Death of a blog and one final thought

I, Jill Terry, being of not-so-sound mind of late and overall healthy body, do hereby bequeath the following; Three years worth of writing; my blood, tears and toil, from the depths of my soul; to anyone who cares to delve through these pages and take from my words what you will.

In my darkest days when there was no light to be found and I purged to keep from losing my mind; to when my light shined brightest, my words flowed with hopeful grace and lighted upon all those who took the time; reading, commenting, making a connection; so many, but only a few I took into my world, would ever call a friend. You know who you are and you know how to reach me; should you ever find the need or want.

August 4th marked the third year of Wordsmith; 3 years; 653 posts; 43 categories and 616 tags. Enough words to keep those interested, reading for many a day and night; while I take my leave and concentrate on freeing myself, finding some semblance of peace in my world and return to my passion; writing my books.

I leave you with one final, soul-searching thought; not words of my own, but profound words that should be read and pondered by the whole of the world. If I did nothing else for you, I at least gave you this…

How, if some day or night a demon were to sneak after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you, “This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more; and there will be nothing new in it, but every pain and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything immeasurably small or great in your life must return to you – all in the same succession and sequence – even this spider and this moonlight between the trees, and even this moment and I myself. The eternal hourglass of existence is turned over and over, and you with it, a dust grain of dust.”

Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke this? Or did you once experience a tremendous moment when you would have answered him, “You are a god, and never have I heard anything more godly.”

If this thought were to gain possession of you, it would change you, as you are, or perhaps crush you. The question in each and every thing, “Do you want this once more and innumerable times more?” would weigh upon your actions as the greatest stress. Or how well disposed would you have to become to yourself and to life to crave nothing more fervently than this ultimate eternal confirmation and seal?

The greatest stress
Nietzsche

PEACE…

The more I see

Twenty minute line at Starbucks is how the day started; not waiting was not an option.

Walk in the department store, two minutes to twelve, store clerk stops me short, “You can’t be in here ma’am, we’re not open.” Surely she couldn’t be talking to me, “Ah, excuse me, but the doors open, I just walked in.” She rolled her eyes, “Yes, but it’s not twelve yet, you have to leave.” Two minutes; two fucking minutes! I’m already in the store and she’s telling me to leave!

I turned and walked out; actually I stormed out; NO WAY was I waiting. I might have wasted a thirty minute trip getting there, but was not going to waste two more minutes of my time, because a recent high school grad told me I had to! I wanted to tell her she just lost herself a really big sale, but it wouldn’t have made a difference, she didn’t care. It’s not like the days when I worked her job, when every customer could have been a secret shopper; get one mark and you were written up. Forcing pride in your job; it sucked, but it worked.

Next stop; cruising the lot looking for a parking spot when an old woman in a motorized buggy comes flying out the door directly into my path, didn’t even bother to look, slow down or stop. I’m old, I’m a pedestrian, therefore I’m privileged and don’t need to be bothered with something as trivial as looking to see if someone in a three thousand pound vehicle is about to plow my old ass down. She slammed on her brakes, looked at me and glared. I just shook my head and felt my blood pressure soar.

Pedestrians…someone gave them the right of way and look what they created!

Mother pushing an overloaded cart with two snot nose kids in tow; walked past the woman manning the dressing rooms, “Which one yelled at you?” They pointed to the woman in red. “Did you yell at my kids?” The woman shook her head, “I didn’t yell at them, ma’am. They were running through the department knocking clothes off the rack and I asked them to stop.”

The redneck mother puts her hands on her hips, turns up the attitude; “Don’t yell at my kids, that’s not your job, that’s a parent’s job, do you understand?! Who do you think you are, yelling at my kids? I want to speak to your manager!” The woman behind the counter didn’t say a word, what would be the point.

I, on the other hand, within perfect earshot, began conversing out loud with the voices in my head; “Yes, a parent’s job! To control your kids when they’re running around trashing the store, terrorizing shoppers and being little menaces. It doesn’t matter that I’m a fucking idiot and DO NOT control my kids; it’s not YOUR place to reprimand them. Reprimand…that’s another word for discipline; you know, busting their deserving asses instead of threatening with empty words!”

Her hand fell from her hip, her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t utter a word; the kid’s stood there with their eyes wide in disbelief, the clerk smiling a jubilant smile. I winked at her, turned and walked on.

Two teenage boys running through the store, slammed into me, dropping sunglasses and a video game into my cart. “Jesus!” I said then began to move on. “You shouldn’t use the Lords name in vain lady,” one of them actually said. “And you should watch where the fuck your going you big turd!”

“Mama, you’re scaring me…..”

My head suddenly spinning, my vision temporarily blurred, feeling as if any moment, I was going to collapse to the floor; yes, I had little buddy in tow, as my sanity unraveled and the meltdown occurred. I stopped, took a few deep breaths and tired to steady myself.

I apologized and explained that this is one of those days when I should have stayed in bed, rather than try and face the world. I don’t know if he understood, but that’s the best I had to offer.

The truth.

Wise one says I have to open my eyes, accept and see; be part of the truth instead of always looking the other way. The only way to advance on the path toward enlightenment; to make certain this insanity is not repeated again and again and again. But the more I see the more I suffer; the farther I want to run and hide; my intolerance to the point that I can barely cope; a manic search for the operator who can flip the switch and stop this wild ride…

downward spiral upward thrust

Witnessing his spiritual pain
She wonders if she can save him
Through loving and supporting him
Will it ever be enough

When the world is so cruel
And he suffers from its touch
She’ll succeed or die trying
Either way she’ll give everything

Because she believes
Because she knows
Loves him madly
With her whole heart and soul

From the place of desolation
In which he now dwells
The truth of his spirit
Shining brighter than he knows

Thinking Lbean

Alfresco at Bucks
White mocha extra whip
Music so loud
I can’t fucking think

Sun setting pink
In the western sky
Fame is but a fruit tree
Gotta love Mr. Nick

The Idiot
Sons and Lovers
The Gambler
Big Sur

Sun Also Rises
And Naked Lunch
Visited B&N
Went a little nuts

For a good reason
Checking off the list
Countdown to forever
To pass the time quick

I am

My words fail me
I am empty

Darkness falls
I am alone

The world suffocates
I am unhappy

The storm rages
I am weary

Tomorrow is unknown
I am hopeful

just Fucked

It was the same back then; the same, only different. Any variation beyond the realm of ordinary routine questioned; frowned upon. My time spent writing, alone inside my mind; misunderstood, misconstrued, becoming a sudden threat; when it had nothing whatsoever to do with them.

The reading of a book, a waste of precious time ; lost in fantasy, what does that say about your life; no thought given to the possibility of expanding knowledge; hadn’t a clue as to what the fuck I was reading.

Every move suddenly guarded and gauged; as if a prisoner in the yard on constant display. Shakin the bush boss…shakin the bush!

God forbid should I wake in the night and leave the room; a shadow on my trail questioning what I’m doing. It’s beyond stifling, way past nauseating, reaching the point of full blown obsession; terrifying if I stop long enough and really think about it.

What is this inability to let me be; grow; find myself; even if that means walking away. If you love something set it free. That saying on a plaque hung on my wall from the time I could read until the words simply faded away; but what it neglected to say was that it was never yours in the first place; people cannot be owned.

What’s so hard about letting me go…

Even when the relationship is in obvious decline, still that need to smother and cling; suddenly shifts into overdrive; to the point where they’d actually lock me away; in a bathroom for two days or an asylum indefinitely; the moment I pack my bags and start for the door.

FUCK ME! I have nothing left to give.

Then I step back and see it for what it really is; thank god I have that ability left within. An ego bruised, chauvinistic pride; because I cheated with you and you made me your wife; then I cheated on you and ruined your life.

He stands over me now wanting an explanation for my strange behavior. It’s after midnight, I cannot sleep; I’m writing, what more is there to tell. It’s who I am; it’s what I fucking do…remember?!

He shakes his head and retreats from the room; my heart grows heavy with impending doom. Right this moment I wish for daybreak, no comfort will I find in darkness this night, for I know not what awaits me. But in the morn I will rise, shower and change, punch the clock and be free for the day.

Quote of the day

“One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche

Word of the day

dilligaf…Dilligaf…DILLIGAF!!!

mindless rambling

He was a nasty slob; my immediate thought, superiority complex; drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup; too cheap to shell out six bucks at Bucks, so he drank gas station rot gut, bought on the fly. Cell phone to his ear, held by fat stubby fingers; obviously berating someone by his facial expressions and the vein on the side of his head that looked as if were about to explode; probably his 19 year old stripper wife.

And there he sat; faded yellow Polo, fat ass squeezed into a super sweet tricked-out Porsche Carrera GT; 440 G’s out the door; mother fuck! What’s up with ugly guys and bitchin cars?!

He came flying up on my ass and then jetted around and passed, slowing down long enough to take a good long look in my window (as if I should be impressed…as fucking if!) before attempting a Batman move, zig zagging his way through rush hour traffic on San Jose…not happening dude…no matter what kind of ride you drive!

It wasn’t 30 seconds after he passed, I saw it coming and put my foot on the brake; a little blue buzz bomb flying across three lanes from the right, as the Porsche was gunning it on the left, both trying to beat the light that was about to turn red. And then…WHAM! The two came together and enmeshed; skidding in a frenzied, out-of-control dance; bringing four other cars into the mix; blocking all three lanes for the next hour and a half; all because they were driving with their heads up their ass.

And so I sat there in my little van; nothing glamorous, but she’s all mine and gets me where I want to go; watching those involved pacing back and forth, each one on the phone making call after endless call. I put her in park and lit up a smoke, my quad shot white mocha still extra hot; and I watched as I waited; my routine put on indefinite hold.

And I couldn’t help but think; how something so beautiful could be completely destroyed in a matter of seconds. Thinking about the Porsche of course; which suddenly became a high dollar metaphor for life. In the blink of an eye things come and go; turn the corner and just be gone; everyone in such a fucking rush. Where the hell they all going so fast? What greatness lay in wait at their desired destination that they haphazardly jeopardize so many lives?

What fools these mortals be…

And then I thought of Rocky; Rocky Durosso; his being the first waterfront mansion I visited upon my move to Florida. Rocky was a business owner; Italian, handsome to the bone, wealthy and generous; a wonderful host who opened his home and welcomed me in with open arms; a Benz, Alfa Romeo and Bugatti in the drive, with a house full of rednecks and strippers trashing the place from bottom to top, while he obliviously grilled lobster and marinated scallops on the lawn; making sure everyone’s drink remained full, happy with himself for providing such a great time. After all, it was only money; nothing that couldn’t be repaired or replaced. Just stuff, meaningless really.

I’d like to think I got it, but I’m not really sure if I did. I just couldn’t understand why he surrounded himself with such lowlife dregs, when he seemed to have so much on the ball. He reminded me of Elvis, the way he threw his money around senselessly, in an attempt to buy lovers and friends; keeping people close and happy, but to what end.

The stripper he was fucking got pregnant and then bailed after the kid was born and he refused to marry her. He raised that little girl all by himself. I’d often see them out at dinner, the little princess and her dad. I’d heard the mother died of an overdose, everyone said it was just as well. He seemed to have gotten his shit together and although I didn’t know him well, for some reason it made me glad.

Then a few years later, at the age of 56, they found him dead at the Waterfront Omni Hotel; the five star that sits along the banks of the St. Johns in downtown Jacksonville. No drugs, no sign of foul play, just checked into the hotel alone, went to bed and never woke up.

Strange how that works, isn’t it?

lyrical thinking

I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears

-velvet underground

fade to black

Darkness falls and for a moment all is calm; waves lap gently upon the shore as silence settles over a tranquil sea. The same moon, the same stars, viewed as one, but from afar; she raises her face to the night, slips quietly away inside her mind. Into those arms she dreamed of and yearned for, where truth and love embraced her; warmed by his light, his touch of purpose, beyond all expectations.

In her loneliness her heart does ache, for she has come to know their purpose. In her heart she holds onto hope, waiting for the moment they unite once more. Into wanting arms she will fall yet again, there will be no turning back; until then she struggles with the truth of the world and in her exhaustion fades to black…

In solitude

The sun sets golden in a clear blue sky; but for the few white plumes lending their signature to the conclusion of this day.

Bucks bistro table for two; occupied by one. Don’t Stop the Dance with its sensual sax; caressing my ears, filling my senses; editing of manuscript having reached the end.

Words which instill fear yet bring enormous comfort; having become so familiar in their reading and their meaning; knowing what publication will eventually bring. Left behind; moved beyond; entrusted to my care.

Nietzsche in my bag; portable and basic writings; a grounding connection through time and space; “every philosophy also conceals a philosophy; every opinion a hideout; every word also a mask.”

How well we dwell and dance behind those pretty masks; identities hidden as we interpret life’s poem; basic need and want mirrored; revealed only to each other…

“Truth is all that matters; drifting through a world tattered and torn. Love is stormy weather; beauty should be deeper than the skin. Footsteps in the dark come together;
Don’t stop…don’t stop the dance –

within without

He stood in the doorway, taking in the scene before him; a haunting melody seemingly echoed from nowhere, as the candles cast flickering shadows upon the walls; black tapers in polished brass holders; always black and brass. The smell of incense filling his senses, yet he could not tell from which direction it burned; swirls of invisible smoke wafting; permeating the room.

A room divided by a sheer white veil that hung from the ceiling and fanned out over the floor; the bed clearly visible, illuminated from behind; black satin sheets made for a welcoming sight. He closed the door silently and slowly stepped inside; casting his eyes upon her in the corner, when he heard a muffled cry.

A shard of etched crystal reflecting a flame; the goblet from which she always drank, broken in perfect pieces before him on the floor; a puzzle with one piece missing; the one she now held in her hand; examining closely before the flame.

He spoke but she did not answer; what game was this she was playing. He walked across the room, pushing the veil aside; she turned her attention from the glass and met his gaze with unseeing eyes. “What are you doing,” he asked, as he slowly inched closer; she shook her head and he could see that she was crying. He knelt down before her, in her white satin robe; before he could stop her or even realize what she was doing, she cut with intent, one more time; crying out in agonizing pain.

Pain so deep that the slashes on her flesh meant nothing; a means to remind herself she was still alive, fleeting at best, yet unable to surmise; for darkness had crept in and settled upon her soul; and although she was clearly pleading for help, he was too wrapped in himself to recognize what it meant; she didn’t want him to save her, she just wanted to die.

He stood and loomed over her; a look of disgust splayed over his face, as her insanity had become way too intense; and so without a word, or a second glance in her direction, he turned and left, never to return.

The next one was different, her ticket to ride; through the portal of illusion into the afterlife. She knew when she walked in and saw the picture over his bed; a Goth chick with strings, attached to her ankles and wrists; the puppet master non other, than the Grim Reaper himself.

She knew he would take her there, she hadn’t a doubt; as they raced full throttle from city to town; always under the cover of darkness, as she could no longer tolerate the light. They came close more than once, but fell short every time; in the end the only one he destroyed was him self.

She drifted aimlessly from north to south; touching the lives of all those she encountered; in love or in hate; differing only in disguise. Compromising her self for beliefs and tradition; while trying to maintain some semblance of self; looking for the path to freedom, stumbling each time she believed she’d found redemption.

Then one dark and stormy night, the knock fell upon her door; knowing who stood on the other side before even opening it; she did not hesitate, but flung it open wide; inviting him in to sit for a while.

Beside the fire, fueled by love and understanding, their stories unfolded as if all part of a dream. “Take my hand and walk this way, I’ve seen the dawn of enlightenment; seek shelter with me along the path, against the illusion of life, we are forced to fight.”

His invitation tempting, filled her with hope, but she’d come to the end with no fight left within; she spoke with her eyes as she reached for his hand; he felt the cold steel and understood her master plan.

He did it out of love, because he knew her true soul; although he wanted desperately to walk with her, he understood that she was done. Giving reverence where others had miserably failed, he released her from the bonds of her torturous hell.

He built the pyre and stayed by her side; standing before her with truth in his eyes. He kissed her lips one last time, struck the match and alighted the flame. The road beckoned and the rains finally came, he spoke one final goodbye and went his own way…

Traces

Nothing quite
As clean as
It seems

No…

Not ever

Chase ME

A young boy on the cusp of manhood; completely enthralled with every word spoken. The feelings, thoughts and ideas shared; sitting alone in your room, above the din of the crowd below; drinking games, karaoke, hiding behind the façade; the only truth, yours and mine.

Elated you were; not only in the fact that I grasped your concepts of life, love, relationships and death, but expounded on them as well; giving your young, impressionable mind still more to ponder; the gleam in your eyes priceless; knowing my presence would have a lasting effect, even more so. And that is what fuels your anger. Your belief tainted, your perception shattered.

You recognized the change, as did all those close to him. You thanked me for coming into his life and being such a positive and creative influence; allowing you to finally see him for the first time; a side you never knew existed. The kind, spiritual, talented man, suddenly unafraid to reach inside and examine his soul; no longer a Marine, no more just a dad; but a man capable of embracing life and expressing love; in a way you could finally understand and respect.

You’re a man now; of that there is no doubt; the resemblance so striking that for a moment you took my breath. But that, I believe, is where the similarity dies. A man yes, but still carrying the pain experienced in your youth; consumed with hate and rage, that the mere sight of me ignites.

I will not insult your intelligence by trying to define the nature of our connection; as some things are beyond explanation. It was and is no more. I know that one day you’ll be able to separate yourself, step back and shift your perception; seeing the bigger picture, as well as the flip side of the coin.

If you were truly honest with yourself, you would see that our selfishness and greed had a positive and lasting affect; as they have clearly reconnected and renewed that vow made so very long ago; and if you look really close, you’d see that they’re happier now than perhaps you’ve ever known them to be.

Everything happens for a reason. Hate begets hate. Forgiveness is forgiveness. And I am not the monster as being portrayed. Somewhere deep inside, you know this to be truth. It’s up to you whether or not you choose to accept it.