Heads out of asses, please…
20 Saturday Feb 2021
20 Saturday Feb 2021
31 Thursday Dec 2020
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The Annus horribilis nears its final demise, and another tear traces its way down a weathered cheek. A mother misses her child. The bullwhip strikes the next blow, and a 24/7 mind re-runs the last 365. A mother’s heart never rests easy, the maternal mind replays, everything. The deep welts of self-flagellation burn white-hot, and the mother agonizes, over where and when she had failed. A mother, no matter how exceptional, will rarely never, feel adequate. The bullwhip is heavy, heaved high for the next exquisite, unforgiving lashing, but of a sudden, the mother recoils in revulsion as the mirror reflects her self-inflicted wounds. The child’s choices are their own. The bullwhip falls from her hand, shatters the flawed belief that she had any control over, and little to no contribution, in what has transpired, and a mother comes to the stunning revelation that: she is but flogging the rotting flesh of a long dead horse. Rest in scarred and jagged equine pieces, A mother must find joy! ~Marcela, December 31, 2020: looking back to move forward. Writing: All Rights Reserved Image: Google Search 'Palomino'
28 Saturday Nov 2020


I was a bit giddy when I came upon him, and grateful to self for having dragged me out, for it has been a long while since my last walkabout. The level of vigilance needed in my job and PPE/safety protocols changing daily create such high anxiety; do not contribute to a desire to brave the world on days off, so unless absolutely necessary, I'm not going out much. But I was glad I did, because I need outside, it drives everything good about me. And had I not dragged myself out, I would have missed him! And it made me smile that someone went to the trouble of creating him, so that people, people like me, could smile. I took my photo and went on my merry way, to run the stairs at the marina, and 'trespass' at my beloved breakwater, visit with 'Resurrected,' smile at the irony of her, and watch the aerialist acrobatics of the Jonathans in the world. I walked back the same way I came, because I wanted to see him again and to check if my own 'art du jour,' was still there, or if it had been swept away by the tide. And as I got closer, I smiled to see him, and my own Sea Eggs'n Ham in the distance, still perched on the log, the one with my favourite piece of chain on it. And that, is when Entitlement walked up and said: "Hey did you see that Reindeer? I think I'll take it home, I mean, there's more 'material' here for them to make another one, they probably made it for that, don't you think"? I said: "...or maybe they just like to make public art, to make people smile, people like you and I." I pointed to Sea Eggs'n Ham, and said: "I build them because they make me smile, and sometimes, if the tide doesn't take them too quickly, they make other people smile." I call him Entitlement because he was well-dressed, well-shod, and his pure-bred dog was well-leashed with leather gear. He did not appear to be a man 'in need' of free ornaments for what is very likely his well-manicured yard. He did in that moment, however, appear to be a man 'in want.' A man quite accustomed to getting what he needs, and wants, when he wants and needs it. And he demonstrated this to me when he told himself, tried to have me co-sign, a story about the person who built the reindeer, building it for someone to take home. And while that could certainly be the case, I doubt it. I think I know something about public art, and the people who create it, and I don't think it has anything to do with someone taking ownership of it, someone removing it from its 'public' space, to be enjoyed privately, by only one. I harbour no ill-will toward this man, his utterances and thought process regarding the Reindeer, are but a reflection of the mass self-entitlement, the other pandemic, plaguing human kind. I wanted to say to him, "if you had taken it before I got here today,I would not have seen him, I would have missed a most welcome reprieve of joy in my somewhat joy-less world," but I did not, say that. I work extraordinarily hard to be kind, most of the time, but my kindness cup was running precariously dry, for there had been several 'sketchy' moments during my longed-for and sorely needed outside-ing this day, so I said: "I'll be going now, have a great day." Entitlement said: "I'm going to go take a closer look at your Sea Eggs'n Ham," and I could not bear to turn around as we parted ways, to see if he was heading for the Reindeer.
Marcela: Wondering about the Reindeer,trying not to judge, not always succeeding. November 28, 2020
25 Sunday Oct 2020
And as the last vestiges of summer relinquish their hold on this special place so I lay down this sceptre and bow out of a reign long due a new sovereign. For it is imprudent to cling to that which is neither my current reality nor domain.![]()
~Marcela: desperately seeking a desirable next, in Ye Olde Queendom of Quack. October 25, 2020
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21 Monday Sep 2020
Some folks have expressed concern about the 2020 Season Finale, I’m building a bunker in my garage for the New Year’s Eve Party… cause I’ve given up all hope of the Aliens taking me with them… you know they’re out there going:
“What in the Flying Fuck’? President Covid and a virus called Trump! Abort mission to land Alf! Abort the fucking mission”!
Alf’s screaming “fuck you Mork, I’m starving, gonna get me a cat! Look, there’s one on the Virus’s head”!
A girl can dream, besides, it’s 2020, anything is possible…
xoxo
~Marcela.
12 Saturday Sep 2020
Cups runneth over straws break a Camel’s back bitter icing on cakes did you step on that sidewalk crack? Injuries are insulted actions scream silent words Bushes assaulted did you throw the stone that killed the 2 birds? Cats scurry from bags blue eyes wide/tightly shut Wild a-flutter red flags Pandora you slut! Sleeping dogs wide awake a blue moon appears daily Chewing on shoe-leather steak Where the fuck is my baili(wick)? Madness no method mirrors reflecting but smoke silver plated linings world’s a fetid, acrid cloak! Grace(land) left Elvis a cat sat still, un-curious barked down a tree head over pelvis tragic slo-mo life, in a lane fast and furious. Because... just because... ~M.
13 Thursday Aug 2020
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The diamonds did their water-dance,
A salty sailor slept.
Pondering life’s happenstance,
Quietly, she wept.
Wept for all the years she squandered,
Living someone else’s dream,
For all the years she wandered,
In the box’s maze of schemes.
Moon-shine lit the captain’s bunk,
A salty sailor slept.
On liquid light rays thinking-drunk,
Quietly, she wept.
Wept for so much love and fielty,
Bestowed upon folks unworthy,
For trusts recompensed with cruelty,
They wrung her dry like scurvy.
The stars winked and dimmed and sparkled,
A salty sailor slept.
To milky way-days thoughts harkened,
Quietly, she wept.
Wept for the quirky wild-child,
She knows is her inner world,
For that curiously clever bright-eyed,
That precocious little girl.
The wind sang aloud its wind-songs,
A salty sailor slept.
The cool breeze assuaged her done-wrongs,
Quietly, she wept.
Wept not with remorse or worry,
For life’s folly, yours, theirs, mine and ours,
For her twisting-turning story,
The racing pace of hours.
The Diamonds did their water dance,
Moon-shine lit the captain’s bunk,
She was awestruck by her choice, perchance
to heave overboard life’s junk.
The stars winked and dimmed and sparkled,
The wind sang aloud its songs,
She wept the tears of chains unshackled,
She slept the sleep of crones.
~M.Y.M.: new(ish) in old(er) age.
Summer, 2020
Photos and Poetry: All Rights Reserved
08 Saturday Aug 2020
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Bitch, when you come for me, slinging fictitious accusations, odium and slander, I will not come for you, flinging righteous recriminations, for to wile and guile, I will not pander. Bitch, when you come for me, un-shielding a hot blade of fallacies, short truths and tall tales, I will not come for you, wielding absurd analyses, for defensive drivel, rarely prevails. Bitch, when you come for me, impelled by your suffering, my own to repudiate, a pain solely yours not an iota is mine, I will come for you, compelled only to extricate, for peaceful relations, means never, entwine. ~Marcela: happy to wear what is mine, refusing to don that, which is solely part of some one else's, current emotional wardrobe. August 08, 2020 Poetry and Photograph: All Rights Reserved.
26 Sunday Jul 2020
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I set a place for you For you have long sat At my table I set a place for you For I miss the meals We often shared I set a place for you For you have long lived In my heart I set a place for you For I cannot but love you In Absentia Marcela: loving you. July 25, 2020
03 Sunday May 2020
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
25 Saturday Apr 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
in your
wake.
And I may hold it tighter,
with more ardor,
than I did its previous to your intrusion,
incarnation.
And it will be,
it is now,
Precious.
Marcela: licking wounds, picking up pieces, making plans, waiting for bitch-slappy’s next, making plans anyway.
April 25, 2020
16 Thursday Apr 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.
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~Marcela.
11 Saturday Apr 2020
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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
Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Poetry, Rants & Other Musings: Unfiltered-Raw
04 Saturday Apr 2020
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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
Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Commentaries: On what matters to me, Poetry, Rants & Other Musings: Unfiltered-Raw
24 Tuesday Mar 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.
Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under Commentaries: On what matters to me, Life Lessons & Stories, Poetry