Holy Shit how the time flies!!.....

Its been forever and a day since I last updated on this site, since I last put my life on paper... and so much has changed. I know alot of people dont really read this... dont really get into the blogging. It feels like a fad, kind of come and go and I spend so much time in transit these days that I'm no longer one of those people chained to my computer. As a matter of fact now I usually have my face buried in a book. It means more to me to keep up with my reading habits now that Im not at the book store every day.




What?! Not at the book store? Yep, big piece of major change going on there. But not the first in a series of things going on in my life.




Last June I buried my maternal grandmother, and for the last year my family has been feeling her loss. Its a difficult thing to bear when the person you lose is the tie that binds a family of 50+ people together. Even when she was sick so much of our family's energy was spent trying to find a way to include her in every holiday, birthday or family event. The exhaustion was never questioned because we loved her, because we treasured her, because we couldnt imagine our family or lives without her. And the truth of it all was that my grandmother could be a painful person to love. She was at times unthinking and mean and truthful to a fault. But she was ours, our grandmother, our loved one and we thought she would be in our lives forever. Or maybe it was just me, that even when she was sick the idea that I could lose her, the only grandmother I had left, never processed. Amidst all that emotion it didnt matter that she always felt so far away from me, that her looks all had an air of critiscm, and that we never really spoke the same language (in more ways than one). It was all so mixed up, the hate and the love and fear and on the other side it always came out that we were family, that we belonged to each other and nothing would ever change that.



Thats what I was raised to believe, and whether or not I truly subscribe to it, I could never escape it. So much of growing up is finding out that the things we thought we would leave behind with childhood cling to us all the harder. As adults we still thrive on the most basic of human principles... the desire to be loved.

Sonnet

Its been a while... here's something for you to chew on until i get back into it... Yes its a sonnet and yes, its true to form... wrote it in college. *shrug*



I was thrust into the pulsating room
And viewed your figure standing at the door.
Sex from your body in the air did loom
My hands desired to roam and view more.
My reverie saw you pulling me in
Your attention would make my body burn.
Want to force my body within my sin
Make the easy lesson painful to learn.
Drive away the innocence of my youth.
Never again will I deny my lust
The pain inside my body burns for sooth
Screams of ecstasy at each given thrust.
Whatever pain I make for me tonight
No repentance will ever make it right.

A Junkie to the Written Word

Hello my name is Jessica and I am an addict. Yes, its time to admit it; I have a problem. Consistently itchy and at the mercy of something I can't live without, I have become a slave to a force both in and outside of myself. I have become a junkie to the written word. It’s a problem and I can’t help it anymore and I just don’t think I want to. I love to read. It’s as simple as that, and yet it’s so infuriatingly complicated. It’s made me a bit of an outcast in certain social circles (unbeknownst to others) and kind of a leper within my family. I breathe words like air and devour the pages like they are the food that sustains me. Since the New Year I am on my fourth book and it’s only the11th of January. I walk through the bays of Barnes and Noble and wonder how I will find the time to read through everything I have on my bookshelf at home and the piles of titles I have yet to even own. I get excited about a good book like most women do about diamonds or shoes. I’m returning clothing at the mall so I have a little extra money to purchase the next thing I am going to want to read. Every time I finish one book I am looking at a stack of five more books wondering which one I am going to read next, and then after that, and then after that, knowing that the order in which I read them is just as important as the quality of the books themselves. It’s like having your appetizer, then entrée, then desert and then coffee and if one comes out too soon or in the wrong order the meal is still edible but something at the essence of it has been unhinged and you have to stop all together just to get it back again. And each item at each course has to be carefully chosen so as not to affect or overbear the flavor of the subsequent item. Each book that I read prepares me for the next, from the funny to the heartfelt, next the humorous and then onto the downright bizarre, finally capped by perhaps some horrifying mystery, and then back again to my beginnings.

I find that the older I get the more books have become for me. This world has become harsh and impersonal and the people in it cold and unfeeling towards existence and those they have to share it with. I may get preachy here for a moment but bear with me. There are few gentlemen left and those that are may be to shy or just to proper to make any advances towards women they might be attracted to. There are few ladies left who care more about the personality or morality of whom they share their time with than being the cutest thing at the bar and not having to pay for any of their own drinks.

Sometimes I wonder if there is anyone left to talk to, or anyone left who has the time. We are all so busy being married to our jobs or shackled to our debt. My books are my most unfaltering companions. They are the lover who never hurts, the parent who never disappoints, and the friend who never betrays. The lessons I learn from the pages of my books it would take me three lifetimes to learn on my own. As I get older I’ve come to see companionship, one built out of mutual affection and respect, is something more and more people are having a hard time finding. And the ones that do have it are working even harder just to keep it. I don’t read cheesy romance novels where everyone is perfectly beautiful and perfectly romantic. The characters in my books, my companions, are flawed, imperfect people. They have been damaged by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures. Many of them are fighting for something, be it truth, love, justice, or themselves; they are all on a journey. And every time I pick up another book I am able to travel that journey with them and delight in what I learn about each character and about myself.

I used to read in school… a lot. But there were no books to fuel my passion the way it has been now. When I started working at the bookstore I discovered a title not many people in my own store new about. Originally written in Spanish, The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon was translated into English in 2004. I found it as I was rummaging through the store and examining the new tables and displays for my opinion of a worthy title. I stumbled across this one, and wondered oddly why its substantial pile of copies was mostly untouched. The story is of antiquarian book dealer’s son who finds a copy of a book, The Shadow of the Wind by a Julian Carax. When goes to find other titles by Carax he finds that someone has destroyed every copy of every other book he has ever written. He may have in his hands the last of his books in existence. Daniels search puts him in the middle of a story of “murder, madness, and doomed love”. Immediately I was captivated by the story, by its dimensions and the possibility of being taken to a new place I new nothing about.

I thought then that I was looking for something, but sometimes it feels more like this book was waiting for me, like the decision had been made, and it was only a matter of time until I figured it out myself. Some nights are not as easy to get through as others, and there are times when I wonder if it is worth it to pick up another book or turn another page. Sometimes I’m just too tired or too hurt and there is nothing and no one to pull me out of myself, especially not at 3 in the morning. If I come back to this book, somehow, it puts me at ease. It reminds me of how much I love to read and why and helps me believe that, maybe not all things, but some things are going to be okay.

“Every book, every volume… has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.” …. Carlos Ruiz Zafon

SONG ...

We're adutls. Ah! When?
When... when did this happen?
work,
responsibility,
family,
bills. No one.
No one ever said,
this would be coming.
There was no warning, no prep,
no hands held.
Only a kick swift
out through the doors
opening into life.
And here we are,
Tired
troubled
alone
broken.
Waiting to die without a will to live.
Give me a mantra.
A doctrine. A manifesto.
simple . . . complicated.
big . . . small.
A will, and a reason, a meaning
to face my own mortality
unburdened
and unafraid of consequence.
Unbound
and unrestricted by convention
and formality.

Was he worth loving?

There is my burden, my bindings,
my cracked heart,
my stern resolve to
be loved and unloving.
Foolish, tiresome.
So tired, but of what?

My feet swell and my
thighs burn.

And everything feels.

And aches.

And nothing stops.

Eyes won't close and heart wont hate,
and hands wont stop, stop,
stop reaching for more.
More complexity, wrapped in an inigma,
coated in confusion.

Did he take my music ... or ... did i give it away?
The Song, it was more,
it was bigger than me,
more than I could handle.
In the end someone has to lose,
isnt that right?
Isnt that what we are left with
after the deamons of childhood
have their way?
Ravage through?
Am I a sad sight,
sitting . . here . . . alone?

Or is my solititude my fortress?

Careful, these days of myself.
Some people are too big for the Song
they are given.
At the end of the day, sometimes,
not everyday, but yes, somtimes,
I find myself fishing.
Searching, looking
for a fight. Something . . .
worth the scars.
Because I have them anyway.
I can't wish them away.
And I would miss them if they
ever left me.

But I live in a world that just doesnt get it.

Sometimes, you feel so much,
you go numb.
And all you want to do,
is feel again.
It doesnt matter if it hurts.
Doet matter if its wrong.
Doesnt matter that if leaves you.
Branded
After a while you start to want it,
then you start to need it.
And when you cant find your own roadmap through your deamons
and away from the pain,
you go back through it again.
You miss it when its gone.
You miss your scars when they are gone.


We're adults, when did that happen?
And I ask myself,
How do I make it stop?
But is it brother to my scars?
Would I miss it if it were gone?

Praying in the Temple of the Gods of Technology

Most days I bless the internet and pay homage to its conception and lay thanks for the simplicity it has brought to my life. I love the fact that I can easily pay my bills online without leaving my house and worrying about stamps or mail delivery. I say yay to the amount of paper it has removed from my waste basket now that I no longer have to worry about mailed statements reminding me about the mound of debt that I am already aware I am in. I am tickled and entertained by the idea that I can read stories by my brothers about rolling in the dirt and getting drunk (not all in the same occasion). For all the ways the internet has made my life easier and better I am grateful... And then there are days where I wonder if the good it has done is really worth the occasional and sometime frequent aggravation it has brought to life.

Now there are global ramifications to praying in the temple of the Gods of technology. The fact that the internet has made it exponentially easier for sex offenders to hunt and capture their prey makes my stomach turn and my blood boil. The blatant damage to our society is clearly visible and does a wonderfully frightening job of overshadowing the more subtle damage to the quarter-lifers and the youth that follows in our footsteps. The internet has stunted the emotional and social growth of a generation.

Once upon a time, not to long ago, people wanted to hang with their friends and be around their ever loving-sometimes aggravating-family. People would go to the movies and then dinner to discuss whether or not the movie was worth the ever increasing exorbitant prices. I remember having meaningful debates about the most recent thing the president did and laughing at how they always led into the most ridiculous arguments about what exactly constituted sexual relations. Stimulating classes about social politics, historical prejudice, censorship and theater's educational merit would lead to more invigorating conversations with 5 to 15 of my closest college friends and classmates in the student union until it was time to disperse for the next hour of enlightenment (or dinner). I don't know about you, but in college I took classes that made me want to learn more and talk to the person next to me about what I just learned. That kind of social interaction led to our growing up as artists and people and yes, even as adults. The shy and introverted learned to use what they were passionate about to bring them out of their shells and the loud and vociferous learned that listening to what the other person has to say doesn't mean their point wont get heard.

In the early days of my still transpiring youth we would leave the four walls of our own rooms and homes to go and be with the people we called friends and go to the movies or to skater's world or the mall or the diner (this is Jersey after all). And if we decided to stay in for a night it was not so far out there to invite one of said friends to enjoy it with you. There is nothing like Buffy and junk food except Buffy and junk food and a good friend to share it with. Having friends meant spending time with your friends, as much as possible even when we didn't have cars and the bus (or god forbid our parents) were our main form of transportation. And all that time meant the occasional argument or disagreement or liking of the same guy as the only other chick you hang out with. You fought and you came back together and you forgot what it was you originally fought about.

As a kid my friends and I knew each other's families cause we had dinner over each other's houses. My cousins were like brothers and sisters and my friends were more like cousins and at a certain point not one of us could throw a stone in any direction and not hit someone we couldn't turn to in times of need.

Now, inorder to talk to someone only 20 mins away from me, I have to sit in harsh isolation at my desk and type what I say into the screen hoping that my particular intonation and inflection and sarcasm will be properly inferred in what I say. A part of my education as a child and teenager was learning social etiquette. Now an entire generation of the shy and introverted never have to learn the finesse of how to speak to people in a social setting. The Internet is a shield against a world they don't have to hide from. I can only hope they can learn to pick up the phone and talk to those they call friends, or get on IM and say, "hey, lets meet up."

Please don't misunderstand me. I am one of the firsts to admit that I love having time to myself. I am a book nut. I have favorite authors and will read the entire series of a story or author (hello Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett). I get lost in the world of words, and you can almost always find a book in the bowels of my purse. But call me and Ill put it down and yeah, Ill meet you the Diner. Its never to early, or late, for two eggs over hard and french toast. This is, after all, Jersey.

whew....the end of the day.

For the first time in a long time I am earning every minute of sleep I am getting these days. My pillow is a welcome sight come night time and sleep comes easily when I return from one of my many jobs and activities. I say activies like I play intramural sports or something, its nothing like that, I'm just very tied to the other people in my life. I tend to get along with the majority of the people that I work with and have grown some very awesome (and odd) friends out being where I am, which is Barnes and Noble and now Houlihan's. I now affectionately call it Houli's. I know, I'm strange.

Where I am is also in the same city I was born and raised, like most of my family. Unlike alot of my family I left to go to college and get a degree and be prepared for the real world. And then, unlike my brothers, I came back, not knowing what "the real world" meant outside of a once innovative, now dated, television show. So I am with 20 to 30 mins of over 50 members of my family. And I know people in similar geographic situations who manage to stay healthy distances away from family no matter how close they live. I'm not sure there is such a thing as a healthy distance from my family, atleast for me. They are the rock upon which I build everything else in my life. Even my brothers who live far away are included in that. Dont get me wrong, sometimes I bang my head against that rock repeatedly, but I would miss it if it were gone.

So, yeah I work two part time jobs where my hours add up to more than most people who work one full time job. And yeah, when I come home I am more tired than I have been for years. But its a refreshing kind of tired, where I worked a good full day and didnt waste it doing nothing on my couch or at the mall. Dont get me wrong, I still waste time at the mall... Im a Jersey Girl, its like an art to us. But now I have to find time, where as before I had an abundance. But there are other, more important, things that I schedule it around, like babysitting for my aunts. Like spending time with my friends and my family, like being with my brothers when they come home to visit. I'm working hard, and a lot, and yeah I'm tired, but its cool. I made a choice and I'm not backing down now. Maybe later I will, but not right now. And anyway, I'm livin; crazy and hectic, but I'm livin.

Around My Way

Someone said to me today that I blog sporatically. My only response was to shrug my shoulders and think to myself, "So fucking what!?" Blogging is fun, take some time and say something online, write, or if you are my brother, tell some story about some guy he saw in a bike shop who apparently doesnt wash his shorts regularly. Yeah, wierd. But fucking funny. Its better than reading a boring ass blog by someone who writes everyday as opposed to when you actually have something to say or something happen that you want to share.
Comments are cool, and some people want to respond, and I get that. And I'll take it all in stride. But I will also respond with this; who is someone else to tell me how often I gotta keep on this thing? I write when I need to or want to, and to me, thats all that is necessary for regularity in my world. I dont keep this thing so people know what toothpaste I use or what music I happen to be listening to. If you are a freak and want to know; I use Crest and am listening to Talib Kweli.
Until next time, whenever that may be.

"Around my way
around my way
all the corners filled with sorrow
all the streets are fill with pain
around my way..."