Death

Oooh. The title of this post even has a spookier-than-usual twang to it. I guess it's just because I happen to be surrounded by the haunting monster that is death lately. After having written death as a "haunting monster" I don't want to backspace, but I do rescind that statement. It's only a haunting monster if you're not ready for it. More on that later.

Anyone who pays attention to, or pays attention to someone who pays attention to someone who watches the news can tell you there have been some eerie group deaths among birds and fish. One friend of mine stated "Birds and Fish...yeah, but the humans are actually doing pretty well!" I tend to disagree. In the last week, here's my list:

My grandmother, Anna Satoris.
My mothers best friend's brother.
My Time Warner Cable rep's sister in law.
My good friend Mons' grandfather.
My co-worker's Great Grandmother
My co-worker's Uncle.
My other co-worker's grandfather.
Lady-At-The-Gym-With-Cute-Shirt's undefined relative.

Granted 7 is no 1000 fish, but isn't a human life of slightly more worth? And why are they all so close to me?

A few months ago a family friend died of Cancer. She was in her 50's, with two children who both recently were married. Lived a good life, but deserved to live even longer. Upon her death, the envy I felt of her was unnerving. I was I jealous of someone dying? How cynical is that? After some self-observing and self-questioning and all of that inner-thinking business, I came to the conclusion that I was tired. I was tired, and somehow satisfied with life already. Or rather, complacent. (Figured that feeling out- and accepted it; since overcoming the envy of death by discovering how much of the world I have yet to discover.)

Despite my minor accomplishment in understanding feelings regarding death, there are still questions. The rant I'm on lately is that of the world simply being desensitized to death. My sister and I both have yet to cry over my grandmothers' death. She lived with us for 6+ years. Practically raised us. But to me at least, she died years ago. Her mind has been deteriorating, and I've already accepted her death..before it even happened. This disgusts me! It's selfish to want to mourn quickly and move on. What about honor? and celebration of her life? It's also disgustingly modern to be moving quickly about anything at all. Do we really appreciate life anymore?

More on this, I'm sure.

Up

Property of Leighann Kowalsky. All Rights Reserved.

We've all heard of 'poetic license', correct? When William Shakespeare would make-up or combine or change the syllable structure to fit into his format? Well I think today's day and age needs to take license beyond that of poetry (which we're not even doing properly anymore, goodness), and take license of life.

My mom always used to tell me" Buy those shoes!" Meaning; sure, we are in financial ruin. You're father has blown his entire retirement and we're holding onto our home by our cracking fingernails. BUT, those shoes are too darn cute, buy them. Similarly, "Eat that cake!" or simply "Do It Anyway". It's a short way of expressing the fact that nobody gets out alive, and we only live once, and it's short as an exhale, so why not spend more time enjoying things like cake and shoes than worrying over dimes and calories?

An old Irish Rock Band used to have a song called "Do It Anyway".
One line is as follows:
"You're scared to tell the world what you're doing here? Do it anyway."

I want to let the world know that I am here.

A Toast

I'm already beginning to see a pattern and theme to this new year, 2011, and we are only 6 days into it. Good Lord what a whirlwind this will be.

Whether just before the new year, or currently on the horizon, I am witnessing many "firsts".


A few weeks ago I journeyed to Mexico. Not the first time out of the country, but the first time to a third world country, and the first time out of the country without parents. First time at an All-Inclusive Resort, and first time jet-skiing in the ocean. In the Spring, I'll roam to Europe, just for fun, and Vegas for my birthday - you guessed - for the first time.

I noticed it this morning when I called my mom excitedly just to tell her about my ski-trip weekend planned for New Hampshire. My "First" all weekend ski-trip. I felt naive and just about every other synonymous word, but ya know what? Here's to feeling like a kid again. Here's to firsts, and here's to trying everything. Here's to being a 20-something and recognizing that I have alot to learn, and alot to experience.

I've always felt like I grew up quickly. Went on my first working tour when I was 15, and etiquette school all the years before that. I could tell you the proper grooming habits of a German French Poodle and what's going on at the root of a wavy-haired beauty, and why her hair isn't pins and needles straight instead. But 2011 will be about finally being a kid, and I'd like to toast to that. Here's to having the maturity to know that it's OK to be immature sometimes.

Pity

I have a diamond pendant necklace. It was a gift, and it is beautiful.
Resting on a sterling silver chain, it bobbles and sways around my neck with ease.

I recently noticed that there had formed a knot in the chain, preventing the diamond to either slip off the chain and onto a new one, and was instead containing the diamond between clasp and knot.

I thought I would cry.

The only way to free that perfect little diamond would be to break that perfect little chain.
Having to choose between two articles of purity and simplicity and...pretty-ness.
Two articles that each on their own are just not quite enough, but together create this specific harmony. And to seperate them again? One would have to break, and be left without use, without purpose; to be tossed aside.

Title

You're face is all I see.
Waking up in warm arms, I can smell you on my skin.

Foreign and familiar; not mine, oh yes...it's yours.
So is this, this hot, damp mess of organ and tissue.
Taking on a shape dissimilar to what is common.
It melts and spurts and empties it's crimson secret.
it's yours.

"That's just my battle scars" shouting, cheeks aglow.
But silent and honest accept
it's yours
it's true
and keep it you will,
the scars, already, distill.

Untitled.

twitch poke prod
sharp metallic black, round.
swift flash bright light
swirling and swaying
every muscle screams in torment
the veins tumultuous
blood cold, ice and cold
then hot in a moment,
singing from in to out.

Untitled.

Tiny sounds called notes.
Patterned properly create a key.
The lock is stiff and brassy and rust,
cock your head to the tilt, and breathe.

Unlock a world, a realm a space,
white, light, bluster and float.
blue air, cold with comfort,
light it up, let it glow.

To dream is to be unconscious,
knowing, willing, still.
But music gives you no control,
just spins and throws and thrills.

Powder and green ribbon,
the story is not yours.
unknowing, just floating.
unwelcome and what for.

Dance it will, for you, perform.
presence, essence, thrown.
till quickly it bottles and bloats,
and tumbles down forlorn.

silence reaps and creeps to play
sharp, black and shine
darkness where there once was ray.