gonzochic

Happiness

2010-02-22T14:35:00.000-08:00

Every now and again I have to remind myself to write about something joyous. It seems I don't really have the desire to write when things are good, mayhap I am simply enjoying the peace.

I am nearing the ending of volume one of my reign on this earth, and have never been more full of life. Destiny has this way of making you think you are screwed for a while, as if to make sure you are ready to appreciate the abundance of good it wants to shower you with.

I think the biggest lesson I have learned in the first 27 years of my life is that in order for good things to happen, you must feel you deserve them. And, in order to deserve these good things you don't have to live a flawless life; just do your best for those you love, including yourself. Intentions mean nothing- you can still hurt the ones you care for the most with good intentions. You can intend to be a better student, employee, or wife- and still end up dropping out, unemployed, and divorced. So, with this new leaf that the winds of time are turning over I will take my life one choice at a time. Not one day, one hour, or one moment- but consciously choose every second of everyday to be present in my own life.

I am so tired...

2010-02-06T14:53:00.000-08:00

I have felt so much for so long. Up and down. Last night, I was amongst friends laughing and engaging in ridiculous conversations. This morning I was sending my dad off to the hospital again. Again. And again. And again.

It doesn't get any easier. The sadness gets thicker with each trip to the hospital. All the little things that we can not fix. Realizing- there is no recovery. Only temporary comfort. Trip after trip after trip to the hospital. Weak, sleepless, exhausted, too fatigued to even talk. A good day is when he has enough strength to lift a spoon to his mouth and feed himself. This is the same man who used to carry me on his shoulders.

I want his suffering to end. And I feel so guilty for that. I feel so...

Snap out of it Rach! You can't let yourself go down that road. Not today. It's easy to give in. This to shall pass.

True optimism, comes from true suffering. Knowing what bad really is. Knowing what low feels like. Being grateful for the light peeking through the trees at the edge of the dark wood, knowing there is a clearing ahead. Somewhere. I smile, because tears are not an option today. I laugh, because it breaths life into me where the sadness is. I find myself laughing a lot these days, armed with humor on the frontlines of my grief- battling the inevitable.

Sigh

2009-11-17T15:01:00.000-08:00

I'm realizing my type. Tormented, creative, emotional, reckless, and passionate- a young Bukowski, Kerouac, or HST would suit me well. Someone who dreams big, but lives bigger. Unafraid of all the could haves and would haves, but instead just does. Busy having tumultuous short lived love affairs: getting drunk, making love, and having deep conversations about the human experience. It'd be nice to marry that guy, but that guy doesn't settle down. He blows in like a cool breeze on a hot summer night, and before you know it- he's changed you. Changed the way you see the world.

I wish he wasn't a figment of my imagination.

Dear John

2009-11-16T20:54:00.000-08:00

Dear John,

It may be slightly insane that I am writing you about this, but sometimes you don't know what else to do. I have to tell someone, or I'm going to break. I feel the walls beginning to crumble in around me. You see John, my father is dieing, and with it I am losing my sanity. So much to the extent that I am writing you. Mostly knowing you won't ever read this letter and in some small way I can go crazy and have no one to bear witness to it but my silent friend. It's the same concept as crying in the shower with no one to see, except in some small way there is the possibility that you hear me. Or someone does. There is this infestation of emotion happening. I really hate it when fucking cliches are true John. It's extremely annoying. Like a big cosmic fucking 'I told you so'. But I know, what doesn't kill me, will make me stronger- because I'm still here to learn something from it.

I am the dedicated daughter. Sometimes I wonder if that is my personal weakness. If staying and taking care of him is actually a type of codependency. I'm okay with that for now. I'll deal with who I am without him, after he is gone. I'm grateful for thew now, because every day I am with him my son gets to love him a little bit more. I get to witness a grown man become a child before my eyes, and see life in it's entirety as they interact.

I don't know what I want honestly, or why I had to write it down. Maybe I just want to have my moment. I will mostly likely be the one with him when he goes, and inside I am freaking the fuck out. We've been dangerously close these passed few months and I have gotten a taste of that grief, blanketed in fear. Fear, is only ignorance in disguise right? I think I'm scared of what will happen to him. His soul, his energy, his legacy. I have no clue what to believe in anymore.

Inside I am hoping for someone to be there for ME when he goes. I keep hoping to find someone to hold me when he dies. But I know in my heart, this is something I have to face on my own. That wanting someone to hold me, will only make it more relevant that I go it alone. It's a tumultuous time in my life right now. It feels like a painful rebirth. Like I am laboring and fighting waves of debilitating contractions, knowing it must happen, knowing it will hurt, and knowing that it is, in and of itself, beautiful. And when he dies, I will start to push and scream with all of my might to get through it. And maybe.... in this rebirth of mine I will become more cognizant of this life. Maybe I will finally be awake to what it is to live.

August 15th, 2009

2009-11-16T20:53:00.000-08:00

If you read this and detect a tone of melancholy, you are right. I am saddened and my heart is breaking. No matter how old or how young a person maybe when they die, the ones left to grieve will do just that. Sometimes we are wise enough to rejoice in the same breath.

We received the news today from the doctors that his time is truly coming to an end. His heart is failing him, and there is nothing left to be done but make him comfortable. It could be this minute, tomorrow, or next year... but one thing is sure, it is trying to give up. And my father, with all his might is saying "No!" But sometimes the will to live is outweighed by the body's will to let go, and I am doing my best to prepare myself for this. What saddens me most, is that I did not take notes. That when he gave me advice as a youth, I turned a cheek out of arrogance. When he bestowed his wisdom to me as a parent, I quieted myself out of pride, and here now he can do no more than mumble my name and hold my hand. Here now, I trim his nails and brush his hair, and tell him about the beautiful tomatoes his grandson has grown in the garden as he looks off into the distance, seemingly gazing at the horizon of his life. I wish so much I knew what thoughts ran through his mind. His years in the Navy, his life by my mother's side, the sweet memories of his grandchildren and the sadness of leaving us all behind. A man with so many stories to tell. The epic novel of his life draws to an end so quietly, and is yet just a sorrowful chapter of my own tale. I hope he knows that all the greatness in me exists because of his love.

Massive Rant

2009-11-16T20:51:00.000-08:00

There's this place that your mind goes that is yours and only yours. Barricaded by concrete and impenetrable by any outsiders. I can only compare it to true nothingness. To a silence and stillness so vast that there are no echos. Numbness, in a way that isn't numb, because to be numb you would have to know what it is to feel, and behind these walls there are no senses. Nothing to compare to and nothing to want or need. Just to be. This is the place my mind goes when I wonder out of the hospital doors. Trying to digest the big picture. Trying to learn the lesson and find that ever winding path that's supposed to lead to somewhere better than here. Anywhere is better than here. Or is it? Maybe here is the best place to be for me, for now. Maybe this is exactly where I am supposed to be. But by believing that I am believing in a certain destiny, even a God maybe. And how the hell is that going to help me. By tomorrow maybe I'll throw my hands up in the air and say "let it happen, let it go!". Throw out the road map, the self help books, and flush the medicine cabinet. Give in to the impulses, indulge in the senses, become a hedonist lover of all things that simply 'are'. Because that is simply how life is. We live, and we die. But it isn't so simple is it? NO! Because in the midst of that simplicity is all this love and suffering. Because we as humans NEED things, lots of things. Jobs, healthcare, mortgage loans, medicine, doctors, daycares, fresh produce, traffic signals, iphones, blah blah blah fucking blah. None of it does you any good. Really. While your busy achieving all of these things, the people you love most are dieing, and your time is wasted not learning from them. Not talking to them and hold their hands and kissing their cheeks, not hugging and laughing, not LISTENING. I can't take it anymore! To hell with it all.

Twas thinkin' today

2009-10-08T15:46:00.000-07:00

Twas thinkin' today
while lookin' out the window of a bus
headed to a job interview
for a job I pro'ly won't get
cause no one is hiring
and I have nothin' to bribe them with
other than the sad look in my eyes.

Maybe I should bring a recording
of my childrens' cries next time
and play that quietly in the background
as I talk about my ten years
of experience.

Nah, they'd only be drowned out
by the sorrows and the woes
of the woman who came before me,
and the man sittin' in the hall waitin' his turn.
And his sister and her husband
all lookin for jobs,
and their neighbors
who lost their house,
and their neighbor's neighbors who's brother
came home from a war

that dug a hole
in this country's heart
so deep that every
single
person
still
bleeds.

And how we all meet in line
at the welfare office
and how even the playin' fields are now
cause we're all broken.
Some wait for food 'assistance'
because they can't afford the
payments on the houses
they couldn't afford to buy.
And some are waiting for food 'stamps'
cause they don't give a shit
what you call it,
they're hungry.

This is not the America we saluted in school.
This is not the country who's birthday
we celebrate with sparkling fireworks,
followed with oohs and ahhs of sheer joy
from believing
there was a place
on this earth
so beautiful
it deserved
to be loved
this much.

And that that place was ours.

And every morning as I send my boy off to school,
and ever night as I tuck him into bed.

Only one question gnaws away at me.

What will his America be?

To remember my Father

2009-10-08T15:44:00.004-07:00

To remember my father

The sweet and knowing scent of the 4711 aftershave and stale cigarettes,
with a hint of the the business section of the NYT, which smells
just a little more desperate than the rest of it.

What if I forget the way you smell...
will you transcend the universe and remind me?

She Listens

2009-10-08T15:44:00.003-07:00

She sits alone

A cigarette in one hand
poised between her fingers,
slowly dancing to her benevolent lips.
Her ears burn for soft spoken words.
Voices, upon voices, upon voices
Clamoring together, a chorus of the human condition.

Forks clank clank,
Plates rattle.
Laughter, whispers, chatter.
Somewhere in the background
Bob Dylan pays homage to Woody
And her blue eyes well up in waves,
like a tide slowly coming in.

A lover's gaze

2009-10-08T15:44:00.001-07:00

His eyes, like the ocean
But only in their depth.
And in their soft reflection
she sees remnants of herself.
Deep shades of courage ripple in the
breezes of his soul.
She would not believe
his sweet words,if not for those eyes.
looking at her. searching for a flaw,
his brow furrows with intensity,
and quickly softens with adoration
having not found any,
though she has many.

For my soldiers love

2009-10-08T15:42:00.002-07:00

I see your fury.
this red veil of pain.
I can not help you find a cure,
for this honorable plague.
the damnation from your sweet cherry lips,
words lash out from the gaping
jaws of a broken faith.
you strike in frustration, in fear.
hoping that will be enough
to push me away
hoping I will see you waving your white flag.
you have forgotten that I am not the enemy

though the desert sands have rendered you a quiet man
I remain by your side, and if it comes to be
that you doubt my love, look into my eyes and try to see
the depth of my devotion
rest your head upon my chest and
listen for that steady rhythm of compassion
and let it comfort you.
let the lowly beat of my heart break our silence.
and in these few, quiet moments,
may you find some peace.
for nothing, my darling
would bring me more joy.

The Last Kiss

2009-10-08T15:42:00.001-07:00

For my first love.

It was not good enough for me
or sweet enough
or long enough

I can't remember
I can't
remember

This is not how a love
that burned so fierce
and bright
should die.

The last good bye
should come with a warning
so you can hold on tighter
and embrace longer.

So you could take
the time to
imprint
that moment

the sounds
the smells
the tastes
imprint that forever
on my mind

forever on my mind.

If I had known
If I had known
If I had known

I would have kissed you
differently.

I would have given you a kiss
that held in it's soft lingering

everything that is in my heart.

Hedonism sounds a bit like Heaven

2009-10-08T15:41:00.000-07:00

I will never be famous, or powerful, or rich. I will never be recognized by the world for my great accomplishments. A handful of people will know my name and remember it. I will live quietly and peacefully and I will love and feel passionately. Everything I can.

Out of the greatest intellectual and artistic minds that we all study and fawn over, not a one of them was sane. The ones who lived only to live, simply because they could not stop themselves from it. From painting, or writing, or thinking or feeling. They were insane and tormented, and genius. Van Gogh, Picasso, Bach, Mozart, Chopin, Plato, Einstein, H.S. Thompson, etc etc. All suffered thanks to the way they saw the world. Suffered for being more attuned to what made them tick. What would have happened if Van Gogh had access to prozac? Would we ever have seen his starry skies?

I would rather feel it all then feel nothing. There is a price to pay for being passionate.

Life in general.- philisophical, sleep deprived, short, and sweet rant.

2009-10-08T15:40:00.000-07:00

Friday, June 5, 2009 at 12:27am
Destiny. Fate. Choice. Life. Death. Happiness. Loneliness. Love. Desire. Agony. Pain. Enlightenment.

What makes life tolerable is that it has a beginning and an end. And from that same concept derives all of our anxieties.

If we are luck enough to become observers of the world we live in,
and not just players in this mad game,
if we are humble enough to stop demanding answers,
but instead be taken aback by random beauty.
we might catch a glimpse of what we search for
and if you (yes you) step far enough away from your life to see it,
you may stand a chance at actually living it.

Edge

2009-10-08T15:39:00.000-07:00

The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.- Hunter S. Thompson

I wish I could go over the edge, just to taste flight. Too many crowd around the middle where its safe. Trapped in the confines of a prison they have created with the limitations they have chosen to accept. I wish I could do more than simply stand at the edge and take in the view.

Aldous Huxley once said that we are a society of islands. No matter how hard we try to empathize, we will never truly understand another person. We can not crawl inside their mind and be them. We will never know another persons pain, joy, or contempt. No two people think, feel, taste or see the same way.

And with that, you will never even be sure of what shade of blue the sky is through my eyes. You just assume it is the same as yours. And I can not tell you differently. There are not enough words to truly show you. We spend our lives trying to share in our experiences. Watching movies that make us cry and laugh, reading books that make us think, talking to people that make us feel not so alone.

Writing is my only consolation to the constant thinking.

#27

2009-10-08T15:35:00.001-07:00

The kindest people I've ever met
never had a dollar to spend
cause they spent it all on things like rent
and keeping their hungry mouths fed.

Lovin' their kids and their folks
and their pets and barely gettin' by.
But somehow the will of love
always provided the will to survive.

Twas rememberin' the days when I was in school
and chalkboards were still around.
we saluted the flag every mornin'
and didn't worry about the chemicals
on the playground

we were rich then, even though we were poor
we were happy because we didn't know.
or maybe we really did know
what mattered, that is.
Maybe it was easier to be happy back then
because we were just happy
to have a friend
my how the tables have turned
now we're too busy gettin' ahead.

I ask myself if I should have had my son.
wonderin' if the world will only break his heart.
askin' people to put down their guns
and open up their hearts
and their minds
and what little souls
they have left.

It's not too late you know.
If you dare to fight the good fight.
It's not too late you know
To make things right.