my first kiss with a boy. This one
I’m going to keep, I don’t even know why I thought I could get rid of it. This
one I got in New York after seeing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">RENT</i>
with my high school orchestra. Gonna have to keep that one as well…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
rarely, if ever, wear these shirts, but I can’t give them away. Emptying out my
closet was supposed to open up more space for new shirts and such, but I can’t
give up memories… right? Especially that shirt. That memory… That one lived
through my first experience. It would be easier if that shirt didn’t exist at
all… but it remains like a scar: its presence diminished, its power waned, but
it would forever be known that it existed to begin with.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grabbing
the shirt out of the bag, I hold it up in front of me and look at it, feel it,
remember it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s only a shirt.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s
a light brown fabric sown together without any logos or designs. It’s a simple
shirt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It
knows.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
throw the shirt back into the bag, determined to forget and let go. As the hiss
of the fabric sliding down the plastic echoed in my ears, I felt again. I relived the memory, the reason I
didn’t come out sooner. It all began with trust, trusting friendship, a hug,
back massage. I trusted touch, until touch turned into disorder. Uncomfortable
violation one can’t fight…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
was walking into my best friend’s house. His mother’s boyfriend was there and
lounging on the couch like he did. He greeted me as I walked in and eventually
asked me to sit next to him. Instantly, I wanted him to be my role model,
whether I understood that or not. I trusted him as he put his left hand on my
shoulders and squeezed, massaging the twelve-year-old muscles…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The
shirt represents the trust I lack in myself… to know when not to trust…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That
thing reinforces my distrust in any man I might trust, and if I can’t trust in
any man then I will never truly love. It knows why, and it whispers that vision
every time it brushes against my skin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
close the bag. Lift it up. Throw it in the slot. Push it past the too small
space. Hear the soft thud within the donation bin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A
whisper rises from the trees behind me and a bird chirps gaily. I get back in
my car, role down the windows, and turn on my music and start singing, trying
to escape emotions that were buried for so long. </div>J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-63566252370082498292012-03-06T09:26:00.002-07:002012-03-06T10:56:23.685-07:00UUnless uniform un-involvement uniquely understands universal ubiquitous uselessness usurping upheld unanswerable undeniables, uttered under ushered ullages, unabated unalienable use upon ulterior ulcerations.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-74415314272561210642012-03-06T09:25:00.005-07:002012-03-06T10:56:45.719-07:00DDesolate desperation drowning direct derelictions darkly deepens didactic depressions.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-13455369535440030462012-03-06T09:25:00.002-07:002012-03-06T10:56:59.208-07:00PPerfection plays poignantly past people's perceptual paradigms, potentially piling parenthetically pungent poison (polarized perhaps) pills. Picture perfect...J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6644721295926487762.post-88917994896808902772012-03-06T09:24:00.008-07:002012-03-06T10:57:11.246-07:00AAlack! Allusion aways all ambiguous assumptions ailing armored amour (availing arduous attacks against). Attempt aspiring alignments astoundingly! Aim above, ask alluringly, accept affirmations assisting assertive ambitions! Always.J Hart Fhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14125987561275543450noreply@blogger.com0