Monday, August 23, 2010

My Vladimir Paragraphs

There were once three. Then, there were two, soon to be one. And one really is the loneliest number when the number used to be three. Empty nest syndrome has another name in my head. It is also called, What the hell am I going to do with all this time disorder. You'd think that after a couple decades of very seldom having your own thoughts, your own time, your own money, or time alone in the bathroom; a person would practically drown in all the wonderful ideas of new things to do or old things never done. But, this is not entirely so.

The reason this is not entirely so is because you have forgotten what it's like to have motivation that does not originate in the wants, needs, or desires of the fruit of your loins (or the burden on your back, your choice). So. How to regain the internal cheerleader and rid yourself of the tiny dictators, you may ask?

I'll let you know when I manage it. I think it may involve costumes.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

And here we go again. This is annoying.

Barrelling straight through illusions
sightless, running blind.
Spectors dispersing to misty gray,
clearing air in my wake.
Glance back to see behind,
sparkling clear and clean.
But, before me, outdistancing dreams
without illusions, brightness fades.
Which would be grief in the normal scheme,
but when I need to see, I'll set it ablaze.

Thursday, August 19, 2010


About a month ago, I discovered something rather alarming about myself that I didn't know before. Down in the dark part of me that believes without knowledge, I don't believe I deserve anything good or anything I want. So, my core believes I deserve to suffer disappointment and grief daily until death. I can only say, "Good LORD! My insides are stupid." Changing those practically inbred beliefs is problematic, but I have a new saying that I'm fond of for times such as these. "Fuck it, I'm a fighter." So. It is on, Borkn's insides. Not only will I believe I should get what I want and good things, I will get what I want and good things on a regular basis.

I'm pretty sure I know where this belief came from, and that's a story that's not mine to tell, but suffice it to say, it's deep and ingrained. It's a good thing that I'm indecently stubborn and patient. And deserving (which is such a ridiculous word, it should be eradicated from the language, and the idea of it should also be erased) of many, many good things.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Those I know.

Kindness is one thing
Sweetness is another
Love and preoccupation, worry, all three.
Blunt affection, giving and impatience.
Everything I crave.
Bold and narrow,
Funny with devotion,
Support and wisdom
chickenshit fear
ADD, clumsy grace and beauty
anal, gorgeous loner mess
Nervously nice
openly closed
distantly close
cheerfully rigid
snuggly, fuzzy, timid and stupid
brother and brother should be
independently helpless
all that's good in humanity
relaxed, responsible
brilliant and bright
beautifully inseccure
I love 'em all.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

And we have a late addition.

I write these things for almost everyone I know, and here is the latest addition.

Child and Man
erratically stable
courage and fear entwined.
The damage is done
and done very well.
Heaven and Hell in your Mind.

Beautiful face and wonderful eyes
can't see what's in the glass.
The image is gone of what can and will be
if your reach can exceed your grasp.

And I'm gonna fuck your brains out.

Just because.

Friends forced me to write a poem about myself, since I write them about everyone else for fun.

Here ya go, Borkn in a nutshell.

I have traveled a long, hard road
thoughtfully trod with abandon.
Carelessly careful, I look then I leap
even when looking says stop.
I'm willing to fail, and yes, fail I do,
but often, failures teach beauty.
Seeking the core of people and truth,
I find complexity simple.
Each facet of me reflects its reverse
though somehow strangely
I am jack of all trades.
Master of some.
With all said and done,
I am legion.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Miracles and Guardian Angels

I've been contemplating miracles a bit lately, and, as usual, I am of two minds about it (I may just need to go ahead and give that other me a name, so I can keep the two halves of my mind organized or something.). It appears to me that for everyone who has what could be labeled a miracle, five people or so don't get one, and that would make miracles a bit fickle, which isn't something you want to depend on. And therein lies the problem, as according to the ardent miracle believers, depending on the miracle is the only way to get one. Huh.
Well, I have had a few miracles in my life, one even being kind of nifty. When I was two or three, the family was at the ocean, I was sitting on my dad's shoulders. A wave knocked me off and mom and dad dived frantically trying to find me, but couldn't. A bit later, I blew out a bunch of bubbles (and yes, I can see myself sitting on the ocean floor in my white with navy blue polka-dot, ruffled butt bathing suit, laughing at the stupid antics of my parents) and up I popped, to be rescued by a petrified mom and dad. Miracle one. Miracle two (and this is the nifty one). When I was 13, I'd sit on the floor of my room, scribbling and drawing all over a piece of paper information about my dream house. It was mostly blue inside (carpet, furniture, etc.), was in the country, cost $350 a month, would have at least two bedrooms, and one side of this structure would be glass. A year or so later, dad would decide he wanted to move closer to Florida than he currently was, so we moved to Kingston Springs, Tennessee. I cried a copious amount of tears over this as we moved the day I was to start High School with all my friends, plus my first love was getting left behind, also. The dream house was forgotten, even though I had planned and wished and prayed my brains out for about a year.
When I was 22, I found myself in need of a place to live, Dad was planning a move to Florida, I didn't want to pay for an apartment, so I called a realtor. Told her I wanted a 1 or 2 bedroom place I could afford. She said, I need to show you something... So, hopped in her car, she took me WAY out in the middle of nowhere, on top of this hill in the woods, and there it was... The ugliest house I've ever seen. She said, "Just hang on. See the inside." So, I hung on and there was an unfinished house inside, with 1 bedroom finished, 1 bedroom unfinished, a kitchen, living room, blue carpet, blue furniture, hardwood everything, a beautiful dark blue tile bathroom, unfinished basement, and the entire back wall of the house was glass overlooking a wooded valley. Guess what my house payment was? Yeah. Nifty.
This leads me to think of other parts of my life that may not qualify as miracles, but I may have one of the most overworked Guardian Angels ever. With the first-hand knowledge of what the inside of a loaded gun barrel looks like, with the machetes, knives, fists, CARS, stalkers, etc. going on through a large portion of my life, how can I possibly be not dead? So, Guardian Angel guy? Thanks. And really, how many of you have been attacked with a car? The stuff I get into.