Musings of Moe

Rest Stop-Colored feet

2011-05-04T22:23:00.000-07:00

My feet hung out of the window, the bottoms reflected in the side mirror. You could tell I had been walking barefoot at the rest stops. My toes were painted purple with green and blue glitter on top. The sun made them glimmer; made the polish look new. My toe ring was dusty, but the sun managed to make that look new too. We had been driving for hours fleeing the place I called Hell. My eyes were wrinkled and jaded. I stuck my head out the window and angled my face so that the sun’s rays would envelop me. Maybe they could make me look new too.

Plastic Cup

2011-05-04T22:22:00.001-07:00

The rain trickled down my window. I watched it as I wept. How indicative, I thought. I got a plastic cup and went outside to have it filled. What do your tears taste like? I asked as I set my cup down. The wind became furious, hurled my cup into the sky and took it away. My cup would never be filled. How indicative, I thought.

Moonlight

2011-05-04T22:21:00.002-07:00

In the moonlight you’ll look to toward the sky,

See empty stars and you’ll cry.

Cry for the things you’ve lost.

Cry for the ones you’ve lost love for.

The moon reflects your tears,

Makes you aware of their physical being.

Brings you back to life.

The moon does that sometimes.

Tail Lights

2011-05-04T22:21:00.000-07:00

She watched the truck drive away

The trail of dust danced in the wind danced in the wind.

The brake lights flashed periodically and

Illuminated puffs of white sand that floated about the tires.

She stood at the end of the road holding her chest trying to scream.

She made no sound.

Her dog sat beside her, cocking his head side to side at the unusual sounds

Made by the rusty truck.

She stood there and waited until the truck was out of sight.

Until it was inaudible.

She waited until the love faded.

Then she went back inside.

My Mind's need to Naturalize

2011-05-04T22:20:00.001-07:00

The roots of the tree rape the ground.

Strong bark penetrates the innocent soft soil

But the ground cannot move; cannot speak.

The ground bleeds and rises.

The tree never leaves.

The roots are not shown,

They are no longer visible.

But the tree grows tall nonetheless;

Its leaves falling, children falling.

The ground cannot hold them, cannot cradle them.

The tree is beautiful and majestic, nobody says otherwise.

But the ground in which it lays is unlevel and disgusting.

The deep shadow cast by the tree hides that from everyone

Until the tree becomes too tall

To see its own shadow.

Death Song

2011-05-04T22:19:00.001-07:00

Lost in the trees among the forest and the leaves.

Come to me, come here I say.

You will not abide, you will not obey.

Drowning in the lake among the fishes and the snakes

Leave me be, don’t follow me, I say.

You will not abide, you will not obey.

Buried underground among the worms and the sounds

Let me die, let me rot, I say.

Finally you abide, finally you obey.

Home

2011-05-04T22:18:00.003-07:00

The wind will heave a sigh of relief, letting loose the tension it’s held all day. When the dust settles and the sun knows it can be seen it will start a great descent. But not without painting the sky first. When an orange glaze occupies what used to be blue, the snakes will slither out of their holes and perch on rocks that are still warm from the sun’s touch. The bats will flutter about, flying low to get water from puddles left by the previous night’s showers. Families will mount bikes, dogs will wag uncontrollable tails at the end of a leash. And for that time of day for about 20 minutes, my world is alive and beautiful.

Empty Walls

2011-05-04T22:18:00.001-07:00

It’s odd to see these walls bare, these closets empty. It’s odd to think of leaving this place. But I know I must go. I know that’s what you would want for me. Last night I slept in the place where our bed used to be. It’s already packed up, so I just threw down some sheets and blankets. I slept on your side to see if maybe I could feel you. I don’t think I did though. I thought about selling our bed as I lay on the cold floor. It’s too hard for me. It doesn’t smell like you anymore anyways. I’m not sure if I could bring myself to do it though. I can’t imagine losing another piece of you. I’m not even sure it’s possible to lose anymore. My mom said it was a good thing to do, said that it showed I was moving on, but you know how she is. I’m going to leave this here for you. Hopefully you’re where you need to be and not here still; but just in case, I’ll put it on the kitchen counter where I used to leave all the notes I’d write you. Please don’t follow me. I’ll be okay. It’s just so odd to see these walls bare.

Super Moon

2011-05-04T22:17:00.002-07:00

Yellow beams of light force their way through my window onto your face.

The night, however black is forced to emit light from this infinite source. I look upon your existence and ponder the future.

Will I still love you when the moon can no longer illuminate your freckled and wrinkled face?

Will you still love me when my hair is the color of the guitar strings your fingers once loved so much?

Will we still burn red with passion when our bones are too brittle to make love?

I think about these things; the far and near future

The uncertainties scare me. They make me wonder what I’m even doing here in bed next to you.

Would being alone be easier than being connected and losing it all down the line?

Are you really who I want to spend my life with?

These questions and more I turn over in my head as I examine your face.

I love you so much right now. I want to love you like this until I die. But I know I cannot make that promise to you.

I want to grow old with you, but I don’t want to grow apart from you. How do we keep that from happening?

You roll over, not knowing that I lay awake.

Your unintentional disregard to my inquiries tells me I should go to sleep.

But just as the moon cannot be dimmed, I cannot be silent.

So I turn over as well, my back to yours and I direct my questions to the moon.

But I know that she, like you, cannot answer my questions.

So she glimmers on, her light falling lightly on my cheek bones as if to try and soothe me.

But it is a draw. I stare at her, and I feel her gaze on me until it is time for her to disappear.

“I’ll be back for you, Super moon.” I say as her light leaves my face.

“I’ll be back for you.”

Grandfather Clock

2011-05-04T22:17:00.000-07:00

Passed the point of no return

Return back to the memories that churn

The emotions in your gut.

Too bold to be forgotten, too old to remember.

Remember the time I fell off the swing?

The pendulum swing

The pendulum swing.

Hear the beat, race to win it.

Return back to the memories that churn

The emotions in your gut.

Climbing a Tree in my Youth:

2011-05-04T22:16:00.000-07:00

We’d race to the tall tree

Still bare from the harsh winter weeks ago.

But now the sun is out.

Now it is spring.

We begin to scale the large monument,

Our tiny feet gripping to any imperfections in the trunk.

Our skinny fingers white at the tips holding

On for dear life as we traverse this huge skyscraper.

The wind will see us and laugh at our efforts to conquer such a fortress.

But it will send a breeze to cool the sweat on our foreheads anyhow.

When we reach halfway we know there is no going back.

We look at each other; red-faced and panting, but we continue on.

Our mom will occasionally look out from her window to make sure one of us hasn’t fallen.

But we know the tree will never let us fall. Will never let us go.

At last! We reach the tree’s extended arms.

I pick one side and you pick another; and we sit and rest in the loving arms of this giant tree.

The wind cools us again,

A congratulatory breeze.

Old #7

2011-04-03T01:15:00.002-07:00

Yellow beams of light force their way through my window onto your face.

The night, however black, is forced to emit light from this infinite source.

I look upon your now-illuminated existence and ponder the future.

Will I still love you when the light can no longer illuminate your wrinkled and freckled face?

Will you still love me when my hair is the color of the strings your fingers once loved so much?

Will we still burn red with passion when our bones are too brittle to make love?

I think about these things, the far and near future.

The uncertainties scare me. They make me wonder what I’m even doing here in bed with you.

Would being alone be easier than being connected and losing it all down the line?

Are you really who I want to spend the rest of my life with?

These questions and more I turn over in my mind as I examine your face.

I love you so much right now. I want to love you like this until I die. But I cannot make a promise.

I want to grow old with you, but I don’t want to grow apart from you. How do we stop that from happening?

You roll over, not knowing that I lay awake.

You’re unintentional disregard to my inquiries tells me I should go to sleep.

But I cannot be silent, just as the moon cannot be dimmed.

So I turn over as well, my back to yours and I direct my questions to the moon.

But I know that she, like you, cannot answer my questions.

So she glimmers on, her light falling lightly on my cheek bones as if to try and soothe me.

But it is a draw: I stare at her and I feel her gaze on me until it is time for her to disappear.

“I’ll be back for you, Super moon” I say as her light leaves my face.

“I’ll be back for you…’

Betsy

2011-04-03T01:15:00.000-07:00

It’s easier to talk about her now that she’s gone. She’s not gone as in dead or anything, but the way things are going she’s liable to be gone real soon. I miss her so much.

“She’s just a truck” you’ll say.

“No” I’ll reply. “She is so much more”.

Betsy was one of my best friends. I realize how pathetic that sounds, to have an inanimate object as a best friend, but after a while when humans let you down constantly for your entire life span, it becomes SO easy to befriend a truck. Especially when that truck was your shelter from the shit-storm you were constantly in.

Betsy is a blue-ish silver Mazda B2200 truck. She is a 1991 make, just like me. She is the cutest little truck, but she is also a manual stick-shift, which I always thought gave her an element of badass-ness. Her interior is not too shabby; since she’s been in my brother’s possession though I’m sure it’s gone downhill.

The one thing I love most about my truck is how comfortable it is. And how relaxed I feel when I drive her. I honestly believe my truck helped me to stay sane throughout high school.

I absolutely hated high school. There are no words that I could possibly string together to emphasize how much I truly hated that place.

Betsy was often my escape, whether it be sitting and listening to music while 3^rd period passed, or just leaving altogether, Betsy was my way out. Psychologically, it’s easy to make a connection between my reliance on Betsy and my hatred for school. Psychology aside, however, I still developed actual emotions over Betsy more than I did for humans, especially the humans around me at school.

I would drive to therapy in Betsy. And after therapy I would sit in my truck and cry and scream and hug the steering wheel. And I know that my truck is an inanimate object, but god dammit, it always felt like when I was in Betsy everything was better, everything was ok.

I had my first car accident in Betsy. And if it weren’t for her sturdy outer shell my boyfriend and I would have been seriously hurt. A little while after the accident, and I managed to get her fixed up, her seatbelts would lock instantaneously at the slightest use of the break. Inanimate object? Yes, but I swear she has human-like qualities!

My absolute favorite thing to do with Betsy was to go to El Mirage, a dry lake bed near my house, and watch the sunsets. I would just sit on my tail-gate, smoke a mini-cigar, and watch as the sun descended.

My dog loved my truck too. We would go get gas together, go get food or ice cream. Sometimes I just took him on a drive with me.

Sometimes I would just go for drives myself. I would just head west toward the sun and think about everything. Betsy was my vessel for all of this.

Homesick

2011-03-01T23:55:00.001-08:00

Today I’d like to tell you about my home. I grew up in one place my whole life. That place is Adelanto California. My house is in the middle of the desert, unknown to the city dwellers. My backyard is a mountain range and my front yards are a vast stretch of Joshua trees and sand. It is beautiful.

I miss the desert and the night sky. Here in Orange County I fall asleep to the sound of the 57 freeway. I look out my window and see buildings. There is no natural sanctuary here. It makes me sad to think about. I can’t go outside and look up and see millions of stars like I can back home. I can’t drive my truck into the desert to watch an amazing sunset. I try to watch sunsets here, but it’s just not the same.

Back home I know all the dirt roads and can navigate my way from the back side of any mountain back home. I can pinpoint where the North Star is and I can see for miles on the horizon. Here I look up freeway interchanges and exits. Cold pavement and steel signs telling me what to do.

I used to ride my bike into those mountains and dirt roads, following hawks with my camera, going where ever they wanted to take me. Early morning drives would result in coyote sightings, just stopping and watching to see their beauty. Late summer drives would always end in me parked in the middle of an empty street watching a rattle snake or Mojave green cross the road.

Here I see the occasional rabbit near the dorms, the occasional squirrel; nothing else. Here the freeway is my horizon. I feel so disconnected from everything here. Back home it didn’t matter if I didn’t have friends; I could go home and drive out into the desert and feel complete in nature. Here, where I don’t know anyone, I feel so isolated. I can go a whole day and get back to my dorm without saying a word to anyone.

It’s ironic how much I miss home though. A year ago if you asked if I thought I would miss it I surely would have gotten a good laugh out of it. I realize now that it wasn’t the place I hated. It was the people. I am very anti-social, and my experiences with human beings have been less than fulfilling, so I eventually just stopped trying. I hated everyone where I lived. I can’t tell you why, and I don’t very much feel like trying, but all you need to know is that I was completely miserable.

Nature was my escape from those horrible people though. The mountains, the dry lake bed, the winding dirt roads, all of those acted as a barrier between my feelings toward the people where I lived, because out there, there were no people; just me, my little truck, and everything else that called the barren desert their home.

I miss that so much when I’m in Orange County. I have nowhere to go to feel comfortable and I have nowhere to go to feel connected to something.

A day with my grandparents

2011-03-01T19:39:00.001-08:00

Time to get caught up on this stupid thing! I take that back, recording your thoughts and getting your creative juices flowing is not stupid. The fact that I have to type them on a machine is what bugs me. Anyways, I guess today’s topic will be about my grandparents.

Usually, when I refer to grandparents, I am only referring to my grandma and papa on my dad’s side. It’s ironic that I’m most connected with them when at the same time I have an extreme disconnect with my dad.

My grandpa, Ted, and my grandma, Mary, are the most amazing people ever. It’s funny to think of how close with them I am compared to my other grandparents. It may be because I was closer to them growing up because they were only two houses down from me. But even still I don’t ever feel as comfortable with my other grandparents as I do with my dad’s parents. I won’t go into all the mushy stuff though; instead I’ll tell you what my typical day with them was like.

Normally it would start in the morning; I’d head over to their house with a backpack full of coloring books and toys, and my grandma would be waiting at the end of her driveway for me. I’d run over, give her a big hug and run inside. The house would smell like bacon and toast and my grandpa would be sitting at the table eating his bacon, or an omelet, or whatever he made that particular morning. I would sit down to watch television while my grandpa finished breakfast and went out to feed his dog Fancy. My grandma would curl her hair and put her perfume on. We were getting ready for an adventure. To them it was just another day of going into town and going shopping; but to me it was a great adventure. My grandparents were the type of people who would go around to every single store to get the deals and use coupons and what not, so instead of going to one store we would go to seven or eight.

When my grandparents were all ready we would hop in my grandpas truck and head into town. I say head into town because where I’m from the closest store at the time was about thirty minutes away. Anyways, we’d head into town and usually stop at Costco first. I would always head straight toward where they gave out the pumpkin pie samples and I would be in heaven! I loved going to Costco to get pumpkin pie samples. I also loved it because my grandma would always buy me new socks when I was there.

After Costco we’d go to any number of stores; Ralphs, Albertsons, Wal-Mart, etc. Then usually we would stop for my favorite part: Lunch! I always got to pick the place we were going to eat at, and most of the time I picked Del Taco. I loved going out to eat with my grandparents because they would let me play with the toy I got while I was eating.

After lunch we would go to a couple more stores, the cleaners, the post office, or anywhere else they needed to go. By this time it would be about three in the afternoon. On the drive back I would fall asleep to Willie Nelson, Hank Williams, or Ray Price, any old country my grandpa might have been listening to. When we got back to their house my grandma would take me inside and I’d lie down on the couch and knock out completely. I was always so tired when I got back from shopping with them.

Later when I woke up it would be about five in the evening and I would hear my grandparents in the kitchen getting things ready for dinner. The television would be on in the background giving the news for the day. It was always so peaceful waking up to them and the television. My grandma would smile and ask me if I had a good nap, I would say yes and ask what was for dinner. My grandpa would jokingly tell me that I was having a bar of soap for dinner and I would always laugh and slap his belly.

I loved those days with my grandparents. Writing about them makes me miss it so much more.

The Wind

2011-02-15T22:52:00.001-08:00

The starting and stopping of the wind scares me.

It roars and then falls silent,

Out of your mind and far from your thoughts.

Then it returns, louder than before,

Angry that you were able to forget it so easily.

Passing Time by Passing Time

2011-02-15T22:51:00.001-08:00

The grass bed is soft on the back of my head.

The oak tree that shades me sways softly and I listen.

I close my eyes and soon the sun’s rays cannot penetrate my eyelids.

The ground below me begins to mildly undulate and I am comforted by the

Subtle ease at which the Earth can move me.

There is traffic in the distance, I hear it well.

But I try to imagine it as something different;

A roaring river or a vast ocean.

I can picture each car dissolving,

The black freeway melting and the two form one blue-sapphire mass.

I am not far from it.

The spray from the sea greets my lashes

And the salt carried by the wind is on my tongue.

I awake, not from sleep, but from something like it,

Something better than sleep.

I awake to the sound of a siren, the sound of somebody’s life at stake.

I find the people are still there,

They laugh and smile.

Some walk alone and do nothing.

The leaves had stopped singing.

The cars were still there, the freeway as well.

My head began to hurt so I left.

Skin

2011-02-15T22:50:00.001-08:00

Its dry now, the traces have hardened and there

Is ample space between them.

There are no valleys, only stretched hills

That seem to fight for my attention.

I grant it to none of them.

Three thousand miles away the valleys

And hills are no more.

As if the topography had been

Crushed by a massive bus.

But I know there was no bus,

But merely weakness that diminished these hills.

There is a sense of joy knowing that

The land is recycling itself and becoming new.

But the valleys brought comfort,

The streams a release.

It’s all dry now though.

Carving on the Table

2011-02-15T22:49:00.001-08:00

The wood feels the heavy drag of my

Sharp pen against its surface.

I wonder if I write long enough

My words will be forever

Engraved for everyone to see.

Or will they disappear into the dark wood grain?

A placemat with pretty flowers or a serene landscape

Could easily disguise the sorrow.

But it will always be there.

Ukulady

2011-02-07T20:41:00.000-08:00

Since I was a little kid I remember having a strong urge to want to be able to play a musical instrument. I was fascinated in the instruments themselves and the people who were able to play them, and I still am to this day. So naturally I wanted to be one of those people.

But there was a problem; until I got into high school, I was incapable of keeping a rhythm or tune or melody. Anything having to do with music, I could not do it.

Of course, when I was younger, that didn’t really matter to me, so I begged and begged for a drum set, and finally got a little 5-piecer from a yard sale when I was in second or third grade. I assumed that when I got a musical instrument, the talent would naturally come with it. Of course, when I encountered difficulties in learning by myself, I was confronted with the fact that I was very wrong. One of my older brother’s friends played drums and when he came over he would play on them and try and teach me, but it was pretty much useless. I couldn’t hear rhythms, beats, tempos, and I sure as hell couldn’t play them. So I just sort of gave up on the idea that I could play drums and music altogether.

Many years later, when I met my boyfriend Aj, who dabbles a bit with practically every instrument, I was inspired to try and learn to play once again. Aj is very enthusiastic about music so naturally he was very excited I wanted to learn, and was more excited that I wanted him to teach me. We started with guitar; learning chords, what a “bar” is, different notes, etc. And although I now possessed a pretty good sense of rhythm, it just was not coming naturally to me and I kept getting so frustrated that my tiny hands couldn’t stretch across the fret boards. Aj constantly reminded me that it took practice and that I wasn’t going to get it over night. I knew this was true, but I had this feeling in my stomach that I knew it wasn’t for me and it was never going to happen. So my attempt at guitar also failed.

A little while later I attempted to play keyboard so that I could maybe work my way into piano. This also proved to be a harder task than I thought. I could do okay with getting my fingers to stretch and play the keys, but it was so hard for me to read the music for some reason. I will admit, I didn’t put as much effort into the keyboards as I did with guitar. I have a habit of stopping whenever the first feeling of discouragement arises, and I did exactly that with keyboards. But then again, I did not feel natural, and I didn’t like it enough to pursue it.

I had begun to accept that fact that I was not musically inclined and that I never would be. That is until a few weeks ago. I had gone to guitar center with Aj, because he had to get a new bass head for his drums. I absolutely love going to guitar center because I get to smell all the new guitars, particularly the acoustic ones. Weird? Maybe, but I can’t help how good they smell! Anyways, we went into the acoustic room and Aj picked up a guitar and sat down to play while I let my nose take me all around the room.

When I looked at Aj again he was holding a ukulele and asked “Have you ever tried playing a ukulele?” Instantly I was taken aback. I gasped because of how beautiful it was, and I instantly knew that I would play that instrument. I was so excited and sat down and started strumming. Aj went and got a chord book and we started going over the different chords. I picked up the chords for ukulele faster than I had ever picked up anything on any other instrument I’ve tried to play.

Then Aj put a couple chords together for me to play while he played on guitar, and before I knew it I was making music! I was beyond thrilled, and instantly knew that I would take that ukulele home and make it my own.

True to instinct I now own that ukulele, and while I’m still in the beginner phase, I am making such great progress, and am progressing faster than I ever have. I have named my ukulele Charlie and am so happy that I came across him that day.

Ice breaker

2011-02-02T22:00:00.001-08:00

I wasn’t so sure what to write about for my first post, I assume it is a fairly common problem for new bloggers. To be honest the only reason I’m doing this blog is for an assignment in my English class. I hate technology, and resent that I have to rely on it so much. I would gladly hand in five hundred to eight hundred word journals hand-written if that was the assignment, but everyone is going green now and I’m slowly accepting the fact that I have to conform with them. I just hate how impersonal typing and using the computer becomes. I love seeing the mistakes, the words I thought of using but scratched out because I found a better one, or how sloppy my writing was that day, or how pretty it was. I feel like I have such a strong connection to the words I physically write and I feel like that connection gets completely severed when I type the words on a screen. I might as well stop complaining about it though and just get used to it. I’m sure it will only get worse as I get older.

Instead I’ll talk about my animals, because I miss them very much. I live on campus in Fullerton during the week, and on the weekends I get to go home to Victorville to see them. I could probably just stay in Fullerton permanently and save a bunch of money on gas and what not, but it’s so hard to say goodbye to my animals. I have three cats; Bubbles, Penny, and Sebastian. Bubbles and Sebastian were rescued from underneath the portable classrooms at my middle school and were feral when we took them in. Sebastian never got over his fear of people, and to this day I sometimes get surprised when I see him dash down the hallway because I sometimes forget that we even have them. Bubbles is my mom’s cat, she is big, fat and greedy. While I love all my animals, Penny is my girl. She is a black shiny cat with big green eyes. She was a present to my brother from his ex-girlfriend. Prior to having Penny, I had never been a cat person. I had a dog named Sparky who I absolutely loved, so cats just never seemed to be the animal I liked best. Penny stole my heart though. I realize for some people reading this who do not have strong connections to pets it may sound strange, but it’s the only way I can describe how I feel about my cat.

I can be at my lowest point emotionally and not want anything to do with the world. Then I see my cat and she slinks over and plops down next to me and everything feels okay. Now, I know now I’m really sounding like a crazy cat lady, but I really can’t help but feel that way. In fact, I’m so attached to this wonderful creature that I got her paw print tattooed on me, something people look at me very strange as a result of me telling them this. But once, again, I am powerless. It’s amazing and rather scary actually how much I would rather see my cat and spend time with her than actual human beings. Humans just don’t understand you the way animals do.

Last, but certainly not least, I will tell you about my dog K.O. (yes, like knock out) K.O. was a present to my brother from my dad, and something I was totally against. I had mentioned earlier that I had a dog named Sparky; he had passed a couple years before K.O. became a part of our family, and I was still in the “I’m never going to love any dog ever again” phase. This also might be the reason why I gravitated toward my cat so much. Anyway, K.O. comes along and decides to steal my heart as well. He is a mix of Pit bull and American bulldog. I know there is a huge stigma that comes along with pit bulls, but my dog is definitely different. I did not expect to love this dog as much as I did, and still do, but again, I was powerless. He is the most gentle dog, let alone pit bull, that I have ever encountered. For example, I’m always trying to train my animals and what not, and since I knew pit bulls had a reputation for being territorial, I decided to conduct a couple experiments. I first would pet him while he was chewing on a toy, to see if he would get irritated, which he did not. I then did the same thing while he was eating, and again no negative response. Then I raised the stakes, so to speak, and put my face next to his while he was eating, and his response was to look up at me and lick my face; what a killer right?

So I know talking about pets may seem sort of trivial, but I think you can tell a lot from people by the way they talk about their pets. Plus, they make great ice breakers for starting new things like these.