While we waited, with bated breath, for a return to our ‘normal,’ she breathed a heavy sigh, of relief. While we stepped in, she stepped out, and we saw our impact on her, more clearly. While she regenerated from, our relentless destruction, we planned for, next. We will either learn, to respect her, or we will continue, to destroy her. Have we not learned, yet, that to destroy her, is to destroy, ourselves? So step in with me, for just a while longer, and think about how, you do, next. ~Marcela: letting her breathe, so that you and I can continue to do so. May 03, 2020
As I stood amid the broken, jagged shards of life as we had known it
Individually, as matched sets, collectively,
As I watched in horror the blood drip from my shattered heart
when the fragments splintered into indiscernible shapes,
As I cut my fingers to the bone demanding
with frantic, frenzied determination,
that they, the pieces, allow me to re-arrange them
into something acceptable, to me,
something at least resembling what had been between us
I was struck anew, by that weightiest of acceptances,
that you have come to visit again, loss
but that you will as ever,
leave something new
And I may hold it tighter,
with more ardor,
than I did its previous to your intrusion,
And it will be,
it is now,
Marcela: licking wounds, picking up pieces, making plans, waiting for bitch-slappy’s next, making plans anyway.
April 25, 2020
In the midst of serious world and personal strife and struggle, big, ugly, lifey-life bitch-slapping, because she and her minions do not stop for Covid, we can only put salve on the wounds of those closest to us, by treating them according to that most old-fashioned of rules, the one made of gold… by doing what we can to help, with what we have available to us, even if that help comes only in the form of doing no (further) harm.
I awoke to twittering birdsong, and a fresh spring breeze danced through the open window, and I was puzzled, so I queried the disquieting encumbrance, which sat so heavily in my heart. And as every morning, since Monday last, I remembered where you are. I hold you close my dearest friend, like a child her well-loved flannel; And Parker visits yet again to whisper in our ears: “Constant use ha[s] not worn ragged the fabric of [our] friendship."* I love you ; with the entirety ; of our valiant, purple hearts. ~Marcela; with nothing but love and hope for your recovery, MySue. April 11, 2020 Writing and photo: All Rights Reserved - Marcela: Unfiltered *https://dorothyparker.com/books-by-dorothy-parker
A book of Mormon or a lion’s head bowl your dirty old sneakers and a used camisole A camping potty and a broken TV world’s ugliest chair contest-winner and its mate, the settee A tall concrete tiki set or a big rusty clock and bald vroom-vroom tires for the wannabe jock A Loong Foong vintage cookie tin and a scuzzy old toilet or a decrepit old rocker but don’t sit lest you spoil it A pair of leather-like boots or a real-plastic dresser and some moldy old books from a dusty professor An inflatable hot tub and fake-rattan patio chairs or some lightly used razors includes gross chinny-chin-chin hairs Some creepy old doll parts or a bagful of ‘hemp’ seeds all ready to sow and 2 dozen duck eggs though not in a row A box of A & W Mugs and ‘a fake owl to scare birds’ or a disgusting old hamster cage opportunely pre-soiled, comes with used turds An ‘Old-antique’ horse lamp and a ‘dead’ cow rug or some grossly stained mattresses replete with bed bugs A giant Yahtzze set and miniature chairs made of wicker or a pre-cracked ‘antique’ mirror prices are firm, please do not dicker Cement garden pigeons and barbicide for dog groomers or 4 and 6 inch flex hoses for all the DIY boomers These are but some of the ‘treasures’ You want me to buy Steals of a Deal And (crap)Pies in the Sky Thank you but no deal, at the best of times I would pass, but now during COVID I’d like to kick your sad ass. So Fuck-the-Fuck-Off, which means stay-the-fuck-home re-use and re-cycle up-cycle that thing please stop being a chump or WHEN COVID is done with us take your shit to the dump! With all the love I have, ~Marcela: Asking, begging FB Marketplace and local buy/sell/trade groups everywhere, to take the example of Ladysmith BC, and PLEASE shut.it.down, for the duration! These are NOT essential services, but they ARE actively contributing to the problem! No amount of legal-ass-covering-guidelines are going to change the thoughtless actions of STUPID; the OTHER pandemic. April 04, 2020
As I rummage and ruminate, categorize and discard, too many items, and thoughts, long of little utility, to you or I, though stubbornly occupying space, in my physical and internal environments, I am thunderstruck! …with that which we pay lip-service to; as a matter of course, in our excessive, daily rabblings and babblings; but rarely to never, truly abide by… . And of a sudden, nothing matters! Nothing; …with the exception, of how we choose to utilize, This Moment. And of a sudden, in this temporarily, to the outside world obligation-less life, I find freedom. ________________________________________________________ With boundless love, ~Marcela: choosing to live well, in the midst of my own, and our collective, uncertainty. March 24, 2020.
There have been others since I came to live here, but you commanded and kept my attention, from the first time ever, that I saw your extraordinarily bright, red paint.
And since that moment, when you dwarfed everything around you and obligated me to see you, I have wanted to get closer, wanted to get a better view, and always wanted, always yearned, to see you again.
I needed to experience your power, relentlessly, and with great fervor. And for weeks now, I have been captivated by you, visually, psychologically, emotionally, and with irrevocable commitment.
And I have compulsively sought you out, with the diligence and precision of a skilled stalker, from every vantage point, in this hilly town.
For weeks now, each and every morning, I have clambered groggily up to the step-stool view in my sleeping chamber, because knowing you were there allowed me to face another day, and I have been awed by the turmoil you create, deep, so deep inside me.
For weeks now, each and every evening, no matter how fatigued, I bid you good night, because you give me some measure of consolation, succour, in my solace-less world.
You have represented all that is true about me, the contradictions, and I am as contentiously conflicted about you, as I am about most things.
Your intensity screamed to my own; and like the others in the bay, like me, you are a political and personal hot-potato, and I love you-I hate you, come here-go away, fuck-off, no! fuck-on!
And you present me with a familiar quandary: what is right for the world around me versus what I get, what I need, from you, from the world around me.
And so by direct extension, you have been a secret, conflicted indulgence, analogous for me, to beautiful footwear, but made in China by slaves and their enslaved children.
And I have viewed you with my naked eyes, and through binoculars, and I have captured you with my camera over and over again, from my step-stool view, from the highway coming home, from my excursions on the hilly trails, and from my perambulations about the town.
And this morning, when I opened the curtain to greet you, you knocked the breath right out of me, for the light had you glowing in shades of gold and pewter, and I was mesmerized, shaken to the core, by the beauty of you, and the light, the indescribable, iridescent light, and the way you played together, with, and in the sea.
And I remembered Barrett-Browning, and knew I will do well to concern myself with, fly toward the light, despite additional bruising of my oh-so broken wings.
And my despair collided head-on inside me with the memory of who I am, the shine and vibrancy used to describe me for decades by others, now hoarded away far too long, by me, recently, because: pain.
And I wonder; if like me, despite meticulous maintenance of mechanical parts and attention to aesthetic details, you may meet an undignified, rusted out, abandoned, demise?
But your light rouses me from the melancholy of this early morning reverie and while you are neither Sunflower nor Water Lily on a A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, van Gogh, Monet, Seurat alike, would have been as awestruck by that light show, by your radiance, as I.
So it is little wonder that this evening, upon reaching the place on the highway, the place where I always spy you first, returning from my hated-reality, hot tears burned my cheeks with a vengeance that took me by surprise, but at the same time, not at all.
For I realized that you had left me, as I knew you would; suspected this very morning, that today might be that day, the day I find you gone.
And all that, in a painful morning stupor, while bedazzled, so very smitten, by your glow, your nod to me, to heed Browning’s wise words, to keep fluttering my wings, toward the light, toward my light.
And I am so very grateful, to me, for all the times I hunted you down, from yet another place and angle. I am richer for having enjoyed you, and you fueled, no, you ignited, new fantasies of leaving, to live my art, whenever my eyes, my heart, the core of me, met your steel girth, your vibrant and vivacious red coat.
And I never coveted you more than this morning, never appreciated you more, than in those parting moments, when you willfully, boastfully even, occupied that space, your space in the vast vast sea, wearing the gold,
of the Queen you are.
~Marcela: one skin, 58.7 years, life/version 19.9, and counting.
March 04, 2020
The stunningly beautiful, awe inspiringly humble, and magically talented Minju Kim, on Next in Fashion: "...my collection is inspired by Frida Kahlo, ...she never gave up." I must remember that for a thousand and one reasons, and for decades now, I too, am inspired by Frida Kahlo... and while that which ails me physically, is vastly polar in nature and circumstance, its ramifications, share everything in common, with that which ailed her... ...and I remember what she accomplished, who she was, not despite, but because of it. Just for this moment, I will channel Frida, and Minju. ~Marcela: Hanging on by Minju's thread.
The roar of the culvert spewing forth the runoff, raging like the internal and external storms of the night previous, temporarily assuages my tinnitus and pressure addled brain, with this other, din. I walk on leaving the culvert behind, and, with the relentless vengeance of the intruders in my body, they cut anew; the razor-sharp edges of my current reality and I wonder: why I still choose to live this wounded and broken, life(?). Parker, Dorothy that is, in all her glory and folly calls on me, again, to live another day for while increasingly troublesome, my vision endeavors to see, that “cherry bough gone white with Spring,” and so I walk on, desperately seeking; the next “prettiest, thing.” ~Marcela: not done yet, according to Parker anyway. 02, 02, 2020