Not Just Above the Fold -- Top of the Page

I finally got a full size article that begins on the front page of the Press-Republican. Yes, my editor did have to edit the beginning because I haven't written that many hard news stories before, but most of it was left untouched.

I'm proud of it and I hope that someday I can get a front page article on a larger paper -- New York Times, maybe? Washinton Post?

We'll see...

But anyway, here's the link:

http://www.pressrepublican.com/archivesearch/local_story_198220917.html

At Least When I...

At least when I feel, I feel unequivocally,
Can’t nobody hurt like I can

At least when I cry
I cry unabashedly
And I look at you brazen eyed
Daring judgment on a life you’ve never known
Daring words of comfort that might fall short
But would be brave enough to make me believe in you

At least when I laugh
I laugh loudly
Echoing
Letting the waves roll from my diaphragm
And sing the sound of my joy
Daring you to call my humor uncouth
And judge intentions that aren’t yours
Daring you to overlook politically incorrect words in a way that
Might wound your character
But would be kind enough to make me want you

At least when I explain an anecdote halfheartedly
I have hope
That you will ask a question you have no right to
That borders on the edge of the personal
Where I could meet and deny you
But would be brash enough
To intrigue me

All That's in a Cigarette

I actually haven’t heard this song, but as far as lyrics go, I really, really like them. It’s called “Fa la la” (there might be a few more La’s there) by the Kooks:

I don't care and if I have to
I'll read your books
Cause they'll remind me of you
And I'll learn your notes
So that I have a clue
And I'll watch your films
So I'll know them through and through
And I'll do the things that remind me of you
And I'll wash my hair in your shampoo
And I'll buy your perfume
And spray it round my room
And I'll smoke your cigarettes
So that I'm dying too
And I'll call you up

Am I sane?

My absolute favorite part is the bit about the cigarettes, hence, of course, the italics. Because it reminds me of how I’ve felt about people for a long time. How I’ve felt about almost everyone I’ve loved intensely in my life. First, the Mundy’s (my twin childhood best friends from grade school) picked up the nasty habit, and now almost all my old friends smoke. My mother has smoked since the day I was born, and before, even for a few months while she was pregnant. My sister has just started too. And I’ve just slowly watched them all make all these grandiose mistakes, and do all the things that are bad for them, that will land them in a bad place years down the road, or next month, or maybe even tomorrow.

Smoking is symbolic. Symbolic of the stuff I wish I could save other people from, and myself from in the process, but instead, I just end up watching, and wasting away along with everything else around me.

The loving part comes in -- the notes, and films, and shampoo, and perfume, -- it comes from the good stuff. The songs I can sing with people to, the movies we can watch, and laugh, or cry at, and the scents we bombard ourselves with in the morning, if we so choose. But, no matter what, in the end, the relationship is self-destructive.

It’s taken me a long time in my life to love people who I know are productive for themselves most of the time (because no one can be 100 percent always), who work hard, are going to school, want to make a life for themselves. I’ve managed to make a few great friends that I think fit this description, and I consider myself more than a little bit fortunate for that. I don’t crave dysfunction anymore, or at least not completely, and that is a step.

I’m still looking, though. Still looking for it in the romantic sense. Who’s going to want to stay and make a life with me? I find myself perpetually afraid that because of all my baggage, I am too tainted to find love that is pure. That no one would want to touch the hard stuff I come with. That no one will ever want to be that personal.

I could just keep it all to myself, but does that not defeat the point of knowing someone? Knowing all of them. How they got here, what they’re scared of. Isn’t wanting someone about wanting the dark recesses of their soul along with the light. I want someone who isn’t afraid of me, who I can’t make uncomfortable even when I try. Who can take the dark stuff and light it up, make me laugh, even when I’m trying not to.

But also, to create something new with. Something that isn’t tainted and memories that do not hurt. Pure light that doesn’t have to be enhanced, but just is. Will anyone want to both know my past and make a brighter future? I hope so.

Nicole's Poem

Nicole wrote this. I'm keeping it for her because she usually throws her stuff away and wants it later, so I figure this way the poem is safeguarded.


I wish you knew how such a beautiful person you are, quirky and sometimes magical
I wondered if you know you have a special way with people,
And that sometimes when you look at me I get goosebumps and butterflies
You’re paralyze me with your moist brown eyes,
the ones that may not be particularly pretty but deep and emotional.
You’re someone I needed, you’re someone I wanted,
How beautiful you are to me, I must love you.
You’re the fabric that keeps me together, when I feel myself falling apart.

I want you to know how extremely funny you are,
The way you can get the most difficult crowd to loosen up
You’re brave and sentimental, and courageous and nice.
And you’re someone I needed, you’re someone I wanted,
How beautiful you are to me, I must love you.
You’re the fabric that keeps me together.
I wondered if you know how you collected my soul, and lift my spirits,
You’re nerving and never pompous,
And that sometimes when you look at me my legs go into jelly and my face is red as a rose
I wish you knew how wonderful your existence is,
How you are a cluster of hope and faith for me,
And you’re someone I needed, you’re someone I wanted
How beautiful you are to me, I must love you.
You’re the fabric that keeps me together.

You have wrapped your arms around me with the most broadened smile I have ever seen.
You have loved me from the very core of my existence.
My flaws shine through my exterior, but you see through my flesh and my inner me.
You are a sunset and a twilight,
The silver moon in a shimmering burst of stars in the sky,
You’re the jelly colored sun in a sunrise,
The magic in the air when two lovers meet,
The miracle in my shadowy being.
You’re everything sincere to me,
You’re someone I need, you’re someone I want,
How beautiful you are to me,
You’re the fabric that keeps me together,
even when i feel myself fall apart.
--

Pay it Forward

Awhile ago Nicole and I had a ritual; we would write secrets and uplifting notes on scraps of paper and put them in random places around town. Bookstores, car windshield wipers, and clothing stores. A picture of this one was recently taken an uploaded on the Postsecret website. We aren't exactly positive, but we think we remember it being one I wrote. I vaguely remember the words, and it definitely is reminiscent of my handwriting.

Even in the uncertainty, it makes me smile.

Reconciliation is Hard to Come By

I remember thinking a while back that it would be the end of me when I finally had become disenchanted with the human race. Why? Because I have, at my essence, always been a humanist, a bleeding heart liberal. And when a humanist loses her faith in humanity -- well, what else does she have left? I am not saying that I no longer believe in goodness, or that I don't give people the benefit of the doubt anymore. I am saying, though, that I've become more aware of certain facts about life. And I'm not sure that awakening came at the right time.

Just like a little kid wakes up and realizes one day that her parents aren't always right, I've started to realize during the past year that good people don't always make the best choices. Otherwise good people cheat on their wives, their husbands. They steal. Occasionally they tell lies. They hurt the people they care about most. They take their biggest and brightest gifts for granted. And, even in all of this, they don't always mean to cause any damage. Sometimes it is themselves that they are doing the biggest disservice.

One of my closest friends, Nicole, has always told me (even when I argued vehemently) that sometimes people just make bad choices -- but that doesn't mean we should immediately cross them off. There was a time I would have agreed with her. And I still respect the sentiment, but I am no longer willing to give that much leeway or breathing room -- mostly because I have come to believe so much in consistency. I grew up hearing over and over again the mantra, "Actions speak louder than words." And yes, I do believe that. I'm a writer, but I still know that a pretty promise doesn't mean anything if it's never kept. I know that a card in the mail that says something like "my condolences" means nothing in comparison to someone at the door ready to walk through the fire with you. I know that, in the end, our actions are all we have. They are more important, more honorable than our word. Man is as man does. What else could possibly determine goodness? And integrity? Well, that's simple, isn't it? Integrity is when our actions match our words, and I think it's probably the hardest skill to master.

I guess the point of this all is that my beliefs are out of alignment. I see both sides now, and I have no idea how to reconcile them. I don't know what's right -- it's a humanist's dilemma. I need to have faith in something, but I'm not sure anymore where to place that faith. I can no longer help questioning the way a cynic would question:

Who is worthy of trust? How high of a standard is it fair to place on someone? How open should we be, and just how open should we expect others to be in return? Does potential matter if it is never used? If someone asks how you are five times out of ten, but the other five times they pass you do not give you a second glance, are all efforts of goodness nillified, or does every instance count for something? Is it fair to ourselves to be invariably fair to other people? Is it possible to be too much of a good person? Should we always turn the other cheek?

I know I am not completely a cynic, because at the end of the day, I still choose to turn the other cheek. I still choose to be open, and I hope that others will be open and honest with me in return. But I am starting to wonder if this is the right way to go about things. What I hope is that I'm choosing the way truest to my values, and not that I am simply playing the sucker.