tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11402821006503936332024-02-08T09:44:01.182-08:00Without An AcornC.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-86245182246115826362010-04-14T03:50:00.000-07:002010-04-14T03:51:20.708-07:00Forgiving LoveIs love forgiving? Or forgiving Love?<br />Sometimes it feels you make me stand on my hands<br />with my legs dangling above<br />Sometimes it's the looks that you don't give<br />when I'm just dying to see them<br />Love doesn't always fill the empty spaces<br />Or light up all the dark places<br />It doesn't always remember your name<br />Sometimes it's angry, and frustrated and rude<br />It's sometimes just a shell of something you knew<br />Love is desolate and then alive and open and then the Great Divide<br />And then it's something new and old and borrowed and blue<br />And there'll be weddings and anniversaries and birthdays with you<br />Then you and I will split apart<br />You at the head and I at the heart<br />We'll shuffle the pieces laid out on a table<br />Then staple them, or glue them or sew them<br />In the heat we'll circle like tigers<br />trying to figure out which side offers safety<br />In June we'll love like bunnies do<br />Covered in grass blankets with dew<br />Love is not always forgiving it's too hard to forget<br />So we place the regrets in a box with a lock<br />And try hard not to look<br />Not to pace in front<br />Forget what's not<br />Remember what is<br />Love is restlessC.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-24217400117542421942009-12-18T04:15:00.000-08:002009-12-18T04:33:06.559-08:00Insomnia: The WaitingI don't sleep like you. <div>I don't wake up in the morning ready for the new day.</div><div>I don't feel refreshed or energized.</div><div>I don't sleep like you.</div><div><br /></div><div>I sleep perhaps four hours at any time, only to be rudely awakened by sirens, or a whirling fan, or my cat's stinky breath. Or sometimes, I just wake up for no reason at all. On occasion I can simply roll over or adjust myself and fall back to sleep. But tonight, like the majority of nights I'm wide awake. I suffer from insomnia. Maybe not severely, I'm not going to start a fight club any time soon, but I'm definitely awake. I find things to do, clean up quietly, watch tv, write emails, search the web; sometimes I sit and stare out the window. And I began to wonder why. Why is it so hard to sleep through the night? Even if I get up at 8am and don't take a nap, I'm still wide awake. I think it's because I fear tomorrow. I don't like it. I don't like knowing I have to deal with things I don't want to; remember failures or start again from the ground up. I know that not every tomorrow brings those things. Sometimes it's waiting for a friend to arrive, or a concert to go to or another event worth happiness. But overall, I worry. I worry and sit and pace and pause and stare out that window wondering what will happen next. I'm absolutely riveted to the silence. It's as though I'm waiting for easy street to appear, for things to line up, for some good graces to befall. Life isn't easy for most of us. For others, there are only small bumps. I know the path I chose. I'm aware of the choices I've made, the sacrifices, the mistakes, the headaches. I also know that some devastating things happen out of my control. Those, I'll never be able to control. And I guess that's why I worry. I'm stuck between not caring what the world thinks, or my friends and family thinks and leading with my heart and then again, putting that aside and assuming the responsibilities, letting others go first, knowing where my "place" is, conforming to what I feel I should be. I hate the waiting. I fear what will happen when it becomes daylight because for now, it's solitude and peaceful and it's all mine. I feel like I can achieve things, like I can get out there and do it! And then Tuesday morning comes, or Saturday morning, or Monday morning...and I am left paralyzed, terrified of the magnitude of the world and how short I have to live and how much I want to be and do and suddenly, suddenly this is all too much. It's too much to ask for. It's too much to try and live. i suppose I feel a little like Atlas with the world on his shoulders. Perhaps I put it there myself you say; I knew you would say something like that. And perhaps I did, but don't we all? And the rest, the rest is out of our hands, out of our control. It's the loss of control that haunts me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't sleep like you.</div><div>But I bet you worry like me.</div>C.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-56039745777878853252009-08-07T21:26:00.000-07:002009-08-07T21:46:17.623-07:00I Debate You<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I'm a passionate person, the oldest child and some form of a feminist. I love my family, few friends and chocolate. I'm usually laid back, organized, and don't mind going with the flow. <i>Howeve</i>r, I'm also a very passionate debater. I love debating, or as some see it falsely, arguing. It could be the stubborn blood poured into me from both sides of my parents; it could also be the fact that as an oldest child your reasoning has to be twice as good as the next one in line, because honestly, they do have an easier time getting what they want; or it could be the fact that I am not always a proud owner of a fiery temper and when I get going you had better sit down because it's going to be a while; or it could be my mother, who was similar to me in the above and whom I loved debating with.<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Now, the definition of debating to me is probably different from you. Usually in school subjects it's arguing the side of pro against con. I don't enjoy the word arguing in this sense. To me, arguing surrounds a intimate subject or comment between two or three people. Such as husbands and wives, siblings, parents and children, friends, etc. In debating, I don't tend to take things to heart or take them too personally. I don't debate personally and I don't like it to BE personal. I'm simply doing it as a way of expanding. I like challenges, I like to be challenged. Debating subjects or opinions allows me to expand my thoughts and ideas, playing them back and forth either as the devil's advocate or the angel's helper. It allows me to think of things or sides that I hadn't turned over and taken a good look at yet. It allows me to become more tolerant of other's opinions or views because of how they see the world, of how I see the world and of how Christ saw the world (or the way we each believe Christ saw the world).<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I'm not looking into getting huffy and puffy about subjects. I'm not looking for someone to give me the two thumbs up or down, say that I've impressed them or say I've opened their eyes. I am simply, honestly here, I am simply trying to back you against the wall as much as you are me so that we have to be alert, focused and dynamic on our respective sides. I'm not going to walk away from you thinking you are the worst person in the world, most likely. Sure, sometimes I feel like a fool and my natural reaction is to strike out at you emotionally or verbally; but most likely we'll both walk away thinking about things a little differently - at least if you're open minded you will.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Love, success, affection or anything else emotional is usually void in my arguments. I'm debating with my head, for pure mental stimulation or exercise. That's it. That's all. I enjoy being pressed and pulled and swung at and applauded for. It's like a game of Chess between your two heads without the pawns. And really, is there an absolute truth in either argument? Can one of you definitively be called 'the winner'? In politics there is no truth. In life there is no clarity. Everyone and everything has been dissorted by their own experiences, their own cultures and their own intelligence. There is a kernel of truth for every stone of lies. And it already shows that whenever someone tries to impose the "truth" on someone else, there will be blood in the streets. Even love, or beauty the two things most commonly sought after have no true definition. Beauty could be Heidi Klum, or it could be ground zero at 9/11; love could a caregiver or a flexible sexual partner.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>What I want to sum it up in is this: debating is just that - debating. It's simply two ideas brought against each other under the mircoscope, looking for truth in the lies. Maybe one will have more than the other, maybe both will be unclear. But it's just debating people. It's not like I'm burning your favourite teddy bear.<br /></div>C.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-81032935550075560542009-07-30T04:34:00.000-07:002009-07-30T04:46:50.168-07:00I think there may be a misunderstanding between the world and the Sun god. Perhaps in our miserableness in the winter, we decided it be best to give more than enough offerings to appease the Sun and encourage it to shower us with love. Brillant people, just brillant. I'm glad we thought about this all together. No one thought of the consequences, no one thought, "HEY! What if we give SO much that the freakin' sun explodes all over us!?" <div>THUS, I am sending out a memo to you people because someone ought to. And here are the following reasons on why maybe, just maybe we should hold back on the offerings of loveliness to the ellusive "sun god"</div><div><br /></div><div>1. When the smell of burning skin cannot be distingushed from the smell of BBQ, there's something seriously wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. The a/c only drops the inside temp. a mere 5 degrees than the outside temp.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. When the biggest sale of the year is a/c NOT snow shovels</div><div><br /></div><div>4. You swear you have more shorts around here somewhere</div><div><br /></div><div>5. The suntan lotion no longer works cause the bottle melted</div><div><br /></div><div>6. Glacier lakes are being mistaken for swimming pools</div><div><br /></div><div>7. You've worn your bathing suit for a period longer than 48 hours straight</div><div><br /></div><div>8. You're suddenly best friends with everyone who owns a pool, a hose, or a watering can</div><div><br /></div><div>9. Moving up north doesn't seem so bad anymore</div><div><br /></div><div>10. When people ask "what's new?" in your life you scream at them: "IT'S SO HOT!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>11. People sit in their a/c vehicles while eating dinner, watching tv, sleeping, etc</div><div><br /></div><div>12. You haven't slept a full night in 3 days</div><div><br /></div><div>13. You've forgotten what pants and jackets are meant for</div><div><br /></div><div>14. You don't have to go outside to get a tan</div><div><br /></div><div>15. There's no need to head down south for a hot vacation</div><div><br /></div><div>16. People are mistaking Las vegas for africa</div><div><br /></div><div>17. You find yourself glaring at anyone who is wearing more than a bathing suit and shorts</div><div><br /></div><div>18. You will gladly kill someone for the last beer in the fridge</div><div><br /></div><div>19. Baking cookies in the oven is not an option</div><div><br /></div><div>20. When you truly realize how wonderful Walmart can be with it's bedding, and food aisles, and dentist offices, and entertainment section....it's like your own little castle away from the heat.</div>C.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-73197864372496349102009-02-04T18:27:00.000-08:002009-02-04T18:39:22.810-08:00<span>For those who have yet to see the beautiful movie "Mr.Magorium's Wonder Emporium" I suggest you do. The writing and acting, plus the visual effects will have your heart bursting and magic will fill every corner of your mind. The scene below is Mr. Magorium (Dustin Hoffman) speaking to his manager, Molly Mahoney (Natalie Portman) knowing he is about to pass on. This scene broke my heart to pieces and built it back up again in only 4 minutes. It was beautifully acted and Helm wrote it so children would understand, but that adults would believe. Click the link to see it. It's definitely worth 4 minutes of your time. (Copy and paste in browser)<br /> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o0gXZTfuD1Q<br /><br /><br />I see this how my mom would've passed away. Beautiful. Simple. And straight into the stars of heaven.<br /><br /><br />"When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He's written "He dies." That's all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is "He dies." It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with "He dies." And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it's only natural to be sad, but not because of the words "He dies." but because of the life we saw prior to the words.<br />I've lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I'm only asking that you turn the page, continue reading... and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest "He died." [turning back to Mahoney]...your life is an occasion, rise to it." </span>C.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-17084564721969417132009-01-26T00:45:00.000-08:002009-01-26T00:56:27.548-08:00back?So I've strayed from the blog mainly because my brain thinks so fast it's hard to type it all and I'm pretty sure I may come off as CRAAAAzy on some of my opinions. so therefore, I hence put a <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">warning </span>that some of the posts may not be suitable for all people and that reader discretion is advised. There. Can't say I didn't warn you.<br /><br />So, like most of my blogging, it is once again at night. I believe I am part owl, although the flying part was tried and unsuccessful, so I mainly hang out on the ground. There are lots of things spinning through my head, which hopefully will be written out over time as there is no use in me narrating it to myself in bed in my head. And yes, I know that rhymes. Let's start with my habitual hermitting. I've always been known to be a homebody, someone who would rather sit at home and watch old movies, and talk with close friends than go clubbing or golfing or whatever people do. But with my mental and spiritual life on a fence, going out is even harder. Especially going to Church. I have a huge issue with myself, with God with no one? I dunno. Church reminds me of mom, everything about it. So change churches right? Uhhh, no. Cuz, really it's more "church" in itself. I don't like the double standards, the stupid issues that tear churches apart, the way I have to look and behave to be "acceptable". I'm total rage against the machine. Literally. Y'know that scene in Kung-Fu Panda, where the evil tiger is chained down with weights on and such? I feel like that. Like all my energy is about to burst given the chance. But these stupid chains are holding me back. And I struggle and fight them everyday, and maybe I could and would get somewhere if I actually knew what the chains were. I've lost myself and who I thought I was. I'm not satisfied being wishy-washy. I'm an all or nothing, right not a whole lot of nothing. It's like trying to piece back a glass or ceramic vase. It takes forever and there are so many little pieces to find.C.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-38276075966839768242008-12-12T03:26:00.000-08:002008-12-12T03:37:12.506-08:00pulsing off<span style="font-family: georgia;">It's 3am.<br /><br />Not an unusual time for me to be up or awake at. I think it's the best time to be awake at, everything's so quiet and serene, minus the sirens. But that's not why I'm up.<br /><br />I'm panicking.<br /><br />My medication is supposed to subdue the effects of anxiety, and for a time it did. But it's back. And it absolutely paralyzes me.<br /><br />My heart is going way too fast.<br /><br />I try and control it. Deep breaths, I say, deep breaths. Think about something like a bunny perhaps. But it doesn't work. I can feel myself getting worked up over nothing, over something, over everything.<br /><br />I feel trapped.<br /><br />It's like being claustrophic of being with yourself. And I can't do anything. Being in large groups terrify me, going to family gatherings, working, going shopping. All these things send me over the edge where I'll do anything I can to get out of it. I know it's not healthy and I know for people who don't have "issues" this is probably ridiculous. But I know there are those who know what I mean.<br /><br />.....................<br /><br />I'm devastated by the hole in my chest, the lifelessness of the side of me that was there when mom was there. I can't help but run every moment of the last days over and over again. All the questions, no answers. No peace over living my life without her by my side. No motivation to become anything but a hole in the ground. I fear over my family, so small and so close. If I were to lose another,I would become nothing. I already don't eat well, don't sleep well, don't breathe well. I search the house, the car, the streets, the web, the cards, the books, the clothes for her. For me. For something that looks like my heart.<br /></span>C.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-1388640736887754892008-10-20T17:22:00.000-07:002008-10-20T17:32:29.863-07:00Zombies and other ridiculous thingsQuestion: Who exactly thought up the idea of zombies?<br />Was someone just sitting around back in the old days, bored out of their minds when suddenly they thought to themselves: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Y'know what? I think this world needs a little more weird and creepy things. I should create one. And I will call it a......zombie. Because obviously that's a perfect name. And this thing shall be a dead monkey.. no, moose, ....no....human. Yes. A dead human. And this dead human will have blue or white skin for no reason at all. And of course after all that time in the ground, they will be hungry. So they shall eat....carrots. No, no carrots. Um......jellybeans. No, not scary enough. I know! Humans. The dead human will eat living humans! AHA! BRILLIANT!"</span><br />Is that how it went? Honestly?<br />Was there no better idea to come up with then zombies who were buried normally, but all of a sudden when they arise are covered with massive scarring on their face and they still have their teeth and jewelery on? Really?<br />I mean, c'mon, it doesn't take a genius to create something like that. Or what about vampires? That you can kill them with garlic, or sunlight or a stake through the heart or holy water? HELLO PEOPLE!! Just wait until they turn into a bat and get a bird to eat it? Is that not the most simple idea? IT"S TWO FOLD! The bird gets dinner and you get rid of that pesky vampire.<br />Or black cats. Because they're obviously the only ones who hiss and raise their back. It's a gene thing right?<br />People, people, people. Logical things are way more frightening to the general population then made up things. Like having 3 elections in 6 months. Or that President Bush doesn't know his right hand from his left. Or that they sell "intimate" ideas in the baby section at Shopper's. Or that your barista knows exactly what you drink even though you only come in once a week.........it makes me shudderC.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-63657909085856450492008-10-18T22:10:00.000-07:002008-10-20T17:22:27.684-07:00The Rehearsal of death<span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"> I fear getting up every morning knowing that I won't be able to call my mom. That I won't be able to buy little silly things for her that would make her smile. Things with kitties, or butterflies or funny books or cutting boards. I dread that I won't know what step to take or if I'm making the right decision without talking to her, listening to her, crying to her. I fear that my heart will not be able to pull itself back into the lines and shape of a heart; that it will permantley be askew and jagged, hard to breathe and hard to beat. I fear that I've not only lost my mother and best friend, but that I've lost my final pieces with her as well. I've felt like I've been lost for a long time and my mama always shone a light for me. Now there's nothing but darkness and nothing but pain. It's too quiet, it's too loud. It's too bright to stay awake but too dark to sleep. Nothing is the same, all colours are subdue and look like they've been washed out. I haven't laughed, really laughed or smiled without my heart hurting at the movement. I don't want to see a gravestone with her name on it, because I know I will feel the weight of the earth on me also. I don't want to have to see a stone to know she was here, I want her breath, I want her voice, I want<span style="font-weight: bold;"> her.</span> I have no need of air or daylight and I only hold on because I'm told to. Because I'm told it'll will get easier. Because it'll get better. Because time will heal the pain. I don't want it too. I don't want the pain to go away, I don't want it to get better because if it gets better than have I forgotten the reason for the pain in the first place? Have I forgotten the memories and smells and tastes and sounds that were her all my life? I don't want to achieve success, or have children, or do any of the things we always talked about because it won't matter if she is not beside me. It won't matter if she doesn't see it with me. How can you rejoice a death that is not your own? How can you rehearse for all the deaths you will experience in <span style="font-style: italic;">"life"</span> such as pets, and seasons, and friendships, and careers, and dreams, and aspirations, and love, and desire and loved ones and then not be at all prepare when it comes? How can you prepare your heart for the heartbreak, train yourself to be strong, to normalize it, to accept it, to allow it to take it's place and then on the final night not remember a thing? You've rehearsed for so long! Even using yourself to rehearse with. You've sat in the audience memorizing the movement of death, the softness and the destruction, the balance and insanity, the beauty and the horrifying, the lull and the blast. You know Death stands by as babies are born and people fall in love; you know it's there at dinner tables, at basketball games, on family vacations, in board meetings. You know it's waiting patiently and quietly, letting you spend your time on things that are important, or maybe not that important in the end. It doesn't judge you or test you, it doesn't mock you or play with your mind, because after all, that's Life's job. No, Death simply rests, while you worrying your life away, spinning a blanket of memories, failures, successes, love, and unknowns. And when you least expect it, although you should have known, it stands in front of you and you run into it to be wrapped up and taken away. And we are always so surprised. So shocked that someone has be blanketed by Death. So dazed that Death would come for them out of all people. We just don't understand that Death is also spinning our blankets and when he's done we too will be gone. We don't understand that Death is necessary, that without Death, how would we live? We would have no urgency, no surge for living without the presence of Death. For how can an oak tree ever grow if there were no acorns to be buried?</span><br /></div>C.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1140282100650393633.post-70659547179652370682008-10-11T13:06:00.001-07:002008-10-11T13:11:48.711-07:00What the cell?!This is to the asshole who broke into my car, stole my cell, garage door opener (good one genius), two sweaters and all my change: What is wrong with you?!<br />First, why steal the change when you could've just taken the car, I mean why take a dime when there's a dollar bill right in front of you?<br />And why the sweaters? Do you think blue will bring out your eyes? I hope the tan one smells like cat piss and it stains your skin. That's right, cat piss.<br />And what exactly were you going to do with my cell? Call me? Call my friends and laugh at them? Call your mom? Here's an idea:<em><strong> Call your brain and let it know what an asshole it has for a body. </strong></em><br />And if I find out you come back again you can guarantee yourself a sweet session of ass kicking by me personally.<br />And oh by the way, when you break into people's cars you probably shouldn't SMOKE before you do it. Because I dont smoke and neither does G so you might as well left your name and number where I can reach you and your pitiful existence! And there's a nice phone message waiting for you if you hack into that as well.C.Foxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04896304081180981941noreply@blogger.com1