Archive for the ‘scrawlings’ Category

Insomnia tugs

Monday, June 15th, 2009

me out of bed again. I suppose I could blame the genmaicha and brownies, or pin it on my tightly twisted pterygoids and their incessant insistence on wretched ruminations when all I want to do is close my tired orbs and sleep, sleep, sleep…

But I suspect the real story is much farther in than skin and muscle. Coursing through blood and bone like the susurrus of river reeds in a kelpie’s ears as she urges her heedless lover deeper, or the twitching of a tigress’ tail in the tiger’s face as she vanishes into the ruins of that ancient temple in the restless jungle heat.

There’s naught for me to do but play it out and hope the universe is listening tonight.

Zans don’t want to sleep-

Tuesday, May 5th, 2009

-on stormy nights, too many urges yet unsatisfied and those deep, unprowled ravines calling, tempest-tossed and drenching.

Now, damnit! Awake, shaken and unquenchable.

Late night poem

Wednesday, April 29th, 2009

Spitting dragons out my fingertips,
Racing golden arrows ripping
open hearts and tongues-

Do you see?
Iridescent heat waves
coruscating pure delight!

Such sublime sovereignty
it hurts to hesitate and yet,
we always do.

Insomnia strikes again

Saturday, January 10th, 2009

My bones are made of stubborn tonight.
Everything’s twitches and itches,
my mind leaps and snarls,
a wildcat frustrated
by far too many
mirrors and only
one real mouse.

Sleep eludes me

Wednesday, August 8th, 2007

It took every mantra I know to put the Sam to sleep tonight. Would that it had worked as well for me! I was yawning my way through Medicine Buddha by the time he finally succumbed, but now he’s mumbling sleep gibberish and here am I, braiding and unbraiding endless strands of thought, all ajumble in my heedless head. Sometimes having a sapient brain is SO much more trouble than it’s worth. :)

The rain calls me out, I step onto my little balcony, feel it’s myriad tiny, thrilling caresses chill against my bed-warmed skin. It tickles me, lures me to shed these human pretenses, step by step, down my stairs, past my sculptures and paintings, over the slate and out the door.

Slipping through the lush, wet leaves of my tomato vines, lapping the raindrops fresh and sparkling in the streetlamp’s gleam. Striding by the static, meaningless, lumpish shapes of cars and slinking down the street with all the surreptitious sovereignty of a cat. If a cat could be so delighted, so one with the water… Perhaps a tiger might know the urge to frolic so.

Velvet pawsteps, smooth muscles rippling, sliding from shadow to shadow in a way that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the power, majesty and sheer enjoyment of inhabiting such a sleek, dynamic body, born to leap and slash, pounce and roll, stretch and drowse…

Those yappy, whining dogs next door wouldn’t stand a chance.

Or maybe I’d simply soak up the dripping, let pure, sweet osmosis pull the rain in, plumping every cell in my skinny frame until I tower over these puny dwellings humans huddle in. Laugh as the clouds fluffed against my face and soaked my hair. I’d step over the Church of the Watery Tart(OK, so it’s actually the Lady of the Lake, but really, what else can you call a church which erects a giant rocket over it’s Virgin Mary?) and set out on a glorious artistic mission.

Perhaps I’d carve Rainier into a giant, snowbosomed goddess and give her the Spaceneedle for a scepter. Or pluck all fifty thousand Starbucks from their streetcorners and recycle them into a giant mermaid to gussy up the waterfront. I s’pose I could really get too big for my britches(if I had any on) and hop over to the East Coast, snag the Whitehouse, wade the Atlantic and take the good old boys for a personal, face to face, heart to heart tour of Iraq.

Feh.

A girl can dream. And it’s about time I did.

‘Nite y’alls.

Freakin’ insomnia

Thursday, July 12th, 2007

4:30am. Still. Can’t. Sleep.

Skewered on the sharp an’ shiny tines of my restless mind. Why do I always think of the worst scenarios in the wee sleepless hours? The birds are starting to tweet their wake up calls, the sky is just beginning to brighten into the stirrings of a new day and I haven’t even seen wink #1.

Grack. I wish I was an onion. Then I could just peel aside layer after pungent, exciting layer, getting svelter and smaller and cuter until that last magical one-the teensy, smooth curvacious droplet of pure white onionyness that gives way to finally reveal, ta da! Nothing.

Sigh. I didn’t even do anything to deserve this, no lazing about all day, no latenight dark chocolate fest, nary an iced latte in sight. I did get a little feisty with my silver bullet right about bedtime, but that’s usually a good prelude to sleep! Whine. On the contrary, it was a most industrious and enjoyable wednesday. I got up early(ish), made breakfast, watered the garden, pruned the ‘maters, did laundry, took my kid to his dad’s, went for a walk, gave five massages at work and hied off to a fabulous Golden Gardens beachbirthdaysnugglejambonfireparty- -Happy birthday Sebastian! When the cops finally, definatively kicked us out, I merrily, even sleepily, cruised on homewards, little suspecting that such a perfectly turned out summer’s day would end in maniacal insomniacality.

Strange hormones frolicking in the summer breezes tonight~waves of luscious, lusty rapture deluge me, causing bizarre meditations on the omnipotent state of utterly divine chocolate brownieness and rambles through ankle-claspingly hot, somewhat forbidden fantasies(my vibrator made me do it, I swear!) alternating with slightly tangled skeins of pearlescent, silken longing snagged on snarky, fidgetting prickles of impossibility and craggy boulders of monumentally frustrating stupidity.

Heeeeeeeeelp, there’s too much happening in my brain! Someone please throw a cool washcloth on the fireworks and whip up a receptionist or two or at least a gofer with secret managerial aspirations, cuz if we could get this show shipshape I’m sure we could paint five paintings, write twenty poems an’ a graphic novel, sculpt a few major deities and solve most of the world’s woes(or at least my own) before the crow cocks morning.

Ouch.

OK, I’m going back to bed. Wish me asleep, please.

Sometimes I feel like I’m falling out of my skin

Friday, June 15th, 2007

And I don’t know who or what will emerge from the shredded husk.

SO tired. Damn insomnia last night, just could not sleep no matter how long I laid there with my eyes closed, how perfectly I attempted to relax and release my thoughts. Now I’m practically sleeping through work.

Massage, zzzzzzz, massage, zzzzzzzz, massagzzzzzzzzzzzz-

Gah.

I guess p’raps I’d better take a break from Murakami and his bizarre otherworlds, psychospiritual rambles and gruesome flaying torture scenes(really, Haruki, MUST you?-could you not bring your excellent, potent storylines to their exquisite pinnacle without such visceral viciousness?!). The fluidity of reality and magic, the vivid display of people’s tiny little worlds and the vaster flow beneath them, comes a little too close to my own vision, my artistic rendering of life as a Zan and begins to make me wonder which world I’m in, which world I WANT to be in.

Or maybe it was just the chocolate bars. Mmmm.. Dark, dark chocolate yumminess with sour cherries and medium dark chocolate with ginger chunks-the two contrasting and melting together so nicely I didn’t want to stop comparing them. Ever.

Eventually, inevitably, I was left with nothing but the amazing maze of thunking thoughts crunching and crinkling in my head all night despite my most profound desire to obliterate them into nothingness and succumb to sweet, sweet sleep.

I think I’ve dislocated my brain

Wednesday, May 30th, 2007

‘cuz it seems to be screeching and flopping about on the wrong side of reality tonight.

Or maybe it’s that moon, almost full, round as an eyeball, staring at me. Vexed by it’s blank innocence, I’m wondering, what the hell is it for, this chemical maelstrom swirling in my head tonight?-did some ancient, cruel, preadolescent gods get tired of pulling the wings off prehistoric flies and turn to humankind(shuffling sleepily out of their caves and scratching their unsuspecting, hairy, troglodyte scalps)… Do we amuse them still? Pricking the arrows of love hither and yon, matching us so perfectly, yet so cleverly not- off just a hair, just a puny, impossibly itchy, erratic, hairsbreadth that somehow ruins it all.

And still, even forewarned, lessons earned and learned, still the twitching, twanging, stupid, plangent pulse of love rings louder than any sensible suggestion or hardwon wisdom ever could.

selfh

Hooray! I’m bleeding!

Friday, April 27th, 2007

Finally, hwoof… Now I’m cleaning house like a skilled madwoman and culling my wardrobe ruthlessly for the coming naked Human Party.

I even found my warrior tank top-it’s been missing since last summer!

Goddamn, I hope I freakin’ bleed soon!

Thursday, April 26th, 2007

‘cuz if I have to deal with yet another day of grouchyass, ungrateful, petulant, heartsore, unappeased, mewling, castigating, tiny mindedness I’m gonna start ripping the heads off hapless bunnies!

Grrsnort.

A new Gchat friend asked today why my status line said hamsterfish-she said it wasn’t a very pleasant image. It just popped into my head this morning. Just the thing, I guess, to describe the truculent, premenstrual, heart-achey state of my mind today, all caged and gnarly gnawing and floppy flailing. Home neither on land nor at sea.

An altogether preposterous creature.