Wednesdays24601? I grumble, and my therapist laughs at me.Wednesdays by Judah-Leonardo
I can’t help but grin. Seen that movie twice already,
how else can I answer “Who Am I”?
There’s a crinkle to her eyes when she talks of my
humor. Let them see, she says, and I fiddle with my cap
twisted in my hands, brown and scratchy ‘neath my gnawed-on-torn fingernails
Rain on fresh paint, damp heat in a cluttered chair. I’m
twenty-two and take six pills, I say. I roll my face around on the keyboard and
words come out and sometimes I call that writing.
I watch insects click on sallow hotel lights, fat lonely ladies at the 3am drive-thru,
neon glistening in oil puddles. I’m that brassy tarnished doorknob you once
cut your finger on, the old man with whiskey on his trousers who loves a young girl or so
You have white scars.
I have white scars.
I’m not very serious ‘bout it all. Makes me a terrible poet,
I say, and gnaw on my knuckles.
You can’t really fake moments
Gifting (a poem for Jo)There’s this question tonight, and I’ve been asking the snowdrops—or asking to my fingernails,Gifting (a poem for Jo) by Judah-Leonardo
to tape and ribbon, to the ceramic baby Jesu in the straw manger
with his black dot eyes
sky and savior, how do I go about giving to a stranger? all I’ve seen of you are flashes, glimpses
pixels, text, no flesh or fluttered laugh. All I’ve seen of you
is the kindness reached through miles and roads and circuitry, how you take time
and giving, only asking for a bit of
ticking down to Christmas Day and I’m frantic to scrape these few words (some meager gift of a
moment) into enough of a pile, some same kind of feeling that I cupped this morning
when I saw no nice dresses to wear. I’m fingering my budget and my limited talent,
and even if it makes no difference, who will love me less for wearing jeans, and I can’t think you’d fault
me for a poem that’s terrible even if it is.
because a gift is a gift:
tonight, I am smilin
lingering, a sestinaPerhaps it’s nightmare sweat that wets my facelingering, a sestina by Judah-Leonardo
Or this fractured sunlight—somehow I wake
To bathe my brow with shaking fingertips
As the hall clock ticks onward towards noon.
I’ll scrub the bitter coffee from my teeth
And choke down hallowed pills for empty aid.
And this can keep my soul safe of your aid?
With sandalwood I’d fain anoint my face,
Sesame scent where you once laid your teeth.
I’ve seen enough of storms. The thunder’s wake
Exhausts my eyes; keep for yourself brash noon
The mist and dew have gentle fingertips.
This rusted tap beneath my fingertips
And spit-warm water, some unwitting aid;
Recalling eyes, and shining in the noon
And honesty once open in your face—
Damn memory. The times before you’d wake
And how I meant to mark you with my teeth.
The lies I kept there, trapped between my teeth
And truths pawed through by bruising fingertips—
But it’s best to forget. Best just to wake
And drink hot tea. Perhaps I
So what's up with you guys? Stuff I'm lovin' on right now:
-Chicks. Er. Not that kind. I mean, like... baby chickens. I... have them. That's right. Baby chickens!
If these little fluff-butts don't make you swoon, you may not have a soul.
And these are their "baby pictures", really. About three months old now, fully feathered and in the coop full time. And before anyone asks, NO, they are not for eating. These are egg-only girls. And my babies. I actually hurled one of the cats across the yard the other day because he tried to nose-dive into the coop while I was getting things locked down for the night. No, sir. Nu-unh. I mean, I felt really bad (it was a gut reaction, snatching him out of the air and... flinging... D: ) but seriously, it woulda been bad bad news had he gotten in there in the area I can't reach well. Gotta keep my girls safe.
(And yes, the cat is just fine, I would *never* intentionally hurt a cat, instinct or no. He's a big boy and I hope it put a little fear of God--or Judah--in him. )
So yes. Chickens. They're lots of fun.
-Old Japanese Samurai films! Believe it or not, a bunch of those Clint Eastwood U.S. Western movies were directly inspired by (read: ripped off) some of these marvelous Japanese films that were coming out juuuuussst ahead of them. Seriously! The "Man With No Name"? That whole concept was has been actually credited towards a particular set of these samurai films, which starred Toshiro Mifuni (who I wish was not dead so I could crush on him without it being creepy ).
But yes! Action! Swordsmanship! Giggles aplenty! So much fun. The most famous director of the 50's and 60's era films of that genre, Akira Kurosawa, is apparently regarded by many critics as one of the top most important/influential dudes in cinema history. Crazy.
-Fresh summer fruit! And wineberry pie from the berries I picked outta my own yard, mmm. No chicken eggs for a while, but my mother's bees should have enough honey for extraction soon, which means even more joy! Amazing how friends and family are suddenly veeeerrry interested in visiting my parents when it's honey time, ahahaha.
-Bare feets. Bare feets everywheres. Wearing bare feets in the grocery store like you own the world. 'Nuff said.
-Finally, finally a break in the heat/humidity wave we were having here on the east coast... gosh that was yucky (and nerve-wracking--chickens don't do heat well, turns out. :C It was a week of cold fruit and shading attempts). BUT I'm sitting here writing with the a.c. off and the windows open, hearing frogs and crickets and cicadas and whatnot, and it's cool and nice.
-Moonstruck Milk Chocolate, "Mayan". Oh God. I can taste hints of cinnamon in it. Got it today. Almost ate the whole bar in one sitting. So fat of me. Help.
Things that are Not On?
-Didn't get accepted into Stanford's online writing program and that... well. I don't know what to explain. This sucks. Back to drifting aimlessly? Gotta think of something new to say when people ask what I'm up to, now. Application was mostly portfolio-based, too. I can take rejection (maybe not painlessly, but I can take it) but it's just that I had so many people telling me that I shouldn't even worry. But y'know? It kinda makes praise feel a little cheapened, I wanna go up to people and be like, guys, hey, It wasn't good enough. Fine. Don't just say nice things to me, that's unhelpful to my writing and terrible for my wallet (sayonara $80 application fee, waah).
Okay, that sounds really depressing. I'm bummed though, I've been having some struggles with life 'n stuff for a couple years now. Trying to learn how to function not like an amoeba etc. Writing's almost my sole talent. Any advice from you lovely people--I mean, it's such a fuzzy question to ask, but how do you deal with stuff when you're warring with yourself and occasionally entertaining thoughts of deciding not to chase dreams? Sounds melodramatic, I know. Half of this is mostly babble/venting, but man. Kicking me in the stomach when I'm down already, man. I feel like I've forgotten how to write. Er, write fiction that is, and not whiny journal posts when there's starving children in Australia or something that deserve more sympathy.
Eh. Maybe I'll settle with a virtual smack to the head, please? *Offers everyone the 2x4s of tough love* Don't hold back now.
-But mainly, I miss the dA community! I've fallen out of it into lurking, it's kinda shameful but I feel so shy now. I really should go answer some comments, offer some critiques. Or something. asldkfjasldf.
...Not that this was an excellent way to start. I'd probably need some convincing to read anything this long (and ending on mopey notes, guh). Heh, so... anyone who has any advice... or just comments with the phrase "socktoast!cow"... gets a li'l feature from me. Not much, but hey, I'm SO overdue in showing you guys off to each other. Let's see if anyone read this far. XD
So... all that being babbled--what have you been up to? Spill spill.
~Judah (who is really still okay, because chicken babies)