I have a planner, and I'm sticking to it!

When you take a day off work, you have to make every minute count; and so far, I'm doing well. The planner I received as a Christmas present last year is now almost expired. Can't say I've maximized its potential; so I'm committed to squeezing every page dry. Going to Home Depot, Wal..et cetera. It's a looong list of things..

The List
...mind ya bidness

(Shameless plug: A poem of mine just published in The Jet Fuel Review - http://jetfuelreview.com/?page_id=609)

How's your day? Make every minute count somehow!

Fly Awaaaaay!

So I've been away for a while.. Here's a recap:

1. I moved to Philadelphia.
2. Somebody hit my car, then drove away.
3. Today a poem was published in the Fall '11 The Jet Fuel Review! http://jetfuelreview.com/?page_id=609

Happy Tuesday!!

40 Ounce Bachelor

I've had three poems accepted in the fourth issue of "FortyOunceBachelors." Here's the link: http://fortyouncebachelors.com/poetry14.html   

I'm the featured poet!  Enjoy

Exsanguination, Bloodletting and my little Heart

Exsanguination: To make bloodless; to drain of blood, bleed to death.

I recently watched the first season of “Luther,” a British detective show with Idris Elba and a cast of supporters, and in the third episode evidence was hard to come by as their murder victims were dying by exsanguination. After finding the spelling of exsanguination tucked behind the radiator, I couldn’t help but adore the sound of this word that means death. I’m not intentionally being dark, but it’s a flowery way to say somebody’s dead. Sounds like congratulations are in order.

Writing is an act of exsanguination – to bleed out completely and leave nothing behind, dirty sponge style. 

Earlier today I found my first gray hair, and couldn't stop thinking about marriage. The link between these I believe has to do with age and vulnerability, but honestly I’m not too concerned about that.

Like many people my age, friends are marrying. They’re “bleeding” in ways most of us don’t, haven’t, or just aren’t right now. But I suppose that means we’re the ones in control, because anyone who’s ever been in love knows you’re never in control of your life.

(Are we now, us loveless bunch? Are we? See: Restless Love Syndrome) 

I’m bleeding. I’m mourning, in between the times I pretend not to be. I miss people more than I can admit. I use the word people to disguise the word person, because that’d be too direct and it'd make us both uncomfortable - me standing naked in a thin robe of words. I am finishing books and television series, bottles of water, sentences I started while lying in bed with…people. I started love with people and am washing it down with rain.

It started raining and now it’s hailing; there was a hurricane after the earthquake. I started praying and crying because after prayer I’ll actually have to do something.

I’ve been literal and figurative on different occasions, but not when saying I’ve driven over a thousand miles for love, for the Lego piece missing from the perfect robot.

*

The second section of Ray Bradbury’s book Fahrenheit 451, called “The Sand and the Sieve,” comes to mind, as the metaphor of the sand and the sieve is itself a consequence of exsanguination –

A story in the book: One boy told another he’d pay him a nickel if he could get all this sand into the sieve. A sieve is a filter, a screen, through which small, insignificant objects pass, while sizable, significant things remain. The mission is impossible: there’s no way to fill a sieve with sand, but that doesn’t stop the foolish from trying.

I’ve been a fool before, and I recognize that I’m a fool right now. I’ve made choices that may be foolish, but made me happy. My happiness, my foolishness.

I’ve lost something dear to me, but I'm not sure if it’s a person or the idea placed in them, like a jewel placed inside the chest of a jeweled robot short one piece. It’s almost (nothing) like having dropped your keys at the beach, and marching back with this sieve in hand, heaving at sections of sand like it has the answers. 

Exsanguination and Bloodletting seem familial – the only difference being Choice. Bloodletting denotes a necessary release of bad blood for life. Exsanguination denotes a release of blood and a loss of life.

Twitter is a conduit of exsanguinating, a drip bucket of unimportant words and ideas. “August is the month of conservation,” I tweeted (@BLitReally), and didn’t have any meaning in mind, as Twitter is home for mindless dribble; but now I can imply something important about it, considering I need every dollar, hug, heartbeat, phone call I can guilt out of text conversations that start with “hey…it’s been a while.” Why is forever required between so many of my relationships, and why is crying so ordinarily a consequence? I know I ask too many damned questions.

I’ve been so caught up in change. I blame my sign: Sagittarius, the Great. Okay, I added that last part; but I love my sign – I’ll spare you the reasons. However, what’s an “understood” characteristic of Sagittarius is our desire for spontaneity and change. There’s been a bit much of that, even for me, and I’m beginning to feel sick, and out of control, out of touch with what it means to actually be happy. Am I happy for change, or am I actually happy with the change? Am I bloodletting, or am I being exsanguinated to misguided bliss? Is it human nature to ask questions, knowing we probably won’t be around to hear the answers? 

It’s hot outside, but the sand is very fine. I will find my diamond.

This is absolutely just a picture of me walking to get Mexican food yesterday.

The flash was on and, for whatever reason, the sky was beautiful.

Restless Love Syndrome

I just came home with two slices of pizza, and an iced-coffee. I'm not tired, but I enjoy D&D's iced coffee, so I bought it. It could've been lighter and sweeter, but sometimes it's better to taste the coffee. It_is_Wednesday.

As I walked down my block, there were three women walking up my block. They were all very young and very gorgeous. Two of these women were holding babies. The third walked in the middle, and as though she didn't know what to do with her hands.

Oh yeah

I have excuses for why I've been so neglectful. Yeah I know excuses don't amount to much, but this isn't about integrity; it's about blogging. Recently, I bothered to learn what a blog actually is, and was a bit surprised. This has been more essay, and less blog. Less blaah-g. I will blaah more. I will also essay, but will blaaah-g more. Little bites are sometimes better.