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I was thinking this morning about on line journals v.s paper journals and I began to wonder something.
When a person keeps an on line journal does that make them a type of exibitionist, and the people who read them a type of voyer? The reason this question crossed my mind is because of the rating system here. The other on line journal I keep has no rating system, and so there is no way to tell if anyone reads your journal entries. It give it the feel of being very private. And that gives way to being more raw at times, because of the illusion that no one is watching.
When I came here and started writing I figured that no one would read what I had to say even though it's on line and completely public. I figured that like my other journal, which with the exception of one comment to one entry by someone I know, there have been no comments, giving me the illusion that it was hidden in some dark corner, and all of my intense, ravings about things like the ones I keep in my paper journals, that this too would be a place where my thoughts would go unnoticed. But after learning more about this site and that people have the ablity to rate what your saying, that changed how I approached writing here. I found that how I wrote here was different, not as dark or as intense as I do in my other on line journal.
Then as I was thinking about it today, it made me wonder if keeping an on line journal, and reading what was going on in other peoples lives made me both a type of exibitionist and a voyer. Then I had to ask myself if that's what keeping an on line journal is even partly about, does that make me some kind of twisted individual, who needs approval, and who needs watch other peoples lives from a detached place, and end up having some kind of opinion of who they are? If I met any of them in my travles and found out they were someone who's journal I'd been reading and had a bad opinion of them, would it keep me from getting to know them in person?
I think, after sorting through all of this, that I've come to some sort of conclusion about myself. That knowing what I say is being read that it does affect what I write here. If I wrote the same kinds of things here that I do in my paper journals and the other on line journal, I suspect that I might been seen as someone who desperately needs psycheratic help and a unabriged dictionary, I know the dictionary thing would be ok, because when I start writing I end up mispelling words because I'm typing too fast.
I'm not sure how I feel about all of this....and if I let you see all sides of the inside of me, will you take up rocks and throw them or will it cause you to weep, or simply walk away, or will you stay, because I'm as human as you...
He left part of himself here
the other day.
And to pay him hommage
because we miss him
we ended up framing
his empty cigarette package.
You haven't gone far.
I can still smell your thoughts.
some like onions and fish
others like herbs drying in the sun
or summer roses
all warm and rich,
and still others
like burned left overs
stuck to the bottom
of my favorite pan.
Sitting at the kitchen table
drinking coffee and watching morning
taking it's time.
I'm reminded that hours pass to fast
and days sometimes get caught up
tangled and wired to fall down.
Reality comes to reason with me
telling me so many things are like the dirt
which gets into everything
and no matter how hard I try
it will be there long after me.
"It just is." My determined companion tells me
with out emotion.
"It just is"
And the rain comes. Breaks away.
And then comes again. Only harder this time.
Washing the dirt and grit
down and making mud and pools.
The pools reflect the sky.
If you move your head to different places
you can see the trees.
And if you stand directly over it
you can see you.
A darker version of you.
like a stranger standing in the way
blocking the sun.
The mud clings.
Like determined resolutions
made on January 1st.
You can scrape them away
with the first excuse that passes by.
And hate your self for failing.
The mud reminds you
just by being there
that life is a series
of falling down
and getting up
over and over again.
The house is quiet
except for reality
that's staring me in the face,
getting in my face
telling me so many things
that I already feel
grating at my soul
and my dreams.
I could be bitter
and I have been bitter
But not today.
Today is a good day
because it's going to be
what I choose to make it.
what reality is telling me
that I have to worry about.
The mirror cracked. You could hear the sound from across the room. Feel it shaking your soul. The the whole world stopped. For a split second.
You barely breathed. The it happened, the mirror fell off the wall and shattered. The beautiful mirror. The way things are. The comfort zones we find ourselves in, where we feel like everything is perfect.
Life it seems, is not content to let us just go through. Things happen, our world falls apart. Everything seems to be nothing but wreckage. But like the first spring flowers that push up through the snow to tell us that the sleep is almost done, life has a way of showing us that though the glass we loved is now in peices and seems worthless, it's not. There is more light surfaces to catch the sun, more patients, more tenderness, more humanity in our soul. That's the upside to the things that come into our lives that change everything.
There are crickets in here. Making music and it's about 5 something a.m.
I've just spent the last hour and a half reading posts and journal entries here. Lots and lots of thoughts and ideas.
Good early morning reading when you can't sleep or even when you can, but reading each one makes you want to read more.
I enjoy comming to this place and reading what people have to say, and then taking time to write about something that's gotten lodged in my gray matter and needs somewhere to be let loose. Kind of like letting a bird with a once broken wing, that's finally healed, set free.
When I come here and read through the pages of journals and the topics in the forums, I feel like I've walked into a massive library with some of the finest unsung authors of our time.
Reading one post is never enough, it's kind of like eating peanuts, one is never enough.
I found this place one night because I wondered what would come up if I searched for giant flying dildos. I figured I'd ether run into a page that read "sorry your search was unsucessful, or run into pages of something that would read like "we saw them, up in the sky and to our horror they were getting ready to attack us..."
But instead I found this place. I'm glad I did that crazy search because it lead me to this place.
A place where there is so much rich stuff in the way of thoughts and ideas.
When she was born she was the smallest of all the litter. About the size of a baby mouse.
Her mom, Feonia, chose to have her babies at the foot of our bed one afternoon about three months ago.
When I got home from work Kevin, my husband showed me this wonderful group of small black and one grey babies, the newest additions to our family.
When Orbit would nurse her tail would make circles, hence the name Orbit. She was so small, and I know that's one of the reasons we all got so attached to her.
She was slower in doing things than her brothers and sisters, but she was a fighter, and with our help, survived.
About a month ago, one of her sisters, who loved to have her tummy rubbed and the more you rubbed it the more she would hang the top part of her body down, until she was almost upside down, got injured one night and passed away the same night.
The other three black kitties found homes and that left Orbit here along with Feonia and Floyd, Feonia's brother.
As the weeks have passed we watched her get stronger and even though she was still slow in many ways, she was so sweet in nature. Behind her ears were little tufts of fur which were so soft. One of our room mates would bring her inside and share his dinner with her, and spend time just loving on her. The rest of us would bring her in the house just to be with her.
She would look at you and it would melt your heart and everyone who met her fell in love with her. She never ventured very far from the back porch and from the shelter we made for her and her mom.
The other night, when we had the party out here was the last time anyone saw her. That same night, the roommate who would feed her found a pool of blood on the ground right by the door.
That same night we found another baby kitten from one of the litters that was born just a few weeks after Orbit and her brothers and sisters were born dead not far from the pool of blood. But no trace of Orbit.
Since that night, the older cats, when they meow, seem to be crying in their meows. Kevin, who is as close to being a Dr. Doolittle as any human I've ever seen, keeps asking them to show him where Orbit is. They lead him to a patch of tall flowers and weeds by the walkway, and then they go in a little bit and start making that meowing-crying sound. They keep doing that every time he asks them.
We're pretty sure she is dead, but we'd love to know for sure.
So we could at least burry her.
Besides being everyone's favorite little girl around here, I think, at least for me was a reflection of how hard life is sometimes, and how being the underdog is where alot of us, who are here, have been so many times in the last year. She was our hero. I just hope we find her, she deserves to be taken care of, not just lost to some field...
It's a race. My brain going nuts. My fingers moving as fast as they can.
The problem. Black background and too many words, all crammed together like rats trapped in a drain pipe.
The solution: paragraphs. Thoes spaces that act like thought collectors and walls that keep things in one place.
At this moment I wish to offer my humble apology to all who have tried to read my thoughts, but got tired or frustrated at my lack of using paragraphs. I will do better...maybe it will help my fingers keep up.
...now if my brain had a dictionary maybe the typo's and mispelled words wouldn't happen so much either.
Thank you for your patients and help.