Warrior Princess

I'm amazed at how perfect it all is!  You see despite how you want to smash the suctioned toed, slick tongue, long tail squiggly lizard in your window sill hanging out waiting to catch a fly; you realize that if you kill the fucking lizard then you have to fight the flies.  What is one to do when one has a certain level of disgust for one, a fear of the other and a hippie husband? 

Well one buys herself double sided sticky tape and place it on the screens of the windows. The tape traps the flies thus eliminating the dinosaur mini's.  Duh! 

Apparently word got out and the born again little maggots concocted a master plan. They sent a suicide fly; one willing to die for the freedom of others in order to trap the lizard; who ironically no longer had to work hard because I'd trapped his supper. So right there smack dab in the middle of my kitchen window above the sink, where I chop garlic, sip wine, daydream and admire the orange tree.  Fascinated that the half dollar sized fruit were just little flowers a few months ago.  A puffy swollen struggling lizard was suffering; desperate for another breath. STUCK!  Dam!  It's suctioned feet were trapped to the glue of the sticky tape and the flies were flying about victoriously shitting invisible fly droppings in my hair, hatching eggs in my trash raising their flag.   "Those little bastards!" I thought.   I waged war against them with the swatter in the dying lizard's honor.  When all the flies were stalked, attacked and smashed I returned to that poor little critter in the window sill and debated:

a. Should I admit to my creature loving husband the scene playing out in the window?  A man who'd only scolded me days prior after our beautiful candlelit dinner when I smashed a roach so hard it's wings separated; but of course I believed him to be in the other room.  Except he stood in the dim light looking at his beautiful wife with a shoe raised to highest point above my head ready to hammer down with the infested childhood memories of roaches, rats, spiders and WTF is that.  The promise of glitter and gold glistening in my head vanishing as one it's dying legs kicked in defeat.  "Dirty bastard, you're still alive?"  I took a breath of disgust and as I was about to re-reassure myself beyond any reasonable doubt that if I smashed that roach one more time he most certainly would never move again.  So I raised my shoe in my soft, long, slinky, sexy something something that I'd wooed my husband in like a warrior ready to leave it's sword in his enemies chest.  Then out of nowhere in dashed hubby Whitefeather who scolded me with those judging eyes, scooped the roach, his wings and remains and said, "Well the good thing is...The ants are going to have a feast; roaches are loaded with protein."  Grrrrrrrr..................
  

B. Get over my fears and rescue the lizard, remove the tape and pretend it never happened:

 I do live in Hawaii now; The Big Island more specifically; where it's all about ALOHA and there's an unspoken agreement with the spirit of the island that it's all love and we can all live on this earth together.  In one peace.  

c.  Claim victory close the curtain and wait for it to die, dry up, fall off and act surprised too if hubby discovers it before it's final decent to doom.   I grew up on the brown side of grass where we KILTD the hell out of lizards, spiders, cockroaches, frogs and anything else that crawled, flew or ran up a tree slow enough.   As a sophisticated lady I enjoy the pleasure it brings me to stare out the window.  I have to consider the discomfort in my chest until the thing falls off.  I could suffer for days but then ultimately the lizards would have gotten the message.  What if like the suicide fly I too have to suffer for the bigger picture?  Hmmmph! What was one to do?  What did one do?  What would you do?

Time flies; like fire and planes
So does butter on Aunt Chris' homemade biscuits
Dragons used to.
Does anybody care?

 ~TwannaShontay~

Gentle Lamb

At the end of the day
When the sun goes down
And the cow jumps over the moon;
When we're fat as pigs
And drunk as skunks;
When our eyes start to slowly contract
Like a python digesting an elephant.

The voices want to play:

The ones that call us fat, ugly, stupid, crazy, worthless and such and such.

The voices of doubt and fear that are always lurking and tworking looking for attention.
And if we're drunk and high enough or the t.v is loud enough
 or we're stuffed enough we might be able to:

COUNT SHEEP......SOUND ASLEEP

EVEN AS THE BUFFALO ROAM

BUT IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT WHEN IT'S QUITE AS A MOUSE
 THE MONKEY ON OUR BACKS IS PARLAYING WITH THE VOICES IN OUR HEADS,
RUNNING LIKE WILD HORSES IN OUR ONCE GREEN PASTURES.

SOMETIMES ITS BETTER TO BE A BIG BIG FISH IN A SMALL POND

THAN A LITTLE littleFISH IN THE BIG OCEAN.

 IF WE CHANGE OUR MINDS WE CAN CHANGE OUR LIVES.

Listen

~TwannaShontay~

Until the wheels fall off

"No sad letters."  He repeated after me as we were ending our call.  "I like that!  Love ya."  Those were the last words my father said to me after I'd shared pieces of a letter I'd just received from his son; my brother.  The letter was funny as usual.  Only a natural born fighter can still find humor behind bars with a 40+ yrs sentence.  At any rate daddy and I laughed and he was shocked at the lighthearted course of the letter.  That's when I said, "Well, daddy we don't write sad letters."

I never knew those would be my last words to the man who went half on my creation; but folks let me tell you how profound they are now.  At the end of the day my soul yelped for my daddy.  Thirty five years of anger for his absence in my life found it's way out of me.  Where was it?  How did it get tucked away so deep that it rushed through my veins and leaped through my soul like a desperate prey moments away from the edge of life and death.  How did my vocal cords know to expand to accommodate the sudden eruption of emotions that exploded into a cry of a fatherless child?  How did my husband know the exact way to hold me as the demons marched out of body and into the night?  How had I smiled and claimed to have loved with my whole heart with that kind of pain?  I cried for the love I didn't acknowledge; the lack of understanding that the love I got was all he had to give. I cried for the Budweiser we'll never drink together again.  I cried for the end of the random bump ins we'd have at  the Jet Food Store in my little town when I visited.  I cried for my brother behind bars, his wife, my mother and other sisters and brothers from his many lovers.  I cried for my daughter never meeting her grandfather.  I cried for the memory of the high speed chase by police when I was twelve.  I cried for the only father I'll ever get and it felt good y'all.


  Last year I became a mother and oh what a revelation.  I got right with my daddy and he saw me happy.  He was happy for me.  But that happiness stemmed from the closure he gave me in the middle of  a summers night sitting in his jeep with both us over tipsy about two years prior, when I was on my spiritual journey.  He answered twenty one questions with one answer.  "Baby, I love you.  I've always loved you.  It's just that I was a casanova and shit got way out of control."  Well dam!  Who can't understand that.  He should have said that twenty years ago. Because I know first hand pimpin ain't easy.

 Though I was mad for a long time; my Bella was proof in the pudding that there is no place in a healthy life for anger.  It's never to late y'all and it really does matter.  Imagine if my last words remembered were full of hatred; then imagine a life where you get to decide how you want to feel. Imagine you taking all the necessary steps to mend a broken heart and as you put the last glob of glue of the wound the wind sweeps the whole thing away in one peace; it would hurt like hell to see a million little pieces scattered about uglying up the world.

Are you still writing sad letters?

Where are the pieces of your heart when the wind blows?

This bud's for you,

~TwannaShontay~

Babbling Blog Blogger

So I've decided I'm going to blog.  There are somethings worthing blogging about.  As I babble about blogging when the notion soothes me I hope you shut your blogger and be oblogged.

This is a test.