Puppy   2 comments

When I’ve mentioned to people in my life that I’ve finally started a blog they always ask the same question. “What kind of blog is it, I mean, what do you write about?” You know, for a vast majority of my life I’ve been waiting for someone to take an interest, to ask me about what it is I do while all alone in my room, music on, keyboard on fire or, as in the days of my teen years, pencils and paper sparking and nearly in flames.

I have often had positive reactions to my writing and it feels good. I won’t lie. I won’t state with contemptuous, bold determination at utter self-alienation some pre rehearsed, yet surely over emotional sermon which I could no doubt deliver as a solemn, trite speech about how it’s not about flattery and acceptance.

I will not water down a single moment of simplistic appreciation to mock what little comfort and pleasure I do find in those bits and pieces of eager nods and warm smiles, an overused phrase or two, perhaps even a suggestion that we are not all that unalike. Read my posts, my poetry, the little notes I scribble to myself when what I should really be doing is listening to someone talk about something other than whatever it is that has crept into my mind and set up shop.

Read it all, reread it and then ask questions. Ask me, ask others, ask yourself just “what the fuck was she trying to get at” as you drive home from our little meeting of the spirits at some local chain restaurant.

Get to know me. Discover the outcome as it sits there before you at this current time. And plant new seeds while checking on the crops of our last discourse. You can’t possibly think that this is all that there will ever be. You know me, somewhat. Some of you know me more, but no one knows me fully and for that I am grateful, because it is in the little nuances of our “not knowing” that gives me the room to grow and change, to develop and evolve and sometimes, when I’m really feeling gifted, regress back to who I was planning to be before all of this twisted, muddled life laid itself down on my lap as though the consequences of a life mislead could be fostered into a beating heart, the anatomy and physiology of the cells and fibers that make up the very essences of some small dog, covered in fur and now draped across my legs.

I pet this furry, sweet beast and take special care of her needs. She is all that truly demonstrates what it means to sit with me day in and day out, night after night, high after low and all those dreaded in betweens.

So I mention again that I’ve started a blog and someone who loves me gets this excited chatter about themselves as they pull back just a few inches as if to make sure that it is truly me that they are looking at before asking, “What kind of blog is it, I mean, what do you write about?”

To which I answer, “Oh, you know. A little of this and a little of that;” All the while, petting the puppy.

Trinzic

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2 responses to “Puppy

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  1. Very well said Trinzic!

    RoseCityRemona

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