Thoughts A to Z

Thoughts are like butterflies in my head. Clouds move fast and clouds move slow and where they go nobody knows.

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An alligator ate Amy’s Almonds.
Brad borrowed Barbara’s bra before band.
Carl can currently control caramel cravings. 
David does diamond dioramas daily. 
Elva eats everything easily. 
Frank follows four fictional fairytales.  
Greg goes gaga getting gory. 
Helen has hormonal hives. 
Ivan is incredibly indigestible. 
Jon just jammed Jerry’s jumpin’ Jalopy. 
Kristen kicks kites. 
Lola likes licking lemons lasciviously. 
My mother makes mole marmalade. 
Nobody needs nonsensical nuptials. 
Oh!, Olivia owns otters. 
Prissy Patty passes pretty pumpkin pies perfectly.  
Quinn Quit.  
Ralph retired randomly. 
Suzie sat surreptitiously sideways. 
Thomas takes time to twirl twin tigers.  
Untie underwear uniformly, Ulysses!
Vivian’s van vroomed veraciously.  
Why wait when we wonder whether we want water? 
Xavier, Xylophone!  
You yawned yesterday.
Zack zapped zippers. 

Thought #100,000,000,000,001

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Image courtesy of Pixabay

I’m having the sort of day where I want to simultaneously 

 scream, 

  cry, 

   and 

    disappear into the void. 

Nothing in particular has happened.

I just feel so alone in the world today.

Random Thoughts

Sometimes when I think about my life, I’m truly astounded at what I’ve experienced and survived. I say this as someone who hasn’t had to live through war at home and extreme poverty or other such events, so I say this from the perspective of someone who realizes it could have been a lot worse.

I’ve lived. I’ve traveled, I’ve connected, I’ve loved, I’ve lost, I’ve moved on, I’ve regretted, I’ve created, I’ve destroyed, I’ve learned, I’ve staggered, I’ve succeeded, I’ve failed, I’ve wallowed, I’ve reemerged, I’ve run and hid, I’ve faced my fears, and I continue to face forward while considering all of this at my back.

 

Anyone who has survived the last two years knows that it was often hard to maintain sanity and even when you could, there was a cost: I didn’t do what some of my friends did, which is blatantly cut ties on social media with people who had certain views and attitudes. I do not criticize my friends for doing this, however. It was how they coped with a changing sociopolitical landscape. I opted to “unfollow” people if I had known them for a time but found their posting to be “unappetizing.”

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digitized pencil sketch by Leann Moore

There was one exception. It was on Instagram, and this
person had been at a distance for some time and growing ever more detached from what I considered reality. I do care about this person, but in the early days of the pandemic he posted a video on his account calling people wearing masks “sheep” and just being belligerent about it in general. And the reason I unfollowed was not because I disagreed with his “point of view” or anything; it was because the way he was speaking about people wearing masks (who were just trying to protect themselves from an airborne pathogen that we didn’t know that much about), his tone, his vocabulary, all indicated malice, judgement, and disdain. I have little tolerance for a heart filled with hate.

That was early 2020, and he just recently texted me out of the blue in early 2022. 

Rain

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I love listening to the rain.

There is something tactile in the acoustics of the rain, like listening to the sky’s latest hit single. The drums maintain their mesmerizing rhythm for a time, then transition fast or slow. The crash of cymbals brings me back to the present moment. The graceful dance of clouds adds ambiance to the light show.

There are times when the rain plays with my imagination. I used to imagine Noah’s ark during the flood or Dorothy’s house from Return to Oz, as they were carried away by enticing torrents of hopes and dreams mixed with fear.

The sound of rain, not the electricity of a storm, but the pitter patter, the kiss of drops against our modeled human lives, wet against concrete, plaster, glass, metal, wood, and asphalt—this lullaby I can rest easy to—the place where heaven and earth meet to discuss humanity’s basic need for survival.

 

For The Ones Left Behind

On January 23, 2018, I lost my great aunt Lois. The very next day, on January 24, 2018, I lost a former coworker and friend named Phil.

I’ve heard comedians joke about the use of the word “lost” to talk about people who have died. It’s not like they’re missing and we can’t find them, so why do we use that word? Maybe it has nothing to do with them and everything to do with how WE feel.  We feel like we’ve lost something, someone. They are not in fact lost (one hopes). No matter what you believe happens after, the feeling of loss when someone you care about dies is universal. I feel privileged to have had both of these special people in my life.

Those with the largest capacity for light
Can suffer the darkness inside twice as bright.

We see each other through me-colored glass
And wonder why days like this come to pass.

One would think us connected, with Face glued to Book.
One tremor. One candle flicker. The whole world — It shook.

Then came the “Hellos” and the “So good to see yous,”
The “I can’t believe its,” and (of course) lots of booze.

Together, we reach out to the stars and shout, “Why?!”
They twinkle and whisper, “We love you. Goodbye.”

(Originally published 1/31/18 on https://annie1kenobe.blogspot.com)

Like is Fleeting

I turn on the computer
Enter my secret passwords
And there you are.

Oh my Facebook friend,
Retweeter,
And Instagram lover.

He “likes” me.
He “likes” me, not.
I think I am in #Like with him.
I hope our Like will last forever.

Then he moves on to Snapchat.
Without me.
Unfriend.

(Originally published 08/12/15 on http://annie1kenobe.blogspot.com/)

Poems from Jane’s Diary

A heart of glass within a wall of stone;
I offer the sledge hammer freely.
Deconstruction.
Each stone is regrown from my tears.
12/02/09

So many thoughts, so little time.
But are they worth writing down?
By the time I pick up a pen, they are barely a memory.

Feelings are fleeting, changing like ocean waves.
To write them is futile.

Ideas are nice, but are any of mine original?
I don’t believe in beliefs today.
2/14/11


A hopeless romantic,
I fall in love each day.
Alas, I am left heartsick…
and drink the pain away.
2/5/11

The Welcome Mat

Don’t throw out that worn welcome mat.
It remembers the feet of those who have sat
at your garden bench or dinner table,
helping you when you were not able.
For friends have come and friends have gone
and that path worn thin recalls their song.

9/1/07

Empty Vessels

We prefer pseudonyms to reality
Relating to people by way of T.V.
Flashback to my favorite episode,
But no one else has seen it, so I guess I’m on my own.

Out of words, we just use someone else’s.
Vicarious love and hate till we’re senseless.
Think for ourselves has become so cliché.
Carbon-copies, unrealized potential-Empty vessels made of clay.

(This was originally published 12/03/09 on http://annie1kenobe.blogspot.com/)

Jane of All Coats

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I just gave away my vintage faux leopard coat to an old friend. I hadn’t even looked at it or thought about it in months, but when I got it out and inspected it and hung it up to air out, I admired it and thought, “what the hell am I doing? I’ll never find another leopard coat this good”. But, I had already promised it away and I didn’t wear it anymore and it’s the kind of special coat that deserves to be loved and worn and shown off and ogled over and talked about. Its a really good coat. 

I bought it from an old lady at an antique swap meet while I was in college. I believe she was the original owner. She informed me that I needed brown gloves to go with it (which I also bought from her) and she told me about how “in her day” ladies didn’t go out of the house without gloves and sometimes they would cut the tips off of their gloves so they could still use their fingers while wearing them. 

Once, while wearing it, someone taunted me about wearing fur, but I couldn’t respond to the person because of the situation. I was irritated because not only was I absolutely against wearing fur but I was a vegan animal rights activist at the time. I was inspired to make a patch that said “genuine fake” and sew it on the arm. That’s the history of the leopard coat. 

I have noticed that as I think about this and some other coats I’ve worn, they all have memorable stories to go with them. There was the blue velvet coat. It was royal blue velvet that was quilted and hung down to my ankles. It buttoned up the front and had two flap-over pockets and a simple short collar. It flared out a bit in the back and was lined with pink satin. I was probably just out of high school when my good friend Samantha told me about this amazing coat she saw at a vintage store. She described it and I fell in love with the idea of it before I even saw it. The thing is, although she wanted it too, it wasn’t really her style. But it totally fit my goth/punk/weirdo look at the time. I ended up going to the store and buying it first. She was upset for about 5 minutes, but let it go. 

I don’t know why I did that. Why I went out and bought this unique item that my best friend wanted. Was I a horrible selfish person? Was I just reacting to some innate shopping addict gene I got from my mom? Or was it destined to be mine – all I had to do was buy it first? 

Over the years, the pink lining ripped in a few places and the pockets had to be reinforced with safety pins (because I’ve never been much of a seamstress) and finally, last year, I gave that one away to someone I know too. 

I also remember this black velvet coat that my friend John wore just after high school. It was almost like a casual dress jacket and always smelled of vanilla. I used to steal that coat whenever I could, and I think it became quite an object of manipulation at one point. It inspired me to wear vanilla scented perfumes, which I still do to this day. 

This brings me to my current coat. It’s a black fuzzy button up coat that goes above my knees, with a long wide collar, two pockets and a strap across the back. It’s kind of like a pea coat meets a stuffed animal. I got this one at a Naked Lady Party, which I need to explain because it’s a lot less exciting than it probably sounds. It’s basically a girly get together (food, wine, and chocolate, and clothes) where everyone brings a bag of old clothes they are getting rid of. The clothes are dumped in a central pile, and the girls draw numbers and choose clothes they want. Many try on the clothes there and then to see if they want to keep them, hence “naked lady party”. I saw the girl who was getting rid of the coat. She was about six inches taller and 50 pounds lighter than me, but I tried it on anyway. Somehow, it fit really well – kind of like those traveling pants that got to star in a movie. So, it needed some love (the seams were coming apart and the pockets were full of holes) and for once I found it almost effortless to fix something with a needle and thread. I made new pockets out of an old burgundy velvet shirt and it came back together like new. This is the coat I still wear and love and feel comfortable and warm in. 

Anyone have a coat story to share?

(This was originally published 02/05/08 on http://annie1kenobe.blogspot.com/)