Ash'stash

Sometimes I just wanta go Domino Harvey on someone’s ass…

When I’m reading a book I like to turn to the last page, not to read it, but to see how many pages are in it so I can count down to the very last minute.

Sometimes this is how I feel…

If it could rain forever, I would stay with you. But the rain dried up our endeavor, And you hadn’t a clue.

Lost in Translation

This feeling, not depression or sadness. Some what empty but not completely. In touch with reality. The reality that we might always be trapped and that we are the ones that trap ourselves. The great tradgity of reality.

Life can be, something so fragile and yet so strong.

-Inspired by the film Lost in Translations

Moment Saturday 2/5/11 1:33 pm

Sometimes it’s not the picture that’s worth a thousand words… it’s the moment.

Take Monday 1/17/11 2:08pm

You take from me what you want, a wolf in sheep’s skin. You sit beside me, Pretending to be kin. You tell me you love me, But love’s a empty word to you. You think I can’t see, Through your cracked mirror disguise. Translucent skin you could never behind hide.
But when you can’t see past your own face, Your beauty is only as thin as it’s base. I’m done with you oh wolf, Enough of your lies. I have nothing left for you to take, And I can see through you, it’s in your eyes.

Spelling for Pooh Bear

Spelling was never my thing. Why waste the time getting it perfect as long as I got my point across. I had a tutor once, though I’m not sure how it happened or where my parents got the money. She was a nice lady with a beagle and a porch where we would sit under a great umbrella and eat ginger cookies.

I must have passed some sort of test because it lasted less than the school year and I was passed off to the elementary’s bidding. It was third grade, one of my toughest years, and I along with a select few from my class were forced to attend spelling and grammar tutoring sessions during class. This meant an embarrassing announcement from out teacher every day at the same time informing us it was time for out tutoring lessons. I would stand up with the two or three others in my class also less capable of spelling, and with the eyes of the well spellers upon us we made our way to the door in a melancholy walk of shame.

Once we made it to the 6th grade classroom we were paired up with a 6th grade buddy that would attempted to teach us spelling every week. Who ever decided that 6th graders had both the maturity and communication skills needed to teach a group of 3rd graders, who had not grasped the subject the first time when they were taught by a 40 year old masters degree teacher, was greatly mistaken.

Each week was the same story. “Can you spell car-pet?” my high-strung Spanish 6th grade tutor would ask me. She would emphasize the word in a way that said, “English is my second language and I can even spell it, why not you whitey?”

“C A R P E T,” a younger girl in my class sitting across the table said politely.

“Good job,” her tutor said.

“See! Even she can spell it!” my tutor said. “You must be stupid to not be able to spell that word.” Her words were dripping with disgust..

And as I stood there in front of my teacher her words came sharply back to me. I could feel my face beginning to burn with my red embarrassment. I have received a “C” on a college physiology paper and had felt I received it unjustly. Despite my terrible spelling through out the years, I had continually done excellent in my classes. My teachers in the past must have looked past the spelling and grammar tangled papers and saw my meaning worthy of an “A.”

But here, after graduating high school with a GPA of 4.2 and receiving a Literary Award, I was once again face with this mocking girl.

“Your paper is full of spelling mistakes,” my old short balding physiology teacher said in his Winnie the Pooh voice. “You spell the word ‘whether’ like it’s cloudy out side.” He ended with a bit of a “ha” in a laughing matter.

Telling him I had never received lower than an “A” on a paper didn’t help my humiliation either and he laughed square in my face. By now it was all I could do to choke back the tears that began to well up, but I couldn’t get away. Nearby students were now looking over, probably attracted by my distressed voice, and Pooh had now cornered me between himself and the white board. He continued to point out my spelling mistakes and how he disagreed with my thesis.

Carpet… why couldn’t I spell carpet? I resorted to an old technique I learned in elementary school to keep from crying. Avoiding eye contact is the key, the higher up you look the better as well. But it still felt like centuries till his mocking lecture was complete. He must have noticed my embarrassment because he let me off easy, allowing me to rewrite my essay. But the damage was done, my confidence was shaken and I was cut to the bone.

I’m not sure why I couldn’t spell. Some people have told me it has to do with genes, which must be true because my mother still can’t spell, but I think I was just never taught properly.

I often think back on those days on the porch under the big umbrella. Even if I got it wrong there, there was always a second chance and an understanding smile. It was ok to make mistakes because I could always go back and fix them.

I rewrote the paper and got an “A,” but I still clearly felt the shame of not being able to spell the word carpet.

I think some day when I have the money I’ll hire some one to professionally proof read every thing I write… or maybe I’ll buy hooked on phonics.

Distance So Close
Thursday 3/25/10 
1:20am

It’s funny how you can feel so close to some one so far away and so distant to some one just in the other room. It’s even stranger to think that just two months ago the person in the other room used to share your bed.

Like a movie time line, I play back the images of the past couple of months in my head. I imagine myself spinning the wheel backwards. I spin back a week and see how different it was. Spin back a month, and the emotions and images are completely perpendicular. How can they change so fast? How can a heart turn, flutter and faultier, fill and fall? Like pictures flashing by.

Take a picture it will last longer.

A romantic hotel get away… a picture snapped with a forced smile… an intoxicated orgasm… secret smiles… eyes vomiting tears…

Pain, hurt, love, passion, obsession… a directing teacher told me once that it’s impossible to feel more than one emotion at once. That a person can’t be sad and happy at the same time… but the roller coaster of emotions I’ve strapped myself into seems to beg a differ.

But like one cigarette after another, I inhale, consume, and become over whelmed by each emotion. Sometimes one by one, sometimes all at once. Addiction. Like running to something in the distance that never gets closer. Out of breath out of time. Consumption.

Songs change meaning, places hold broken sorrow, memories float through like a soft breeze playing with the fabric of your curtains.

Sadness as things come to an end, fulfillment as things start again. Like being in two places at once, two feelings over lapping. Two stories weaving their tales. Inhaling both crisp air and hard nicotine.

Its that look in the eyes, the one so distant and yet so close.

Fade to black and start again.

Wrap around me like a ring. Flash a picture. Inhale in. Bed so cold, one side forgotten. Arms fold round, new heart beat found. New kisses, new sounds.

And you find the wheel has spun around again.