…loosely cemented… no, inured and secured… of far sighted vision… sight lines fully obscured… entire… no partial… I cower… no rise… small silly child… no, crone oh-so -wise… zig zag and waver… no, I walk a strong gait… run to a finish line… no (im)patiently wait… emptiness, hollow… fill my bottomless soul… stubborn… no willing… fragmented… no whole… pieces of puzzles falling down to a floor… fall apart… no together… build a wall… no, a door… treasure inside… open it, open it… no, slam it shut… should have known better… Pandora! You slut.
~Myla: unknowingly certain.
September 21, 2015
Image: Female Fragment, with masses of love and gratitude for the art of Paige Bradley
Be still my heart
drilled by the dart
of the man called Dieter
than this curt curmudgeon
with truth he doth bludgeon
the remnants of trolls
stealers of souls,
nurses the valve
no conditions as salve
for a heart left bleeding
leaves me conceding
I am but a babe
in the woods,
Of Nibelungen fame
he sports a grand middle name
Siegfried at center
this soul he did enter
pierced the protection
raised by the rejection
of mangy mongrels
his nerve endings of steel
(re)awaken the fury
leaves this child in a hurry
message often a gaffe
comes from far-a-field
a shining sword he does wield
rips a wound in my oh-so-sensitive-spirit
his points ever-and-always laden with merit
their intent is assistant
for this girl’s e’er and persistent
fear of succeed/fear of fail
constant-companions (mis)read threats to bail
his words the tick tock
an alarm on the clock
of my life and our time
rise’n shine cutie-pie, this love is:
Cleverest one of them all
walks all handsome’n tall
a bowl of bodacious banter
he’s a righteous ranter
full of hysterical hijinks
in an Absinthe-esque labyrinth
caused a cacophonous conniption
tends to and mends with the roar of a lion
safeguards (t)his damsel with fists and love made of iron
reminds that I’m Xena
or just me…
his sweet and sca(r)red, warrior;
Yours always and with all the love I have;
~ The Yve to your Aff; and also fully Marcela; unfiltered, and duly undone by this thing called love.
here we are again, March 22nd; the 24th March 22nd that I have the privilege of sharing with you; it is the absolute honour of all honours to be your parent. My Sunny-Boy-ManChild-BabyCakes, and all the other crazy names I have attached to your beautiful spirit over the years, you know, the ones you initially balk at, but always throw the good-son towel in on, because you know, mama gonna be mama and call you things other than the names so carefully and lovingly chosen for you before we ever met face to face.
I will spare us the regurgitation of all the reasons I love you so fiercely, we can revisit them here in our old(er) age, in the event that we forget, but they are indelibly etched into the very core of my being either way, so when the world blows up (ala Alex Jones ;) ) and we have lost all e-records and interwebs postings proclaiming my mama love for you, we will know anyway.
This March 22nd begs a different message from me to you. It begs a message of thanks and deeply profound gratitude, and with any luck, some-mama wisdom that one day, you will see fit to use, the way that I was able to use the uncondionality you once again showed me, through some of the toughest shit in a while, over this past year.
Thank you for standing your ground with mama in what in the grand scheme of things was a relatively benign little online exchange, around some political ideas on anti v. pro-activism. The discussion we had off-line about the process of it, for both of us, is what real love, trust, and this thing called relationship, are made of.
Thank you for standing your ground and letting me know in no uncertain terms that you wanted the Europe trip to happen no matter what, but that you would not be happy doing it without the mama. It was our trip for as long as we can both remember, for so many more reasons than I can articulate here, and it matters not, for we both know.
Thank you for forcing mama’s hand, in the kindest, gentlest, but completely Thomas-honest way, and helping me remember what is actually important in the world, reminding me what the last five years of struggle and re-building of Marcela, and by natural extension, how I do ‘parent of Thomas,’ has been all about.
Thank you for seeing beyond the surface of everything that had to do with everything about our going home(s), re-meeting your dad, your brothers, your nieces, your nephew, your cousins, your aunts and uncles, all of them, it.
Thank you for understanding my pain through it, thank you for not trying to fix what was never yours, thank you for holding my hand through all of it, in the midst of your own process through it. Thank you for having your mama’s back, unflinchingly as ever, no matter what.
Thank you for making it one of the most singularly spectacular events in my well-used life, other than the day of your actual birth, 24 years ago today.
Thank you for last summer after we got back. For the ear through the phone line during so many tearful drives to and from Nanaimo, up and down that LaMaHat, for the drive-by huggings at PV and the softness in your voice when you could read my broken heart all over me; the one threatening to obliterate everything I knew to be true about me, again.
Thank you for holding my well-lit heart together with the unconditional glue of who you are, and for seeing it, me, as the fallible human-parent I am, and your loyalty to our relationship not despite that, but because of it.
Thank you for expressing your disdain for men(?) behaving badly in both my personal and professional worlds, and thank you for behaving well despite your disdain and anger toward those less chivalrous, less kind.
Thank you for your response to that most unexpected of phone calls this afternoon from your dad, only one of us responded with the grace and wisdom of the Universe itself; clearly, age is no guarantee of these things, and thank you for understanding, once again, my misguided irritation by parts of said phone call. It was a beautiful thing, and that, is all you saw. I take another page from your book.
Thank you for all of the trust you continue to place in me with the really great, and really tough life shit, and thank you for showing me, over and over again, the many variations on any given theme. For an open-minded mama, my ever well-heeled feet can dig in, hard, at times.
Thank you for simple happiness at the recent changes in my life, completely and utterly bereft of chagrin at the speed in which things are changing. Thank you for understanding that risk is necessary.
Thank you for starting to put into action your next great adventure, and thank you, more than you will ever know, for saying you would come back for next April 25th. Thank you for allowing me to mama-guide you, ok, I ordered you, not to.
Thank you for using the lessons of my and your own well-used life, to propel you forward, ever forward, and for teaching me back, my own preach about teaching children How to think, not what to think.
The beautifully important and life(choice)-scarred words that mean so much to you they are permanently etched onto your forearm often bear true Sunny, ‘Storm is prerequisite for mental gain,’ but just as we are the creators of our own happiness, the same is true for the storms, if only by virtue of the reactions, responses, associations, patterns, meanings, we Choose to attach to any of it; the good, the bad, the ugly, the indifferent, the sublime, and the ridiculous.
That there; be mama’s current learning curve BabyCakes, BabyCzech, and Number One Marsupial-Child! It is my most fervent desire for you, that you don’t require almost 54 years of life to get there, and if you do, I have all the faith in the world, that you will traverse the trails, highways, byways and ditches with the same wild abandon and spirit of risk, that you have watched your mama grow into, and continue to understand, that the Only failure, Ever, is not trying at all.
Our Dorothy used to say, ‘pain and suffering are inevitable in this world, continuing misery, is purely optional.’ Curmudgeonly beauty that she often was, she was right.
I love you with the same ferocity and wild that I often go at anything with, only infinitely deeper.
Tattoo on Sunny’s Arm by Sam, Killer Bees Tattoos – Melbourne, Australia
‘Storm is prerequisite to mental gain’ from ‘Liquid Sovereignty’ by Eydea & Abilities
Intoxicated by intention
I neglected to mention,
that holding this damsel at bay
since the advent of May,
t’was not at all, in keeping
with the deeds of the true Dragon-Knight,
‘Tis in doing not saying
that sets hearts a’flutter,
your actions did, but stutter and mutter.
No Dragon-Knight honour is found in mere utterance of words
when to the ground they plummet,
with the utility of turds.
(and stick on the soles of this damsel’s ever-well-shod feet)
No gallantry present in noble intent,
when in sadness, a damsel’s Morns Days’n Eves,
be endlesslyyy spent.
is worth nary a thought,
here, today, at this juncture –
how many (more) opportunities, do I provide you
Zero ↔ oreZ
e <3 e
September 07, 2014
Yours; Shining, well-lit through the wounds:
MyLa: truly Unfettered.
(Image: Marcela, Sep.2014)
…is not a pathology, a DSM Mental Health diagnosis, a deficit,
or disordered, or wrong.
Intense is bold, strong, courageous to the nth degree, in your face, truthful.
Intense is neither flexible nor choice.
Intense is not willing, wishful, wanting, hope, or even drive, ambition.
Intense is a primal need;
to push, limits; mine, yours, theirs, ours, always.
And exactly when you think;
Intense has pushed enough, pushed too far,
Intense pushes again;
further, than ever here-to-fore.
Intense is pure, unadulterated.
Intense is the epitome of unfiltered.
Intense is emotional excess:
the good the bad, the beautiful the ugly, the high, the low;
not despite having known pain, but because it knows pain.
Intense and pain, are intimately acquainted;
they are, in fact, in love, inseparable,
pain is fuel on the fire that is,
Intense is often confused and contradictory, no, not contradictory,
Intense is highly conflictual.
Intense is deeply connected, insightful, wise, awesome-crazy, vulnerable and even, volatile.
Intense is wild.
Intense is unfettered.
Intense is not funny or amusing;
Intense is hilarious.
Intense cannot be contained, will not be boxed.
Intense puts the shattered pieces back together;
in a way that creates a picture more beautiful,
than the one which was seemingly in-tact,
prior to its shattering.
Intense has wings.
Intense makes pigs fly.
Intense knows not, of impossibility.
Intense is the home of creativity, its very core, its essence.
Intense is never indifferent, and never, ever, mediocre or neutral.
Intense knows no middle ground.
Intense is love and hate, war and peace, black and white;
but it resides, in living colour.
Intense is primary, neon, even.
Intense registers no nuanced hues or shades of gray.
Intense has no space for washed out and faded.
Intense is not boastful, but it is proudly aware of its inherent
Intensity and character.
Intense is a student and humble teacher.
Intense appears bossy, but is in actuality, a leader.
Intense is loud, especially when silent.
Intense will not walk the talk of shameful suffering and pastel-coloured pity.
Intense occupies souls and fuels the infernos of spirit-blazes too hot to extinguish.
Intense will be doused only, with (premium)fuel.
Feed the flame;
evil; with Love.
Intensely yours: MyLa, Unfettered.
August 21, 2014
Postscript, Nov. 22, 2015:
Intense will no longer apologize for its intensity.
Runaway: The Decade-long, God-less Amok, of an Acutely Human Queen
Several pretty penny porches
now mere remnants in memory
the Queen remorselessly
ruminates on these;
the veritable vestiges
of a domain,
by her perilous pursuit
of the marketed realities,
Many years many roads,
a number of princes
the Queen throws an eye backward
at the folly,
that may well have been
her final undoing,
or was it,
She lowers ear to her heart,
unearths a new truth
owns her sizeable part
with measured grace,
and some couth:
Eyes wide shut to the pain
with worrisome might;
full throttle, warp speed
hellish highways of fright;
she collected Queendoms and letters
behind her inadequate(?) names,
blindly but deftly
she excelled in the games;
sold to her and the masses
by the predators
preachers of pink
bamboozle the brainwaves
about life’s short-term lease…
‘tis no more than the blinking
of sightless glass eyes
the pursuit of happiness
sold in the guise
of more, better,
fluff and stuff
with which to;
kill the pain
kill the pain
kill the pain.
chasing the dragon
the dream an imposter
approval a need
love an elixir
a name on a deed…
Hunters of humanity
fished for her favor
left her bereft
of power to savor
the very Queendoms and royalties,
she had spent the years chasing
toward a non-existent,
The place called success
look at me look at me
she was finally worthy
of their ilk
that she had arrived,
Jonathan Rebel Seagull
(perfect aerialist and relentless odd god)
swoops into her cloud
ruffles her feathers
always stern, never loud:
thought you lost me hey Missy?
with you ever and always,
while they stood still
Look neither hind Missy,
nor fore to the morrow
take only the lessons
step away from the sorrow!
Keep that which you need
to live free of their voices,
to more resilient choices
than the greed,
Blow up the boxes
of success and their dream
each day every moment
hear the voice of (y)our soul,
not that of their scream.
For you intuit the truth
it soundlessly waits
to show you
to guide you
in a more even gait.
Walk do not run
for you are likely to miss,
the kiss of the Dragon-Knight
hard-fought and won battle,
of and for,
You are the Queen of your life
this we know to be true
as said the other odd god,
‘no-one’s you-er than you.’
So go out and be You,
truer than true
this ain’t your first rodeo
Life is a mud puddle
so pull on the Wellies,
go splash about
spray (a)muck on the
Nellies (negative that is).
It went on for weeks, with little to no reprieve, day and night. Triggered, unknowingly and unintentionally, by a completely unrelated, but to my still raw heart, similar circumstance, and by what the man known as Dickwad-what’s-his-name (and others) inflicted on my mind, body, heart and soul. For so much longer than I ever ought to have allowed.
It, was an anxiety and spiritual pain too profound to articulate well, at this point, while I still stabilize. I took action yesterday, that for some reason I was terrified to take. It was a phone call, a question, and it wasn’t because I got the answer I wanted to hear that it began to subside, it was because the terror of not taking action, and enduring another moment became too much for me to bear, for another second.
It has been one of the most frightening times that I remember in recent years, but the silver lining is, I thought about escapes, of every ilk, variety and severity, and even utilized some that directly contradict the way in which I strive to live my life, free of the consumeristic traps of the ‘marketed dream’ (stay tuned for that one). I bought art, Banksy ;) one dress, books and a pair of shoes, but chose what I believe to be the lesser of all the evils I could subject myself, and the people who love me to. I rescheduled some work appointments when it was too much to keep my people safe, after all, I make a living directly off the backs of the suffering and pain of others, but no-one was cancelled, and to the best of my knowledge, I did no harm.
I got up every day and survived, hating every moment, and savouring every millisecond that I was able to think about, focus, pay attention to, see, hear, feel, touch, taste, experience, something, anything, beautiful in the world. The real tragedy of it, is seeing how much I hated myself. I thought about the person I love most in the world, and when he told me about punching himself in the face until it was swollen almost beyond recognition, because he hurt so badly, about what someone else did. I thought about that when I was driving down the highway and caught myself smashing my head into the head rest of my seat because I couldn’t stop the fear, kill the pain, kill the pain, kill the pain. I thought about the suffering that this truth, the truth that led to the trigger, has caused me, and I thought about how I should have acted differently 34 years ago and wouldn’t be here now had I not been so desperate, then, when I was 18, and broken.
He, Dickwad-what’s-his-name, or anyone like him, should not, will not, ever get that kind of power over me again. Some day, I will give you the details, and pray, that this particular lesson is learned, for real for real. Funny thing, it all started because I cannot live (with) a lie, I had to tell someone about something that has caused me untold pain for 34 years. I did not hear the words I got back, I did not examine the evidence against my fearful thoughts well enough to see and believe what was real. I allowed white space and the past to inform my thoughts and feelings. I believed my own (mis)interpretations of what is happening. I allowed
E vidence to
It could very well have cost me a very beautiful thing, the next great thing. It is here. I will cherish it more than ever. Thank you for being there through it with me. You may not know the details, and you may not realize how you helped, I may not even know you personally, but you were there, I felt you. And for that, I thank the God of my understanding, and you, always those of you, that know, me, my humanity. Thank you, for not letting me get lost in the forest, thank you, for holding my hand, through the scary.
Yours, as always,
~Myla: Unfiltered. March 16, 2014.
…I hung suspended in time, until the arrow of (y)our essence punctured my heart, and it bled, like a red candle, hot, languid, to the centre of my humanity, into my soul…
…I have waited, poised, with the faith of one blessed with the knowledge that when you breach(ed) my armour, I would see you, know you, and encounter precisely, whom I intuited you to be…
…I wear, with the deepest humility, the open shackles of (y)our love, black for the darkness you embolden me to embrace in the profound absence of shame, white for the light, the surrender of my heart to (y)ours, and any vestige of ill-will I harbour toward those who came before you, us, you are not them, we are not they…
…I will bare my true face, devoid of the pretense and painted masks we both disdain, knowing, that trust is earned with honesty, and love, is at the core of your desire to see me stripped, of the tattered remnants of defense that remain, to shield the nudity of my core, from (y)ours…
…I will, at liberty, be a slave to (y)our love, barring only that my enslavement, should begin to take precedence over my respect for, and love of, self, and threaten to subjugate, my own soul…
With reverence, for you Affy, and for me, and for us, and with all the love I have,
(Photo: Craig Morey)
Edited February 12, 2015