8:35AM April 27, 2012

Could it be that the bridge already exists?

the one in between the heart and intellect.

Have I been laying bricks up the spine of my spirit only to pin myself down up against a retaining wall?

And if I were to fall flat on my face, would the earth roll down flush to me?

Would it crush me?

Has my conscious effort, aimed to be consciously concrete, lapsed into eccentricity?

Have I always been the extremist my Father used to call me, and

why does it keep taking me so long to accept it?

What if my search for middle ground just doesn't fit my foundation?

What if I'd rather strike a match to my past and set it all ablaze over trying to douse the memory in oceans of tears?

What if I just can't find peace within a fixed state of mind and a routine time table?

How do I schedule freedom and compartmentalize my being?

Why do I feel like a two-sided duplicate:

of person A during the day, wearing the mask of Z at night?

Could I be an undercover Gemini?

Or is it really my Cancerous ascendant watering my mood swings just in time for the Scorpion sun sting to paralyze me?

What are opposites really meant to attract?

How do I activate the affinity

in between the spaces:

in between me?

Where's the missing link?

The bridge:

 between my heart and my intellect...



2:30PM April 23, 2012

What mystery I have discovered: 

that loneliness is a conscious state of disconnect.

How interesting: that I have always pursued the opposite;

and how different: that now, I chose to remain in part holistically, apart.

Have I grown cold since February, like Mother Earth has in April?  

Does she not know that it is nearly May;

and that the March equinox has since aligned its Shaoyin heart meridian in concurrence with the sun?

How impossible: it seems, to tip Earth’s oceans off the ledge of its own axis.

How strange: to willingly strip the soul from the living when even the dead die with it intact.

How normal: for the removed, not to care about:

the synchronicity of the seasons;
the subtleties of the cosmos;
the survival of the spirit; and 
the sedulity to subsist in unison with the world’s shifting consciousness.

What a paradox: to buzz as a stationary speck of static;

to be born an accurate point, plotted as the most deviated from the line of best fit.

How unfamiliar: it feels to remain quiet;

to prefer silence over first-person-pronounced selfishness.

How heavy: it feels to be lonely, 

especially when I know for certain, 

that the choice is mine 

and that I am never actually alone.

8:19AM April 19, 2012

Saint Anthony of Padua,

Patron Saint for lost articles, lost people, lost things and lost spiritual goods,

It seems that no thing is ever lost...

maybe knowing this has saved me - or maybe not.

maybe knowing in general, has led me further from the source.

maybe being saved is to be entirely lost and maybe being entirely lost is the key to being saved.

But:

how do you ever know where you really are in a system?

if not physically-planed, how is some thing located in space?

how does a body connect with its soul, if part of its essence has been displaced?

where has the affinty between being lost and saved gone to?

how has it changed?

and if I found it, would I feel complete?

would I feel less lost?

would I feel relieved?

Or would knowing that no thing is ever lost,

that it is just subconciously or even conciously misplaced,

ultimately be enough to so-call me 'saved'?

Signed,

~ Ms. Ing

12:44PM March 28, 2012

A Warning to the Zodiacs

Good morning impulsivity.

I see you've been busy baby

been bed-hopping last night

and ended up Sextile

semi-comatose

 in my Serta-fied Queen;

as of 8:05 last evening
you've been shamelessly flirting with me,

like a  moon taking void of course in Gemini

and then slipping by

like an oscillating Cancerous wave

kissing the shore's feet goodbye at sunrise:

You two-timing-alchemist b!tch -

this transformative substance shit

best be a fleeting influence;

because if I outsource all my debit today,

may Chiron,
the Wounded Healer save you

when I issue due credit 

as swift as a Scorpion's sting
and as strong as a sunset rising
up the soft aspects of Uranus...

so, consider yourself warned.

Refrain from shopping.

Signed,
The Scorpion:
V

9:14AM March 22, 2012

I'm back to square one:
Looping roundabouts around the dark corners of my mind;
and even though it's sunny outside,

I can't manage to shed light on anything.

It could also be attributed to the fact that I just O.D'ed on Benylin

Cough n' Cold and too many
honey-lemon-flavored Sucret Herbal lozenges
so feeling loopy
could just be

a synthetically-induced empire-state-of-mind
/ slash /
underlining side effect;

but I'm leaning towards the possibility that maybe

my disconnect

stems from something deeper than my uncontrolled

but still FDA-approved

over-the-counter
excessive

drug use...

But I'm not in the mood for

busting my own balls today -

So I just take another swig and say:

what-eveeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr daaaawwwwgggg....

preach all you want!

Cheers to me!
Time to get loopy sisterrrrrrrrr.

1:54PM March 14, 2012

Today I raise my right fist to the security keeper
and instead of flashing my badge
along with a forced fake smile,
as to say:

"thank you for letting me through"

I chose to take the more honest
and equally as vulgur approach,
and salute the steel gate in my rear view
with a clear-cut

"fuck you"

see you later

mediocre-nine-to-five-bullshit-work-week.

I'm skipping town...

biting into the Big Apple

like an Adam-free slutty Eve craving inspiration

It's time that I rise from my zero'ed grounds,

cut the dead weight

and start to tower over my shit.

5:16PM March 13, 2012

One month ago

I walked you down the aisle

the way a father would his daughter

before giving her away...

except the bouquet of white roses

was replaced

with a yellow sunflower spray

reminiscent of the fields

you used to play in as a child;

it hung over your casket

the same way my heart

still hangs from my chest

I still weep

every day

Dad,
Just wanted to say:
I miss you.

11:21PM March 11, 2012

Yesterday
I sat behind the window of my car
and I smoked a cigarette
in the parking lot
that still sits quietly
across the road
adjacent to
my grade four french class
window.

If only I could remember who I wanted to be,
when I stared out that same window,
when I was just a kid.