Friday, November 24, 2017

i used to write

i used to write
flipping the pages
scribbling throughout the night

sometimes hard to start
but the moment the spiget turnt 
overflow, gushing, flooding

unable to move as quick and the thoughts splayed across my mind
the pages turnt black
running out of space
out of light
to scribble it all down as it erupted 

trying to catch each thought
like finches free in the morning sunlight
hummingbirds happy to be seen
but cautious to be caught

what to catch and what to release
self judgement hovering about
speeding, racing to be heard

the pen stops
to take a drink of the air that surrounds

Friday, May 26, 2017

molecular jungle

the things I know
come to me in waves and strands

strands of gold
flickering in the
florescent light
of a thousand small
beating wins,
fixating on the tumulus
of the earth


ascending walls
twisting and turning,
racing to the canopies,
the obstacles connecting
earth's floor
to it's ceiling;

fresh. light dew
dancing upon xylem;
like dragonflies breaking
through air particles
flittering through mediums
of time and space

covert in essence
blind eyes blinking
in axiomatic comprehension

speckles of dirt
water splashing
none a sensory
hath overlooked

electric in the vibrancy
of energy
energy palpabile

dripping with sweat
buzzing at elevated
tone deaf under bright

the things I know
hide in the dwellings
of canopies

jungles thick
the eves twinkling
in starlight
vines giddy a-flight

flocks meticulously buzzing
molecular subsets blending
in a symphtomatic rhythm

pulses vivaciously
renewing and awakening ,
kinetic energy streaking
the elusivity of all that is
or isn't.


the things I know
vascilate through the
words and sounds

uttered. kept inside.
closed in the root system,
blood pulsing through
oxygenating the ebbs
and flows to all that
which is

all that which is
that is

what I know

Monday, May 1, 2017

vivification; amor

the gut wrenching awakening
palpable like trickling water

nestled in the crux of your spine,
the vivacious mountains of your cuerpo

constellations of soft electricity
waking up the deep depressions of my heart




warmth seeping,
enveloping my existence

like sunshine dancing upon the feathers of
bright eyed ballerinas

floating on your breath
your strength, an inclusion of gentleness

tenderly moving me from sobriety
clarity washing the unabridged crooks of my mind

blankness ensues.
like hot air balloons expunging all futile matter
from the mind's confines




like white innocence
painted doves whisked in due flight

your freckles,
happily decorating the well-worn lines of
all that life has blessed in your wake

twinkling and invigorating, your blue cognizant eyes dive into the unique amalgam of sea green, canary yellow and sky blues that are mine.

like lagoon swims following Heruclean hikes,
thirst quenching all longed for,
known and unknown.

revitalizing in the lighting, the pale libations of your presence
elusive this space we hold, this parallel existence
by chance hath transpired.

the wordless depth that seals levels of kindred love,
trickling water through the overture of your caress.

molding perfectly, wholly, into the confines that which is you.
sinking softly, melting from bi solitary entities
rivers emptying into the idiosyncratic space where
stars align, connecting the dots of all that need be.

to lay in this abyss,
breath unto breath,
body on body,
skin on bare skin,

is to exist.

the pith of life,

is love.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

in passing.

I haven't written in ages.

Grandma is gone.

It's their 62nd anniversary.

Thursday, November 10, 2016

this theory i'm piecing together

If you cannot see that this election is, in no way, shape or form actually about politics and parties, you're missing the point. It comes down to humans-morals, values, LIFE, and chastising 'such' deemed humans for being born into their skin. To say that we come from "The Land of the Free," is a bunch of poppy cock. Maybe one day this statement was true, and people could believe it; perhaps, forever only to an extent because everyone's definition of freedom looks a bit different. Freedom to be judged if not fitting into the cookie cutter fear laden square that is approved as American. We've recrafted this slogan to look a little more like 'the land of the free to criticize, to wave our chauvenistic flags at main-mast, vehemently in the faces in everyone and everyone that either challenge our beliefs-bring fear to the forefront of our life experience.'

Trump- let's just spare this page of all the things we all already know. I don't want to get carpultunnels typing such nonsense. Simply put-the Trumpster is, the antipode of love, kindness, and progressiveness. Therefore, appealing to a specific type of human whose either a. motivated by fear and aggression; violence, or b. the type of human who is looking to hear everything they want to hear-that America will be restored to "The Land of the Free; the Great," and that jobs will be pulled from the clouds. Both, flawlessly promising. Insert eye roll here.

As you can gather from his past, the political side of things has little but no worth as to where he sits- being a swing state himself- furthermore, proving his intrinsic desire to have power; shocking.

This is where things get even more mind-fucky- his wife, a Slovenian immigrant (ironic) has made it clear that her goals as first lady will be to stand up for women's rights- essentially, being the number one advocate against her own husband's teachings of the American populace, as to how to chiefly degrade women and everyone else that is not a white, straight, American male. Interesting. the whole world how to chiefly violate women. Great team work, guys. In her latest interview with CNN, she preached about her goal-to stand up for women, about how she wanted to ensure that every single child will feel loved and cared for. That kindness and compassion, freedom, understanding and cooperation are of her utmost concern and focus as First Lady. She went as far as to say that it is unacceptable that kids are being mocked, bullied and otherwise on the playground. That we need to find a new way to communicate and respect each other. Maybe she will be the one to knock down the wall Trump builds on the US and Mexican border. What the actual fuck.

The parallel here is that the playground is the world and all the kids-all the humans- are, in fact, being bullied, mocked and incriminated for being who they are. This is an attack on identity. This has nothing to do with politics. What challenges and 'doesnt look like' the pre-approved norm of white, straight man. 't's not just an issue for all of us that can comprehend what is going on; it's much deeper than that. It's a trickle effect that is hurting the souls and identities of children who are slowly grasping what is happening-the new obstacles that have been thrown into their already difficult path. But let's remember to be free and love one another in the midst of being victim to bigotry and sexism. And yet, it's interesting that they, as a team, understand that you cannot fight hatred with hatred. Frankly, they're playing their cards right and each  playing into a different part of the psyche- playing into both the moral and the immoral folk. Therefore, everyone will be forced to see the silver lining in some part of the Trump team, ultimately winning power over any and all folks.

One who has never been interested in the political landscape in the slightest, I now find myself at a benchmark in my own exploration thereof. Realizing that lack of participation is just as ineffective as being uninformed. That now, it is ever more important to be in the thick of all that is transpiring, as to gain understanding, awareness and effectively construct a new paradigm- one that is built off of this spoken love, understanding and compassion. It is everyone's due diligence to get on board and start chipping away at the change that which we need to see. That to have freedom, by definition, means being free from power or control over another, we need to cease fear, hatred and violence and allow for every human to be that which that desire. And maybe that is where this new story can begin.

Sunday, September 18, 2016

advice about advice

At what point do we draw a line in giving advice as well as taking advice?
At what point do we recognize that it is just our ego speaking and that we are trying to "control" in some outlandish way either the situation or the event even though it is not our situation, our path or experience to control?

At what point do we recognize the other's need to just speak. To be heard. To air their shit out. What will it take for us to see that that's simply all they need? To not have to 'be right' or to cling on so tightly to 'how the situation once was or looked.' The need to judge something so fiercely, where does that stem from? And what purpose does that serve us when trying to help someone?

Yes, we have all been there before, waiting to tell the person the right way to do things, because, "we know." I had the most humbling experience about a week ago when talking to a good friend. We were speaking to relationships and simply catching one another up on our lives. When it came to the point for him to dish out some gold plated advice, he did not. Instead, his response shocked me. He said "I do not feel comfortable telling you what you should and shouldn't do, laying down some advice when I don't know anything about your situation or the dynamic there within. All I can say is continue being supportive and loving." That, threw me through a loop. It really made me question why we don't all approach situations in the same regard.

I've been taking a bird's eye view of how I go about speaking to people in this same light. Where I either push my advice upon the other, or where my judgements come out to bite. It's not a conscious or manipulative act, by which any of us are functioning from. It's simply an innocent 'we know no other way to go about it,' taking place.  This is how we have been raised. Someone tells us something and we respond with how we would maneuver the situation or insert our own experience into and onto it almost in a 'choose this way or walk shamefully into a temple of flames and mosquitos,' not realizing for one moment we just did that. We want to be of service but the moment our way isn't chosen then out comes the ego to attack and fight for our rights. How does that even make sense? Riddle me this.

I have been spun upside down and around on this topic as of late, really paying attention to how people react in this realm. It's kinda creepy in a way. Ok, look at me, I'm being judgmental. Let's try again. It's alarming. Fuck it. It's weird. All that I'm bringing to the table is to shed some awareness onto the situation. One specific situation that I think most people can relate to is being clobbered in the face by vehement word vomit as to 'well, you said it was x way last week and now it changed. How dare you do that. How dare this happen. And you ask me for advice, and now you don't want to talk about it?' How do we take things so personally when it isn't about us at all. If someone wants to open up one day and then the next day, the realize how they can go about it alone (or at least wanting to try because they see how mucked up the waters can get when you ask a bazillion human beings for 'their advice) how are you going to be that much of an egotistical bastard to berate someone like that? Weren't they coming to you out of a place of vulnerability, seeking help and love, and then, ironically, you come back at them and use it all against them?

It just blows my mind in the ways that we are unconscious. Again, yes, it is innocent. I'm not here to sit on some God-like throne and threw spoiled grapes at your faces. Not even close to it. I'm here to grab you by the nape of the neck, as I do myself, a billion times a day, and show you a bigger picture, again, one that I force myself to see no matter how painful and no matter how much I just want to be a dick or be right, in that moment, or for that day. Yeah, it sucks. And some days I wish I could just be a scum of the Earth because shit, it's way fucking easier that way. Alas, I try to keep the feral that lies within from creepin up into my personal experience tied down, ball and chain style. Do I always win? Nope. It's a process. You just have to keep showing up and separate your ego from the game.

This is all I am saying. That just because we are asked doesn't mean we have to be attached to our response, or their outcome. Just because someone speaks up doesn't mean they want anything from us. We need to keep ourselves humble enough to listen and present enough to let our intuition feel out what it is what is needed in that moment. And if we are going to cling to 'said response' or 'said outcome' we need to see that we are doing a disservice to ourselves at the person at hand because we should be elated that things are changing for the better and aren't staying in a place of stagnancy. Everything is only temporary. We need to digest that and fully understand that. So when we do seek to give this advice, perhaps it will be obsolete within five minutes like every single iPhone ever created. We need to accept that. And we need to let it go.

We need to realize that we can rewrite our own learns, that, it doesn't have to be so black and white. That it can be grey and we can create that grey space for there to be nothingness inside of it. That it can just be the airing out of another's experience. That it can be grey in that advice offered may or may not be taken. That it may change in one hour, two days, and we need to be OK with that because it isn't our experience to control.

And so, the time needs to come when we need to draw a line for the sake of ourselves and the sake of others to see that, advice shouldn't be laden with self-righteous judgements, nor should it be taken personally. This place, where one comes to the aid of another, should be a place of safety, where vulnerability can come to play darts and see what sticks, what doesn't and perhaps, just shoot the shit out of the board. Because, just maybe that's all it needed.

Take a step back next time and listen. Be guided by your intuition and not your ego centric mind that wants to be in control and solve all of the things. Because guess what, we know nothing. Vwahlah.

Thursday, September 15, 2016

no sir, I will not surf your couch

There was this one time I thought it was a good idea to try Couch Chile...alone...surfing the couch of some old random man.

Most people's bad ideas stop there.

Mine, have follow through. Through adventure(s) and consequence(s),  only to arrive at the same conclusion, that most people begin with-that it's a bad idea and they should be stopped there- frankly, it takes my feathers to be ruffled by life a bit to enable me to circle right back around to see that that idea was indeed, shit.

Shall we begin?

Chile. Day Numero Dos.

After getting kicked out of Brazil, I was unstoppable. I could do anything. Right? Wrong. There's something in me that just has to get my hands and feet dirty, my knees scraped up, loose a few bucks, have a run in with an official, fight a ferrile get the picture. This "trying it my own way," ensures to me that "said outcome," is "said outcome" that all other folks have been telling me.
*See most other people's ideas stop there.

I'm just what you'd call a hands on kinda gal.

Anytime I start out on a traveling feat, I have fears just like anyone else. I want to wet my pants, I feel as though I've forgotten everything, like I may say the wrong thing and get kicked out of the country (oh wait, that's already happened), or perhaps, that I'll be taken (if one more person tells me that whilst traveling, watch out, I will "take" you, Liam Neeson and all). I digress. It takes me a hot second to warm up to what I'm actually getting myself into, and luckily, I never quite know because I don't let myself. To have everything mapped out from start to finish takes away the adventures that lie inside the adventure itself. There is magic that can only occur between the spaces that are left open for things to be created.  And by that, my spontaneity provides a veil of cloudy mystery that keeps me out of the dark alleyways of my mind, allowing me to move forward in all of my party plans, and to not get caught up in the what ifs (this is different than naivety).

Morning numero dos in hostel: I was in contact with amigas of amigas as I was planning to adventure my way to Valpariso, the sea side town notorious for it's colorful rooftops and graffiti filled everythingness. My heart sang. My brain, on the other hand, walked me through one billion and one peculiar reasons as to why I shouldn't pack up my tuna salad and bus hop that afternoon into a mystical fairyland of unicorns, and strangers, an adventure promising of a color coma. The only "valid" reason that ensued was that it was after 1 PM and my early birdedness chirped that it was far too late to accomplish any adventures that day, because evidently, adventures retire thereafter.  See *fear by *paralysis, and *thatisbullshit. I told you I was still semi-human. My comfort zone was being a real pain in the ass that day, death grip onto the foothold of safety it had latched upon in Santiago, like tick to my dog's head after a crispy forest hike- just not cool. Unfortunately, this one wouldn't die from lighting a torch to it's ass.

With eager conviction after all the self induced hype, I kicked my own ass up out the hostel, and B-lined for the bus station, tuna salad in tote. I arrived only to be sandwiched between the shoddiest trouble makers in the entire cue, such is the story. Fortuitously, the man standing in line behind me just so happened to be the Chilean version of Shack. Boom. I was safe. Regardless, alborotadores uno y dos probably should have been fearing me more than what I had to fear coming out of them. I reckon they were just a bit loco. I, on the other hand, see *taken and *Ihaveablackbeltineverything. No, really.

I snake through the man made human swamp of a cue and purchase my ticket, searching for the magic school bus that was to sling shot me straight into my wildest Harry Potter dreams. Found it. I settle in, stretching my long, lanky legs (I'm 5'6" with a complex) over the adjoining two seats, and happily crack open my home made tuna fish mash, prepared hours before departure, successfully stinking up every corner of the bus while loosing my fork down the aisle in my eager excitement to feast. As I'm about to take my first bite, fingers knuckles deep in smelly tuna mush, sir blonde hair blue eyes is standing over me. "I guess he wants one of these seats," I think to myself. "I'm the window seat," he says. Nailed it. I say "Hola, si."I'm not sure if I was more pissed out that I had to stop eating, that I had to wipe my fingers on the seat and get caught in the act, or if it was that I was going to be squishing myself into one seat when I just had all three. Probably that.

I move out of his rented seat and sprawl about out in my confined territory. Talk about a bird in a cage. I guess the whole "hola, si," thing made me sound as though I was proper Chilean. This I knew because he proceeded to speak to me in some broken down Spanish that I patched together to mean "are you Latin." His effort was definitely an A plus. I thought I would let him struggle a few seconds longer, because yes, sometimes it is a bit entertaining (a lot) to watch the struggle, in the most endearing sense, waxing and waning through the difficulties. I've been in his shoes one too many times so it was my turn to get a little chuckle out of it.  I started to feel bad about myself as a person as I let him conduct his struggle bus right into my "I'm American," comment. Clearly, I had no feelings and was emotionless. Thankfully, he laughed. Turned red. Probably would have liked to say something colorful to me or punch me in the face. Luck would have it that, because he was Canadian, he just wanted to be my ally.  I don't know if Canadians are happier to be Canadian or people who come into contact with them are happier because they have an instantaneous friend. This, I'm unsure of. Further experiments need to be conducted. Please check back later.

We arrive to Valparaiso, happily chit chattering into the depths our or new (obvious) friendship. When we were getting off the bus, we encountered that awkward, do I ask him to hang out or does he ask me- since we are literally at the same destination, planning to explore the same amalgam of culture and art, not to mention, the few token English speakers in the place, we may as well continue onward...kind of moments. I'm sure you've all experienced them.


Earlier that day, I reached out to a few friends of friends to try and see if I could sort staying the night in this new land of colors and seashore, I mean, why wouldn't you? I successfully organized a place to stay and an adventure that would load the next day, cupcakes, dinosaurs and all. One hour later, plans cancelled and I have no place to stay. What came to mind was my desire to utilize couch surfing, something I had signed up for years prior, but never experienced in its full derelict potential (except for that one time in Philadelphia with Carly, at that Bong House- we will save that for another time). Tonight was the night. I logged on, sent a handful of messages to the humans who looked somewhat sane, remember, taken is a thing. Finally, I get into cahoots with sir oldmansalot. He tells me I can stay, writes me out step by step directions to his crib, and sends me his digits. I was set.

Fast Forward.

Canadian blue eye blonde hair and I spend the day exploring and scaling the sides of Valparaiso. No one tells you it's literally like trekking up the side of a the Empire State Building, without legs and arms- difficult - just way gnarlier. We take a shot of espresso for good luck, and extra pep as we set out for the voyage. It's funny the topics that are dabbled into when doing random things with strangers met hours prior. I come to find he is scored it big in the Guiness Book of World Records for eating the longest hot dog. Just kidding. He played Fifa for some bogus amount of hours without sleeping or eating. Or maybe not sleeping and eating the longest hot dog. I cannot remember the specs. Not important. After drooling over never ending graffiti, splattered over every street, stair, dog,  pole, house, and child, the day came to an end as the sunset upon us as we dined on some sushi, washing it down with warm saki. He said we should head back to the bus as the last one was to leave in about forty minutes. As I typically do, I don't always tell my full plan, instead, I go with the flow and buy myself time as I sort thought what the fuck am I actually doing in my own head, while on the outside looking composed and gung-ho for 'said' plan. If only that were the case. We arrive at the bus station. I drop it on him. "I'm actually going to be taking a taxi up the coast to surf the couch of some old man I have never met before." He gives me the Dad stare and goes on to give me a lecture, basically pushing me forth to the bus. I don't know if it's the adventure or the unknowns that allure me, but dang nabbit, I found myself bidding him farewell and jumping onto the colectivo holding about four thousand more humans that it should have been.

I ride into the setting sun, kind of freaking out as to what the fuck I'm actually doing. Now that the sun is setting, I wasn't feeling oh so confident about this decision to face the night and a strange man...not to mention, I didn't have GPS, the best Chilean Spanish under my belt, or a pistol...The colectivo squeaks and turns and rattles along the seaside, it's beautiful. After about twenty minutes I feel like something just isn't right as we had passed signs of Vina Del Mar, the town I thought I was to stop at. I look over to man next to me and mumble 'where are we' and 'how close is that to Vina?' "Basically," says dude, "you should have gotten off ages ago and now you're going to be getting off in a very dangerous area. Wait five more minutes and you'll still be getting off in the middle of nowhere, but maybe your life will be less endangered." It's black as midnight might I add.

I hop off the colectivo and walk into the nearest petrol station to wee, get some water, gather my thoughts, my life, and try to figure out what the hell to do next. I head back outside and stand at the bus stop just figuring that I should be able to call old strange man and he will walk me through the directions. There is a strange man at the bus stop that keeps looking at me. Naturally, I think he's going to kill me. He walks over. Naturally, he doesn't kill me. He chats with me and asks where I'm headed. I tell him Vina. He tells me that I've overshot it by at least twenty minutes. No shit Sherlock. He offers for me to stay at his place but quickly follows up with no sorry I mean you're a young lady and that's not right. I WOULD offer you my place but if someone were to do this to my daughter, that wouldn't be right either. He asks where I'm staying. I tell him a friends house. Push comes to shove as I'm not able to reach this 'friend' on his mobile. Then more truths come out, that I'm actually using a website to be an active hobo and rest my body amidst his couch for the exchange of my safety and life. No big deal when you look at the reality of the situation. I thought he was going to ring my neck and sell it at the Saturday farmers market. He rips me a new one and tells me how stupid it is for a young lady to be trusting of someone she has never met. To go on this trek in the middle of the night to try and find someone's place that isn't even answering their phone...Ok Dad, I get it.

We run into a lady and ask to use her phone, that perhaps he's just not answering a number he doesn't know. It's 1 AM. He still doesn't answer. Next thought. Pseudo dad bus stop man tells me I should stay at a hotel. Because I am stubborn and the sheer fact that I was going to be saving all the money surfing an old man's couch, there was no way in hell that I was going to pay ANYTHING to stay over night somewhere I didn't even need to be staying over night at, not to mention, I had a safe bed just hours away in Santiago. No, thank, you, sir. We arrive at the bus station. He tells me that I could probably get a bus ticket and head back to Santiago. Four bus ticketing windows later and we find out that everyone has sold their final tickets for the night. Fuuuuuccckkkk. My life.

It's time to play dirty and pathetic. Old man walks up to the bus driver for one of the lines. He says that he will pay him to take me back to Santiago. Folks! We have ourselves a deal! A measly $50 later and I'm rollin high in the passenger seat of this huge ass bus. Not going to lie, I snapped a photo and felt kind of cool. And tired as a gook. Moments later I'm asked to move to the upstairs seats as I guess I didn't qualify to be co-poilot. Not surprised. I snuggle into my seat, happily knowing I have no neighbors. The bus stops. Now, I have a neighbor. He's acting funny. There's something about it that rings "bodily flirting" to me. You know, the type- for instance- on a plane, that tries to use your shoulder as a pillow and your lap as a kneeding post? Yeah, that kind. Lo and behold, he pretends to pass out and seconds later his hand is grabbing my leg. I punch him square in the face and am rescued by the co-pilot, I guess we've arrived in Santiago. Ok, I didn't punch him but fucking hell mate, you're so lucky I didn't.

The bus dropped me off at the bus station in the city center as it was taking a right and I was a 'favor' drop off. It was kind of awesome. Freaky, to be arriving in the city at 3 AM and not necessarily knowing what that meant. Oh well. Bring it on. It was advantageous that all week I was using the bus line so I knew just what bus to take to get me home safely. Finally, I arrive home, 4 AM and whaddya know, old mate creepsalot sent me a message asking where I was and that if I wanted, I could come tomorrow. Are you kidding me? I know a murder when I hear of one. You will not fool me old man. I just dodged your ice chambers and you will never hear from me again. I swiped left and deleted that shit real quick as I snuggled into the warm hug of safety that greeted me in the bed that which I laid my head that night. I decided that couch surfing was not for me and nodded off into a lala land of maybe I should try a new approach. Yeah, maybe.

Back at a hostel in Santiago

Anyhow, up to this point, I haven't looked at my bank account. I didn't want to see the lack of monetary funds therein. Anytime I thought I was getting courageous enough to look, I would down a few glasses of wine and then would find myself dancing right out of adult mode and finding the nearest live music to slink away into. Ignorance is not bliss in a situation like this, because eventually, the bliss stops, and the ignorance gets you homeless and stranded in foreign lands. This, I could feel churning in my bones and the mortality of my situation looming in the oh too near distance-soon this trip and I were going to have to break up, and it was definitely because of me this time. I, needed grounding, the 'Mom found an empty beer bottle in my closet in 8th grade, grounding. Drats.  I decided to lay off the wine this time and go for a run to expend some of the forthcoming anxieties that were bubbling up about what to do next. Anxieties I had to rid before I could comfortably sit in the foretelling decision that was to be made. I arrived back, finding the most comfortable post shower state of being to cuddle myself into, slinking my body into the comforts of pillows, oh yeah, and wine were just the support I needed as I set forth in seeking the answer to my, all too soon destiny. Had I mentioned anywhere that I never thought I would return back to America? Well I am now. Needless to say, this moment was heavy.

After the hiccup in Brazil, I was flat out of money and deep into the illusory debts of the plastic cards that I become all too familiar with flexing. When the reality set in that the last place I pictured myself returning to was exactly the place I was returning to, I made a phone call to Uruguay. "Hola Morghan!," came the enthusiastic response from the other end of the line, from my dear friend Martin. "Martin, amor, how are you? I'm wondering what you are doing next week. I have little funds but want to make a go in South America. Could I stay with you for a few days?!" dripped out of my mouth, like hungry dog to rabbit meat. Awaiting the response, convict facing life sentence, as the next on the fly blueprints of my travels were released into the Universe, gliding on the wings of eagles, vulnerable in the looming forbearance or unperturbed delivery. Sadly, he was to be taking off for a family holiday. The moment had arrived. I was going back to Wisconsin.