A History of Violence

(And here, on Old Poetry Monday, a selection from 2012…)

 

But it doesn’t end.
Nothing ever ends.
Those who plummet over the edge of darkness do not hit the bottom.
No false saviors can catch them with their parables and psalms.
They fall forever.
And for those of us who do not know what it feels like
to be the only one shaking as the shadow passes,
as the red-eyed rats stare hungrily from darkened alleys
at the proclaimed innocents
are we really just that lucky?
When we hear about the headline crimes,
and how justice yet again prevails,
we say, “Well, how convenient.”
Right place.
Right time.
Caught red-handed.
But the law cannot catch all,
nor can it see all.
Not the guilt-stoked hearts on fire.
And the signals in the sky
cannot shed light on the blood that covers
all of our hands.
Those who see,
and know,
but stay silent.
We are all guilty in a world
with a history of violence.
That will never end because
we do not allow it.
Because nothing ever ends.

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

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Bursting in Air

I have never been an outwardly patriotic person. I don’t wear flag tees, I don’t have an American flag banner displayed outside my house, I don’t sing along to the national anthem at sporting events, and I stood during, but didn’t recite, the pledge of allegiance during junior high and high school. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about my country. I could go on a long rant about my feelings on patriotism versus what certain people seem to think patriotism and national pride is, especially in our tumultuous and occasionally hostile economic, political, and social climate, but I’ll tell this story instead.

On the night of the 3rd, I tagged along to the local fireworks show with my best friend and her sister. I’m not big on fireworks, especially due to the adverse effects they have on wildlife, pets, and folks (especially veterans) with PTSD, but hey, it got me out of the house and I got to spend time with people I care about. We got snow-cones and snagged excellent seats with a stellar view, at a table up on a patio area right outside our old high school.

As soon as we sat down, there was a drastic shift in the weather. It’s been broiling hot in PA this week – it’s felt like 100+ degrees the last few days – and just the walk from my friend’s car to the high school had me dripping sweat. But when we got to out vantage point, the wind kicked up, and we could see a froth of grey clouds swirling on the horizon, encroaching on the fading blue-gold sky. A few droplets of rain splattered down, but we still had about a half hour before the show would start, so we got a bit nervous that they’d have to cancel.

Then, the first rockets launched into the air – fifteen or so minutes early, likely an effort to beat the oncoming storm. The cloud-filled sky was full of sparkling, glittering colors, explosions and showers of radiant light, crackling gold dust, like stars bursting into the air then fading to ashes. We could feel the intensity of the ear-shattering ‘booms’ and ‘bangs’ down in our marrow. Many people view fireworks as a celebration of national pride, a joyous reminder of our independence, and I get that – it is a marvelous sight to behold. I found myself smiling throughout the display, enjoying my time with friends.

The rain held off, but the lightning didn’t. There’s be a pop of golden light and arcing beams of red and blue, and then a flash of lightning. The crowd would “ooh” and “ahh” at all the splendor, then cringe as the gray clouds were illuminated by flickering white and the growl of approaching thunder. Almost as though the fireworks were at war with the elements, battling for dominion over the sky. And it struck me, then, just how appropriate it was. Our country, and our freedom, fending off the ever-present threat of a storm – a storm of our own making. What is meant to be a celebration, or a moment of pride, eclipsed by something growing and festering beyond our control. The image of what patriotism is meant to be in conjunction with a force that shaves some beauty from it, and sends shivers down the spine.

I hope everyone had a Happy 4th – or just a good week, whether you’re American or not.

(Ant Man and the Wasp review coming Monday!)

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

“Eff” The Police

When I told my mother that my friends and I were going to go sit in a graveyard and read classic literature, she said “Over my dead body.”

I laughed. She didn’t.

But after assuring her that it was a harmless activity (and that Dante was best read by candlelight next to a tombstone), she gave me her blessing. The questionable legality of the activity seemed unimportant, at the time.

There just so happened to be the perfect graveyard setting just about a mile or so away from one of my high school friend’s house, out in the backwoods of our tiny town. It was his idea, as he and some college friends from down south had done the same thing during the semester. We sat together, each taking a turn with a dusty volume – Shakespeare, Milton, Keats, others – filling the summer air with the almost unintelligible sounds of Middle English and the flowery prose of literature’s legendary greats. We defied logic and managed to turn the Canterbury Tales into a rap as our laughter bounced off the gravestones.

For the second round, about a week after the first, I drove to my friend’s house straight from work. I hungrily shoved my hand into the jumbo bag of Martin’s popcorn someone had brought for the occasion. There were about twelve of us. One friend carried the heavy books in a drawstring bag, someone else took a bag of candles (for ambiance). I brought the popcorn along with me – after eight hours of folding men’s khakis, I needed that popcorn. We prepared a handful of excuses if we happened to run into any figures of authority – for instance, “We’re a prayer circle” or “It’s a séance.”

If there had been the option for it when we elected senior superlatives, I would have been the hands-down winner of “most easily frightened.” The first time we ventured to the graveyard, arms laden with Shakespeare and Milton, a friend of mine decided it would be funny to hide behind a gravestone and jump out during the prologue of Paradise Lost. So I made sure I walked between two other friends as we trekked down the cornfield-lined road toward the sleepy graveyard. The rural outskirts of my hometown at night are unsettling to walk through, especially when the fog starts to come in. Even the chirping crickets seem to signal doom. It’s the perfect setting for a B+ horror film. And I’d never do anything like this now, because I watch far too many episodes of Forensic Files and other true crime shows.

The church was soon within view. We were almost there. And then someone spotted it. The unmistakable blue, white, and yellow cruiser with ‘YAPD’ stamped on the side. Sitting like a predator right in the church parking lot, just waiting for the whiff of something suspicious.

“Cop!”

My heart was thundering against my ribs as we abruptly turned around and started heading back up the road. I looked back over my shoulder and saw the cruiser crawl away into the night. We were safe.

…Until another cruiser came ambling up the road.

One friend summed it up nicely. “Well, shit.”

The female cop pulled the car up beside us, rolled down her window, and smirked at us. “Where are you kids going?”

“…Up the street.” We pointed.

“And where are you coming from?”

“…Down the street.” We pointed again.

Somehow, that mediocre explanation satisfied the cop and she just told us to be careful, before she drove away down the gravel road. I relaxed, and we hurried up the street, desperately seeking salvation. We were three houses away on my friend’s street when two cruisers rolled up to us. The man in the lead car had a different air about him. The iron-grey mustache on his face indicated importance.

As the burly cop roused himself from the squad car, I sincerely thought we were going to get charged with something. I was going to have a big blemish on my permanent record. But what were the charges going to be? Literary sacrilege? Crimes against fictional characters? Conspiracy to entertain the deceased? I didn’t know – all I could do was clutch the bag of popcorn like a salty, buttered teddy bear. As though, if I were carted off to jail that exact moment, the popcorn would valiantly save me. I mentally prepared an escape plan – settling on ‘throw popcorn at cop and run for the cornfield,’ though I highly doubted my trembling limbs would have listened to that mental command. I inwardly begged, “Please don’t ask about my popcorn. Please don’t ask about my popcorn.”

“Who’s the oldest?” The cop asked. That is the only time in my life I have ever been grateful that I am the youngest out of my immediate group of friends.

Our oldest friend stepped up to bat. The cop asked some routine questions, took down his contact info, and explained to us that so many cops were prowling the normally-dormant streets because there had recently been a string of car and house burglaries in the area, so we should head back home for the night and avoid getting into any trouble. They didn’t search our bags or ask any other questions. He just advised us to go home. And with that sage warning, he got back in his car and headed off down the road, the second car following suit, off to hunt for ne’er-do-wells.

We were at the mailbox of my friend’s house – so, so close to sanctuary – when the last cop car came into view. “Hey, did someone talk to you kids already?” The cop hollered from his car.

“YES!” My friends chimed in perfect unison. I just squeaked. I lose my voice around figures of authority.

The last cop drove away, but one friend couldn’t resist jumping into the middle of the street, his middle fingers pointed toward the stars, shouting “FUCK THE POLICE!!!” as the red brake lights faded in the distance. Some of my friends laughed, clapping him on the back as though he’d done something ground-breaking. I rolled my eyes and wondered where that bravado was when the frighteningly muscular cop was within earshot. It’s easy to have courage when the beast is facing away from you.

We gave up on our quest, moods spoiled, and just sat on the hoods of our cars in and discussed the unexpected events of the evening. The consensus seemed to be that the cops should have minded their own business instead of ruining our fun, and that we weren’t doing anything wrong. I bit my tongue. Because the way I saw it, we were a troupe of college kids carrying a bag full of books, a bag of candles, three flashlights, a bag of popcorn, and giggling like five year olds as we strolled down a dark back road on the outskirts of town at midnight. We might as well have been carrying a big neon sign that said, “LOOK, WE’RE SUSPICIOUS.” But who am I to be a wet blanket?

I couldn’t tell my friends that they were being ridiculous – nor could I just go along with the ‘fuck the police’ sentiment. All I could do was sit cross-legged on the hood of my Subaru, lean against the windshield, and keep my mouth shut, the bag of popcorn sitting forlornly by my front tire.

We should have told them ‘It’s a séance.’

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

Me

This weekend, after attempting to take in a matinee of Hereditary only to have the projector fail so we had to settle for readmission tickets, my mom and I went shopping for some extra supplies for a bridal shower I’m throwing next weekend.

And, at a home decor/housewares store near the local Regal Cinemas, I found an item that made me stop dead in my tracks, turn to my mother, and say, “Holy shit, that’s me.”

So here I am, in a picture:

img_20180616_154036_8611138580990.jpg

There are multiple ways to interpret this quirky piece of Halloween decor.

Trying to project a sparkly optimism and remain calm while internally remaining at least partially dead inside. Trying to restore a glittery view of the world through calmness, introspection, and meditation. Trying to prove that you are placid and happy against expectations, but not totally convincing everyone.

Regardless, there’s a little bit of me in all of the above interpretations. I felt a kinship with this skeleton. A little bit of horror slathered in glitter – scary, but trying to be chill.

And then, after I posted a picture of this skeleton on my facebook, a friend asked where I had found it… and then she went out and bought him that same night. And there’s a lesson learned there, too.

Even when you’re a little dead inside, someone will still want to buy you. Or something like that, anyway.

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

Not Mad, Just Disappointed

I think every film fan has a title or two that they were eagerly anticipating, but wound up being disappointed by. So here’s a list of films that didn’t necessarily make me mad, though the reality did fall short of my expectations. Not saying these are bad films, per se – they just weren’t to my taste for the reasons listed below.

1.) Justice League (2017)
Whooo boy, starting out with a major one. I have been rooting for the DCEU to take off since Man of Steel (which I actually liked quite a lot) and, considering Batman is my all-time favorite hero, I always go into DC films with high hopes. Unfortunately, this team-up adventure fell massively short of expectations, was a pacing nightmare, had the worst CGI mouth in film history, and though there are some hopeful glimmers – the cast, and I’m a fan of the fight scenes – Justice League was far more of a mess than a triumph, and I came out of the film wondering and longing for what could have been had this film not faced such a troubled production. If those bright fragments of the DCEU can all come together and be expanded on with improved writing and a centered focus, then I have confidence that the franchise can get on the right path, but Justice League didn’t help much in getting DC back on track. Thankfully, Patty Jenkins will be at the helm for Wonder Woman 2...

2.) Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Lightning Thief and The Sea of Monsters (2010 and 2013)
I’m listing both of these, though my quibbles are predominantly with the second. I am generally lenient with book-to-movie adaptations, but some efforts are worthy of reproach, and the attempt to adapt the popular YA book series following a young demigod boy and his friends as they embark on a series of mythical adventures had little to no payoff for fans. The first film already eschewed several important factors, such as casting older teenagers instead of preteens and stripping away some vital characterization presented in the novels, but the second took that stance and made the film nearly unrecognizable from the source material, so much so that I doubt the folks who made the film even read the book. As a big fan of Rick Riordan’s book series, I was sincerely disappointed that the transition to screen was not so much seamless as it was a bumpy, uneven ride, and I hope we might get a miniseries of the books someday instead. At this point, I can rewatch the first one with minimal cringe, but the second is a no-go.

3.) Iron Man 2 (2010)
This is one of only two Marvel movies I have only seen once, along with Thor: The Dark World… however, I am also one of few Marvel fans who consider the Iron Man films as a whole to be the weakest of the original crop, but that is mainly due to 2 and 3. With an underwhelming villain and plot, even the bright spots of Iron Man 2 (Downey, the introduction of Black Widow) did little to fend off a creeping sense of disappointment while I was watching it. RDJ makes a compelling and convincing Tony Stark, but in this case, it just wasn’t enough, and didn’t live up to the legacy the first film has garnered.

4.) Spectre (2015)
I’ll preface this explanation by saying that I do not like James Bond films, and the short of it is that I don’t like the character and certain behaviors that these films and his character perpetuates. THAT SAID, I know there is a lot of merit to be found in the material, spy stuff is fun, and I don’t dislike any of the actors or whatnot, yet I usually don’t see these movies because I am predisposed to a negative opinion. I gave the Craig movies a shot, but after disliking Casino Royale and Skyfall and skipping Quantum of Solace entirely, I went into Spectre with higher hopes, considering Christoph Waltz was cast as the villain, and I’ve never been disappointed by one of his performances. Well, now I have. But his performance wasn’t the only disappointment – the plot dragged and much of the film came across as underwhelming, so it’s safe to say I won’t be seeing any future Bond films, unless the right name is cast in the 007 role. I will say, though, that the opening sequence is extremely impressive and an amazing visual accomplishment.

5.) Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (2001)
I mean… do I need to explain this one?
Jar Jar Binks. Enough said.
Seriously… this film was a huge let down for me, and for many Star Wars fans throughout the galaxy. Of the litany of reasons I was disappointed by this film, I think the main factor was the criminal under-utilization of Darth Maul. Never has such a badass villain been so unfairly treated by limited screen time. But while I was merely disappointed by this film, many other fans were enraged by it, so I guess my reaction could have been a lot worse. I also just don’t watch the film anymore and avoid it at all costs, so my disappointment has not has much time to progress to hatred or a more extreme level of anger.

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

Allergies

Friday evening, I worked until 7PM and decided to do some grocery shopping on my way home from work, so I wouldn’t have to contend with weekend crowds. I generally loathe grocery shopping, so I ensure I get in and out as soon as possible. The whole “scan it” and bag your own stuff revolution is a marvelous thing.

In total, I had about re-usable five bags full of food and a jug of milk. I wheeled my cart back to the vestibule and weighed my options. I could take the cart out to my car, or I could risk it and carry all my bags with my spindly noodle arms. I think you can discern what choice I made, because I imagine myself to be a moderately self-reliant person who can handle her own groceries. I don’t need a cart. Spoiler alert: I needed a cart.

So, I hooked two bags onto one arm, two onto the other, had the milk jug in one hand and the final bag in my other hand, and my purse over one shoulder. I was somewhat overburdened, but it was manageable. I just had to make the long trek across the parking lot as the setting sun cast an orange-gold glow over the land.

I made it across the crosswalk just fine, and then they struck. The dreaded allergies.

Pennsylvania has had a temperamental spring thus far, as we can’t seem to shake the last remnants of winter. But the last couple of days have been practically balmy compared to some. One might say that spring has sprung. I was fine all day on Friday, but as I was journeying to my car, arms laden with bags of sustenance, my eyes began to water and my nose started to run.

And this wasn’t just a couple of tears and a sniffle or two. It was a full-on assault, both nasal and optical. I also am one of those people who park their car far away from everyone else because I can’t stand the way people drive in parking lots, so my little Nissan was WAY out in the distance. I have never hated my parking habits more than in that moment.

I couldn’t back out, or slow down. My eyes grew so blurry with tears behind my glasses they started coursing down my face. My nose was running so badly I could barely breathe. My arms were weighed down with bags, milk, and my purse, and I don’t exactly give the impression that I am the pinnacle of strength. I am sure, to the strangers who witnessed this event, I looked like I was having a public breakdown on a Friday night in a grocery store parking lot with my weak, struggling arms full of bags. Quite a picture.

When I finally made it to my car, I slammed the milk down on my trunk, dug my keys out of my purse, propped my bags against the side of my car and threw open my driver’s side door and scrambled for my tissues. It took me two minutes to get myself under control, eyes red and stinging and nose stuffy, then I packed up my bags and thankfully remembered to retrieve my milk from the trunk. With a deep breath, I drove off, and made it home without another strike from the dreaded allergies.

But, while this was happening to me, my parents were at a child’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese. So, I suppose, it could always be worse.

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

Forking Irrational

Lots of folks have irrational fears. I have a few myself. Jewelry, car washes (I have been making strides against this one, however), mascots, and things with holes in them (not as severe as most who share this fear, thankfully).

But what about irrational anger? Or hatred? I mean, at some point in life, I’m sure almost everyone is guilty of being irrationally angry about some scenario or comment or interaction, or someone feels irrational, inexplicable hatred toward some being or item.

Me? I have an irrational hatred toward forks. Three-pronged forks, to be exact.

Three prongs simply are not enough. I must have four prongs on my forks. I’m not so anal about it that I specifically request four-pronged forks when I go to restaurants, but if it is within my power to procure a fork with four prongs as opposed to one with three, I will do so.

If I could eliminate three-pronged forks from the universe, I absolutely would, no question. I do not care about any potential detriment to etiquette their extinction would cause, three-pronged forks are an abomination and deserve to be destroyed.

Where did this irrational hatred come from? No clue. But the sight of three-pronged forks fills me with intense, fiery hatred. They are the most inferior members of the fork family, of that I will never be dissuaded. In fact, they might even be the lowliest of all utensils… or perhaps that is reserved for the spork.

And, since it’s not causing harm to anyone, I have more or less accepted the fact that, although this particular hatred is 100% forking irrational, there’s nothing wrong with it, and so I shall continue my fork hating ways undeterred.

~~~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon Amazon UK.  Nook book is also $1.99 and paperback is $9.99 on BN.com.

 

The Kitty

A poem inspired by Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven.”

Once upon a morning dismal, while I slumbered calm and blissful,
Dreaming of all the joyous things that make my spirits soar –
I was wrenched out from my sleep, well before the alarm clock’s beep,
As I heard the faintest cry come from behind my bedroom door,
“Not again,” I bemoaned, “Christ, it’s only half past four –
I can’t do this anymore…”

Warm blankets I did shed and heaved my body from my bed,
and braced myself to face the purring harbinger of doom.
With cold feet set upon the floor, I sighed and threw open the door,
And a slinky furry body crept at once into the room,
thus my rage began to bloom.

With her golden eyes so round, she uttered a meek and pleading sound,
And the dread fell upon me like a blanket of cold snow,
She flicked her tail against my leg as her whiny voice did beg,
“It’s too early,” I complained, and though I nudged her with my toe,
still, her meows echoed with woe.

I sighed and led her down the stairs, past the table and the chairs,
And like a queen she sprawled herself out upon the tile,
I fetched her early morning meal, and she released a happy squeal,
And thus began to gorge upon a tasty kibble pile,
Though the stuff smells rather vile…

I trudged back up to my bed, and put the warm pillow to my head,
and hoped the demon would cease to pester me until the morn,
My thoughts began to drift, and I slipped slowly into the rift,
Until I heard that telltale meow, so pitiful and so forlorn,
but piercing like a thorn.

Once again, I let her in, though it was much to my chagrin,
And she leapt upon my bed and made herself a little nest,
With a sigh I settled down, my face set firmly in a frown,
But she snuggled at my side, and I knew that though she is a pest,
kitty cuddles are the best.

~~~

If you’re in need of a new read, check out my YA novel, I’m With You! The ebook is only $1.99 or (£1.55) and paperback is $9.99 (£7.99) on Amazon / Amazon UK. Paperback is also $9.99 on BN.com.

Mother Nature

Mother Nature chose to celebrate the coming of spring in an unusual way, here in the northeast. She did not bring us flowers, birdsong, or gentle showers and soft sunlight.

She brought us a storm. A long one, at that.

Thus, my tiny pocket of PA found itself buried in a little over a foot of snow on the first day of spring.

Which – to be frank – is bullshit. Mother Nature had all winter to give us weather like this, and she chose to slam us with snow on the first day of spring. It’s cruel.

I mean, in all fairness, we didn’t get socked too hard this winter – not nearly as bad as our northern/New England brethren, who have fared far worse. We had maybe one “big” storm last month, and it was only about four inches of snow, which all melted by noon the next day because it was 60 degrees. Aside from that, all the other wintry events have been brief spurts of flurries or a minor coating to an inch, which typically disappears within the next few days. So I probably shouldn’t complain. I mean, I have lived in the northeast for 21 years, so this weather isn’t new to me, and if I move south the humidity will turn my hair into a perma-fro, so that’s not quite an option at this time.

We’ve had a few close calls this year, up until now. Just a couple of weeks ago the meteorologists were warning us about a potential 6-8 inches… which fizzled to nothing. So I was skeptical of this past week’s forecast, but when I saw the first flakes tumble down from the sky on Tuesday morning, I knew they’d actually called it right. Actually, they initially called for 4-6 inches and it turned into about 12, but whatever.

Mild winter activity like we experienced over this past season isn’t enough to send heartier members of the public scrambling to the grocery store for milk, bread, and eggs, though many will flock to fill their shelves. I once went to the store the day before an alleged “storm” and legitimately needed bread, but it was so packed in the bread aisle I had to settle for corn muffins instead.

I suppose it was too much to hope for that we could escape from winter completely unscathed – not even the first day of spring could stop the fickle Mother Nature from sending a blustery blizzard from sweeping over the region. I blame the groundhogs, honestly.

I had to call out of work for the third time in 9 years because I was buried, spent a good chunk of time shoveling heavy snow and thus destroying my noodle-esque arms, and worked on some writing while sipping mint hot cocoa. So, though Mother Nature decided to be cruel earlier this week, it was not all bad – if it gives me a bit more time to write, it is acceptable in my book.

Besides, the snow is already melting… and soon, spring will be here in earnest. And, after this last storm, that is certainly something to look forward to, so long as Mother Nature doesn’t have any more wintry surprises left for us.

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