13 (totally) Random Things On and Off a New York Train

You didn’t think that I was going to let the 13th go by without birthing some dancing words, did you? I’ve been busy, but the magic of the 13th shan’t be denied. So, here is a bit of 13th-wildness-infused-poetry:

Thirteen is magic, my darling,
let’s bloom deliciously wicked
things (out of eyes made of moon),
dancing the bad until it’s good,
kissing the worst until it’s you.

And the first 13 (sort of random) things that popped into my head:

The bad…
1. Scum – someone very special to me was attacked by a prison inmate. The whole thing is horrible. Not just because we’ve learned that the individual who attacked him tested positive for Hepatitis C, but because the bastard tried to bite him. My friend knows his job and understands the population he works with, so he disabled the inmate quickly enough. But every time I think about what could’ve happened, I shake with anxiety and rage. He could’ve been hurt… by a person he was trying to help. You see, my friend was there on a volunteer capacity. This inmate could only see his family at the hospital if an armed guard was present, so my friend volunteered a couple of hours at the end of his shift… just to have someone call him nasty names and try to get him sick. I know the risk of getting Hep C from a bite is rather low. But it’s the intend that pisses me off. Some people are scum under scum’s shitty shoes.

2. Bigot – while riding the train home, a self-righteous piece of dung, who happens to be from my birthland, showed me a video of a group of Dominicans savaging a Haitian man. The piece of poisonous muck in question laughed, as she showed me the video, saying, “If more people stand up to those monkeys we will drive them out.” I wanted to spit on her nasty face, but I didn’t—my spit is meant for better things. So, I just looked her in the eye, and told her, “I’m half Haitian.” Which is a complete lie, but the horrified expression on the bigot’s face made the deception worth my while. Before I left the train, I also said, “I hope you haven’t reproduced. I would hate to think that any child has to suffer the shame of having to confess that they are related to you.” I said it really, really, really… loudly.

…the hysterical…
3. Lesbian Love Lotion – you’ve probably noticed that my online interaction has been spotty these last few days. Well, a good friend of mine has been in the hospital and I’ve been spending as much time as I can with her. By the time I get home, I only have time to complete my hospital stuff. Anyway, one time I visited my friend wearing a t-shirt that says, “Love Is Love”. A nurse, who seemed not to have noticed that I could hear everything she said, made a face that suggested something nearby was rotting, and told a coworker, “They are lovers.” So, of course, since I’m always so good at giving people just what they need, I waited until the nurse came into the room, grabbed a bottle of oil, adopted a sensual expression that could’ve set quality fabric on fire, and told the nurse (in my sultriest voice), “Can we have some privacy? I need to rub her back.” I thought the nurse was going to burst through the wall. But she didn’t. Now, every time we think about it, my friend and I giggle hysterically.

…the good.
4. Pain can be fooled by love – since my friend has been in the hospital, I have been able to store my own physical pain on the back of my mind, and not truly let it out until I’m home. I’m hurting. But helping her, when she needs it so much, works like a tonic. I know I will need a lot of rest later, but for now, pain’s fooled. Life is good.

5. Old nightmares and new dreams – some time back, I had a nightmare about me choking on my pentacle. Before we go all witchy Freudian, let me say that I know exactly what the dream means. The person who made it was the fiancé of a friend at the time. He used to be nice. But after they married, he turned into an abusive pile of asshole. My subconscious couldn’t stand the idea of wearing something made by that waste of human flesh. I’ve been looking for something to replace it. I found a thumb ring with 13 tiny pentacles, which is promising. But I still wanted something for my neck. Then, the other day, out of the blue, a friend said that he was thinking about making me some sort of amulet—I don’t know what it looks like yet, but there has been talk of hammers and axes and such… I know, right? *super dreamy giggles*

6. Pineapple – deliciousness that does things to the tongue.

7. Mango – perfection made fruit, just for me… Fine, you can have some.

8. Rain – cloud kisses that cleanse flesh and soul.

9. Hammer – builder and destroyer in one… pure magic.

10. Summer-kissed mud covering dancing feet – this needs no explaining, does it?

11. Coffee Nips – glorious at dulling out the nauseating side effects of medications.

12. Listen to Your Spirit, It’s Talking to You – my Crow Goddess sent me a piece that couldn’t be more perfect, if I had dream-painted it myself. I’m listening, Stacy… and I’m dancing with Fate’s chant drumming in my bones. Thanks a bunch, my Luv!

The top of the painting…

…the middle spiral…

…the reaching words on the back…

…the complete yum.
this photo is by Stacy

13. Green, how I want you green. – This line, by Federico García Lorca, came to mind when I first saw the lovely plant below. It looks like a sunflower. Nope, it’s not one I planted accidentally on purpose. In fact, I suspect the gift came out of a bird’s giving bottom. But it’s adorably green, and I can’t wait to see what blooms out of it.

So, my Wicked Luvs, was the 13th good to you? Were you good to it… to yourself?

“Surrender to the Rain of Arrows” and Dance, Wild Baby, Dance

Music travels through blood and flesh and bone at the speed of thought… The right note is living breath on wanting skin… liquid kisses making it all better… wild song chanted in healing’s native tongue.

Yesterday, I danced my howling pain into fuel. Then I wrote and wrote and wrote… fingertips drumming keyboard, until the click-click-click shaped itself into a story. I won’t try to fool you (and never me), my body still hurt like the dickens afire. But it did so with a euphoric (and, mayhap, mildly psychotic) grin.

When the pain got really nasty, and the throbbing became more than distracting, I reread Paul’s Break Me Open, stretched my back and shoulders and hips and legs… while “surrender[ing] to the rain of arrows”:

we are fragile things in all ways
and that is our gift if we will accept it
that allowing of the broken
that surrender to the rain of arrows
bones and blood
breath and skin
that golden repair
~ Paul Scribbles

…and got back to writing.

Pain is the most jealous of bastard gods. So, of course, it soon sank its claws under my ribs again and demanded to be worshiped. I flipped him off, called him several creative names, told him I kneel to no one, and I danced Safia’s “Embracing Me”:

The original song is delicious. But this remix is made of the liquid kisses I mentioned. As my sexy hips rolled to the beat, I let the melody and the lyrics and the mood… coat me, soak me, remind me of who I am… of all the wondrous things my slightly broken flesh and bones have done… of what they can do if I must, if I push myself to want, to will, to take… And I took the pain, and fed its screams into a poem.

As you might suspect, there were other retaliations. When pain hit again, I spent some time with my plants, invited their natural yumminess to help me rebloom…

summer blooms passion
flowers that brighten the dark
while spreading sweetness

There you have it, bastard pain. You will never have me. Not while I have words and music and flowers and dirt and wants. Not while I remember to embrace me and love me more than anyone can know. You’ll never have me while I have my Self. And I do.

What about you, my Wicked Luvs, how did your week start?

– Linking to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.