What Is Beauty?

Looking beyond the colored veil.
You can see the flicker, the shimmer.
The music is there, hiding.
It jumps, excited and overjoyed.
You need but open your mouth,
Open your soul, and let it free.

Looking beyond the awkward limbs,
You can see the graceful flow.
Movement and elegance,
Grow through the muscles,
Out the tips of your fingers and toes.
Close your eyes and dance.

Looking beyond the rustic tools,
See the painting as it can be.
Paint and paper can be so much more,
It is there, just reveal it as Michelangelo did;
Chip away at the marble until you find
The beauty of creativity in front of you.



What is beauty? Is it art, is it music, is it performance?

I can see beauty in most things if I look hard enough.
In the cliche things; music, a painting, a sunset, dance.
In the less admired things; people, books, speech, words.
In the things left behind; equations, mistakes, anger, a smile.

So again I ask, what is beauty?

The Poet

The poet drew the line in the sand;
Connecting it to another.
She knew where it began
But not where it was to end.

And so she followed the line,
Searching for the other.
She went through heat,
Through snow and weather violent.

The end never seemed to come,
Her dimming hopes having enough.
With feet so tired, eyes so weary,
How could the gentle poet go on?

So she sank; in spirit, in body,
Her knees hitting sand so rough.
Head falling, hanging in defeat;
And in her despair, the poet missed the gleam.

Sex: A Reply, A Metaphor and A Ramble

So, Will... It's come time for a reply.

Sex.... What is it? Is it daunting? Is it... beautiful? Is it necessary?
A question I often ask myself, just to see where I am in life, is "Is the relationship making the sex or is the sex making the relationship?"
While it doesn't always need to be taken strictly in those terms (A more open translation being "Is the cake making the icing or is the icing making the cake?"), it helps me realize what is going on around. What is

And for me... Sex is just that. Icing. I don't NEED it. In fact, without cake, I get sick of icing really fast. But on the flip side.... Cake can get a bit boring without icing from time to time, right?

Well maybe you just haven't gotten the kind of cake you need.

Ok, Manda... I get it. You need a balance, right?
Wrong.

Some people can sit down and eat a whole damn tub of icing, fuck the cake. Who needs cake when you've got sugary, amazing icing in front of you?

Some people can sit and eat a cake as is. No extra toppings. They don't need the outside sugar, just what's inside. Who needs icing when you've got moist, delicious cake?

.....And some people get stomach aches from all the sugar. And some peoples' mouths get dry after too much cake.


What is the point of all this obvious, semi-metaphorical rambling, Will?

It's this: Everyone's taste is different. No one is wrong. No one is right. Not when it comes to this basic act. If you leave out all the moral and ethical problems introduced later by humans and their ever-loving need to make things complicated, that's what you get. Variety. The spice of life. The difference between each and every one of us. My brain patterns, just as unique as fingerprints and retinal scans, revealing my thoughts being different from her, her, him and you.

So maybe not everyone wants the icing and maybe not everyone's a fan of cake.

Who cares? You have your body. I have mine. They have theirs.


So, in the end, does it matter; their view?

It doesn't to me. But then... I'm still mixing my batter.

Introspectiveness Sucks

So... today I had a conversation with my mother. We talked about relationships, love and what people need, in general, to be happy with another person.


And it got me thinking or, more specifically, worrying.

I wonder if I'm too picky in what I look for in a person.

I want to laugh, to cry, to argue, to be agreed with, to be given space, to be held, to drive them up a wall, to be loved, to feel hands in my hair, to feel fingers in mine.

I want to be awkwardly comfortable. I want to them to be maturely childish. Cynically hopeful.

I want an impossible balance.

I used to think that love was enough. I've learned differently.

I don't know if what I want is so.... hard to find. I don't know if my standards are too high.

I'm worried they are... but I'm also afraid of compromising and settling for something less than actual happiness.

And then I worry... What if I find them or found them.. and I just am not/was not what they wanted.

What if my balance doesn't mesh with theirs?

I know it fits my personality, but I really don't want to be the crazy lady with all the cats. I don't want to be "Aunt Amanda" forever... I want to be "Mom" someday.

I know humans, by nature, fear loneliness. We are social creatures. I know my thoughts are normal... I also know that sometimes people like me end up just like I am afraid to. Alone.



The poet knelt in the sand,
Her eyes on the grains as they slipped away.
And she knew, feeling the softness contrast
The coarseness she knew could be,
That her fears were validated
By the simplicity of regret.



Have a good weekend, friends.

-Manda

Overwhelming Calm

It’s funny how when I was lost, alone and down
I was constantly surrounded, always in a crowd.
I felt alone in the arms of the many I called love
I felt alone in the company of the ones I relied on

But here I am, fresh faced and adorned in cheery outlook
New, revived… And alone.
Sure, the company is still around
Just a small reach and I can touch, feel, breathe in another

But for the first time since I first cried “Out, damned spot! out, I say!”
I feel a calming wave inside my mind
I feel at ease
I feel myself, in all my faults and charms, alone

So here I stare, seeing what I’ve become
Beautiful, victorious, myself
So here I am, floating on the edge of past and future
Scared, enthralled, compelled

Isn’t it a beautiful irony
That you cannot be happy in another’s company
Until you are at ease and satisfied
In your own?

Wow… rambly poetry for the win. I just wanted to add a little note crediting my friend mr_engineer on flickr for letting me use his beautiful photograph. It is, of course, used with full permission!

I took a look at this picture… and got overwhelmed with thoughts.. which exploded above… Maybe I’ll write on it again.


Be well!

-Manda

Returning As Something New

HI! Miss me, folks!?!

Let’s get back in the swing of things with a loverly angsty poem from your own resident Manda!


Just Ask

Ask me again, why I won't sing you my song.
Ask me again, what I think went wrong.
The answer will change.
Isn't it strange,
That there are so many don'ts?
But I know the problem is all of my won’ts.

Ask me why I walk away
Ask me what I want to say
My eyes should reveal
What my mouth must conceal
I’ve lost my fight with my heart
And it has no will to start



Something a little more cheery, why don’t we? ^_^

FRESH

It’s like someone opened a window, let the breeze roll in
It’s like someone opened my heart, let the love begin
It’s like someone took my hand, and told me I was good
It’s like someone looked in my eyes and finally understood

No more hiding under blankets or living under guilt
No more stifling my laughter and balancing on stilts
No more living day to day in horror and fear
No more relying on the hate, the fake smile and the tears

Who am I?
Fuck if I know

Who am I?
I’m just starting to grow

Who am I?
I am your love, your friend

Who am I?
I’m the one who made it to the end.




There are two poems for your reading pleasure...

It feels good to be back!

Love Cliches

I wrote this a while ago.. I can't find the will to write today.. Vote in the comments if I deserve a punishment.


Cliché ideals of love:
Sweaty palms
Racing hearts
Perfect harmony
Finishing each others sentences
Constant happiness
Fixed flaws

Real love:
Uncontrolled laughter
Knowing what you’re going to say but saying something different just to make the other person laugh because you’re a freak and they like it ^_^
Acceptance, love and reassurance that flaws are not only ok, but beautiful
Inside jokes
Fights, rubbing each other the wrong way and being able to accept it as part of life, fix it and move on
Knowing what makes each other tic
Knowing what makes each other smile
Knowing what makes each other cry
Knowing what makes each other crazy
Not knowing why you’re smiling
Not knowing why you’re crazy
Not knowing why you’re laughing
Learning, every day, how to make it work



Fuck clichés, I think we’ll be fine without them.

Confusing Realities

Tangled in the vines
You think about all you've done
Tangled in the vines
You whisper a prayer for all you could do

Tangled
Webbed
Trapped

Trapped without hope
You wish for redemption
Trapped without dreams
You lose connection

Once you're there
You're lost forever
You're drifting away
You've gone to a world of ends


Or a beginning.

Harmonious Disposition

Each interaction
Each event
Each brush of the shoulders
Or kiss of the lips

Each opportunity
Each idea
Each meeting of the eye
or conversation

Everything.. Everyone... is a chance to learn.
About each other.... about yourself.

Don't let the opportunities slip away because of fear
Don't let the past cloud your present
Don't let your future dictate your actions

Cautiousness and curiosity must be balanced
You cannot use either excessively
They must find harmony

Without that delicate dance
There is no merit to the past
No present entanglements worth having
And no future to attend to

Cooking

There's something so soothing about being in the kitchen with raw ingredients set out in front of you. They are yours to form and create with, yours to turn into whatever may come out of your mind, your hands and your own creativity.

Follow an old family recipe, create your own, add an extra teaspoon of something or another. You rebel, you!

My favorite thing is to create sauce from scratch, adding the layers of tomatoes and herbs and stirring and simmering, letting the smell penetrate your home.

It's exciting and makes you expectant of the coming use of the very thing you are creating.

Am I the only one who feels this excitement when cooking?

I hope not because then I'd feel very odd. Far more odd than I already feel.

Time

Time slips away
Running through fingers
Running away
Lost

Time is opportunity
Gone and past
Gone forever
No more

Time runs constant
Time runs smooth

Time, will never change.
Time, will never let you down.

Trust in time, even as you grip it, trying to keep it with you.

Bad, bad girl

So some of you might have noticed that I uh… Didn’t exactly post on time yesterday. In fact, I didn’t post at all yesterday.

And most of you know what this means. That it’s time for me to be punished.

Will’s decided the following punishment will be suitable. I have to write every day until the end of the week, that’s 5 days, punishing not only me but giving him some time off. And while I dislike this punishment greatly due to the week it currently is (you right bastard) I am going to do it because I, unlike William, am a woman of my word. Not that… William... is a woman… Moving along.

Will, since I’m posting ALONE this week, I expect you to bloody comment like every other reader. Deal with it.

So here’s my first punishment post.



All my life, I have always been early.

Early for church, early for school, early for parties, early for everything.

This is mostly my father’s fault. He hates being late. He hates being 5 minutes early. He hates being 10 minutes early. 15 or more. Always.

So all my life, always being early, I’ve always been the first to everything, the one that shows up when things aren’t quite ready, the awkward one who just waits for everyone else.

It’s enough to give a girl a complex!

So I’m more apathetic about time now, for the most part.

Ok that’s a lie. I’m not at all apathetic. Ask my family and friends.

“Guys we have to go, the movie is in an hour and it’s a 20 minute drive!”

“Dad, hurry up, I have to be there at 1.”
“Manda, it’s 11.”



So yeah. I was a bad girl. I promise to be more careful. After I slay William.


Leave suggestions for my 5 day punishment!


-Manda

Poetry and made up words

Never put your faith in a stranger
They will steadfastly let you down
Without realizing the danger
Oblivious to your loss of ground.

Never put your faith in a lover
For they wield a power untaught
Once the words surround you
The damage can never be unwrought






So I was writing the shitty poem above you hoping to get inspired to write something when I stumbled upon a realization. As much as I love words and all their glory, I make up a fuckload of them.

Example: Unwrought.... Not a word. You all know what I mean when I said it. But it's REALLY not a word.

The more I think the more I realize I do this more often than not. I take a real word and add things to it. A prefix here, a suffix there. A completely non-realistic word there.

And then I realized something else... No WONDER people hate talking to me so much. Half of what I said... isn't a real language. Ha!

My friends have always said I have Mandaisms

And I just thought it was my phrasing but.. blast it all, I just have my own damn language again.

Lovely.




So now that I know
How I ruin my fav'rite
Language, yay me.

Empty Homes

Have you ever been alone in your house? I mean, you probably have but bear with me.

You’re alone. Without the TV on. Without music playing. Without company. No voices to fill the silent instances.

You hear the creak of the house, the shift in the ice maker, your breathing, the birds outside, the fan’s quiet wisp.

You can remember that, the listening... But do you remember your thought process in those moments?

Do you tend to not delve too deep or do you withdraw in yourself, thinking about things that are overly sensitive and deep?

Are you comfortable with yourself? Comfortable enough to be alone, to either not worry or to flit through your thoughts like you would pages in a book?

Or do you need to hide behind the white noise?

It’s just something I think about… Being alone in a house. No white noise. Nothing to hide behind. Just me and my thoughts.



I miss the white noise.

Intermission

The excitement of something beginning
The loss of something established
Battling, endlessly caught

You wish to see the new
You wish to keep the old
You can't. You have to choose

But while you choose
While you make that awful break
While you change

Know that you are not alone
That the world wont stop spinning
And that this is just the very beginning.

Two References To Zambonis

There once was a man from Peru...


Yeah, I actually wrote that in a word document and then stared at it for an hour. Not my brightest, shining moment.

I'm starting to understand all that rambling Will does about lack of motivation.

I feel like I want to churn something out, need to churn something out because I don't want to be the first person punished on this project (I am saving that honor for Will). I just.. Can't get anything of substance to fall out of my hands. It's pissing me off.

I'm laying in bed, feeling like Death rented a Zamboni and decided to take it for a joy ride over my spine, and I really don't feel like writing.

Usually, I'm a little bit blocked and stumped when I first start but never this bad.

I mean just now I took a twenty minutes between that sentence and this one.

Sometimes, you get disheartened when you can't just tap tap tap tap DONE!

I'm not saying I'm the bees knees or anything but usually I'm pretty good at picking myself up from a rough spot. Today just isn't my day.

I did have a few things I wanted to talk about that I will list in a listy-like format because I'm sick and... not that creative.

1. Readers, I know you're out there. I know because you tell me you read. Either you're lying to me or you're lazy. Either way, shame on you! Leave a comment, a suggestion, a YOU SUCK. Hell, just click the "comment" thingy and type randomly for a few moments just so I can have some small, itsy bitsy scrap of validation. PLEASE.

2... That was really it, I guess. I have no other way to flesh this out.


3. I guess I could start a debate. Will, Universal Health Care is an over-ambitious, foolish thing to consider.



Until next time,

Manda and the Zamboni on her spine

The Flower and The Girl

Brightly, the flower bloomed
Etching the feelings of love
Of needing into the girl’s soul

Softly, the flower sang
Songs of memories past
And the journey ahead

Gently, the flower touched
Its petals soft, luring the girl
Giving warmth and comfort

Quickly, the flower stung
Thorns embedded deep into flesh
Drawing precious blood

Tightly, the flower gripped
Draining the girl dry
Leaving her nothing to depend on

Sadly, the girl died
Embraced by the flower
Forever locked in deception.

Cynical Life

Have you ever watched kids play at the park? Complete strangers yet all it takes is the mutual love of a red slide to create a bond of friendship. What changes when you become an adult? And is it really for the better? As human beings grow older we grow more complex but we seem to take this as we must block out more and more people in order to "know" ourselves. I've always thought the meaning of life is knowledge. How can you accumulate knowledge with any sort of importance without collecting friends, neighbors and the masses to share and be with? What happens as we age that makes us want to block more and more people out?

Is the distrust of people that we grow, that cynicism, usefully, needed, important? Or maybe it's just modern paranoia? Would it be better to go to that childlike innocence?

Why do we learn such distrust, even with people who have never hurt us and would logically have no inclination to hurt us?

I understand, life throws us curve balls left and right, making it harder to trust, making it harder to accept people like we did back in the park, back when things were as simple as "I like her because she shares the big red slide".

I guess, what I'm trying to say is... I wish I was less cynical, but I do not know if that is a good thing or not.

Poem That Makes No Sense

Temptation is so sweet
Laying on my tongue
Delaying my retreat
Reaching in so firm

Wandering through the plain
The empty seas of home
I hear an idle strain
I hear a subtle tone

Following the sound
I journey here and there
My footsteps on the ground
The only partner shared

And to the empty echoes
I find myself so deep
In the tempered deco
I lay my head to sleep

The noise now forgotten
Like hill and vale and tree
I am now begotten
In my land of dream

Lost

The poetry within my heart is dampened
By the whisper of your voice in my ear
Endless calls of can’ts, don’ts, won’ts
Everything is caught shadow, nothing is clear

Wandering breathlessly through a mountain
Lost and aimless without a guide
Trying to lose your voice, your presence
But you’ve left me nowhere to hide

Echoes in my mind
Torn bits of my heart
Rejecting all that’s kind
I don’t want to be a part of this anymore

Let me go.
Let me live.
You’ve taken everything
I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO GIVE.