I am going to miss this particular view (for the next 6 months), and the Salty-ass hu(man) attached to it, so much more than anything I look at out my living room window, for 18 more sleeps. I knew when I met him that he is “a traveling man, not a vacationer,” and a traveling man must travel.
Yesterday he was showing me a rough route plan, for he ‘plans’ only that which is absolutely necessary, and where/what he really wants to visit/see. He’ll be driving to Calgary and Winnipeg first to visit with family, and then flying to Halifax where he will board a freighter to Liverpool.
From there he will make his way to mainland Europe and travel by bus and train or goat or mule or flying pig(?) through many parts, including my other home countries, to reach his goal of Russia and other parts of the former Soviet Union. He’ll be back sometime in the early Fall. I am not a bit jealous, I am jealous through and through.
As we were looking at the map, I expressed how much I love ‘real’ maps, and that for many years I held onto various Atlases from high school and University, because the art of ‘real’ mapping and the concept of ‘borders,and ‘cultural territoriality,’ fascinate me so greatly. And just because they are beautiful.
His Salty-ness says ‘hang on,’ makes his way to the forward bunk, and comes out with a Hammond World Atlas published in 1954. It is a magnificent piece of work. A most thoughtful, meaningful gift. Well-loved but in all its glory. Tears of holy-shit-I-love-this-book literally sprang from my eyes when he said “it’s yours, I was hoping to meet someone with a map fetish.” I said “aah, but were you ready for a cartophilic librocubicularist”?
And we laughed and laughed.
🙃⛵️👑🚢💋
~M.
March 10, 1019
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Posted by ~MyLa | Filed under My World(s)
"I honor every woman who has strength enough to step out of the
beaten path when she feels her walk lies in another; strength
enough to stand up to be laughed at, if necessary.
That is the bitter pill we must all swallow in the beginning,
but I regard these pills as tonics quite essential to one's
mental salvation."
-Harriet Hosmer
Harriet was a very wise woman! Fortunately for me, I have yet to
find the rule, stating an age limit for stepping out of said
beaten path, a maximum number of out-steppings, or a ceiling on
failed(?) quantity of attempts to blow up the proverbial box.
And should I come across these rules at any point in my trudges,
travails and travels, I shall, happily as ever, break them.
In keeping with my contradictory life and self, it begins
(again) now, with a sexy-ass BigSteelBox.
~Marcela; moving off the beaten path, coming un-boxed one more
time, in a BigSteelBox.
March 02, 2019
Your chainsaw voice
has dismembered
the last vestiges of sanity
in my human shell
severed the final tendon
connecting compassion to my heart
Your rusty-grater words
have shredded
the final ounce of patience
in my once limitless hoard
corroded beyond salvage the walls
containing my desire to be your ally
Your atomic bomb behaviours
have irradiated
the remaining molecule of hope
for your salvation
jaded this now impermeable spirit
to anything but its own voice.
As I pluck, the stray hairs from my face,
I try to ponder with some grace,
this crazy thing, called Aging.
As I take my locks, from gold to dark,
With silver strands just for the lark,
I smile, for I have Lived.
As I view the lines on this visage,
every day is vernissage,
and mostly, I care Not.
And as I judge this culture, youth obsessed,
no more couth do I possess,
than (T)rump-a-dump, himself.
In this world, where absurd is King,
I wag and wonder at this thing,
the phenomena, of Stupid.
We're teaching children, to regurgitate,
are raising mindless reprobates,
in bubble-wrapped, Entitlement.
I yell at them, to read a book,
get your brains back off that fuckin hook,
you call a life, on-line.
And as I sit, with 56.5
I rejoice the years I am alive
Live(d) and Love(d), with frenzied fire’n Passion
A youthful spirit, in its tweens
the wise chick in me hears’n gleans
that this body, doth Protest!
In recent words, to my well-(b)read child
I spoke of this my big wild ride,
and uttered this, fair Warning:
If tomorrow, I should die,
know that my life was not all pie,
but holy fuck me, what a Ride!
Lose no tear, for my time lost here,
I sped through akin to Buzz Lightyear,
had no time, to sweat the small Stuff!
No such burden, as regret,
for NO dull moment did beget,
a single breath, I Took!
And so I enter, this next phase,
In a blur of crazy-dayz,
and with electrifying, Verve!
I ought to warn, you faint-of-hearts,
my new grand plan will have no chart,
to map out how this goes!
So if you love me, in all my glory,
you will know that this next folly,
will be, of proportions Epic!
BOOM.
FALLOUT.
AFTERSHOCK.
SPLASH.
SMILE’n WAVE,
like the Queen I am.
Quack-a-fucking-doodle-dizzy and with a brand new energy,
for an old(er) chick!
~Marcela.
October 21, 2017
Photos and Poetry: All Rights Reserved.
Marcela: Unfiltered 