spitfire_sam: (owl pair)
this week's entry topic: write in as much detail as you can about your room when you were 8. memories from year 7 or 9 are acceptable as well.

this is a tough one. the fact is that i don't remember that much about the period of my life prior to year 10, especially physical environment specifics. i think there are many reasons for this, the most likely being that my brain choses to forget this stuff in order to make room for new events.
i tend never to dwell on the past. i try not to hold grudges from it either, i feel like if i'm going to forget i might as well forgive because sooner or later i'll not remember the grudge either. for instance, a certain friend of mine from high school: the early years is now my friend, and i couldn't remember that apparently i'd been really angry at her when i was 14. must not have been that important hunh? since all i can seem to remember post-9 is the traumas, the agonies, the depressive episode, the religious zeal, the loss of zeal, singing, and only certain etched days from high school.

that was a long back story for this.

here's what i remember: we shared the room off the kitchen end of the hallway, right by the backdoor to the house (which was usually the only one we used). we didn't get our own until my 10th birthday. two twin beds, pushed together to save space in the smallish duplex. i believe mine was the one closest to the wall- i used to be a wall sleeper. know what i mean? yeah. the alarm clock played old radio dramas at night sometimes, sometimes music, sometimes nothing. i remember liking to hear the radio programs best. i remember trying to fall asleep, and my sister (older, smarter, bigger and with the better hair) would try to piss me off when i was right on the edge of it. "hey, whatcha doin'?" "going to sleep." "where's sleep?" "in my head." "how can it be in your head if you're going to it?" *snicker from her bed* and etc. until i got exasperated enough to yell for mom or leave the bed to get her.
now i'm remembering a little bit more. maybe i got the bed by the wall because i use to always fall out of bed when i was younger. was that period over by then? i can't remember. i had a penchant for laying with half my body hanging off the side, would wake up with mom putting me back into it.
back to the room. did we have the TV by then? i remember the sweet green tv we got for our room, so me and my sister could watch our own TV programs. (i really don't like old "Star Trek" and "Hogan's Heroes" episodes.) laughing as we watched the Tracy Ulman Show, the start of the Simpsons then the Simpsons first season, then In Living Color.
it was very messy most of the time. we were whirlwind kids with way more on our minds (saving each other from monsters, making up new dirt recipes, riding bikes) to bother with cleaning. when enforced, i remember listening to the radio, hearing my favorite songs, usually a Tears for Fears, Michael Jackson, or "Back to Life". getting hit for not cleaning, once, maybe it was more than once? i don't know why, but i seem to recall being the kid that got hit the most. we all have our own selective memories.

i don't remember ever spending a lot of time in there, unless i was punished (like the time i accidentally broke the Pyrex dish with drawn butter in it and dad screamed bloody murder and sent me to bed without my share of the crab) or doing homework (with the TV on most of the night, i couldn't concentrate out in the dining room). this was after my imaginary friend Pinkie, whose friend Bluey would show up sometimes.
Peanuts characters sheets? my stuffed dog, a pound puppy, the big ones? it was a gift for my 5th birthday because i was a big girl and gave up my bottle of ice water. i think by the time i was 8 i was biting my fingernails.
i remember coveting my sister's leotard (she got to go to tumbling at the park, but not me) with the orange sun on a red background. there's a picture somewhere around someone's house (probably grandma's) of me in that leotard with roller skates on. yes, i was roller skating around on the hard wood floors.
hard wood. no more 5:30 wake up calls- i was old enough to walk to school with my sister, wait for her after school on patrol duty, or visiting her in her class. her teacher would be my teacher, and i don't even know how that happened, but it was brilliant. except for every so often being called her name.
my dolls slept with me, Carrie and Karen. Karen was new. I didn't like her as much as Carrie, because Carrie was made by hand from scratch- not a pattern like Karen with prepainted face- and my mom had painted a beautiful face with blue eyes.
remember those sweaters she made us? you got the unicorn, i got a dragon. handpainted with love. (i never had popularity, but mom put a lot of work and love in those garments.)

back to the room... that's all i really remember. besides waking up and seeing the herd of cockroaches roaming across the ceiling like buffalo. *shudder* maybe that was the year i had my only brown and white dream- it was a horror dream of giant cockroaches taking over the world.

i can't remember the physical objects. but i remember that no matter how much my sister bothered me sometimes when i was trying to go to sleep, or how much we fought over other things, she was my best friend, and i think the only person in my life i really respected. it sucked because she could really push my buttons, and i could not retaliate verbally (not smart enough yet), so i would kick/punch her or just scream. we could be pretty rotten to each other. but, still, the love was there. if ever one of our friends on the block talked about her, i stood up for her. she did the same for me. sometimes, that's all we could do- stand together. i disliked the way she treated me, but i really wanted to be her. i can't hate her because she is everything i want to be.

p.s. the saddest sound in the world, truly, to me, is the sound of my sister crying. i just felt so... helpless all the time. i didn't know what to do to make her feel better, and later on she stopped confiding in me. that hurt a bit. i am way over it now. i've forgotten most everything we used to fight about, isn't that weird? instead i focus on the her i know now, how much fun we have together, and how i can let her know how much she's a great inspiration in my life, as well as how i love her a lot.
spitfire_sam: (drawinks)
tempting to stay up all night
tempted to try and find the right
words or images or feelings
i hold you in my arms figuratively all night long.
lying in bed the next night
praying for something to be alright
praying you find the things you need
i smell you in my arms that night.
we held arms and hands, curled fingers around necks protectively
i sensed your need to be reassured,
to be held by someone who has no designs.
i can't say as it was totally innocent
but it was without demands for supplication.
lying on the floor that night, listening
listening to the quiet music from another time
i sat on top of you and folded your tension away
i tried to channel light and health
light and warmth from my hands to your back
lying on the carpet that needs to be cleaned,
has needed to be cleaned for a month or more
a chore lost in my need to be and live and move, stretch and hold you in my arms
the other kind of lying, i am cutting out
cutting the pieces from the paper of memories
scissors in hand they all fall down
out of what i knew into the unknown;
i blew him off because i had to cut too much out
i had to infer and deferr too much, too much got cut
there was no foundation left, only little pieces of lace
too delicate for the robust me.
i crushed that lying and find myself lying again
in the bed where i held you figuratively
the bed that seems big now and empty
the apartment seems big and heavy without you there
i don't mean that in a need way, just an observation.
but you've left things behind
cds and a guitar pick
your red sweater
and lying in bed is the hardest thing you've left behind
as i feel again your ghost in my hand
your warmth in my shoulder
i wanted to cry then but ended up waking up sobbing instead
the hardest thing you've left behind to ignore:
your scent on my spare pillow.
spitfire_sam: (anime me! doing karaoke!)
brown brown brown
brownstones, 3 to 4 stories high
they carry the life of the city within, like little wombs
warm but not growing, grass is still wintering
the new trees on the block are bare and swirled
brown and white and red
one tilts toward downtown like Pisa
i wonder- can it right itself of man's interference?
brown brown
brown pavements, sand and salt combined
stains of dead leaves from fall
dead leaves themselves, twirling in the wind
no spring rain has fallen to clean the streets
the buildings the brownstones
there is one called "president's apartments"
but no president lived or lives there
just brown people
empty beige building with brown fake marble twist
it lines the front and has a window in it
round and brown
right next to the liquor store, condos go up
brown brown brown
fake brownstones, fake fit in, fake affordable housing
it will be the first starbucks in this part of town.

--that's the end, that's all i could come up with. it is a very brown time in my town right now, but we're to get rain this week. and then one day, you will look up and see that green has come. it is a spectacular day to see that. bursts without knowledge onto your eyes.
spitfire_sam: (sparkle)
here is my entry for the AUXILLIARY CAPILLARY BLOG SQUADRON (thanks for inviting me to participate):

Entry #1: CHALK

how can you feel so divine with a piece in your hand? i trace out a box then another, the clouds move over my head. boxes with numbers, boxes without, the dust hits my nose and colors my hands. i look up and the clouds are giraffes and bears, moles and mice. i look at you and see you finishing up the other end, the boxes now number 10 or maybe 12, 25, 100. we could dance the dance of hopping joy for longer than anticipation of it wound in our hearts.
i carefully number the boxes, you start drawing fish and making underlines. we look for stones to throw, tumbling the grass.
clouds move towards infinity and we start the game.
one hop two, miss a box, hit the end and turn around, pick up then we start again.

after we have slowed down, the pieces fall out of our hands, red, blue, brown. i make names on the canvas, i add flowers and hearts. yours and mine, there, sitting beneath the box.

we have let the pieces fall out of our hands, onto the ground. we lay in the grass looking up. look- a bird! that one looks like a train. we nod together, we know what we see. our heads touch as we shift to see the possibilities.

later i trace you on that ground, our mark indelible. until the rain comes to wash it all away.
spitfire_sam: (Default)
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spitfire_sam: (Default)

December 2005

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