Tag: journal

Always From the Pulpit

Red for the church house door. Red doors of prosperity. Red door of “do I open this door.”

I recently went to a promotion for a book by a local author. It’s something I have been doing when I am at home in Florida. Participating in the local literary community. It’s current. It’s art.

I listened to the speaker. This was hosted by the Jacksonville Historical Society. The author of his twenty something book did a fair job. I bought the book.

As I waited to have my book signed, another author stood to my left and tried to engage the writer in a conversation. He asked questions? He mentioned his writing. The author was distracted, of course. He feigned interest and obviously had no idea what his peer was talking about. I took this all in.

Then I opened the book. The words were ……….. I mentioned to the lady standing next to me, “It looks like I am going to be living in my dictionary again.” I have a created habit of looking up every word I read that I am not familiar with. This book was full of them on every page. I complained. “Why do people do this? She replied, not verbatim, “the author wants to show his knowledge of language.” I would have to say he was successful on that plane of existence.

I said, “Why doesn’t anyone write like Flannery O’Conner anymore.” She looked at me and said do you mean like in layers and ………..

I replied, Yes.

As we move forward, dragging the past into the present. Flying it high in the south. A new Confederate flag. A trending political word power. Emotive and inciting.

Murder, drama, politics in words meant for …… A new National Enquirer.

I read and comment.

I challenge.

I am deleted.

Fly High – From the Pulpit – The New Improved Confederate Flag

Celeste

After a long and arduous walk across Costa Rica, Celeste finally laid eyes on the Caribbean. The town she arrived in was bleak, the ocean was overwhelmingly the ocean.

Celeste has been threatened all of her life. First is was the darkness of her home. Then it was socialization. She had to wear awful clothes, pray on her knees and talk to other children. It all seemed so pointless.

She swam at four. Rode a horse at three. She was born to be wild. Her mother introduced her to the beach. Things were good for a while. Then she left home at seventeen. Ill equipped. She suffered years of abuse from a violent, abusive husband. She was forced to live inland. Gulping in city air, burning her feet on asphalt and rubbing shoulders with hoodlums and creeps. Celeste maneuvered herself through life. She learned. Her internal life was one of question, always question. What the f*ck is going on?

Celeste’s external life was out of the box. She was called eccentric. She was smart, not dumb. She heard the walls call her an idiot. But she knew that was not true.

She died a while back and had crossed Costa Rica walking. She had to get herself across the border and into Panama. She could do it. Celeste could do anything. Anything she wanted.

Everyone else could go swim with the current. Bling Bling. Get yourself a red hot mortgage and burn yourself to the ground. But not Celeste. She believed in swimming against the current. Fuck the lifeguards. Fuck Apple. Fuck Facebook. But Instagram – she’ll keep Instagram.

With a bucket full of ocean water in one hand and a paint brush in the other, she began to create her new reality.

Alone – I Fly

The flesh has been torn from the bones of my soul
My breath has come up short
Life’s distance in years is a highway
I crawl past an angel wing

The flesh has been torn from the bones of my soul
I exhale
Overcome by guilt and shame
I run to be with others

The flesh has been torn from the bones of my soul
I inhale
I am alone
I fly

66 – Edits

I have been forced to live in a technological world for 43 years. It began when I enrolled in college. I took an English Comp and Statistics class. I had to do every thing on the computer. I complied. It was an edit in my life.

Add on take away. That’s editing. When something doesn’t work – change it. If it’s wrong it’s wrong, forever.

What makes sense to one person, confuses another. Some people never bother to write a sentence that needs editing. Nor do they think to change their life. To move. To learn new things.

To add to or take away.

That’s editing. My life is full of edits.

Somewhere in the South

3129 Phyllis St.

I travel south
down the river
in the morning

Crackers eat oatmeal for breakfast
Four roses are in the front yard
Saddle soap in the back

I climb
the steps
at noon

Where the crackers meet for lunch
Eat biscuits with gravy
She plays cards with a blind man
They laugh and tell – old stories

The sun follows I-10
and rests
behind Phyllis St.

Ponies walk for miles in circles
Gators mate
Boats float
Flamingos eat shrimp and die

I run
to the streets
in my twilight

Away from the crackers – Oatmeal shrimp – biscuits and gravy
The roses died – the saddle dried
The boat sunk
The blindman got lasix

I survive

Somewhere in the South


66 Photos – I am a Widget

I AM A WIDGET/Gallery Lover

My soul is enmeshed with these subjects. Each photo a memory. A person impressed in my being, like words in print. They tell a story. I know these people intimately, as I look at them over and over through the years.

If you are on an iPhone and you tap the horizontal bars in the right corner, my widgets will appear. They are mostly photo galleries. The first is always changing order. The other two are stationary. I recently updated all three. I am sad to say, that it took me two and a half months to follow through with this task.

I am getting back to this writing. Mostly in first person. The snap shot encapsulate my life. And my love of the people that I share this planet with. I am fascinated by people.

My instagram https://www.instagram.com/everydaypaparazza/ has 800 portraits. Check them out. Yes, there is a turtle and a guitar. But most are people. Every day, extraordinary people. That was the purpose of the site. I wanted to link it as a widget in the sidebar but was unsuccessful.

Most of my unsuccessful technical endeavors go by the wayside until I am ready to tackle it.

In the meantime, I browse-look at my photos and read other’s blogs.

I am a happy widget.

As a side note to my sidebar – Many indigenous people do not want their photos taken. They believe their souls will be stolen. I encountered this at The Moon Dance in Costa Rica and with the Mayans in Guatemala. I could have snuck their photos but I backed off.

My soul is entwined.

We are One.

Change and Elevate

I am on the other side of a rough 4 1/2 years. Two of those years were spent with my daughter. She had cancer and toughed it out, getting chemical treatments and willing herself to live. It was so hard. We had wonderful times together. We experienced a beautiful closeness. The following two years were engulfed in Red Bulls. After having started drinking them to get myself through her life celebration, I had a serious addiction. Quit them October 20th, 2022. Then another six months, three in Fernandina and three in Costa Rica.

Costa Rica has saved me from myself. The air here is clean. You can feel the health as you inhale. I’ve just been quietly passing my days, playing with my kids here, swimming or Cross Fitting. I feel like a different person.

I dread going home. I look forward to seeing and being with friends. But I cringe at the thought of amped up tourists and new-to-the-island Yankees. It’s a prejudice.

A long time renter has moved out and that has left a void.

But I have some over-the-top neighbors that helped me tremendously. They let me wander around and be crazy. Reaching out to them. Making a nuisance of myself.

Trying not to become a recluse.

My family is shredded.

But I have a plan. I had hit a bottom when I arrived here January 1, 2023. I am going to adapt once again. I am an artist and I have been painting and woodworking. I have to do something to flee from any and all negativity. I want to be the best person that I can be.

It’s a tough road to navigate. But I am up to it.

66 – Thoughts on Bull Shit

I called a legitimate sister to discuss yet another sister who has showed up on our 23 and Me Ancestry. I don’t know why she would find it a hard to believe that this is our sister. Joan Ariel. DNA does not lie.

Continue reading 66 – Thoughts on Bull Shit

66 – Losses and Gain

This is my spot. It’s probably the last time I will get to stand here. To be on the beach enjoying the sunset. Here’s where I have fished for forty years. The island has been overrun by people who love the view, but are not beach people

God Bless them – each and every one.