silence the prisoner
Current mood: strong
Category: Writing and Poetry

Junkyard that houses sadness, anger, and self loathing

As a young woman, I had devoured novels. In flight from my own life's ugly reality, I found in the characters a ceaselessly metamorphosing alternative world in which I called home. My real life faded into the background, allowing fiction to feed my imagination. It helped me escape from the self-pity and blaming anger that had settled on me like parasite. I lived in constant simmering anger. My fury had nowhere to go; it fed on itself with daily trumpeted assertion. Inflamed by its captivity and chained, it rose up without warning in a volcanic rupture. I feared it in myself, and was overtaken by thoughts of destroying this burning fuse. What boiled inside me defied explanation. The beast in me had to be set free. I was preoccupied by suicideable thoughts.

My life meant nothing.

The unimaginable need to silence the prisoner within me shook the foundation of my life and made me look around and make some hard decisions. I had to release control and stop clinging to the past, to allow myself to be swept into the future, to places I couldn't even imagine. It wasn't until much later that I learned to put it into language in suitable terms.  Eventually the skeleton that was the back story of my life began to grow more bones capable of constant metamorphosis.

I'm still a work in progress. But I like myself a whole lot.

1:54 PM - 61 Comments - 92 Kudos - Add Comment

In Sight of Death
Current mood: thoughtful
Category: Writing and Poetry

In sight of Death

(My Mother)

A few days before my mother's death, whose illness was beginning to take over her organs, I felt the rush of all the ocean of ache pouring forth. The great machines of grief rose in my vision as I sat down at the kitchen table, and folded my arms on it, rested my head on them, and wept, sobbing and heaving my whole body, the way children weep.                                        

It was hard for me to look calmly at her. I tried to control myself for her sake as I entered her bedroom, and moved under the lifeless breath of death, in shadows cast by her private amalgam of hell.  On occasions, I'd walk in while the nurse was changing her. My heart ached at the sight of the short frame of her back, with enormous protruding shoulders blades and the ribs straining against the sagging skin. I tried not to distinguish the details of my mother's condition. She smelled the terrible stench of death, a distinctive cocktail made of the sour scent of urine and feces, the sickly odor of decay and rotting flesh. I saw the filth, the disorder, and heard the painful groaning.

I was filled with revulsion which I was ashamed of. And that made it hard for me. It was hard to be there, not to be there was still worse, and I kept going out and coming back. I never touched any part of her beside her hand, which I stroked. It was for my mother's sake that I prayed for her death. Every morning I would rise and beg God to take her life.

My Ima is gone out of my life; a startling absence I never imagined would be like this.

Five years ago.

3:24 AM - 60 Comments - 119 Kudos - Add Comment

Nine - Eleven
Current mood: angry
Category: Writing and Poetry

There will always be certain incidents that would be embedded in our minds forever. One of them is:

9/11

Seven years ago, the veils were removed away from our eyes. The effect was electric. On this day we are being stirred, and are once again confronted with a past that might be given another chance to destroy us.

Cowered in the rubble of their misdeeds, our way of life has been bestowed by their psychological disorders. It is a culture that puts its people, familiar with murder and destruction, on speaking terms with death. You see? Their interpretation of God is a lofty idea, an abstract guarantor to a vicious cycle of violence. They make death a political issue of a new kind.

How are we to defeat the transgression of the past when the wrongdoing of the future is still all around us? How are we to reconcile with those who flaunt their murderous nature, glory in it, and disavowing moral responsibility for their action?

As our chained anger threatens to rise, inflamed by its captivity, we find that we fear it in ourselves. And we find ourselves thinking of ways to destroy this burning fuse. No amount of psychological manipulation would squelch this fury.

Ailing societies are not like old houses, a space you can renovate. Fix.

2:53 PM - 50 Comments - 111 Kudos - Add Comment

Why I Write
Category: Writing and Poetry

On Writing

Currently listening : Crucial Acoustic Blues By Various Artists Release date: 2007-05-22

3:21 PM - 157 Comments - 111 Kudos - Add Comment

To All My Friends
Current mood: productive
Category: Writing and Poetry

To My Friends

I believe that human endurance equals just a tiny fraction of what it should be, given everything it must put up with and there's no plausible theory of how anyone gets through it all.

But what I do know is that when we disallow ourselves the crushing sense of despair that festers into wounds, we take matters into our own hands by writing about it. This is all that we have left: our voices.

Our writing is a study in human behavior and emotions. And when words get clotted in our throats and we feel as if we're about to enter a nightmare universe, our writing is what helps us cushion ourselves from whatever pain is due to come next.

I greatly appreciate all my friends. You faithfully permitted me a glimpse into your lives and allowed me to walk along side of you. For the next few weeks I'll be doing my own walking with nature, writing in nature. I will be visiting you sporadically. Please keep me in your thoughts as I will you.

Have a great weekend.

Love & peace,

Henya

10:52 AM - 95 Comments - 112 Kudos - Add Comment

A Chapter from Black Diamonds
Current mood: vibrant
Category: Writing and Poetry

Floor Show - Part 1

Jamie entered through the worn entrance into an oasis of women, eager to please the eyes of men.

She stood at the door for a moment.

"Shut that damn door!" someone shouted.

She closed the door, leaned against the wall, and waited for her eyes to adjust to the shimmering spots of light that the mirror ball tossed in all directions. The air stank of stale beer and sweat. Darkness swallowed the shape of things, blending them together.

The music filled her ears. Jamie began to feel silly and was about to walk out when she spotted Zoi dancing. She wore a shimmering pink bikini and silver pumps that pounded the dance floor with a dull thump. A black garter encircled her thigh. Her black hair swung back and forth, loosely cascading around her face, in sync with the motion of her body. It covered her face, then revealed it again. She danced with such vehemence, such passion, boldly tossing her head. She slid down the pole, spreading her legs to make a right angle. She smiled and looked around the room, obviously enjoying the sexual taunt.

The men roared their approval. They flocked around her like flies, eager to tuck their money into her garter belt and snap it back in place. She seemed so caught up in the rhythm that Jamie felt part of it. Men shouted encouragement, whistling approvingly, succumbing to dizzy admiration of Zoi's dancing prowess and beauty. Zoi's dance got wilder, her hips a sexy pendulum. Jamie felt dream-like, disembodied, watching her move.

As the routine progressed, Jamie could see Zoi's face become flushed and moist. Jamie's heart soared. She was drugged by Zoi's sexiness, a kind of ceremonial altar for her desire.

"Take it off! Take it off!" The shouts rang out with urgency.

Jamie found her heart pounding as she watched Zoi's body, so voluptuous – not like the other girls on stage, who looked like skin and bones next to Zoi. She longed for her. Zoi was the ultimate prize, like winning the lottery, a journey to the great unknown, unimaginable promise of danger and thrill.

All she wanted was to sit quietly and watch Zoi, but it was difficult; the bar – ablaze with men's taunting and lewd language – made her feel ashamed for Zoi. Being there seemed almost crude. But wasn't it also perfect in its own way? To be granted this slim measure of intimacy, to be audience to Zoi's dancing, made Jamie giddy.

Jamie was startled when Zoi looked directly at her and winked. She then lifted her hands to untie her top. Zoi undressed slowly, her luminous skin, moist, stretched around firmly rounded breasts and a curved abdomen. Jamie stared at her. She was astonished at how she felt, wanting…needing to feel that skin under her fingertips.

When Zoi's beautiful, graceful movements ended and she disappeared behind the stage, Jamie felt a strong urge to see her again. Moments later, she spotted Zoi advancing toward her, wearing a pink silk robe tied loosely at her waist. She walked slowly toward Jamie, as one would walk in a dream. With each step the robe slid to the side, revealing brown legs. She liked the sweet smile Zoi gave her.

There was a sense of new beginnings.

Zoi bent down and kissed Jamie delicately on both cheeks. "I'm glad you came. I was hoping you would." Then she wrapped her arms around Jamie's neck, and placed her lips on Jamie's mouth, barely brushing it. Zoi's nearness felt like feathers whispering over her. The air rang with men jeering, but Jamie didn't care. Having Zoi's arms around her gave her strength and depth.

Zoi dragged the chair close to Jamie. Her thigh touched Jamie's, who was instantly conscious of a pull like a flow of crazed electricity gone awry. At that moment it seemed only right that she should position an arm behind Zoi's back. Zoi tilted her head against Jamie's shoulder. Impulsively, she rested her left hand on Zoi's arm and caressed her skin.

"Hey, whatcha doing there? Making out? Hey guys, look what's going on under our noses!" someone yelled out.

Jamie saw a few men staring. The idea of being the center of disapproving glances unnerved her, yet she pulled Zoi closer to her.

But Zoi's lips pressed together, and she pulled away. She crossed her legs, swinging one leg over the other. "I should be going back soon," she said in that throaty voice Jamie loved to hear. "But now that you're here, I'd rather sit with you."

The men continued to taunt them.

"Don't listen to them," Zoi said. "They're all talk, nothing else."

So they sat there on the chairs – shoulder to shoulder – in the dimness of the bar, nursing their bottles of beer, the flashing lights pulling the darkness closer to them. There was an aura of danger she felt connected to, sharing the space that belonged to her as much as it did all the others in the bar. Jamie brought her head closer to Zoi's and, trying to keep her voice level so as not to betray the heat that rose between her thighs, said, "I loved your dancing."

Zoi smiled. "It's a job. Also, it gives me a rush to be able to hold this kind of power over men. It's amazing how totally helpless they become."

Jamie looked around them, pausing to look at details, absorbing the room, retaining every energy in sound and sight. From the speakers, a wildly popular song called "Boogie Fever," by The Sylvers, sounded loudly. Jamie looked at the dancing women, blonde, with glitter on their eyelids and ruby on their nails, who – smiles frozen stiffly on their faces – slithered around the pole and on the floor. They danced in a well of subdued light and raucous music, bumping their hips against each other, their shadows lapping against the walls, their earrings swaying with them like miniature chandeliers, their breasts in full view, their legs spread wide.

Jamie wondered how Zoi really felt about doing this.

Specks of light wove between the exposed pipes in the ceiling and shone like a transparent green-red wash upon Zoi's face. Jamie finished her beer and looked into Zoi's eyes. After the third drink she was beginning to get drunk, and the monotonous noise moved through the darkness. She felt at home in the darkness, and there was no point in beating around the bush. "Have you ever had a relationship with a woman?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to sleep with you." Jamie placed her hand on Zoi's, squeezed it gently, and gazed straight ahead at the stage. She sat there quietly, concentrating on Zoi's finger stroking the palm of her hand. Jamie could hear her own heartbeat.

Jamie almost couldn't believe Zoi's reply. "I fell for you the moment I saw you at my uncle's pawn shop. I did everything to get your attention. When I saw you at the Eats, my heart stopped. I couldn't believe my luck. Come home with me tonight."

Jamie thought of the empty space in her recent past which the flame that seemed to dance around this woman could fill. On impulse, she brought her lips to Zoi's. Ignoring the scores of eyes and the lewd remarks that were focused on them, they kissed with a gentleness that brought Jamie comfort.

More to come.....

Currently listening : Everything By Michael Buble Release date: 2007-04-30

9:26 AM - 55 Comments - 68 Kudos - Add Comment

Tagged
Current mood: mischievous

I've been tagged by Deirdre (shhh...Debbie).

The rules are simple:

1) Write 10 facts, goals, aspirations, or whatever's about yourself.

2) Tag 10 people; no tag backs. (Whoever tagged YOU may not be one of the 10!)

Useful Information

My dear friends,

I read about it in today's WSJ. If you constantly log in and out of MySpace, Facebook, etc., you will find the following useful:

"Yoono is a Social Hub that brings Facebook, Flickr, Twitter, YouTube, LastFM, IM Services and Social Bookmarking into one single location. Save time: get live news from all your friends and manage your updates directly from Yoono. Discover and interact more with your buddies: check out Yoono's instant suggestions related to your surf and share your discoveries with a single drag and drop in Yoono's Web Notes or universal IM."

Yoono installs a free sidebar that sits atop your Internet browser and can show your friend's outline statues, updates they have made to their profile, pictures just by simply mousing over the sidebar.

Also check out,

FriendFeed.com

Chirp.com

Flock.com

Minggl.com

Have fun,

Henya

Currently listening : Michael Bublé By Michael Bublé Release date: 2003-02-11

1:25 PM - 60 Comments - 68 Kudos - Add Comment

I’m back
Current mood: breezy

I'm back for now…

And who is it that said that relationships are a long journey to compromise? So you see? We are bound to each other by allegiance. I will slowly begin to read and absorb all your blogs, as a way to access your thoughts, dreams, or just means by which you use floodgate of release…

Great being back,

Henya

6:30 PM - 80 Comments - 73 Kudos - Add Comment

Fleeing to the Country
Current mood: warm

To all my good friends (and you know who you are),

I am fleeing Manhattan to spend time in the country, where telephone and Internet connection is an anomaly belonging to a distant future and where pitiless pictures of realities, describing impending and distantly disasters will be blocked from infiltrating my life.

So there!!!

I will miss reading your blogs until next week sometime.

Have a great weekend.

Peace and love,

Henya

Currently listening : All I Intended to Be By Emmylou Harris Release date: 2008-06-10

7:36 AM - 41 Comments - 75 Kudos - Add Comment