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Showing posts from 2023

The Window - poetry

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  A window made dirty through the years by viewing other souls. The layer upon layer of filth, sins expelled and clouded my view. More than thoughts and prayers are needed. More than smiles are expected. A window, fit for viewing the horrible truth of the world.

The Albatross - Poetry

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 I died a thousand times only to return to your murderous face. You can not save me. I never asked you to  hold out your hand. Leave the albatross around my neck. I am my own Oracle. 

The Writer's Tear - poetry

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  a tear falls down her face. singular, celebratory, clear. she wonders - well, now what? the door is closed, shut closed after he left. tomorrow can be another day, she thinks, but what if I choose to stay here? a Tuesday to remain frozen because I am afraid of closing my eyes. the writer in her tells her to go on, on, pursue what you used to be afraid of. he is no longer here to yell at you. she stretches her hands over the keyboard. one day or day one. neither seems appealing. Viridian Tea Company - Tea, Books, Art, and Photography! Click HERE for the Etsy store link!

Fear and Curiosity In Denver - Essay

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  My Goth ways began with the 80s horror film Fright Night . You remember that movie, right? A high school guy named Charley Brewster discovers that his recently moved-in next-door neighbour is a vampire (played by Chris Sarandon). Add some killer tracks and some gore, and you've got one hell of a film! I first watched it on Betamax (showing my age!) and was mesmerized by the vampire. He was so handsome, so suave, so evil, that I began reading any book I could get my hands on that dealt with vampires. As I grew older, I got more and more into what I later learned was called the Goth subculture and I loved it. However, I also noticed that as I grew older, my fears and anxieties grew right along with me. When I lived alone in various apartments, I always felt as though some ghost or demon or vampire or whatever was creeping up behind me, ready to strike when I least expected it. I tried my best to ignore the "feelings" yet they wouldn't leave me alone, so much so that a

Waking Up - A Flash of Jazz Story

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  When Olivia woke up on a rainy Saturday, she realized that everything had changed. She looked at the raging storm that lay outside her old windows then smiled and slid out of bed. She walked down the narrow hall to her kitchen to prepare a cup of tea then stopped as she reached her living room. There were beer bottles lying all over the floor along with issues of The New Yorker, several poetry books bent on certain pages and an ashtray overflowing with butts, some lipstick stained, and others just stained. She glanced at the sight and then plodded towards her kitchen. She really wanted a cup of tea. A rainy Saturday means that I can stay in and watch movies , she thought as she prepared her kettle. Olivia lowered her bag of Earl Grey tea into the mug and said aloud, “I don’t care anymore. All of it. None of it.” Her words barely came out in a whisper, yet she felt as though the Universe heard her finalizations. Once everything was ready and the kettle slowly boiled the water, Oliv

Two Elder Goths Walk Into a Coffeehouse . . . - Flash Story

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  . . . and it wasn't a joke.  A black woman, dressed in a simple look of black wide-leg exercise pants and a shirt with the name of some bookstore logo, walks into a local coffeehouse. She looks around, instantly feeling the hipster vibes of the place, then places an order for a matcha latte at the counter. Music by some indie band she doesn't recognize pumps through the speakers set up on the wall, giving just enough laid-backness to the patrons without disturbing them. She receives her drink and locates a small table where she can read for a little while. Ten minutes later, a white woman dressed in khaki pants and a purple long-sleeved shirt with her long black hair pulled into a messy bun, enters the coffeehouse. She too looks around, sees the black woman reading, and then places an order for a large hazelnut latte. She receives her order and then approaches the black woman. The seated woman looks up and smiles, then gestures for the standing woman to sit opposite her. The

Prep School Rebel - Flash of Jazz Story

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  I remembered her quite well, even after all these years. Her name was Maggie LaFleur, honest to god that was her name, and she was the rebel of St. Severus of Avranches Preparatory School. I always thought it was funny that our beloved school was named after the patron saint of silk makers but then again, I always found such strange and unusual facts to be quite hilarious. Maggie was a year older than me, yet we lived in the same dorm building due to the fact that we were both products of upper-middle-class families. While I was strictly a bookworm who loved the violin, playing chess, and reading The New Yorker , Maggie's passions ran in the form of the theatre. She declared one evening in the Common Room that she was going to become a famous actress. None of that Hollywood bullshit, she would sneer to us as we listened in various forms of enrapture; she wanted to dominate Broadway. I merely smiled behind my cup of hot jasmine green tea and wished her luck. Throughout our years a

Friday - A Flash of Jazz Story

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Joan called me on a Friday to let me know that she was finally going to art school. After years and years of allowing people to talk her out of it for a myriad of reasons, she finally bit the bullet, told everyone to f*** off, and applied. I sat on my couch in my apartment, listening to her sounds of joy as she described her classes and spoke of her hopeful attempts to make friends with her fellow students. I sighed a little too loudly, causing Joan to pause in mid-speech. What, she asked me. Huh, I replied, knowing damn well what I did. You just sighed , she added with a little force in her voice. I’m sorry . . . am I boring you or something? Joan, I wheedled, I’m fine, just go on with what you were talking about. No, she yelled, I wanna know right now what’s making you sigh like that, Paul. She fell silent and I held my breath. Is this . . . because of last week, she asked in a whisper. I felt my heart beat a little too fast; thank god she couldn’t hear it. Suddenly, she began

Tea Photography

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  Quiet Gaiwan Blue Buddha

The World of Angry Men - Fiction

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  I have met many angry men. The ones who constantly lash out because they feel they no longer have a place in the world, or so they think. The ones who, once upon a time, looked at me with such desire mingled with confusion, that I thought they were the ONE for me. The ones who took delight in stomping all over my heart until it turned to dust and was no longer worth saving. Yeah, those angry men. I would spend many a night crying over them, those angry men, all the while wondering why they always came to me, ready to destroy me yet again. I wondered what it was about me that they liked/hated. Before going to sleep, I would always say a prayer - dear whoever is listening to me, make me understand why. I closed my eyes, only to open them again and see a new day with no answer in sight. Then, I remembered that it was a Thursday, I prayed the same prayer and went to sleep. When I woke up the next day, I found that I couldn’t move my body. I pulled down the sheet and screamed, or actually

Lesson Learned - Bloom Where You Are Planted

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  Every time that I used to visit New Orleans when I lived in Memphis, I thought that the city was the answer to all of my problems. I knew that if I just moved there, all of my shortcomings and issues would be magically erased. However, when I finally moved there during the beginning of COVID, my problems did not go away at all. In fact, they got worse. I found myself still caught up in the weeds, drifting from idea to idea and even though I had a business to run, I was more worried about stupid situations. Then one day, I received an invitation to visit Colorado, a state I didn't know too much about. I visited and found myself enjoying the lack the drama and toxic behaviours. When I returned to New Orleans, I returned to all of the mess I had temporarily left. And then one day, I had had enough of my issues. I told myself - that's enough . And so, I began to change. I also remembered a piece of advice someone told me a long time ago. She said - it doesn't matter if you ar

Leason Learned - DEATH

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 While enjoying a quiet period of reading the other day, I learned that a man I knew really well had died. I blinked several times in shock because I had spoken to him quite recently. He was a talented artist and overall good soul. I searched social media to learn that yes, he had died. I was stunned. Recently, I met two women from Israel and soon, we were caught up in a delightful conversation. I showed them the library book that I was reading ( My Wild Garden by Meir Shalev ) and their eyes grew wide. Oh yes, he's really famous in Israel, they told me, and he died recently. My heart went straight to my feet and tears formed in my eyes. Although I had never met the man, the one book I was reading by him had formed a connection that I could not deny. So, in learning that he was dead, I felt as though a dearest friend had left this world. Thankfully, the author had written many books, so our connection was restored. So much Death surrounding us. Whenever we hear of a famous person o

Mindful Essay - The Crickets

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  I'm listening to the crickets chirp as I meditate and focus on my breathing. To hear their sounds bring me great (and quiet) joy that can not be replaced with anything else. So much noise lately, so much anger, so much "I'm right and you're wrong". I open my eyes once the meditation is over and reach for my cup of jasmine green tea. I take a sip and immediately remember the time when a woman told me that people don't drink hot tea during the summer. I remember how I smiled at her and said - I drink hot tea all year . She looked at me funny and then walked away from my vendor booth. The cricket chirps again and I wish I could make a tiny cup of tea to share with the insect. I'm feeling better today: more connected, quieter, more aware of myself. I realize that I no longer need someone to tell me my worth. I don't need someone screaming that I am worthless and I never listen to them. Right now, I have my tea and crickets outside of the window. The leav

Mindful Essay - What Brings Me Joy

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 I was sitting outside under the Colorado sun while waiting for the all-clear. You see, I decided to take the day off to enjoy the Denver Art Museum . It was one of their Free Days and I figured, why not! It had been way too long since I last visited. However, while enjoying some photography, the buzzers went off and a mechanical voice came on, announcing that there was a fire emergency and for everyone to evacuate. I sighed a little and made my way down the stairs just like everyone else. While most people tried to find a shady spot to wait, I sat down on one of the benches under the glare of the sun and decided to sweat it out. Several minutes later, a French family walked up to the bench and sat down as they happily chatted amongst themselves. I spoke to them en francais and they were pleasant in replying. They soon left and bid me an au revoir, to which I replied in kind. Several minutes later, we received the all-clear and I returned inside to the cool museum and viewed art for

Lesson Learned - (screaming)

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  This morning, I went to my OBGYN, where I learned a horrible truth that I honestly did not know - my stress level is not good. When I returned home, I was frustrated at myself for being overweight, a little fatigued due to waking up early for my appointment, and just numb. So now, as I sit here at my computer writing out this blog post, it finally dawned on me that stress has been fucking around with me for years and I didn't realize it and take better care of it. I didn't know that my stress levels were higher than I had imagined. I sat in my chair in my office and tried to return to the point when my stress levels started to climb. I think it was the time when my wonderful job in the AML department of a financial firm was taken away from me due to a company merger/buyout. When we received the news of that shattering change, many of us didn't know what was going to happen. Some immediately jumped ship and went to other companies, while others hung on until the bitter end

Adventure With My Muses - It's Too Dang HOT!

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  Tea Muse: (fanning herself with a magazine as she's laid out on the couch) Good grief, it's too hot outside! Frederica: (sipping a glass of ice-cold water) Quite.  Me: Well, at least we've got all these fans blowing air on us . . . . Tea Muse: (glaring at me) Me: Alright fine, fine! Well, how about if we go somewhere cooler?  Frederica: May I suggest a quick dip in the pool at the community center? Tea Muse: (grumbling) I don't have a bathing suit. Me: Okay . . . . so how about if we go to a bookstore? It'll be freezing inside! Tea Muse: (grumbling) Don't have any money. Frederica: (finishes her water then throws a piece of ice at Tea Muse) Alright, Miss Grumpy Pants, do YOU have any ideas? Because honestly, both I and Kimberly came up with some rather good ideas for you! Tea Muse: (giving us death stares) James: (coming out of his office) Here, have some money for ice cream! (returns to his office) Tea Muse: Yay, thanks, James!  Me: Woot! Frederica: (looking

Lesson Learned - Consistency, Consistency, Consistency

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  When I am about to embark on something new, I get so excited about it. For several days, I will devote much time and energy to the project in question, only to later notice how I may forget to work on it for one day. That one day extends into several and before I know it, I've forgotten to practice my violin, or paint enso, or promote my tea company on social media, or whatever is right in front of me. For years, I couldn't figure out why I procrastinated, especially when it involved something that I truly enjoyed. I literally found the answer yesterday - it's not about being lazy but rather being consistent. Apparently, many people have this problem due to focusing on the outcome rather than the process. I felt as though a light went off in my mind. The article was right: I was more focused on playing the song Eleanor Rigby on my violin rather than enjoying the learning process of getting there. I was more concerned with my tea company making money than actually enjoyin

A Flash of Jazz - Acoustic Bicycle

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  When Abby declared that she was now the proud owner of an acoustic bicycle, I rolled my eyes and congratulated her on finally getting that last badge that would claim her to be a Black Hipster. She looked at me as though I had just told the funniest joke. You're just jealous that you didn't know the term, she laughed. At that moment, I wanted to leave but instead replied with - I've heard that snarky ass term before, thank you very much. In fact, I added with my own spoon of snark as I leaned forward on the table, I first heard it when I hung out with that really cool singer-songwriter, you know the one? Now she rolled her eyes at me, giving me full permission to continue on my soapbox. Yeah, yeah, the one who talked about planting wildflowers every time someone purchased her CDs. THAT one. So, Abby replied, I guess you're now going to save the planet, stop eating burgers, and plant a fucking tree every time someone farts? How very original, Wendell . The way she said

Poetry - Among Us

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 I received word today that the gods and goddesses of old were still among us.  They have witnessed what we humans have become and now they want nothing more to do with us. Some of us, however, are worth "saving" and it is those precious few on whom they bestow their madness upon.  These precious few shriek and scream and dance among colours we have yet to see.  These precious few tell us that we are being watched and we give them a tin foil hat.  These precious few tell us that THEY can see us and we shun the messenger. I lied; I am one of the proud few, the one who can see them.  I refuse to scream but instead, give my gods flowers while they whisper words into my ears that will turn into books that no one can comprehend. I want to run away and hide yet they will always find me. I want to be normal and talk over a water cooler yet they laugh at my foolishness. All I can do is love my deities. All I can do is dream about my new life. All I can do.  All.  Viridian Tea Company

An Ode To The Pencil

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  A new day has come. Time for me to open my journal, pull out my case of pencils, and write. No matter where I am, I have to have both my case of pencils and my sharpener with me whenever I write longhand. For many years, I devoted my writing to the pen (black and maybe blue at times), yet one day while I was in a botanic garden, I wanted to write something in my journal. The only writing instruments I had on me were pencils. I made sure that they were sharpened and I set to writing. Ever since I moved to Colorado, I've completely given in to the whims of the pencil and I refuse to use a pen unless if pressed. Call me an antiquated woman, but I just adore writing in pencil. What is it about the pencil that makes for such a fascinating writing tool? Well for starters, the modern pencil was invented by Nicholas-Jacques Conte in 1795 while serving as a scientist in Napoleon Bonaparte's army. There's more to pencils than what you received in grade school! Several years ago, I