Art

compromise

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The clinch, the knit, the stitch- the “if we don’t fight anymore I can agree to it”

The next new rehash of an old word, that may look absurd if you look at it’s path- it’s always rebranded and weaponized

SURPRISE!

It’s Compromise!

Just a little word meant to weaponize those with less power of will, less heavy in the pocket. The lesser of the mores.

Early 15th century etymology defines “compromise” (via etymonoline)

early 15c., “a joint promise to abide by an arbiter’s decision,” from Old French compromis (13c.), from Late Latin compromissus, past participle of compromittere “to make a mutual promise” (to abide by the arbiter’s decision), from com “with, together” (see com-) + promittere “to send forth; let go; foretell; assure beforehand, promise,” from pro “before” (from PIE root *per- (1) “forward,” hence “in front of, before”) + mittere “to release, let go; send, throw” (see mission).

The sense of “a coming to terms, a settlement of differences by mutual concessions” (mid-15c.) is from extension to the settlement itself. The meaning “that which results from such an agreement” is from 1510s.

Now let’s look at that dirty path of arbiter-

late 14c., “person who has power of judging absolutely according to his own pleasure in a dispute or issue,” from Old French arbitre “arbiter, judge” (13c.) and directly from Latin arbiter “one who goes somewhere (as witness or judge),” in classical Latin used of spectators and eye-witnesses; specifically in law, “he who hears and decides a case, a judge, umpire, mediator;” from ad “to” (see ad-) + baetere “to come, go,” a word of unknown etymology.

Who decides a compromise? Is it your friend, or is it mine? Is it a mutual friend in deed, with neutral standing and steadfast eyes? Or perhaps a third party paid on the side?

Stop asking us to compromise to these stupid things that obviously bring nothing we call for, to walk down the common corridor while acting like there is some elite retreat to happen here, attempting to ignore that you are only calling for more servitude

A compromise never actually settles the balance, it happens when one party gets tired the fastest- that’s the ledger you look to push

And we will be there waiting to step out of the way as you come rushing and the winds will show you the way to fly in those wide open skies

And I assure you there is no soft landing when even the land doesn’t want to compromise.

Art

It’s At A Strong Simmer

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I don’t enjoy getting political or critical, it just seems to be an epigenetic trigger or some sort of left over of times past that last through bloodlines

I see the State governor have a bit of anger about Federal observance when they are the same one who opens the door

I see people grasping as the basic straws of long laid plans because; we were the “every day man” and what happens on our land in benefit of those already wealthy, is the only thing that matters

I want to scream ” They have been putting this shit on paper for over a century, and the only oversight they ever see, is those in the brethren- pull different sides but still friends in this awkward circle jerk that screws us all in the end- unless something changes, and it’s not just by switching hands in the same cesspool from which it began”

There is never equality in the Equality State- nor equitability or equilibrium because it chimes old rhymes from long lost times held strong only by namesakes and nepotisms, Good Ole boy’s carrying on some sort of nostalgic requim

Bread and circus! Call to the TOURIST- if you live here, you are accused of abusing the privilege to call it home- even born on and in this land I’m told to go elsewhere if I don’t like it- but I have my sights set and this is systematic and systemic- everywhere.

Go along, to get along, lil doggies. Be happy with the scraps in your bowl, if you want better, get a letter of recommendation and apply for the City, State or Federal and let them keep feeding you the rhetoric that there is some sort of separation of church and state

It’s intense to try to articulate that the whole thing is rigged against the everyday human- we see it in false inflation; the degradation of our food, education, and economic systems

I beg the question why we continue to work so hard for organizations that are quite openly showing us their true intentions-

The system and their minions don’t care for more than themselves and accruing wealth- for their weird little groups that seek to keep you busy building things you nor your kin will truly will benefit from, in the long run

I am at a brink, yet again, of not giving a fuck. I am sick of this task and having to daily face the fact that I can’t force anyone to think any way or another- it’s a bother, but I do it

Who knows when some of my words spent may be a bright light or a creative insight that helps someone justifying survival versus the alternatives that seem to want to push us to the edge and give up

I will say it again- I have had enough- and now they throw words back into our face about transparency, accountability and responcibility-

It’s a psychodrama unfolding for years beyond mention, and the only reason I can see it of benefit, is because we are meant to see it so that we can combat it as needed

It’s going to take creative thinking, you can not do things the same way as history- if you do, you actively participate in some sort of insanity that is looking for a better way of expression and acknowledgement

First step- get upset and seriously mad at it, but commit to your better sense- get psychic with this shit- stop playing small, wounded- collectively use your wisdom to ruffle feathers- show up no matter the weather

Second step- collect each other like precious stones that glow with their own knowing- work together- but don’t be afraid to call the BS when it is evident

Third step- be transparent, yourself. You don’t always have to be an open book- giving the TLDR in the first five minutes- take a breath and leave the book slightly ajar, open to answering honest questions with honest answers

Those truly seeking will see what they need to, because they have free will to do so

Art

Fertilizer

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I talked with my father the other day and he made comment of question to why his children act in such a display to take the “hard way”

And I rambled a bit in a way of a feminist- but the deeper truth existist in the fact that this world is radically different than it was in 1976; 1986, 1996, 2006, 2016

Do we really comprehend the leaps and bounds things have made while staying the same over such a long time frame?

Shortened always by the claim “nothing ever changes”-

Meanwhile your children grow older, the weather changes, technology begs us to capture every moment for a cloud we will never ride upon

Can you see that it is very hard to change things that change in slight motion under the tangible range? They say, “get involved with the politics” but those same dicks are the ones that complicate process we have the ability to deal with by our own well knowing- and they beat us down vs encouraging some growing that says “Yes, I comprehend personal responcibility”

What, are we actually doing? It appears the discard ability of humanity and life in general has some hip political stance, like we have rebranded genocide, but the poor people meant to have no pride are the first to go.

Why is poverty demonized? Why are jobs that matter with no big coorporate boss put to pasture? Why do the people who say they love us have laughter when we try to beat a system that wants to drown us all?

It feels emergent, emergency- like you, like me, want to be more than these left over dregs of Flotsam and Jetsam – the reality we wish to see is no longer a joking matter

There are people preparing to literally dig their own graves because the wonder of something better has been drained from their hemoglobin and they’d rather leave their legacy to fertilizing trees and flowers

Art

Unfuckable by Cancer and her Contemplations

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(A creator I’ve enjoyed for years is struggling- if you can donate to her- I’d appreciate it. https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-mias-fight-against-cancer-eb6x8/cl/o?attribution_id=sl:a3087cbb-3f64-4d41-9d3e-f14349070f48&lang=en_US&ts=1786054519&utm_campaign=man_sharesheet_dash&utm_content=amp30-treatment-3&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link )

At the crossroads of “My way or the highway” ;

That place that calls for contemplation of direction

Perhaps we call in a definition

An acknowledgement of that Your Way, IS My Way- the one you set that others have yet to accept and respect

The highway is just a road you haven’t yet fully explored, going down unfamiliar corridors that brings you to the corner wherein exists a locked door-back to yourself

It’s time to leave the behind dance, the hyper fixation of romance

The one that defined your delicate steps

Always walking on egg shells to avoid the disturbance- for the sake of those who take full advantage of stomping around on everyone’s ground- demanding authority, undeservedly

The gem of your soul glows!

Angel incarnate, pain spent from the past, need not last at the Cross road

Upon further inspection within this proverbial map, it leads you back to yourself

Back to the door for which you are the only key holder

It’s hard to see how much power you yield as you exist in an exhausted field of vision-

But you are the reason and the cure-

The ground calls for your stomps and jumps- it’s ready to take your pain

Cry, laugh, pretend to kick ass and throw some stones at those predatory cellular invaders

Beat the ground, it can take it

Breathe, you can take it and release it full for back to sender

You are not the woman you were just moments ago, without this great courage to let the pain go back to the mother

Today “My Way or the Highway” are one- transmuted by you alone, full and growing- the road will lead you back to you, where only you hold the key

Art

Little Fractal

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My reflection walked through the door at the ripe age of almost seven and a half- she runs into greet me, but this time we don’t embrace right away because her senses are sensing me out-

Am I safe here?

And I sit with a smile, and a “Hey girl, hey, how ya doin'”

And she doesn’t answer but reflects back that question in a different way… “What are you doing?”

The answer is abstract, “I’ve been working on things- would you like to see what I am doing, working on?”

A gentleness sets in with the curious “yes.”

So I show her how hard it is to get the fur right, on Capricious the cat who is complex. I show her where my struggles exist properly portraying the nose.

I ask if she wants to see the one sketch book I know is meant for her because I was able to cut off criticism and ownership, to allow her to draw on the first page

Oh, help me- this is a book not a quarter finished and it is the most esoteric of my papers- mostly I bleed on the pages, metaphorically as I loose those last remaining eggs captured in my abdomen that I kept from procreating

She sees familiarity, even expressions of creative will when it comes to honoring the Nana and Papa-

Her hand was in that book- my hands will keep creating when the time suits- and someday, it’s for her too look back on in a remembering of care, creativity- unconventional and unique- just like her

I see this child has anger she doesn’t know how to express or articulate

I was there once, twice, three times two and again in spurts

I recognize those hurts spoken in another language, again and again- reminicent

She isn’t alone, it isn’t “bad” to be angry- it’s a life struggle to learn to tame it, know it, control it, be with it and breathe it out

So she wanted to control the wind- and I told her I already know how, and bonus- I know how to talk to clouds

So I ask, is today a day to build clouds or bust them?

Build them she says- I say that means the storm is coming in- and she isn’t afraid

Unknowing to her in the last days Rain and I have been talking about regulation of expression because Rain is just pain expressed, especially when the third wheel to lightening and thunder

So we covered the sun with clouds and watched the sky darken- and then we tossed the ball back and forth- acknowledging that too much force, misdirected can cause pain- so awareness has it’s gains

We take a lap when we are angry, we beat our fist into the leather mit, meant to capture the ball- we find a way to express without purposeful abraision-

Peace creeps in, but it needs patience and work- but the seed is there and I see how connection has many outlets- not all are my favorite, but I am willing to compromise so that she can get what she needs at a time she feels so unseen

I see her, and she sees me

Art, Writing, insight, life, poetry, imagination

It’s Rainamentary

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I’ve been having consistent conversations with rain, and wind- –

It definitely started with the rain, or lack thereof or the over abundance in certain places- and then I think about storm chasers, just waiting for another hit of adrenaline

Rain though, has such nuance- people always complain that it’s not enough or too much- the whole time denying that they might have something to do with the duration and intensity of its output

See, you and me exist mostly of water and mitochondria and compressed ZIP files we call DNA, and our adaptability has led us to Earth zones that may not be the best environment for our best expression yet

Here we are, wherever we are- dealing with the Elements

My heart never felt the desert because I adore water so much it hurts

Like should I drink her, conserve her, or disregard the thoughts that say “it’s okay to dehydrate as if you are a cactus easily revived by a five minute down spout? Maybe some old man watering you down once a month?”

I started to look back to times when it rained almost cinematically- the timing, so on time. And thus far it’s been fine unless someone else defines how unrefined that expression plays out.

I think rain is a representation of pleasure and pain. It is the barometer of what we have to lose or gain- and just asking for it to refrain will only pain you more- mostly because you see water from the sky as separate from you- not a collective expression of you and you, and you and you.

So as I have been talking to the sky, that holds the rain in a cute clouds that at times get together with a push from temperature- I see it capturing our pain. Our silent tears, our exhausted sighs, our deep night sweats fueled by incongruence- and I would categorize that as pain.

Human suffering, the great undoing of what binds us up inside.

We are water, we breathed out so that it is collected above us and it’s like it’s collecting in places that need a cleaning but not a flood.

So when I call in the rain, when I speak to her duty- I say take the pain for transmuting. Then send it down reasonably- we don’t need too much- just enough. Go above the places that need it most.

I clap, I sing for the greenery and the animals that may also be dehydrated. I roar with the Thunder and encourage her to raise her voice for those who can’t.

I make songs for the rain so that she feels welcome to self regulate in good company.

She tells me to thank you for allowing her into your space, to take the evaporate of your tears and breath, to transmute them into new life. She knows that she needs to regulate more, so she is calling for other nodes to see her consciousness and to engage it.

She is open to direction, she has learned many lessons over time by having no guide lines.

She laughed when I said “I think I might be able to manipulate weather.” Mostly because she already knew we all have some degree of ability to do that, but most are too distracted to hone in on the skill. They only want to call into request when something is personally dire and upsetting on a deadline.

I totally get that.

So I just call her in- no dance- no show-

Like calling a friend on the phone.

“”Hey babe- I got the feeling you are feeling kind of heavy right now- can I help you disperse this in a healthy way?”

She wants help, because everything she takes on was yours to begin with, and accountability is foreign but needed in her realm.

Art

158

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I am One Hundred and fifty-eight words short of my daily goal of five hundred

It is 11:52pm on Thursday night and the first word that came to mind was Byzantine

So of course I go immediately to etymology because I’ve heard of the era but it seems more structural in architecture and I love old buildings

Then stuff about Constantinople which makes me think of a song, but I can’t focus long enough to remember the specific lyrics

So now I have an ear worm, and a beat thumping in some special compartment of my brain space, left to run to the finish line

And these lines, like so many are made on the spot as a challenge to my fingers dexterity- and the flexibility of my mind

Sometimes, it isn’t about the profundity or the classic clasp of something smart or witty-

It’s going back to grasp those last words at the dead line

11:58pm

159 words, excluding this

Art

Pull up a lawn chair

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Sensitivity , chemically has always effected me somewhat synapticaly

The good and the bad of it all, Experienced by personal biology and chemistry

Western pharmacology never settled me-right

A disdain for Advil, a wary feeling toward Tylenol, even vitamins occasionally rearrange my insides

Supposed cures caught by slight of hand, only left to lend me nausea

“I just want to be healthy.”

I am uncertain of its attainability in a reality that poisons its own food, while simultaneously distracts the attack and avoidance of nutrionality

So I talk to spirits, and inhale smoke almost a joke of coping as somewhat, still socially acceptable, but a more reliable track record

And it goes in ebbs and flows, tried cessation of Nicotine by way of patch, trying to calm that itch

But the only benefit was crazy dreams as my body continued to scream for more Nicotine

“It’s the hand to mouth habit” as some science may explain it- so buy a box of fidgets

All the while when the craving begins, I know I am suppose to pick up a pen- a writing utensil that will last a thousand line of writing

Cheaper than a pack of 20 smokes rationed to 10 a day

And I delay, knowing that there will be a day I can no longer afford a pack either by price or circumstances- what do I do then?

I figure I always want one pack around if shit hits the fan and it is all going down to the count of oblivion

Yeah, I’ll want that whisky and that tobacco as the world goes up in smoke, knowing it’s a greater symbol of how I feel about myself

But I am trying to “work through it”

I’m trying to work on an old concept called confidence- because I’ve never truly worn that fabric and I would like to see how it fits

I’d like to put it to the test-

I’ve long dropped compliments and swept those out the door with silent contempt- and I only say this to be honest

A portal of inner exploration