Songs Are Like Tattoos

LJ Idol: Exhibit A

2013-01-17T21:54:28Z

Hello all,

I'm not dead, and I'm hoping to get a spot in Exhibit A.

Bring on the challenge. I should have the attention span for this one. ;)

Ready, set, therealljidol

Bridge

2012-04-11T00:14:44Z

Steel skeletons and concrete skin
span over waters cold and wide.

My two homes lie on either side,
the sins that divided them buried in the deep.

Childhood journeys in rusty cars,
my father and I together and alone.

Music fills the great divide,
our bridge between absence and truth.

Steel skeletons and concrete skin
will never let me forget.

Partner?

2012-04-09T01:18:03Z

I'm slightly concerned.

I have not been on line a lot due to real life (and that giant holiday us Christians love called Easter) so I don't have a partner for LJI.

I have to write "Bridge" and need a "straw that stirs the drink" partner.

Anyone free?

Please say you are free, lest I weep with sadness.

The Straw that Stirs the Drink

2012-04-02T22:21:27Z

And when my task on earth is done, When by Thy grace the victory’s won, Even death’s cold wave I will not flee, Since God through Jordan leadeth me.
-He Leadeth Me (Hymn)

Our three voices melted together in the southern style that Grandma loved so dearly. These two talented women on either side of me had known her for twenty years and generously gave of their talents to the joyous gospel tune that would have thrilled her heart.

"When I die, I want them to sing at my funeral," Grandma had declared countless times after a rousing performance by the mother-daughter duo in a Sunday service.

"Ok, Grandma," I would always respond, knowing full well that death could never claim a woman so strong and vivacious.

I never thought two falls and a bruised brain would be enough to steal her from me. And yet, less than a month after my engagement, I found myself in a church full to bursting with those who had been touched by the vibrant woman I called Grandma. I was in awe of the impact of one life on so many and wondered who else would be in the room if she had remained on this Earth for as long as we had all hoped? Surely an extra 15 years would have allowed her to share her broad smile and biting wit with new friends. My teenage children might have been sitting on the first row, hands entangled with those of their older cousins, hearts broken at the loss of their vivacious great-grandmother.

I realized with a sudden sense of irony that there never would have been a right time for her to die. I would miss her fried chicken, tightly curled silver hair, and bell-like laugh whether she had left me last week or 15 years from now. As transient as my life had been, Grandma was the solid bridge that kept me connected to home.

As I reclaimed my seat on the stage, my mercifully dry eyes fell on my sweet mother who stood to deliver a tribute to the woman who had given her life. Their relationship had been troubled at times, but grief remembers no conflict and the loss of a parent creates a chasm that swallows harsh words. She spoke of a bond forged later in life by a shared faith and commitment to a family that struggled to keep its head above water.

It didn't take long for us all to drown.

Death unmasks the monsters long dormant in those who cannot face it. They emerge, angry and hungry, tearing family ties with their claws of bitterness and greed. Two of the three men that called my mother "sister" betrayed us with their words, accusing her of treachery and forever destroying the tenuous peace that had existed for so long. It didn't matter that she was the one who had moved in with Grandma, feeding her meals and dealing with the doctors while they retreated to safer places. Their rage at the universe for stealing their mother was satisfied by punishing my mother and fleeing with the material possessions left in the wreckage. The guilt and shame they try to hide has left our family fractured, the empty chairs at holiday meals reminding us that we have lost more than one piece of our puzzle.

I don't believe in closure anymore. By definition, that term conjures up the image of closing a door and moving forward as you were before. Loss is not like that. Grief is the process of letting a new reality absorb into your soul. As time goes on, the pain lessens, but the change is permanent. As much as I would like to forever leave them all behind me and travel on without regard for their existence, I don't believe that is possible. These turbulent times have shaped my understanding of family and how to maintain the foundation no matter the circumstance. Freedom has come from realizing that we all viewed Grandma as the glue rather than laboring to maintain relationships independent of her. This lesson has stirred within my heart a sense of urgency to protect the family I do have from the ravages of these eventual tragedies. Leaving the door open to look back and remember without bitterness is what will bring true healing and help me to grow my family with care. I am learning to wish the same for them.

I think Grandma would be proud.

**My intersection parter for this week is the lovely and talented
dblicher

Bassinets and Cigaretts

2012-03-26T21:09:32Z

Tinley sat on the front porch steps, bathing in the amethyst light of early evening, cigarette dangling lazily from her left hand. She hadn't smoked in five years, but under the circumstances, it seemed like the least destructive option. She had seriously considered dragging all of the nursery furniture to the curb for the garbage truck to collect, or starting a large bonfire in the front yard using the 60 congratulations cards they had received as kindling. In the end, she opted for pilfering a few of Carter's cigarettes from the "secret stash" he kept in his guitar case under the bed. She figured she would smoke until she passed out or felt better; which ever one came first.

She could hear Carter inside, yelling at someone (probably the lawyer) on the phone.

"We have given thousands to this girl… You said it was a done deal!… How can she do this?"

Tinley fixed her emerald eyes on her bare feet and began counting the veins she could see poking out through her tanned skin. No matter how much she smoked and counted, the vision of that tiny baby…her baby…would not retreat. It clung to her brain and forced out defiant angry tears.

The phone had rang at 4 AM that morning, pulling both of them from a fitful sleep. Tinley flew for the phone, hoping this was the call she had been awaiting for seven months…and ten years.

"Tinley," it was Eliza's desperate teenage voice on the other end, "Tinley, I'm in labor. I'm in labor…"

Tinley had tried to calm the sobbing girl while pulling on old jeans and one of Carter's faded Rolling Stones T-Shirts.

"Don't worry, we're coming…we're coming…everything is going to be ok, Eliza."

Carter was ten steps ahead of her, waving the car keys around in the air hurrying her off the phone. She smiled and hung up, filled with an overwhelming sense of joy.

As they pulled into the hospital parking lot ten minutes later, Carter paused before getting out of the car. He held his wife's hand tightly and smiled in a way she had never seen.

"Ready, Mama?" He asked, reaching for his door handle.

Without a word, she kissed him and jumped from the car, racing frantically toward the front doors and the future that was finally theirs. After years of wrestling with infertility, God had brought them Eliza, the girl who was going to let them raise her baby as their own. Tinley was initially nervous about this arrangement. There had been so many failed attempts that she didn't dare to hope this could be different. But as she entered the hospital, faithful husband by her side, she knew the little girl that was coming to them was meant to be her daughter.

Now, just 12 hours later, the dream had evaporated. Tinley was holding her little angel in her arms when Eliza announced she wanted to keep her. The rest of the morning was a blur. The one thing Tinley did recall was that a nurse had to practically wrestle the baby from her grasp.

Carter came out of the house and settled in next to her. He slipped his arm around her and she melted into him, still clutching the smoldering cigarette.

"What did he say?" She asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"We…we might have a chance. Maybe Eliza will change her mind." He ran a hand through her thick brown hair but couldn't bring himself to look at her.

She breathed in the warmth of his lie and offered him one of her own.

"I think she will…I think she will."

They sat in the empty silence watching the sun, and their hope, disappear.

A Letter

2012-03-19T23:53:44Z

As someone who was once remarkably gifted at self sabotage, I understand you better than you'd like to believe. Time has past and we are both very different now. You have a toddler, hair that's too long, and a Quaker sensibility that seems to keep you from the bottom of a bottle. I'm almost married, have slightly more fluff around the middle than you remember, and am still hunting for my life's purpose. The chasm of four years lies between what we shared and who we have become. In my darker moments, I feel as if those are our real selves back there now buried under age and an obligation to let go. Then I remind myself that gaping wounds don't make a person more valid or relevant and thank God I heal a little every day.

Do you have to do that too?

Our's was a destructive love born out of dysfunction on both our parts. Perhaps that is why you were easier to forgive than the others; we are still the same inside, you and I. We've had to forgive ourself and those who have hurt us for a lot. True forgiveness is a salve that heals over time. It is slow and I eventually learned that it is more about setting myself free from the anger and bitterness than releasing those who have hurt me from all responsibility. It just isn't my job to punish them…or you.

You were raised in a culture of lies. Adopted into a family who used your warm body for money, deceived you about your age and origin, and left you to an institution as a teenager, I find it natural that the distortion of truth became your natural coping mechanism. I admit, when I discovered you were with three other women while you claimed I was the one and only, I dissolved. Crushed under the weight of that truth (which to this day we have never spoken openly about) I didn't ever want to let anyone put me back together.

I'm sorry I called you so much that October. Your abrupt disappearance left me lost and I held out hope I could fix you. That was who I had always been, the one who could repair the broken…everyone besides myself. Lying on my bathroom floor dialing your number over and over again seemed like a perfectly rational response to your declaration that we could no longer speak. If I showed you how much I loved you, it would all be made right. It didn't matter to me in that moment how many pills I had taken or how loud I was screaming into your voicemail that would never talk back. All that mattered was convincing you that us being together would make everything right. O, how wrong I was.

The end of us was the beginning of my healing. I dragged my bedraggled body and heart into therapy, hanging on by a strand of hope that life was worth living. I was never really angry at you. I was angry about a lot of things that have happened to me, but never you. I was hurt by your betrayal, but I understood it. Damaged people damage others. It is a harsh fact of life and I've hurt my fair share in my time.

There was never any closure with us; no long conversation where we hashed everything out and apologized through stale tears. There were only a few dramatic phone calls from you (usually incredibly drunk) and a sudden wedding announcement that arrived in the mail. As strange as it sounds, that paper crane was the closest you ever got to an apology. It was as if you said, "That man who hurt you so is dead. I'm starting over and I need your acceptance."

Some might view sending your X a wedding announcement between you and one of the women with whom you cheated on me cruel. I don't. Truthfully, I think it was brave.

I wish I was that brave.

I pray you've found your peace. I believe I've finally found mine.

I just wanted you to know.

Michicant by Bon Iver from Bon Iver (Rating: 0)

Michicant by Bon Iver from Bon Iver (Rating: 0)

Thanks, beautiful people

2012-03-12T03:48:32Z

Thanks everyone who has voted for me so far in the SCI poll. I have never been at the very top of one of these before, and I admit, it feels really nice. Even if the results change over the next day, I just wanted to thank everyone for voting for the piece. It made me smile.

You are all dear, sweet things.

B

What this girl needs now is….

2012-03-10T04:40:56Z

Hi all.

I've really been pouring my little heart out in these SCI entries and I'd really really really really like a spot back in the game. I almost feel like I've used up all my creative on these battle rounds, but I know that isn't true. If you could just take one tiny little moment and click
here to vote
I'd love you always and forever. The top half of the polls go back into the main go while the rest get the ax.

Thanks for all of our support. If you loved the entry in question, please consider poking a friend or two for a vote. Last week I really laid it all out there, but I still stand by this piece.

Hearts to all.

Goin To Carolina In My Mind

2012-03-09T00:44:11Z

There is nothing more soothing to my soul than memories of hot North Carolina summers spent at family reunions. July afternoons spent in the grass with rabbit dogs, red plastic cups filled with sweet tea, and bellies full of fried chicken colored my early childhood with southern bliss. Even now, I harbor fantasies of picking up and moving to a tiny farming town to raise my yet to be born children and three beagles. I will be hard pressed to convince my city dweller fiancé of the beauty of this kind of life, but a girl can dream.

One visit to the home of my dearly departed Great Grandma Briley stands out in my memory. I'm unable to recall the exact day and year, but I remember important aspects in crystal clear detail; the way Great Grandma's hands moved as she crocheted a bright blue afghan, how the sun poured through the dusty windows of her tiny old house and lit up her snowy crown of hair, the lilting sound of her voice as she told stories of times long past. I didn't understand at the time that she didn't know half of us gathered around her in the room due to the hurricane called dementia that had ravaged her brain. All I knew was that the woman who had given me her name told fabulous stories about her childhood spend reading under the porch of her daddy's farm at the turn of the 20th century. It was a time I had only read of in books and was enraptured by her tales.

"I once stole Daddy's chew," she recalled, her eyes meeting mine.

"What's chew?" I asked from my section of pine floor next to her rocking chair.

"It's tobacco that you chew. Nasty stuff if you ask me, but I wanted to be like daddy."

"So what did you do?"

A smiled played at the corners of her delicate mouth. "I crawled under the porch where I loved to sit, and I chewed it. I mean I chewed that entire tin of tobacco. O child, I tell you, I've never been sicker in my life."

We all laughed hardily, including my Meme (Great Grandma's daughter) who had spent most of the day uncharacteristically quiet. She had heard this story a thousand times but she still found it in her heart to let out a chuckle.

It is a simple memory, but one I cherish. It was the last time I saw that institution of a lady alive. Since then, I've heard so many stories about who Great Grandma Briley was. But, somehow, in the midst of the 98 years she was on this earth, we all make our way back to the telling of this simple story. Not only is the image of a four year old girl chomping on chew amusing, but there was something in the way she spoke about her childhood that pulled us all into her memory. Somewhere in her frayed and torn mind, she still had the will to share with those in her home the gems from her childhood. We were virtually strangers to her at the end of her days, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the sharing of stories, precious memories, so they wouldn't whither away.

Maybe what I really want isn't about raising my family in the deep south. Maybe what I want is the kind of closeness that comes with the sharing of those stories. I want a place to hold my children and grandchildren close and to make sure they know how to remember…even if I one day forget.

Second Look-Second Chance Idol, Week 3

2012-03-01T23:07:09Z

I've always been somewhat of a wanderer. Some would call me a kinesthetic learner, others would call me directionless. In any event, I have made my own way in life and accomplished (or failed) at whatever I set my hand to on my own terms. I've made some horrible life choices, but also have many successes to my name. I'm going on 26 and have a pretty good life all by God's grace. I have a man that loves me and who is committing himself to me forever, a lovely home, a loving (though slightly dysfunctional) family, a master's degree in the works…not a bad run for a girl who just a few short years ago was on the edge of mental collapse. I should be fulfilled and complete.

And, mostly, I am.

There is just a short, sweet phrase that has been following me around lately which is worming its way underneath my normally thick skin.

"I'm pregnant."

These are the words spoken to me by several people in my life as of late. My sister, sister-in-law, not to mention several friends and acquaintances from church are all deciding to procreate at the same time. One of my bridesmaids might even be pregnant at my wedding.

I know what everyone wants me to say. I should write about how we're all relatively young and babies suck your life away. I should write about how my first priority is my career and being successful in my chosen field (whatever that ends up being). I should write about how the female obsession over biological clocks and giving birth annoys the snot out of my liberated, feminist self.

Yet, I can't bring myself to lie.

Something deep inside my soul aches when I hear those simple words. Whenever I hold a baby, play with a friend's little ones, work with kids in my practicum experiences, or (let's be honest) pass a baby on the way to the metro, my eyes well up with the tears of longing.

I used to think I didn't want children. If you had told me I'd be so desperate to have a child ten (even five) years ago, I would have told you to get your head examined.

So what has changed?

Perhaps part of it is I'm no longer 19. I know that as we grow older, our desires and priorities shift quite a bit. It is a part of this natural process called "growing up" I keep hearing so much about.

Another aspect is that I'm far healthier (both physically and emotionally) than I've ever been (though perhaps this illustrates I still have a bit to work through before I can be cleared for parenthood). All in all, I like myself enough to believe I will be a good mother. I've managed to find (and keep) a man who will be a wonderful father which is important to me. I've worked hard to strengthen strained family relationships so that my children will have access to extended family. I've slept in my trenches and dug myself out…all in all, I've earned it.

But there is something else at the root of the emptiness that keeps finding me in spite of my rapid running.

Just after turning 21, I found myself pregnant and completely broken.
I made the choice I wish every day I could reverse.
I know God has forgiven me, and I have come so far in extending that grace to myself for taking the life of a child that had no choice. I am learning how to take this experience and help others through post abortion trauma.

But I still miss my baby. I know having another wouldn't "make up" for the life that was lost. I understand that it would be a different baby at a time in my life where I am ready to be a mother. I know that even if I had made a different choice, I still wouldn't have that child with me. He or she would be in the capable hands of parents who could give them a life I couldn't have at that time. I know I'd still be feeling this sadness and sense that my heart is missing a piece. But, I can't pretend that my desire to make things right and to prove to myself that I am a good mother (even though I wasn't the first go round) doesn't contribute to my current dilemma. It is all very muddy and full of gray empty spaces that my words are unable to fill.

For now, all I can do is smile and congratulate those in my life who have this joy I so desperately covet. I will trudge through as I always do, head held high in the midst of the storm, trying fervently not to give the infant next to me on the train a second look.

Michicant by Bon Iver from Bon Iver (Rating: 0)

Who doesn't love a second chance?

2012-02-10T04:03:32Z

What can I say…I'm a glutton for punishment.

I'm back in, folks. Let's see if the real life monster eats me again. For once, I'd like to be properly eliminated rather than self destructing.

Let's give it a go.

It is time for
therealljidol

Reading old entries can be an interesting exercise

2011-05-28T02:42:42Z

Yes, I did find some typos, but overall, I find my entries from the past few years, (though they be a bit infrequent at times), interesting and useful when reflecting on that time in my life. Also, reading some old Idol entries, I must admit, the thought, "Damn...I wrote that?" may have crossed my mind a few times in a completely self indulgent and narcissistic way.

If anyone is interested in reading some of them, feel free to clickity click through my tags. The "Courtney" tagged, (named for my older sister), provides some particularly interesting reading.

Ok. Back to your regularly scheduled lives.

Trails I've Walked

2011-01-26T04:03:16Z

Trials are blocks that build me up,
squares on a quilt that is my life.
They are memories of vodka slumbers,
nameless faces and hands that weren't mine,
ghosts of needs I never wanted,
and empty silence fueled by time.

Trials are trails I wandered down,
the walks that have brought me here.
Though my scars are vivid still,
I know the walk is worth the tears.

This is my entry for Second Chance Idol over at [Unknown LJ tag]

I've spent two hours on the phone with Suddenlink Cable trying to sort out my internet woes. Finally, I walked across the street to my boyfriend's house to post this. His internet didn't work either, so I'm hunched next to the window pirating the neighbor's. Mercy...I cry mercy...

Second Chance Idol Week 2

2011-01-19T02:41:34Z

"Hey, Courtney. It's me...your long lost sister."

It's Christmas day, but you're not answering your phone. Sending me to voicemail must be your passive punishment for my sins.

"I just wanted to call and say merry Christmas."

Hoping you would answer to say the same was obviously futile.

"I wish I was there with you guys. Give Eve and Caddie kisses for me."

Maybe if we talked more like the close sisters I wish we were, you'd know not being around to be a real aunt to them is hard for me. I want a relationship with them beyond Thanksgivings and photographs.

"I know I need to call more often..."

But somehow, I always get your voicemail. You hardly return them, and when you do, the conversation fizzles out after ten minutes when you have something more pressing to do.

"I love you."

I love you, but I don't know you at all. All I have are shared memories of melted plastic coffee pots, pink Barbie bikes, and shared weekends at Dad's with Sweet Valley High and board games.

"Bye."

I hate saying goodbye. Sunday evening was always my least favorite time of the week. It meant I'd leave, and we went back to our separate lives, six years, forty minutes, and a million miles apart. But neither of us ever said how it hurt, and maybe it's too late now, the damage done and irreversible. I know I built up walls. and I think you did too. I used distance, you used a husband and family. Either way, maybe we've blamed each other for things we couldn't control. Maybe... maybe...

"Call me soon, ok?"

Click click

2011-01-12T05:07:35Z

Sidebar: Heartburn feels odd. It's almost like lava is rolling about in your chest but you have no control over it.

Anywho...

Have a link to vote for my first second chance Idol entry. I was all early for the first two deadlines, so please do not make my efforts be in vain, unless you thought it was horrible...then you don't have to vote for me.

http://community.livejournal.com/therealljidol/412468.html

Good night my lovelies.

Second Chance Introduction

2011-01-05T15:48:05Z

Woman, daughter, sister, aunt, best friend, future wife...

Broken, scarred, wanderer, empty...

Christian, adopted by grace, forgiven, loved, filled, renewed...

I am, (or have been), all of these things. Some pieces are seen by others, others I hold close to myself. I have a past, a story like everyone else. I am human, and that is the common ground we all share. I will tell my stories, sometimes completely truth as I recall it, others fragments of truth with fictional masks. We all have the desire to know and be known. I look forward to knowing you, and for you to take what you will from my journey.

This is my introduction for Second Chance Idol over at therealljidol

To introduce myself

2010-10-31T21:07:58Z

This morning was when I made the final decision to sign up. As a result, this week 0 topic is a little late, but I hope I'm not the only one who is a bit behind. (There may or may not have been some confusion over a time change...shah...don't tell on me).

Everyone approaches this topic in different ways every season. Some use it as an opportunity to poetically reveal hints about themselves, and some simply outline the basics. I was slightly more poetic in last year's introduction, but figure I'll keep it simple this go round.
12 Tidbits About Briley

I am a Virginia native, but have been transplanted to Ruston Louisiana, and am surprisingly loving small town life.
Nothing comes in-between me and my friends...or chocolate.
Twenty-four is my favorite age so far.
Riding horses is a recently acquired passion of mine.
Ovens used to frighten me...stop judging me. I'm getting over it.
Dogs, (particularly my amazing German Shepherd guide dog, Wrangler), gives me a reason to smile even when I am at my lowest points.
Ultimately, my goal is to merge my music career and my passion for helping blind children receive the best education possible.
Change is something on which I thrive.
Trust is something I do not give easily.
Ironing relaxes me...laundry, however, is the bane of my existence.
On top of my head sits chocolate brown hair...for now.
Night is my favorite time of the day, though here lately, I require more sleep.

These are just tiny morsels of what I am. I hope this peaks your interest to keep reading and voting week after week.

The Love I know by Pfr from Very Best Of PFR (Rating: 0)

LJ Idol...take 2

2010-10-31T13:43:41Z

Hello all!

I know it has been 10247 years since I've posted, but I had to come out of the woodwork for the new season of therealljidol

We'll see how long everyone will put up with me. :)

The Love I know by Pfr from Very Best Of PFR (Rating: 0)

____hejira @ 2009-12-22T11:49:00

2009-12-22T17:49:19Z

Real life ate me.

My run in therealljidol is complete for now. I hate that for the second season in a row, I'm not out due to lack of votes, but due to other issues. I had exams, then I traveled to Virginia, and have been a lot more busy than I firt thought I would be.

I'm going to continue to vote and play the home game. Who knows. Maybe I'll make it back in later in the game.

I am alive though, and my MacBook Pro comes today! I, needless to say, am most excited.

If anyone has any resources on how to use GarageBand with Voiceover 3 and ILife 9, please let me know. I just can't find any. I found a lot about ILife 8 and Leopard... but other than that, nothing.

Huggs to all, and a merry Christmas/OtherSignificantHoliday.

Well...I'll take what I can get

2009-12-12T21:11:17Z

Well... clauderainsrm has offered to let me stay in another week, (he can't edit the poll for this week...wrote an emotionally taxing entry for nothing I guess). But still, I get to stay in. I also had to agree to forefit a spot in the top ten if I made it that far. Suppose he doesn't want it to look like I got special treatment, which I understand. Maybe I'll feel different about it if I make it that far, but for now, I'm ok with it. I hope people at least read the entry, and vote for others.

I will post the poll with recs later.

Love to all.

LJ Idol, Week 7, One Touch

2009-12-12T20:31:20Z

Dear ------,

I still dream about you.

In the place between sleep and awake, I find you there, tiny and faceless. Sometimes I am in a vast forest, and I see you lying under a tree, bathed in inky shadow. Other times, I find you on an island shore, your little voice piercing the silence and salty sea air, calling out for me to save you.

I always try to reach you.

I run through the tangled woods, legs pumping furiously, heart knocking against my tightening chest.

I swim through the choppy green water, hands clawing at angry surf, lungs protesting against my attempts.

Yet I can never close the gap between us.

I awake in the dark, sweat pouring from me, angry tears spilling onto my cheeks.

My eyes long to see your precious face, and my voice begs to soothe your tears. But most of all, my arms ache to hold you, hands crying out to feel your soft skin.

I know I haven't earned this privilege; the sacred right to comfort you like a mother would. I have left you somewhere I can never go, and this is my penance. I don't deserve you.

Not even in my dreams.

A/N: Thanks to clauderainsrm for extending a bit of grace to me in the midst of a frustrating situation. I do appreciate it so.

Can't sleep, so am posting instead.

2009-12-08T05:41:35Z

Hey kids!

Yes, I do live. And yes, I am doing a lot better. I had a good restful weekend singing with some great people that light up my life. the kind comments and Emails from all of you were really great too. I am back on the horse of life, and I'll be ok. You may see an occasional sad entry, but I am an artist, and it takes us a while to stop hurting. But I am not on the edge of a mental breakdown, so no worries.

In other news, the
LJ Idol poll is up
I'd really appreciate if you
would read my entry
and even if you don't vote, comment, and pass it on to your friends. I am working hard on these pieces, and while I don't need to have the top number of votes, I want enough to secure a spot in the next round. I really believe in this entry, and wouldn't ask if I didn't need some assistance promoting myself.

Ok begging over.

GOing to bed now. SO tired.

Peace and love.

LJ Idol, Week 6, Sunrise

2009-12-02T08:50:13Z

The beach is most beautiful in winter. It stretches as far as the eye can see, naked and unmarred by the tourists and pickup trucks of summer. I sit on a faded blue blanket at the water's edge, cold packed sand beneath me, eyes fixed on the churning surf bathed in an icy glow.

She dances with the morning mist, wild and untamed, a majestic blend of salt, smoke, and seaweed. I love her; I love her because she wears no masks. She laughs and weeps and rages, revealing herself with every wave that pushes its way toward me, and I am jealous of her honesty. I stretch my legs out in front of me, burying my narrow pale feet into the earth, a desperate attempt to feel dirty, raw, and real like the sea I envy so much. She sees my weakness, and spits in my eye, scoffing at my futile attempt at authenticity.

Minutes pass, and the sky stretches out his hand, waiting for my embrace. I wrench my eyes from the glittering water, moving them upward to watch stale light reflect off of swirling rose and lilac clouds. I've seen this a thousand times before, but his lie is new every morning, and I am eager to believe. As usual, he has come dressed in his finest, assuring me that today is new, full to overflowing with promise. I know by now that there is no redemption, no new beginnings, not for me.

Even so, we all find our own way to survive. I pull my feet free from their brown cocoons, close my eyes, and let the morning kiss me. It is warm and comfortable, and I wrap myself tightly in the deceit of hope. I will leave the ocean to speak the things I cannot, and surrender myself to the waiting arms of dawn.

Reccomendations

2009-11-24T01:59:29Z

I figured since I was on my couch, sick, I might as wwell reccomend some reading.

This gem
is a great read brought to us by joeymichaels
It is sad, but very well written.

cacophonesque
really has a
way with words
that's for sure.

For a laugh, read this
helarious tale of vengeful chocolate milk
brought to us by rattsu

vote here
and support these writers!

Throat grimlins strike again...

2009-11-24T00:02:45Z

My huggs to all LJ Idol participants. I am reading and voting, and I will get to commenting. Just can't swallow, have chills, and want to crawl in a hole.

See you all on the flipside.