writing in the raw: speechifying

It’s a roller coaster ride. A tumbling act. We let words loose to persuade, describe, exclaim, defame, refute, convince, lie, confuse, or clarify.

We take stands, have platforms, craft mission statements and credos, construct constitutions, and write theses and treatises. We’re busy alright. Conquering worlds with words… and sometimes the horizons explode. Sometimes all light is lost…….

What are we talking about anyway? What the fuck does all this mean? And why, really, why care about what happens in 100 years from now?

Heh. People will tell me it’s love. It’s beauty and truth. It’s divine. It’s for their kids.

I’ve watched worlds warp; I’ve heard people say mankind is better off now than at any time in history. And sometimes… I bend over and look up at the sky. Silly isn’t it? But the sky looks just like the ocean, when you look at it like that. Endless, blue, telling me there is always out there.

Sometimes I realize I know everything and absolutely nothing. Hell. It’s spring. Exploding spring. Restless spring. Hair-pulling spring. I can’t sit still. I want to run. I don’t want to care. I want to solve it all. I want to erupt.

It’s crazy time. When everything is an exception. The less sense a thing makes, the more understandable it is.  Every big hard-to-fathom thing. Everything, including and up to nothing. Even nothing is something…

What the hell am I talking about? I have no idea. It’s Thursday night. I have to put up a writing in the raw…. so i’m just doing that.

Actually, I tried to talk nocatz into taking tonight, but he’s clever and somehow left me here, grasping at slim ideas, trying to spit out words in a sequence that makes some sense.

Or maybe I just don’t feel it tonight. Maybe I’ve run out of things to say. For tonight. Maybe tomorrow too. Maybe I’d just like to stop thinking about being shafted by George Bush and Bill Clinton.


i just want some peace. some times, damn it, just enjoy being all ramped up in the magic hour light. the perfect time to step out of the shower… in that light. It’s electric.

Sometimes I just want my mother back. I don’t want to be a grown up. It isn’t about the wrinkles or sagging boobs. It’s not the hot flashes or losing the ability to say oxgenate. good god. i can’t even spell the fucking word anymore…

no. i just want to put my head in her lap and forget about work and lovers and being responsible. sometimes… i just want to be five years old again. climbing out of the tub into the magic hour light. smelling good, a chubby kid in baby doll pajamas. and waiting for the jiffy pop to explode on the stove!

It must be spring. and little league. and leaving…

sigh………………. speechifying… signifying… nothing


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    • pfiore8 on April 25, 2008 at 04:42

    • pfiore8 on April 25, 2008 at 04:43

  1. I miss my Mom too. Sometimes even the hot flashes can’t keep me warm, either.

    And we struggle, we speechify, and there is always something to sour even the best intentions.

    I’ll go to bed raw, shortly and hope Mom pops up in my dream, to brush out me still-damp hair and let me snuggle on her lap.

    • kj on April 25, 2008 at 04:48

    that i needed to live by the ocean and when i grow up, i’m going become an old Italian woman, even though as far as we know, there isn’t a speck of Italian blood in the line.  

  2. ill turn 39 soon….but since i had a baby at age 19, and the other women in my generation of the family are all just having them now (a s-i-l and 2 cousins w/babies under 2), ive become the wise old crone when it comes to all things maternal…

    ….maybe it isnt my age, its just that they all want MY kids… 😉  or at least to have their kids turn out like mine (minus the crippling brain injury)

    so i figure by the time i really am old, ill already be good at it  😉

    and, p.s., im a quarter italian!!

  3. That was raw!

    So a raw response, though it is…..embarrassing?

    I wish I had had a mother whose lap I could have put my lap in.

    Count yourself lucky.

    More raw…First person who expresses sympathy gets decked! I love being me and part and parcel of that was having a cold, sometimes brutal, mother. Part of the deal, ad I LIKE the deal…ow…finally.

    I mean it about the getting decked part! If you have to respond, respond by thinking about how the process involved of not having had a real mother and turning out ok, (eventually) there are a lot of us!

    Postig before I can turn back from the raw….Kowabunga!

  4. i can’t even spell the fucking word anymore…

    I noticed that.  Pert is spelled p-e-r-t, not s-a-g-g-i-n-g.

    • kj on April 25, 2008 at 07:18

    fwiw, this is the latest i’ve stayed up in 100 years!  good dreams, all.

  5.    so serious!

  6. Sorry I missed all the conversation which I have read and was fascinating.

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