Wednesday, October 2, 2013

A Spark from a Dream Catcher

I can't even begin to pinpoint where exactly that my mind is at in the current moment. All I can tell you is that something is connecting. Something is twitching these dormant nerves of mine to spark through my soul and travel via keyboard. I've had so much on my mind lately, so much that I just need to release it and let go. If you are reading this then you know how much of a hometown girl I am. Cincinnati is my Queen. I love my city, in fact, so much that I moved out of my city at one point just for the view of the infamous Skyline on the back-deck of the Newport Nest. There was a certain conversation that arose at one of my last nights working at the best chili joints on the West-Side. A co-worker of mine, my brother...I should say.....(we had always ended up working at places together and he essentially became family), looked at me and said, "Breezy, I think you'll come right're way too much of a hometown girl". When Brady and I have arguments he usually says, "I think you just want to go home". It sucks. Being homesick sucks. I'm still not over it....Holidays are hard....birthdays are excruciating....not being able to meet up for a quick lunch with my Mama is disastrous. But I must press on. Hopefully the warmth emulating from the light at the end of the tunnel isn't just my imagination. Something big happened today....a step in the right direction....a fully-charged spark....a possible fulfillment of a dream...and even if it doesn't come true....I took a step. I can literally taste it....and it seems quite delicious...damn delicious I'd say.

        The notebook that I had chose to escort me on this quick journey just so happened to be one of my composition books from the time I attempted community college at Cincinnati State. My journal entry reads... "I lived in Tampa, Florida for five months this past year,and it felt like I was living on a different planet. The Midwest is a friendly. We smile at strangers, we hold open doors at grocery stores, and even bestow hellos' upon others animal companions. Down South things are a bit different. The confederate flag is seen as much as Bengals merchandise, bump stickers such as, "American by birth, Southern by the grace of God" and "We don't give a damn how you do it up North" flood the cabs of pick-up trucks and the usual p.o.s.'s.
          The attitude is that of the past, and that which is unfriendly. In Cincinnati, I am happily greeted at any place of business, down in Tampa, most gas-station attendants could care less if your eyes met. Even though us Cincinnatians have many differences, we still have a very strong sense of community-togetherness. The few months I lived in Florida there was almost an alien presence about these people. Smiles didn't really exist, at least not for free. Nascar and sweet-tea are the main staple down South, while us Northerners enjoy football and chili. I might go on vacation down South...but a place where happiness isn't free isn't for me."

Now....I'm not in Cincinnati anymore....taking a canoe trip in the land of 10,000 lakes. No, not canoeing, driving around in Snowbell....venturing to and fro....going with the motions. Well, I'm ready to go down some raging rapids. I need to make my city proud...make those gems in her crown sparkle. I think Iggy Azalea's song "Work" is my new motivation. I tried to expel her....but I can't. That song gets me hyped. All I can do is dismiss my homesick-depression and catch my dreams..not just chase them. I feel like I never was able to say goodbye the proper way...the time flew by too fast for me to fully realize the extent of my decision. Taking the majestic view of that Skyline for granted. Now I see it in my daydreams...screaming at me to get up off my ass. Well....I hear you loud and clear.

Sunday, February 17, 2013


Music in my eardrums....yet again. Playlist titled "Home". All sweet melodies that make my soul expel what feels like warm rainbows that I'm sure a wiccan would see. Home is that warm-fuzzy feeling that makes you content with the world, thanking the Universe(God) for bringing it's wrath upon you and being able to walk away, completely beaten and yet barely scathed. Fuck you, Universe. Not fuck you like I hate you, fuck you like a friend that's bustin your ovaries(balls). I'll take all the shit you can bring.....literally. This ping-pong match is far from over. I know you'll aim for my left-side, and I'll laugh at my failed-returns, but I'll stay in the game. Home is that appreciative sense of being-protected, loved, grateful, generous, completely and utterly spoiled. The Universe continuously reminds of how it is gentle and kind, and don't piss it off. Life is so much easier when we look at everything we have as a blessing, the rough shit can be terrible...and I hate how much people say "forget the past". Im-fucking-possible. You can be a strong-ass female, and you can say that bullshit-mantra to yourself for as long as you want...but it ain't goin nowhere. You make the past your bitch. Smack the past around, mentally pimp-smack it like it stole your money. Actions of your past are to serve as a guide. What did you did you handle should you have handled it.....don't do it again. Your past is a mountain that you climbed like an Everest of emotions. You can give your heart away as much as you want....fact's yours. It pumps blood through that body, heals it, and will self-destruct at it's own time. That heart is forever yours. YOU need that to live. However, on occasion, I have definitely felt like mine just decided to take a vacation, go somewhere on a beach, lounging on a hammock in the shade.....watching the sun set, while sipping a delicious, tropical fruity-drink.
              I feel like I got off topic. I know I wanted to write a piece on how grateful I am with my life despite the fact that I've been cerebrally sucker-punched. Taylor Swift obviously has been. She's on right now, this chick swims in past-mistakes. Like, she's taking laps in her own tears. I guess continuous heartbreak is worth millions of dollars. That John Mayer is an asshole though....she was definitely to young to be messed with. Alright, Taylor....not now. (changing the song) "Scar Tissue" feels just right, right about now. I love the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Their infamous Halloween show was in Minneapolis this past year.....and I'll regret not getting tickets for that for awhile....sighhhhhhh. Music has always been in my life consistently....helping me through the Universe's challenges, holding the ice on my swollen soul after a triumphant win. You just gotta remember......fucking win.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Burying the Horse.

I'm usually influenced by music. Most people are, even if they don't want to admit it. Music influences everything. Music is life's gift. Music has the capability to change your life, or at least help you make sense of things that you feel, because someone, somewhere, has felt the same thing. My song of the day has been Florence and the Machine's "Shake it Out". This song has almost brought me to tears with each press of the back button.
    "I've been a fool and I've been blind, I can never leave the past behind." I have so many times, on so any occasions, wished that I could forget so many things. But I have learned that no matter how much I wish I could change things, they are mine to keep. It's just letting them seep in and quit giving them the power to expose me at every chance they get. They are marks on my soul, not another's. The internal tattoos that tell my heart's path on the journey of me. I remember posting a status on facebook once saying, "Sometimes, I really wish I could Eternal-Sunshine-of-my-Spotless-Mind myself." Or something along those lines. Promptly, one of my fellow-librans immediately responded, "Then you would never be who you are today." True, very true indeed. But with healing, there is swelling. As a manic-depressant, swelling to me is that feeling when that anxious-wave cascades upwards through your body as that warm sting behind your eyes releases their tattle-tales. Then the release, and the deep breath.
    "It's hard to dance with a devil on your back." I was just explaining the other day to my significant-other that my depression is my demon. I prefer to be non-medicated. Well, I self-medicate, in a very herbal way. Say what you want about marijuana being a gateway drug, it's simply not true. I will not give you all my explanations right now because it is just not the time in which I wish to dive into that. It's obviously moving up by itself. Back to this demon. There is no greater struggle than the heavy-weight death-match against that horrible demon that continuously tries to envelop you in it's madness. Some of us lose the fight, and the soldiers that are here still fighting the good fight bow their heads and release our own 21 gun salute. This demon is an asshole, says the meanest shit and thinks he can just get away with it. Well I'm still here, pounding the pavement in my asshole-demon suit of armor, with music as my shield.