amazon_syren

Earth Diver

Looks like calm water on the surface
Still pool, world-drowning, reflecting
endless sky
Nothing to see here but the clouds

Only clouds

But Everyone knows
still waters run deep

somewhere down there
amid the lobsters and the
weird, eyeless things (all tentacles and blindness)
somewhere down there
is land

not solid
nothing you could stand on
(even if you could take the pressure of an ocean on your shoulders,
Even if you could take the chill)
no
down there it’s waterlogged, thick muck
that sucks you under
holds you
gasping
airless
in the depths

but you can’t tread water for ever
sooner or later you’ll sink like a stone

sooner or later

so breathe
suck that air into your lungs like its your last
breath
take it in, deep as you can and
deep as you can
dive
d
o
w
n

down,
down,
past the edge of light
past the numbness in fingers and feet and
deeper
deeper
past the frightening fish,
jaws that snap in the dark
lungs aching
deeper
deeper
into the depths
amid the lobsters and the eyeless things (all tentacles and blindness)
into the muck that once was the world

dredge it up
silt swirling

take it in your hands
more icy slime than earth
that once was the world

take it though your lungs are failing
though the heat in your body is failing
take it though blind and numb with cold
(shards prick your fingers, but you know you’ve got something now)
Take it in your hands
And turn

somewhere there is light
somewhere up
beyond the lobsters and the eyeless things (all tentacles and blindness)
there is air

nothing to push off of
only the threat of being trapped here
no air
no sight
no warmth
for ever
gives you strength to turn,
to climb


climb, climb,
arms straining,
dizzy, head spinning
blue-black bursting behind your eyes
can you even find 'up' from this far down?

climb
climb
you can go a little farther
a little farther
a little
farther
for all that your heart feels
too weak to go on

climb
a little farther
though the blood is pounding
climb
past the frightening fish
the jaws that snap in the dark
climb
a little farther
up
past the pain in blood-throbbing fingers
past the needles in skin long-frozen
climb
higher
a little bit farther
up
past the edge of night

break the surface

warmth of sunlight
breath of life
gasping
in your battered lungs

and in your hand
a clutch of land
to stand on.

This has been a frustrating morning!
!!!

I just spent the last half-hour trying to apply for one goddamn government job.
I had to make a new fucking account.

Which I doubt I'll ever be able to get back to.

I hate it.

I hate them all!


<*deep breath*>


And on that cheery note...


Gods... This is so frustrating. I seriously just want to throw tantrums and hit things and yell at people for not just *finding* me work when it's *their* job to do that.
Which sounds totally unreasonable, even when you consider that I'm working through agencies.


God!

I'm very frustrated and very angry and I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO FUCKING SETTLE!!!
I've been 'settling' for years, living in unhappy, isolated circumstances, in a situation I fucking despise!
Why the hell should I have to settle for the lousy job and the crappy, overpriced appartment.
Why the hell should I have to sell my beautiful, hand-me-down furniture to live in substandard, too-small housing with a lousy-assed landlord who'll treat me badly and smoke in my house???
I've done that every fucking time I've lived outside of my wretched mother's wretched control, and it's always ended up miserable and wrong.
I don't want to do that anymore.
I don't want to settle anymore.
I don't want to take what I can get anymore.
I'm tired as hell of thinking that I'm not worth enough, that I don't deserve something good from the goddamn world.
Why the hell wouldn't I be?


Also: There is an airconditioner directly over my head, and I am cold.

<*puts on shawl*>


See? I could fix that.

<*settles feathers a bit*>


<*sigh*>

So, I'm pissed off. (Gee, what gave that away...)

And I'm reading The Twelve Wild Swans (Starhawk) which isn't doing a whole hell of a lot right now, because I started midway through (having started reading it a year ago or more). So I think I need to go back to the beginning on that one.


On the plus side, I've been writing some more poetry.
With intent, no less. They are, for the most part, works in progress. Please feel free to comment and critique. :-)

Behold:

( Poetry )


So that's my poetry for today. Two or three for the Selkie collection, and three more for whatever they end up in. :-)

Your help is appreciated. :-)

- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)

Eugh.
I feel like I did when I was married.
Sexually, I mean.

( TMI? )


This is... frustrating.

I mean, yes, duh, Amazon has Issues.

<*sigh*>

It's like I said to Ami_B a few weeks ago. Issues are like freaking cockroaches. If you see one, you just *know* there are fifty-thousand of them hiding in the walls.

And I've seen a lot more than one scuttling around *my* head, let me tell you.

<*shudder*>

On a similar note: I feel gross.

There's this icky, cloying, sickly-sweet taste in the back of my mouth (maybe that's from the amaretto cookies, I dunno), and my skin feel grimy.
The kind of icky feeling you get when you've not had enough sleep and/or it's really muggy but still too chilly to strip to your skin.

Eugh.

Also: I want cranberry juice. <*shrug*> Outta luck on that one, I guess. ;-)


You know what's really frustrating?

The fact that I don't know how long I'm going to have to do this for.

How long I'll have to keep my house looking Utterly Spotless, how long I'll have to count pennies if I go to the grocery store, how long I'll have to keep my lights on when I'm not at home, how long, how long, how long.

What's worse - or at least adding to an already sucky situation - is that I don't actually know *how* to do the kind of magic that would bring a buyer in.

I'm a fucking kitchen witch, for goodness sakes.
Everything I do is cooking and sewing, garden and table, threshold, hearth and home.
How the hell am I supposed to do magic that will sever those ties, particularly when those ties are what - in a way - lets me do the magic (in any way successfully) in the first place?

It's very, very frustrating.


This is what I wish for (on the rising moon, on the star-bursts of opeing echanacea flowers, on lightning flashes in 4am thunder storms, on a daily bloody basis):

I wish that someone (most ideally a sweet, girl!couple with a kid on the way - either from Equador or thanks to a donor - who like gardening and live lightly on the land) would come to View my house, would love it immediately, would make me an offer - by the end of this week (oh, wait, that's today!) - for $151K+, and would want to move in on the first of September.

I wish that I would have a month and a half to pack all the rest of my Stuff up, clear out the auction items and the freecycle items, and find that perfect appartment. The one on the second (or third) floor of The Elizabeth, with its all-inclusive utilities, in-building laundry, and in-appartment dishwasher for less than $850/month.

I wish I knew when (soon!!!) I would be moving out, so that I could arrange for the place I'll be moving to, could arrange for people to help me move, could pack up my books, cds, clothes, art, cleaning supplies, and what little else is left, and get ready to Get On With My Life.

Because this waiting is miserable.
This waiting is scary.
This waiting is keeping me on pins and needles, afraid to spend money I *have* (right now) on food, in case I turn out to need a few months from now (if I still haven't sold this place, and it's November, and I really need to turn the heat on quick) to cover the hydro (or whatever). I want to get on with it.
I want to - Wish To - get on with my life. And that means getting this house sold. Right now!



And now for your sporadic dose of Random Poetry:

*~*~*~*~*

Five years
o gods, what years they were
filled with grad school
house hunting and
marriage
all of which ended (too soon)
unfinished
Wish I could lift them
(five whole years)
out of my life
set them, bookended, on a shelf (next to the wedding pictures)
like a scale model of someone else's life,
an adulthood that I didn't want
or wasn't ready for
like they never happened at all,
or happened
to someone else.


*~*~*~*~*

I came out
when I was sixteen.
Made no show of
showing my colours,
more interested in hanging with the shy
bookish, goth girls
(bi girls, every one of them)
than in some biology-based
Community
that I didn't feel I needed,
that I already had somewhere else.

I thought I was done.
That one announcement,
"Actually, I'm bisexual"
would do me for all time,
that any explanation of the necklace
rose quartz
amethyst, and
blue aventurine
would be beside the point,

Figured that if the
het girls don't have to come out
again and again,
why should I?
Why wear freedom rings,
dress like Ani,
march in a parade meant for people who want me to
pick a side

Didn't realize that I'd be looking for that
Community
Hunting up the Bi Women's Discussion Groups,
Aching (and frightened) to go to Dyke March
because - in my failing, hetersexual marriage - it would give me a chance
to be a little more myself
to have an identity (outside of the internet
writing girl/girl porn for the slash fans, and little else)
that allowed for the fact that
I like women
too.


*~*~*~*~*

CSIS -- Commercial Sex Information Service is a Canadian site with oodles of information (including links to a bunch of papers! Whee!)

And, while I'm a few months early:
December 17th is Red Umbrella Day

Good afternoon, all. :-)

I want someone to goddamn buy my house! :-P


In other news: I started my current (two-week) contract today.

Despite the fact that there was a mid-afternoon cake-break (mmm...) I am still glad that this is only a two-week contract.

The office I'm sharing has one functioning over-head flouerscent light, and a window that may as well not even be there, despite its size.
Also, the place is over-airconditioned. And apparently this was a *good* day, temperature-wise. :-P

Also, my office-mate/boss - while, presumeably, a Very Nice Person - is, uh... boring. Wall-paper. Happy to gossip about Brad and Angelina, and chosing to listen to top-40 radio every day for eight hours, voluntarily.
I'm being really shallow here, I know.
None the less, I find her rather dull.
I'm reminded of what Marisol termed "The Barbies" from where she used to work.
Except that this one is (A) not quite that bad, and (B) already has a five-year-old, so she's not going Baby Crazy at present. :-)

Hopefully she will reveal interesting facets of her personality in the next few days. :-)


I have been feeling kind of down today - maybe not that surprising (lousy light-levels, people I don't know, and too-low temperatures make me cranky, anyway) - and it doesn't help that Paramour has been playing all day long.

Don't get me wrong. I quite like the sub-genre of pop-fluff that includes Fall Out Boy, Paramour, MCR and, possibly, Avril Lavigne. And I certainly don't mind listening to some teenager singing about exploring her bisexuality because, fuck the lot of you, she can.

But - I found out about this particular band because Paul knew about them, and burnt me their CD, saying "They're basically, like... 'Fall Out Girl', if that makes any sense. I think you might like them." And he was right.
And they have this other song, the chorus of which goes "That's what you get / when you let / your heart win!" which is this jubilant thing suggesting that one should take risks because they're generally worth it.
And that was on the radio on the morning of June third.
I had it in my head all day - feeling hopeful that, when Paul came home that night, we'd be able to start down the road to figuring things out.

And, instead, he left me.


So, yes. That particular band wasn't helping me much today.


On a similar theme:
Familiar, much?


I swear, this cartoon basically sums up the past year for me and him. Occasionally we'd switch roles, but that was the general gist. Saying "I love you" because what else can you say into that sucking silence that won't start a fight or make things worse?

Eugh.


I'm mopey today, can you tell?


I'm going grocery shopping tonight with those gift cards. I'm going to get a value-pack of chicken thighs (or similar) and chop them all up, and bake them, and then freeze the cooked chicken and use it for stir-fries and pastas and stuff in future.

I also need to get milk.
And, clearly, the ubiquitous tinned soup - assuming PC makes condensed (sp) tinned soup, and not just the heat-and-serve variety.
Possibly some tinned fruit and/or frozen veggies as well. We shall see.
And a loaf of bread.


I need to wash/vacuum/something that basement bathroom cupboard (I didn't do it on the weekend) tonight, and make stuff for dinner + lunch-tomorrow. Beyond that, I'm not sure what I'll do. Call the real-estate agent and see if there's been any Feed Back on the house. (Maybe I got lucky and there'll be an actual offer on my message machine when I get home... I can always dream, right?)


Paul has mailed me the separation agreement, which I need to sign and send (one copy) back to him. He's sending his former house-keys with it.

<*sigh*>


That's it. :-P


(Gods, I am just so sick and tired of feeling sad and exhausted. Y'know? It's just... it's just slogging-slogging-slogging, day after day. which is just bizzarre, because *yesterday* I was not only fine, but *happy*. I was *excited* about seeing a bunch of my lovely, slashy gal-pals and yacking away about hot non-canonical sex over toast and coffee. I felt flirty and pretty and happy and glad that my life has taken this particular turn. And *now* I'm just mopey and blah, and it's just very frustrating riding this emotional goddamn yo-yo! :-P)


Eugh. :-P


Incidentally, if someone can lj-message me with Tsivia's phone number, I can't seem to find where I've put it. Help?


Reading Anna Camilierri's book I am a Red Dress which is poetry and autobiography about incest-survival, personal strength, and three generations of women in her family.

It's good.

That said, you could so tell that someone was molesting that kid pretty much from word one. It's that kind of language.

Then again, she also edited my favourite Femme anthology. When you find yourself identifying as hyper-feminine, part of a marginalized sub-group of an already marginalized population (both by class and sexuality), chances are good that Normal has kicked you in the teeth harder than usual.


Anyway.


I'm running out of minutes here, so it's time for me to go.


- TTFN,
- Amazon.

Okay, today I finished another book, and started one which has gotten me thinking, so I thought I'd throw it out here. :-)

the book I finished:

Bitchfest
A collection of articles that have run in Bitch Magazine for the last ten years (or, well, between its inception and its tenth anniversary, at any rate).
It was really good and had lots of stuff about queering cultural ideas of what it means to be a parent, Of Colour visibility in network tv, grassroots organizing, and all sorts of other stuff that has to do with the intersection of pop culture and feminism.
I vote YAY. :-)



The book I started:

Love is Letting Go of Fear
This is a new age thing, and it shows.
As much as it does have some useful points buried under the tripe in there, it is written in very, very "New-Age-Rhymes-With-Sewage" type language.

I was on the bus tonight when I realized what it was about that style of language that bothers me. It's this:


There is the constant implication that any negative feelings one experiences (sadness, anger, jealousy, despair, fear, whatever) are bad or wrong. That if you just learn to think positively and decide that you're not going to feel that way anymore, then you will stop feeling that way.
Which would be well and good if this (and other, similar books, seminars, lecturers, etc) had any useful suggestions for how to go about doing that.
But rather than suggesting some careful soul-searching in order to figure out what is triggering these feelings, and some deeper soul-searching to figure out what, in you, makes them triggers, this book (etc) simply tells you to decide to stop feeling that way.
As if it were really that easy.

It's like the thing about "you create your own reality" - which, I might add, is damn easy for the white, male, ivy-league-educated MD from California to say. That kind of talk/thinking/belief can lead to people going "to hell with this, I don't have to take this nasty situation any more, I am going to do something about it," but it can also (more likely, in my opinion) lead to feelings of despair and inadequacy. As in "Despite all of my efforts, I still can't seem to get out of this chronic poverty. It can't possibly be because this poverty is, well, chronic, cyclical, institutionalized, race-and-class-based poverty that has been in place, in one form or another, for centuries. I must just not be trying hard enough".
It's the same damn 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps', 'american dream' garbage as before, the same status quo as before, just repackaged with crystals and daily affirmations. :-P

Similarly the "If you feel bad, there's something wrong with you specifically for feeling that way in the first place" theory/implication is not going to help anyone (a) own their emotions, or - with that in mind - (b) find ways to resolve those emotions.
Bad vibes are there for a reason. They tell you when Something Is Up. Ignoring them in the name of achieving inner peace? Doesn't work.
And that seems to be what this book, and this kind of language, are encouraging people/readers to do. To ignore/abandon their sadness/fear/discomfort/whatever instead of digging into it to understand where it is coming from.

I had a dream about a beautiful little girl.

I think she's part of my psyche or something, and I wish I knew what bit.

( This is the Dream )

It's that - the dichotomy between being so free that you can move like nobody's watching you, and then being so trapped that your own body can't move... That, combined with the way she dances, are what makes me think she's part of my own mind.


So I need to find out who she is. :-)

Anyway, I just needed to write that down. :-)


[EDIT: In other news: I have successfully (apparently) sent money, via paypal, to Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. The should arrive within about a week of Xmas... I hope. ;-)

( My Order )

I suspect that "Gluttony" will be just fine - given the way Hellcat worked on me. Unless the hops are super-bitter or something, this one should be just fine.
Vanilla and Myrrh both seem to work well on me, and amber doesn't seem to hurt either (not that I have buckets of BPAL experience with any of these, mind you). So, with any luck, they'll all work out beautifully.
We'll see how the various musks work out on me, though. :-)


<*waits by the door with baited breath*>]


- TTFN,
- Amazon. :-)

[1] And that, my friends, would be a Julia Vyse reference, right there.