Outside My Window

 
Outside my window
the world goes on
the dahlias keep blooming
till each one withers and is gone

The green beetle flutters its wings
humming loudly against my ear
deep inside, I worry about everything
as I do year after year

But life keeps on going
and the dahlias will bloom and go
the sun rises and sets each day
life goes on – that much I know.

A Perfect View for a Not So Perfect Day

 I used to love driving into Los Angeles.  I had my usual haunts – Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA), Getty Center, LA Library with its five underground floors, and so many more.

But that was before I had my little one.  Since then – and that’s five years – I’ve basically been staying local.  Driving with a baby in the car was nerve-wracking and these days, driving with a little boy with endless questions in the car while you’re trying to keep your cool during LA rush hour is just as nerve-wracking. 

Not so nerve wracking that I couldnt snap this while sitting in traffic
 

So yesterday was one of those days where I should have consulted the Philippine Consulate website and read the fine print that they’d moved location – and looked much closer about the times they were open, and most of all, that of the REAL time that their notarization department remained open which was apparently not 8 – 5 like their website said, but according to the security guard at the front who pointed to the plastic covered 8 x 10 sign on his desk, “our times have changed since last week. They now close at 3. Come back tomorrow.”

And so we took a drive to one of my old favorite places – Griffith Observatory even though the observatory itself was closed on Monday.  Still, one can walk around the premises and soak in the view of smog-covered Los Angeles.  

We’re going to make another foray into the city on Thursday and this time we’ll stay the whole day till the documents are notarized.  This time I’ll take him to the park right below the Hollywood sign, and probably back to the observatory and this time with quarters so he can use those telescopes.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll make the drive into the city more often from now on and make it a little-guy-and-me weekly road trip .  After all, just because I used to do things doesn’t mean I no longer can’t.

The Planet Needs Athletes, Philosophers, Sex Symbols…

I just discovered Marina and the Diamonds and thought it would be cool to draw her.  I didn’t quite get her but that’s okay. I’m learning to stop comparing my work to some amazing artists who do realism.  I love my pen outlines – reminds me of my brother’s DC and Marvel comic books from where I learned how to draw.

Yesterday Marina posted a quote on her social media accounts and I knew I had to get the book for my collection:

“A species in which everyone was General Patton would not succeed, any more than would a race in which everyone was Vincent van Gogh. I prefer to think that the planet needs athletes, philosophers, sex symbols, painters, scientists; it needs the warmhearted, the hardhearted, the coldhearted, and the weakhearted. It needs those who can devote their lives to studying how many droplets of water are secreted by the salivary glands of dogs under which circumstances, and it needs those who can capture the passing impression of cherry blossoms in a fourteen-syllable poem or devote twenty-five pages to the dissection of a small boy’s feelings as he lies in bed in the dark waiting for his mother to kiss him goodnight…”

~ Allen Shawn, from Wish I Could Be There: Thoughts From A Phobic Life

I love how I immediately recognized Marcel Proust’s “In Search of Lost Time” and how this passage – all 24 pages – comes to life as he muses along and it doesn’t matter how many pages the words occupy.  That’s the beauty of writing, I think, and in essence, of creating anything from nothing – or in Proust’s case, from memory.

Beauty #2

  

It’s the same drawing, only this time with her hair all colored – on my iPhone app called Sketch This. I’m calling her Paige, for one of my characters in my just-published novel Loving Ashe.

Yep! I did it! I went ahead and published my novel yesterday and it’s a bit bittersweet and scary and awesome all at the same time. 

I miss writing my poems but nothing’s coming out just yet. Guess it’s because there are other things I need to do first. Like hitting that Publish button – and planning out my son’s summer. 

Somehow the idea of a five-year old and me this summer has the makings of a comedy of errors. 

Daily Prompt: It’s All About Me, Baby

I’m seriously lagging with all these daily prompts.  Or maybe it’s because I was just dragging myself these past few days because of the impending doom that was called Valentine’s Day…

Anyway, so I’m getting all caught up now (as much as I humanly can) but still choosing only the prompts that I don’t draw a blank at when I’m sitting in front of the computer going, what the crap do I say to that prompt?

Which takes me to this post’s Daily Prompt because I DO have something to say (yey me):

Explain why you chose your blog’s title and what it means to you.

I was raised to be always courteous and respectful to my elders, or any elder for that matter, even when they didn’t have your best interests at heart, or when all they wanted was to screw the hell out of your ten-year old brain.  It just came with the culture (I know, I know…it came with MY culture, like messed-up extended family culture).

You didn’t look at people in the eye and you did not answer back (not that I did not look people in the eye especially when they pissed the crap out of me, and did not answer back – but that is neither here nor there).

So when I finally got out of that cultural hell hole and ran away to America, I thought, great, I’m finally free of ya’ll crazy-ass people.

But I wasn’t.  They were all living inside my very being like renters who did not pay a penny of rent, but still told you what to do, how to do it, and to always always listen to everyone else but yourself because you didn’t know any better.  And that you were no good.

It took me years of discovering that I had to boot all them out of my very being through psychoanalysis, some booze and some smoking some good cigars and cigarettes (still can’t do smoke rings but really, if you don’t smoke, don’t start), some new age mumbo-jumbo, kundalini yoga, past life regressions (mostly unsolicited but that’s just the crowd I run with), writing and even learning the whole art of therapeutic massage just to get past the deeply-ingrained belief that the only kind of touch had to do with sex, and only sex (learning massage is hard-core though – I’m now over 1,000 frigging hours of this craft – massage, I mean, not the sex, although that’s not such a terrible idea – and teaching it as well – again, referring to massage, not sex).

I’m still not at the finish line, or remotely close to it, but I’m working on it.  I still find some of these tenants holding on and have to work at kicking them the hell out, and each time, it’s a challenge, and continues to be.

But going back to the prompt (yes, I do get side-tracked like that) – years ago, I discovered Celtic mythology and I really gravitated towards one particular diety or goddess called The Morrígan.  According to wikipedia:

The Morrígan is a goddess of battle, strife, and sovereignty. She sometimes appears in the form of a crow, flying above the warriors, and in the Ulster cycle she also takes the form of an eel, a wolf and a cow. She is generally considered a war deity comparable with the Germanic Valkyries, although her association with a cow may also suggest a role connected with wealth and the land.

During one of the most challenging times of my life, I called upon the inner morrigan and made her my own.  She became my alter ego (at least online, or in real life, when called upon and you really really pissed me off and before I go ballistic on you and all) and my pillar of support.  Mostly, I think, it was out of a rage that really just needed to come out and be heard.  It meant me no longer being afraid of what people thought of me, to finally come out on my own and simply be me.  I was not going to be a martyr for anyone.  Not anymore.

I see my mother and see the renters who’ve never paid rent for the last seventy years of her life and I’ve seen how crippled it’s made her.

But not me.

As for the second part of my blog name, it has to do with my current muse and all the muses who came before.  I stopped writing for almost ten years – from 2003 – 2012 – and when I finally snapped myself out of my misery, I realized that it was time for the muse to come out, whoever he or she may be, and do what I’d always wanted to do for as long as I can remember.

This blog is like a coming-out party of sorts.  It seems to be all about writing, but maybe in time, it will slowly evolve to reveal more of who I am than who I would like you all to see me as (because you know, it takes forever to get every bit of those non-paying tenants out of my being).

And whether you like it or not, it is just what it is.

This time, it’s all about me.

Morrigan
Image from the Morrigan Program

Daily Prompt: Seen But Also Heard

Sure, you turned out pretty good, but is there anything you wish had been different about your childhood? If you have kids, is there anything you wish were different for them?

All the time.  Listen.

For when you don’t find the time,

A pedophile will.