Music Soothes the Savage Beast

I was relaxing last night, playing Dance, Dance, Revolution (ok - I did mention I'm a geek, right??), and it hit me....What a wonderful gift is music.  

And not just the lyrics sung along to the instruments, but the music, itself.  Waves of harmony, resonating through the air, to vibrate them three tiny bones in the ear.  It's a delicate system, such a small collusion of things, to bring sound to the brain.  What a marvel.  

Add a voice, wavering in, above, below, and in time with the instrumental accompaniment, and you can achieve distilled joy, bliss, anger, sorrow, or any emotion in between.

Granted, not all music is good music.  There is some commercially produced crap out there that was simply written, played, and recorded with only the mechanics of money in mind, and you can always tell which fall into this category.

But the music written with feeling - THAT comes through loud and clear, and I revel in it.

Prison of the Mind

Now, keep in mind that this is an old work - about a decade or so ago.... but I find this super-short story just as moving today as I did when I wrote it.... Enjoy.

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I pound against the rainbow hued glass walls of my prison beyond the point of pain, slamming my fists against the unyielding surface until even my arms grow numb. I scream and beg and plead for mercy until I am too hoarse to send even a whisper up the funnel shaped ceiling. A torrent of tears flood from my eyes as I curl up on the bowl shaped floor. I cry myself to sleep, exhausted both physically and mentally.

I awake oddly refreshed, and suppress the wave of insanity that demands I continue the cycle, pounding, screaming and crying until I am no longer me, but some shapeless mass of cringing emotions and nerves ready to be shaped by the malevolent presence that would free me.

No. Not free me. Freedom is now beyond my grasp, forever lost to me. Unless. . . .

I MUST ESCAPE!!!

I throw myself bodily against my prison wall, beginning the cycle anew. My mind splinters into fragments of feelings. Rage, pain, terror, panic all compete with my rational being for the ultimate control. Control. What a tremendous joke. I have no control left. That, too, was stolen from me by my captor.

I feel my hands. The pain gains control of the shattered fragments of my mind. I focus on nothing but the red hue of my pain. It is a living thing, sucking my soul, this pain. A dry croak rips from my throat, demanding attention. Water. I must have water.

I stop pounding for a second, feeling this sensation of having a dry throat. This feeling, too, seems to be a living thing, capturing my attention. Without pause, there is a glass in my hand. I can feel the moisture of condensation on the outside of the glass; it feels cool and soothing on my sore skin. The water feels good against my dry lips, my raw throat. The glass is empty, and I hurl it against the wall. The glass shatters against the prison wall, the shards spreading against the unyielding collage of colors like water across tile. Before they hit the floor, they are gone.

It felt good, that bit of control. The act of violence snaps the fragments of my mind to a whole. Yes. For a while, I am free of the madness that stretches its fingers towards me. I can think, I can remember. I remember why I am here.

An innocent day. An ancient bottle, stuck on the top shelf of an equally ancient shop, in a tumbledown shack of a curio shop in India. The beautiful swirl of colors glinting in the dusty sunlight. My longing to have the antique in my hands. The wide, blackened teeth smile of the wizened shopkeeper as he takes it from the shelf.  The old glass stopper, made of the same myriad color glass, flaring out from the neck of the bottle then tapering to a delicate point. Tight, the stopper, hard to remove. Inside the bottle the scrap of ancient parchment. Giddy with curiosity, translating the words. Blackness and light. Here.

A fire ignites behind my eyes as the rage builds. Remember the words! Those words trapped me here, those words changed my world, and those words changed my being. Those words so violated me, those hateful words. I need to remember them, to scream them out!

I feel the need to splatter myself against the walls of glass to end this existence, but I cannot. I traded my freedom for the dream, the unreal. With those spoken words I imprisoned myself.

I am the genie in the bottle.

ME – 101 – Phone Conversation

Well, this is certainly getting more intimate. Phone conversation strips away another level of separation between the contributors. There is a texture in the spoken word that can't be conveyed in the written format...you can hear the pain, the laughter, the sorrow or joy in someone's voice - you can certainly 'hear' a smile.

I've had some epic conversations in my time - hours on the phone at times, discussing everything from the quality of macaroni -n- cheese to political instabilities to chaos theory.

I am very flexible in a phone conversation. My lighter side shows strongly, with quick quips and sarcastic remarks - jokes flow readily through me in a phone conversation. I can be deep and meaningful too, though, if discussing the right subject. And, confidences are sometimes easier to make - to share the deepest secrets of heart and soul - these are easier to release in a phone talk.

One thing I don't do in a phone conversation well is convey personal or spiritual pain - it's just too hard to get words out when you're blubbering..

I've learned a lot from phone conversations - people have the intimacy they need, but still a level of separation between them and their focus on the other side of the phone.

Interesting Evenings

Captain & Coke....Malibu & OJ, a sour apple martini. It' amazing what alcohol can do to me. It liberates my tongue, this blend of fermentation by-products and sugars - it sets my voice free. The nicotine in my PV sets a harmonic counterpoint to the booze - a low-level undertone of crashing surf and a buzz along my spine. My empathy is electrified, a lightning-sharp staccato of impressions, ethereal, intangible, felt but not touched. Everything is so sharp, so clear, so completely in focus. 

So with this potent mixture of booze, nicotine, and empathy, I pick up my phone....dial.....ask for Avery.

The alcohol does evil things with my tongue - I tipsly flip-flop words - and stumble over the few hard ones. We giggle, we laugh. 

I recount the highs and lows of my evening - the disappointment in finding that the bar near me has cancelled it's Karaoke. The bartender I'm used to is not on, and his replacement can NOT mix a martini. The music the DJ is playing to the handful of people in the bar is too loud and too modern for the crowd. My foray to the next bar where the music is live, the place packed, and the martini's fabulous! 

He's been busy as well since I spoke with him last, busy with his own blend of intoxicants.

The energy crackles through the phone lines - I can feel it. It rubs along my spine, sparkles in my blood, causing my heart to beat faster and my skin flush with extra blood. It thunders through that which brands me female. The connection is potent, vibrant, and sings through my being. There is a catch in my breath as I enjoy my primal reaction.

There is a momentary pause in the conversation as he feels his own reaction. The muse has reached out and stroked his soul with sure fingers, the fates are singing, his own sensitivities have ignited and blended with mine. Even with physical distance between us, we have closed that gap, and are one.

The connection is intimate. The sharing complete. The exchange of energy unstinting and unselfish. I give as much as I receive, and it grows exponentially. 

Physical sex pales in comparison to the fire of two who balance so completely.... He is physicality, primal, potency and strength of body and muscle.  I am spiritual, metaphysical, intangible, blending emotions and sensitivities.


He is Male.  
I am Female.


And the universe itself aligns with a click.

The ties mark the closing of a circle - where he ends, I begin. It is BALANCE.

To be in this state of hyper-awareness, of balance, for more than a brief second in time, its nothing short of distilled light. To partake of this perfection, to be a part of its very creation is to taste ambrosia. To be here, dining on the intuition of the gods themselves, for four hours.....

I'm still buzzing. I've been altered, improved........reborn.

Now THAT'S a date.

ME – 101 – Live Chats

I discovered (or was made aware of…) live chat rooms about a year ago….and by live chat, I mean a site in cyberspace with 5-10-20 or more different people typing back and forth with each other.


Conversation in a good, live chat room can be lightning quick or very slow, depending on the typing speed of the individuals and how detailed they want to get in a response. I’ve been in rooms that run very fast, and I have to either drop into text speak (LOL, IMO, OMG, ROFL, FFS, etc….) or designate who I’m responding to (@tiger: LOL, ur nutz :D), and have been in rooms that take the care and time to construct proper sentences. The little smiley emoticons add an interesting texture to the written words, and are used to offer the nuances of facial expressions that would be otherwise missing from the typed text. Chat rooms are my favorite way to congregate with a group of people from across the world.


And, if you get into a quiet chat room with some special, select friends, you can let all your hopes, fears and dreams out. You can bare your soul to people you’ve never laid eyes on. You can fall in love. You can rail at the injustices of the world, or laugh at its silliness. You can offer up sage wisdom and receive it in return. Its intimacy, security, anonymity, and awakening all wrapped with a big, shiny bow when you get into a room with people you’ve established a solid rapport with.


And yes, for all you out there that are reading my words, I have done all of the above in a chat room….I speak from personal experience.


As an aside here…I think that the psychiatric community would make enormous strides in helping those who have emotional difficulties if they would adopt a chat room format, and let people come out about their problems behind the comfort of their personal computers…..far more helpful and therapeutic than pumping these same people full of drugs that only mask the pain, or sitting them on a couch for a one-on-one with a ‘professional.’ After all, life happens 24/7, 365 days a year, and not always during business hours, and its easier to pour out your heart when you don’t have to worry about blubbering incoherently. Although, the tears do make it difficult to read what you’re typing at times :(


Usually, in live chat, my goofy side comes out. I’m the queen of the quick one-liners, offering subtle barbs or thinly-veiled innuendo with quick, sure fingers. My reward is to see those quick lines of text speak, the LOL’s, the ROFL’s, and my favorite, PMSL. I’ve chatted with people in Australia, the UK, Ireland, across all 4 time zones in the US, and as far north as above the Artic Circle.


Our world, once such a big and scary place, has grown so small with these technological advances.

ME – 101 – Email/Post communication

I love electronic journaling – I’ve always been rabidly addicted to words, madly infatuated with punctuation, spelling, grammar… Through my keyboard, I explore me. 

But, I’m finding, it takes more than just me and my keyboard – it takes outside interaction with other people.  I need that interaction, because it forces me to think in different directions, to explore new questions – questions I didn’t even know I had lurking inside me.

And I need all different types of interaction – Email/post, IM or chat, phone, and in person.  Each style of communication touches a different part of my personality…..

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Email or Post:  This is where the thoughtful side comes out – where I can read and re-read the words, both yours and mine, constructing my reply carefully and thoughtfully.  A flourish here, a simile there, a descriptive phrase inserted and another one taken away…….writing is as deeply moving for me as sculpting or painting or music for another – my words are my art, when the muse is flowing I catch a glimpse of my personal Nirvana.  

I explore myself deeply when I’m employing this type of communication, and I explore the one I’m speaking with, as well – getting a feel for the emotions behind the written word.  Make no mistake - there are emotions behind the keyboard – strong ones, if you let yourself feel them.

As a sidebar here - I’m forcibly reminded right now of a quote that was posted on the bulletin board in my high-school creative writing class – it’s potent, and has stayed with me for the 26-odd years since I first laid eyes on it: 

‘Writing is easy – you just sit at your typewriter and bleed.’

It is a perfect summation of what I go through each and every time I set fingers to keyboard.

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I’ll explore other avenues of communication in later journal entries, because each of them is an entry in with its own merits, deserving of its own posting. 

And I'm BAAAAAAAAAAACK

Originally posted May, 2010

Been a while since I've been on - truly, it's a very neat little site.  I have a lot of fun here with the tests and the people online.  I'm expanding my horizons and my contacts once again.

Dating is so full of ups and downs.  You think you meet the right person, and turns out there's that one, fatal flaw that makes the entire relationship turn to mush.  But, you gotta just pull them bootstraps tight, and hop right back on the horse that threw ya.  That's where I'm at now.

There's been lots of activity not relevant to dating, too.  I'm very active on my Electronic Cigarettes.  So very active I took a day (and then some) off to run myself down to Springfield in April to talk to the Health and Human Services committee about a bill they were considering passing for the State of IL - to ban my little toys from sale or distribution.  I went with a group of vapers, and, well, I'll say the legislative process, and the grassroots concept still work in our government.  We, as a group, made a difference against a rather powerful adversary....a paid lobbyist for the ALA.  We made a difference.  We came armed with information.  We killed that bill in that committee.

That's something I'm proud of - that my voice was HEARD, that my opinion MATTERED, that the corporations do NOT yet rule our country.

What is an Electronic Cigarette, you may ask?  By all means, ask me...I love to talk about my gizmo, I'm passionate about the thing that has allowed me to be totally tobacco-free for over a year now, and I'm proud to call myself a vaper.  So, by all means, drop me a line and I'll be more than happy to talk your ears off :D