Addicts:
Do you know the maudlin man,
the maudlin man,
the maudlin man?
Do you know the maudlin man,
who lives on dreary lane?

##

Survivors:
Sheer will drives heart beats
beats giving up or in
in a perpetual state of loss.

##

Demons:
Embrace your demons,
if they’re the only ones
who bothered to stick it out for the long haul.
But even as their sturdy arms
cradle your broken self,
remember they take another piece each time.
And they will never make you whole.

***************************

Origami

Me? I began as a piece of paper.

I picked up marks along the way, random scribbles here, a word or two there. After a while the odd wrinkle replaced my smooth, white emptiness.

That was how he found me, and I invited him to play. He folded me, first one way then the other. He peeled my corners in, layered me. Pulled bits out and flattened them. Shaped me, creased me. Tenderly opened me up—no longer just a flat sheet—I found myself a sleek vessel joyfully gliding over life’s waves.

(See figure 1)

Content enough to be curious, I assented when he (a different he) discovered in me a new shape.  His fingers shifted my folds, squared me, tucked in my edges. He made new angles. His lips ran along my edge and suddenly I had wings. I moved from sea to sky.

 (See figure 2)

Never dreaming I could be more, he (that is he number three) whispered new directions. His words altered me as he twisted my creased fibers. He turned me over and inside-out, transformed me into a singular point of light surrounded by infinity.

(See figure 3)

Me? I am a star… except when I am a dancing crane… or a boat, full and fulfilled.

A rather dark piece that I penned a few months back called Fly on the Wall of a Serial Killing has been published and is availble to read at Flash Fire 500. FF500 features some very edgy writing–they even sport an adult audeinces only disclaimer.

One of my favorite stories, The Neighbor’s Cat, will be appearing in Issue 8: Broken Clocks of a very well designed printable journal called Colored Chalk sometime in the next few weeks. I’ll let you know when it’s live. In the meantime, Editor Jason Heim has loads of other interesting things to read and do at the site.

And Ink, Sweat and Tears will be printing my story Capacity. I’m pleased ’cause I really enjoy the majority of writing on this site–(Helen Pletts’ poem And there will come a time especially). Yet again, I’ll let you know when it goes live there.

As if all that wasn’t enough, my writers group in Berkhamsted is quite fun, albeit a bit small. I’ve just finished a brand-new story. I’ve gotten 6 rejections in the past few days too, but so it goes. And my friend and fellow writer Ann Hite made it into the top 50 in Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Contest. Yeah, Ann!!!

One cool thing about this journal (and it’s online counterpart Drunk and Lonely Men) is that they’re produced in or around Murraysvill, PA–country that will always have a special place in my heart given it reminds me of summers spent with Grandma Hilde and my aunts and uncles.

But it can’t really have been 15 years–that would make me…closing in on forty??? Would make my first child nearly 15??  Would mean I’ve been writing stories for almost 15 years?

Funny how time flies. And how it drags. These past 15 years were more than Kurt could face on a night when time seemed infinite.

*************************

(this one’s from nearly 15 years ago, pulled out of a ancient computer drawer and dusted off a bit)

Saying Goodbye

I learned of Curt’s death as I lay in peaceful oblivion. Actually it happened twice. Both times my secure dream world was shattered instantly.

 All alone is all we are.

 Unable to form my own thoughts any longer, I relyid on song lyrics playing over and over in my head. I had no control over them, I did not pick the songs. They sprang from some CD player in my brain, specifically programmed for these nightmares. My tragedies come with their own soundtracks. Did they get you to trade, your heroes for ghosts… wish you were here… Do you think you can tell heaven from hell, blue skies from rain…

 The ringing telephone woke me. I was vaguely aware of him rising to answer it in another room. I guessed from the dim morning light filtering through the black tapestry curtain that I still had an hour or so to sleep. I cocooned the covers back around my body and returned to my sleepy dream-world. Moments passed or maybe years.

 He returned. He woke me by gently running his hand over my face. His fingers were chilled much deeper than the November air could explain. His hand shook just once, almost a twitch. Had I not been oblivious, I never would have noticed the indistinguishable jerk of that finger. Groggy and disoriented, what my mind could not comprehend, the rest of me understood immediately. Something terrible had happened.

Curt.

 Dead.

 Hot ashes for trees, hot air for the cool breeze

 No it didn’t happen like that at all. I was asleep, but it was totally dark, not early morning. And there was no phone call, just the murmur of late night TV. He didn’t say anything at first; just lay there quietly. I was totally unaware, clueless, sleepy. I don’t remember what he said, the words or details. But it was a nightmare. Who would have guessed the death of a perfect stranger would hurt like this.

 Kurt.

 There was a song, then there were three; fragments playing like rounds in my head. Where do bad folks go when they die, don’t go to heaven where the angels fly… its alright to eat fish, ’cause they don’t have any feelings… All alone is all we are, all alone is all we are, all alone is all we are, all alone is all we are

This one started out as a little spoof and grew into a larger spoof. Hope you like it. Happy April Fools.

This one is especially dear to me. Hope you like it!

_______________________________________

Lola Gets her Shit Together

Lola just found out she’s no longer in a relationship—aren’t Facebook status updates peachy.

Lola is upset, shocked, heart-broken and single.

Lola hates looking for jobs on craigslist but she is running out of cash.

Lola should stop playing online and clean the toilet.

Lola is so the slacker who’d get thrown out of Real World—sorry guys.

Lola keeps wondering why an intelligent 28 year old with an Honors Degree can’t manage a job, boyfriend or room-mates without loads of drama. (What the hell is wrong with me??!!)

Lola needs a change of scenery.

Lola bought her airline ticket— it maxed her last credit card but WWOOFing here she comes!

Lola is ooo-la-la…France is way cool.

Lola totally loves communal living and organic lifestyle.

Lola is beat. Picking grapes is harder than it looks.

Lola wonders whatever possessed her to become a farmer.

Lola thinks French kissing is even better when the kiss in question is with a French man

Lola is skipping on moonbeams.

Lola fucked up big-time! What else is new?

Lola should have realized that sleeping with her boss/host would lead to homelessness if her other boss/host (his wife) caught them.

Lola is upset, shocked and heart-broken. Again!

Lola plans to really get her shit together this time and do something useful (she hopes).

Lola can’t believe she got a paying job teaching English in Uganda!! Ya think these people are desperate?

Lola is Holy Crap things are different here.

Lola is internet deprived. We only have connectivity on weekends??!!

Lola feels overwhelmed, lonely and homesick.

Lola wishes Africa wasn’t such a scary place and she’s glad she got all her shots.

Lola can’t imagine living like this for another day, let alone forever.

Lola has learned what death looks like.

Lola knows she’s being shallow and self-absorbed, but she wants to come home right now!

Lola found a sick puppy but it’ll probably die, cause that’s what happens to sick things here.

Lola is exhausted. Mulogo says the only way to keep the puppy alive is to drip water in its mouth every fifteen minutes. He also says it would be kinder just to put it out of its misery.

Lola has done the unthinkable—rest in peace little Fang.

Lola doubts she’ll ever see the world in quite the same way.

Lola suspects Mulogo is the wisest person she’s ever met. And he’s only 9!

Lola just returned from her first native festival where she was startled to learn that joy is so resilient.

Lola is sorry she hasn’t posted for so long and hopes no one has been too worried about her, but she’s been busy.

Lola wishes she could do more.

Lola is finding it more and more difficult to confine her state of being into single line status updates.

Lola has decided to stay in Uganda and is headed north to work with children rescued from the LRA.

Lola can’t be bothered with this Facebook crap anymore.