Requesting Armed Recruits, or, Operation VDay

I'm looking at the weapons on the wall. Input hangs there, reflecting my admiring eyes. Empathy is in its glass cabinet, a dry blade since the last time I fought Pity. Less used but all the more sharp is "man, forget about them – it's their loss" and none are too far from the Connectedness, a lasso of wires.

I'd best grab as many as I can carry.

Valentine’s Day is a special mission for me. Not because of social pressure, roses severed from the bush, chocolate or any of the various requirements and restraints we put on a word like LOVE. It’s a decision I made the first day I opened all of those little cards at my desk in grade school: this is awesome. Valentine’s Day is fun!

And so it was written in stone, For the Record, All She Wrote.

There are people who are struggling with the L word today, in your life and mine. Cupid did a lot of damage when he shot those arrows and we’d be damned fools to ignore the bloody mess out there. I need a favor from my readers, whether you are scarred or unscathed from these battles.

Be a listening ear. Tell someone something that matters. Send appreciation to your legion of hard working Lifers, who hold their place in the networks that support you. Make contact with a family member or friend and help them get that misguided arrow out of their ass cheek so they can finally sit down again. I might be joking, but I’m dead serious: you can take this little day, put it right into your hand and do whatever you want to do.

L-O-V-E. The stuff is strong. We have got to do something about it.

Let’s all think about the impressions we leave, today. The seeds we plant. The love we show. Let’s fight as one if only in the universe of Autumn’s head – which is a really awesome place, especially. Today.

I’ll let you in on a little secret: I am very much alive, and my world is yours. Such efforts will go rewarded, I guarantee.

Grab a bite to eat and shower, because you’re getting a little ripe. Then get your weapon of choice, grab some gauze and go.

“Autumn, it’s noon your time. A lot of people are already out there.” *looking into my cup of iced coffee, lazily sucked by a straw over the past hour or so*

Very good! Very good, then. I’m on my way.

I’ll join you.


Someone Else’s Perspective

Whenever I check in on my brother’s profile it amazes me, how so many of his photos reflect the same things that have been in my own eyes.

Yeah, if you're standing under one of the trees to the side of the yard, it's kind of like that, actually.

Then he’ll post something completely new and I realize that he has seen things from angles that I never have. For example, he has a small photo session of our county fair rides, specifically from inside the actual machines themselves, looking out under their canopies at where the lines would be forming – long after dark when no one else was there. Or he’ll find graffiti on a wall in some alley where I never even gave a shit to look.

The photos he has taken of home look like that strange PVC structure was still kicking around as of last fall. I told him how dysfunctional it makes the landscape and how one of my friends had joked, “Definitely a portal of some sort.” That made Christopher laugh. It also brought an element of connection between everything because he has since taken a photo of the “truly awful tent” with such focus:

…because life is all one story in real time.


But So Red Underneath

Like snow dripping too slowly from the top of my mailbox to see,

The still life on a lawn covered and leveled,

Frozen branches too heavy to sway in the chilly air,

No noise, no motion, not anyone there.

That’s what it is like and a million other things. What about the words for no words?

Surely this was never a danger to me. Look how the lava has cooled, see how the rock has eroded. Reminiscent of something I knew to be so much better.

That erratic rambling, blaming you, blaming me, blaming an unnamed supernatural force in the imaginary game of life and death where no one is even close to standing on a cliff’s edge… the words go in circles, first claiming to understand how or why as someone else, and flipping back and forth between who really “knows” depending on whichever side is in support of the moment… such careless, careful words intended to shape and mold the sort of life that would actually forgive such manipulative, selfish endeavors.

Curse at the mother or father of a child as you justify your actions, paving your ‘righteous’ way, and you damn half of that child’s soul. You won’t realize it until they’re old enough to think of you and say, “I could never feel the love, in fact, I felt a lot of pain.”

Readers: if you have a history of family illness and the symptoms are there, the most abhorrent, loveless thing you can do for the people in your life is to neglect seeking medical help. That purposeful, asinine refusal to acknowledge the signs but still use them when you need reasons is absolutely inexcusable.

My anger, when dragged out of me and formed into sentences, reads like this.

The embarrassment of approaching a door with your guardian angel before you, weapons drawn, and going in to find… this foolish dribble after assembling your finest defense… the turn of events have been humiliating. To think that I was ever such a fool.

To think that I can only see it now,

That others are only admitting it now,

As the revelations render us speechless.

What say you, magical creature? Faith grasps the doorknob behind us and I can feel her taking that indescribable glance, that connection that I can’t touch, and utters a sound I can’t hear, before closing the door.

No leaks. No ripples, not even the wind. Just the absence of force that would probably have blown my kingdom away.

That is what winter stillness is like. That and a million other things,

In the words for no words.