Slip Stich

March 14, 2002

Slip stitch, knit one, yarn over, slip stitch, knit one, yarn over.

The creak of her rocker shifts in time with the clicking of her knitting needles. She stares out the window not seeing the frost climb up the panes of glass. She hums slightly barely audible over the crackling of the fire I set earlier this afternoon.

Her black hair whispers with flecks of grey, course wrinkles line her face.

 

August 3, 1946

He stepped up to the small café. Dressed in his worn leather jacket the click of his boots rapping against the cold pavement searing the flesh of my own feet. He has a thin stemmed rose in his left hand. His face solemn, his eyes intent, he sniffs slightly in the chill of the night but only because he is too prideful to show his unease. The faint scars along his neck remind us all of the past he leaves unspoken but is evidence enough for the man he once was.

She steps out, the air changes from a frozen pause to an arid current of electric tension. She hands him a teacup, he looks down fighting the urge to rip her from her place on the sidewalk into his arms and to calm her frazzled nerves.

Her eyes are hollow, her soul gone from this night.

 

April 7, 1951

The third column to the right on the back page of the Gazette:

Motorcycle crash on the bend of Porter’s Neck. Authorities announced male victim dead on impact, Investigators declare cyclist was speeding. No one else was hurt.

 

February 17, 1992

Patient’s replies with murmurs that do not seem to resemble yes or no. Refuses to make eye contact. Consistent rocking in her seat. She is calm. No progress.

Doctor: Hello Maybelle, how are you today?

*Doctor waits patiently, no recognition at her name or an attempt to answer

Doctor: Do you like your room here? I’ve heard Nurse Bennett likes to take you to the sunroom

*No answer

Doctor: Maybelle, What would you like to talk about today? Perhaps you could share with me where you got this teacup?

*Doctor reaches for teacup, Patient screams, grabs teacup and throws it against the wall shattering it.

 

March 20, 2002

As I was dusting the shelves today I found what looks like the handle of an old tea cup. I was going to throw it away but something stopped me. I went to Maybelle’s room to see if it meant anything to her. As I placed it in her palm and she slowly wrapped her tired fingers around it. She looked at me, her eyes searching mine for something I don’t know. She then shifted back to the window but she seemed different. Content maybe, relaxed under her knit shrug. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

 

Reflecting the Illusion

I wonder if Mary Lou thought about suffocation when she built the walls in her husband’s memory. Perhaps that’s what drove her to it, a display of her burden, or perhaps to make the world understand.

Closed. Encompassed. Confined. These walls are built to provide ever source of sustainability, rocks to perch, water to drink, plants in all colors to mirror our beauty, reflect the illusion.

But I’m fading.

The showcase, like the glossy pages of a magazine. They sit and think “Oh how pretty” buying into the falsehood of happy. They want to believe the image, believe in the honeymoon, He’s a nice guy,

What did I do? They ask.

2700 square feet. Seven months, two weeks. These walls are screened. I can feel what lies beyond reach but I know he’s never far behind. They still think it’s for him. A loving memory of a time spent in love and virtue to death do they part but no. We are here. A continual reminder of the life that he lived. Sarah would never approve. She wanted the life the raw nature the freedom of growth. But not here,

here we are what they tell us.

They come in, strangers to our world, ignorant of the life we are forced to live but cant escape. Buying into the illusion, actors of the spectacle, a false smile, a timid laugh, they will never see more deeply.

Swallowtail struggles now,

His blue color fading a paling grey sickens him. An expression of the confines inside. They say winter approaches, all an illusion, he’s finally free.

 

 

First Published 6/14/14


Through writing the past few posts of this blog I have found it incredibly ridiculous how many times I have had to throw in a disclaimer to express my belief no two people are the same and we shouldn’t group people into little molds of being based on appearance, stereotypes, or gender, yet I find it exhausting how people must go out of their way in order to prevent hurting someone’s feelings or making someone feel ostracized for a passion they hold. Why isn’t inclusion our first go to instead of exclusion? We are so bent on grouping things places and people into groups in order to fully understand them that we forget to actually see them for who they are.  

First Published 6/4/14

It seems to me that absolutely everyone is now blogging and spreading awareness of how people most specifically girls should behave. How they should act, dress, and speak especially to members of the opposite sex. I find it incredibly disheartening that all of the emphasis is placed upon the female. Firstly these posts all discuss how a woman should attract a male, how to only attract the men that want them for who they are, and how to control what the men around you think about you based upon your mannerisms and clothing choices. Quite frankly I say fuck that. Why is every advice blog so centered upon women attracting men? I love how it is now the 21^st century and women are more free than ever to express who they really are for no other purpose than to be who they are. Men have never had the problem of whether or not the random girl they walk by on the street will think he is a slut for a v-neck shirt or a prude for wearing a non-form fitting shirt. Men just do,

 

I have recently found some insight from discussing clothing choices with a specific male that chose to open up to the ways of the man (from his perspective of course not to generalize all men from one opinion) that guys have it easier, much easier. They simply wake up shower run their fingers through their hair a few times to achieve that trendy messy tousled look then throw on whatever tee and shorts or jeans are clean. That’s it. No debate over whether these shoes match this bracelet whether it’s okay to wear a baggy tee with baggy pants or should I change into a tighter shirt and my personal struggle: does wearing my bangs back give me a giant forehead?

 

I wonder simply why society has forced so much attention onto the female appearance but then the answer is simple. Fashion is feminine. Think about it from this perspective: how many shades of purple can any guy name? Now ask any girl and you get answers of lavender, mauve, fuchsia, dark purple, indigo, pastel purple, etc. Our society has modernly equipped women with the expectation of knowing these silly terms because not only should we dress for the weather but also the season too much dark in spring yet too pastel for fall. When did clothing become this apart of every way we act?

 

*Understandably the fashion industry is booming with many talented people sharing their voice through fabric as their medium it just builds an expectation for the rest that would rather experience more life than sitting naked in a closet wondering what to wear

 

First Published 6/1/14


I find It odd we live in a society where racial slurs and homosexual offensive words of which I will not name here makes their way into every song, story, and TV show aired to the teenagers of today. All we are doing is sucking the future generation of our society into an abyss of sexism and hatred for anyone seen as different.

 

The most popular songs seen on the radio today are full of getting drunk and having sex usually with a healthy dose of money and a touch of swearing for good measure. No wonder we have entered a society where the divorce rate is 50% and almost everyone is scared to show who they truly are. Body image issues and poor self-confidence is at an all-time high and only getting worse with songs like “Blurred Lines” topping the charts. Are we that desensitized to violence that most everyone does not realize how degrading and full of sexual violence those lyrics are?

We live in a world where the word love is not heard often and when it is people freak out, they stutter, panic, and finally end with an awkward thank you. People are so easy to enter into a one night stand yet when someone develops emotion it turns into an awkward situation of suffocation and clingy vibes. What are we afraid of?

 

We are taught as children to fear the stranger in the dark alley, to fear the bad man dressed in black, and to fear our own emotions. Boys are taught not to cry and when women cry they are on their period. Why is society so thrilled to watch the next horror film full of violence, murder, and gore yet the very idea of a happy romantic comedy makes many people gag?

 

This past evening I finally told my partner that I loved him. He was terrified. Not only did he stutter and fill the awkward silence with a few kisses and panic-filled eyes, but he did not know how to react at all. I ended up coming to the rescue in hopes to pull myself onto a life raft from the pit I just dug myself into, by immediately coming up with a scale for love. A literal definitive answer for me apparent irrational response of having emotion for the gentleman I have never felt more comfortable with, the guy that not only takes me to a sandwich shop when I’m craving it but also stops for a pizza in case I’m hungry later. The boy that brought ME flowers when I made a birthday dinner for HIM. To his defense, (again saving him from the fear of emotional attachment) he does not believe in love.

I never knew what to make of this fact as it caught me very off guard the first time he said it. After digging a tad deeper I learned it was more he had never experienced love so he had no hopes of believing it existed.

 

I am a person that is terrified of a long term committed relationship because I am bothered by the concept of having to share my life with another. I sabotage any great relationship by overreacting to the little things and refusing to work out any non-perfect situations. Yet I have always believed in love. I fall quickly yet live with a guarded heart. I let fate make my decisions because that way I wont have to live with the consequences. I see the good in people but not the person. Perhaps I am just as blinded as the women that are drunkenly taken advantage of. I don’t see what is right in front of me but instead rely on the impulses of the drug coursing my veins. 

 

Ramblings of a Twenty Something

As I sit here contemplating my value within the realm of time and space I stop to ponder the very essence of this title. "Ramblings of a 20 Something" started within my personal journey through a world of Pinterest boards, Twitter feeds, Monogramed everything, and the very concept of a capitalist society driven by money, power, skin color, and age. Throughout history we have always seen the success of the rich old white male and this my friends is a tale still told today. As a 20 something I am determined to make my footsteps upon this planet something known. Armed with my thoughts and a goal to change the world I know this is a plan that will change the rest of my life.

I am a 20 something, but I am something you could never imagine. I am a thinker, a free speaker, a creator, at times a mess, but I am always capable. Never doubt the blank stare upon my face for within is an explosion of thoughts, knowledge, and wisdom just waiting to be unleashed upon this earth. For that I know I can succeed in creating my vision into a reality that will transform us all into a world of light. Do not discredit me for my age but rather for my actions. Do not doubt me for 20 but rather be amazed by the something I am.

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