Thursday, December 27, 2012

The Raft, a free fall skit

Think alright think
It’s hard to think
I know it’s hard to think
You think
You want me to think
Yes you think
I’m the one who got us into this mess and you want me to think a way out of it?
Well I’m scared
Fucking terrified
Sings I see a little silhouette-o of a man.
Are you singing Bohemian Rhapsody?
That’s something I remember
Don’t remember survival skills class
Me neither
I seem to remember building a fire
We’re in a river
Let’s get out of the river
It’s a flood
I can’t take it anymore
A raft, people needs rafts in floods
Let’s start a business
Let’s start making rafts
They’ll all be named after woman Joni, Sarah, Jillian, Denise, Mindy
We’re going to name the rafts?
It’s bad luck not to name a boat, and it’s got to be a woman’s name; naming it after a man is bad luck too
Bad Luck
Bad Luck
What I said
We’re in a flood, I don’t really think luck would care if we called the raft Joe John Bill Jack or Josh
So a raft is a good idea?
A whole fleet of rafts!!!!
Can we get ourselves out of here first?
You want to get out of here?
Ask the guy with the orange jacket and the raft.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

The Rehearsal

I’ll build a little fire
Until the love comes on
I’ll do a little soft shoe
Until the music plays
I’ll dress in reds and yellows
Until the world starts to see
Even though the audience chosen
Is empty seats and dusted doorways
I’ll dress in beads and flappers best
Around my painted legs
With a beaded flower
Planted freely in my hair
I’ll look out across the expanse
Where the exit sign has fallen
And project my silent voice
Into the must and graffiti of my mind
I’ll put the cigarette in the holder
Light its smoke up to the ceiling
And then a trickle of light
Over me and a stool
I’ll build a little fire
Until the love comes on
I’ll do a little soft shoe
Until the music plays
And I’ll start my little show



Tuesday, December 25, 2012

War Ships

not my photo
Crazy 21
Riveting a sail boat
Short shorts
T shirt that says “crew”
Every girl builds boats
Don’t they?
Hanging out with the “crew”
Having a beer
On tap
Maybe a Guinness
Maybe a dark and dirty
Childlike visitors
To the museum that day
Some unsure of where they are
Or how they got to the harbor
I tell them about history
From before my parents were born
Solemn rememberers  
Know all too well
Why they’re taking
One more walk across a war ship
I start telling them about the war
And they change it up
I let them tell me how the war
Really went

P.S Although not built as a war ship, the Acadia was refit to a war ship during both world wars.

Monday, December 24, 2012

A Few

A few years ago, after doing night shift at a hotel and living in a crappy apartment I couldn’t afford and being very sick I moved home. I didn’t know what I wanted except to either die or get well, nothing in between. I’ve been in between for a long time and I’m ok with it and life is getting better.

 A few months ago I gave my writing to a friend and she asked two or three times how she should read it. What kind of feedback I wanted.

A few days ago a friend said: “Frosty does it differently, what takes most people five minutes to figure out she has to ‘process’”. Well after a month and six pages of journal this morning I know I need a mentor, someone to point my in the right direction and talk to me about writing. And I have to ask for it, I just can’t look puppy eyed at the people around me and hope it happens.

A few hours ago I met up with a friend in the mall. We were waiting for the stores to be open. Last night I did a whole bunch of research on the romantic period in writing and I organized all the romantics on my bookshelf. I wanted to talk to him about it but I was afraid he’d think I was strange because it’s so not a B’town thing to do, so I was quiet. Does this make me seem distant different like I’m keeping something from people, am I not being real?

A few minutes ago I decided there are words that I want to know how to use. The romantics wrote about apprehension. Think about it, how does one include that in their writing? Use it? Do you write about it or do you weave it into your writing. Or does it just show up there?

I just picked up Moby Dick and looked for apprehension in Melville’s writing. I’m on an apprehensive mission.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012


I’ll sleep on a bed of rose petals

Deep in a cavern of the moon

There will be quiet

There will be solitude

I will hear the sound of my heart beating

And I will know that it’s mine

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Apocalypse Sun

The black apocalypse sun
Rises in the darkness
A night that will never wake
Our home
Darkened by
Industrial pollution
Chimneys and Incinerators
Fog and smog
A stranger is running
Up my drive way
I am frightened and
Run past my door
I live a lone
And it’s dangerous to stop
To open the door
The hand tapping on my window
In the night
A hand like a giant
Fat and wrinkly
Spent all day under the apocalypse sun
Curls his finger and beckons
Me outside
To travel
The world again

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Facing the Excuses

The first excuse I faced was moving out of the old apartment. There were a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t take this place, but it had a decent price a sunroom and I could have a cat. No more excuses out with the old in with the new.

I didn’t go right out and adopt a cat, even though people were sure the day after I moved in I’d have five. I made excuses: I wanted to get used to the house, to see what it would cost, to build up a little after I spent a lot moving (yes mama and papa helped). Could I afford her, was I healthy enough to take care of her, was I mature enough, would my lifestyle allow it.

Finally there were no excuses it was my birthday I was crying because I wanted a kitty. I still have no money and I’m still getting used to the house, but I have the friendship of a kitty; I’ve wanted that for a long time. Last night we rubbed noses (Kitty Kisses) for the first time.

There was a rush; a succeeding, a breaking through of the darkness.

Last night I couldn’t sleep with the light off. I had to turn it on. I wasn’t afraid of the dark; I was letting light into dark places. When I woke up this morning I felt good and did chores around the house rather than morning pages- so I didn’t do any heavy thinking, but I let things process in the unconscious, I guess.

And all of a sudden at my desk today I thought “I keep making excuses.” I keep making excuses about my debt, my debt is the reason I don’t have a credit card, don’t travel, don’t have a house.

I believe I can’t do anything about my debt, it’s been too long, why should I bother, I’m broke anyway so there’s no way to pay it off, it’s fine the way it is. But I know how great facing those excuses are. If fix my debt, I stop making excuses about traveling and buying a house. I see that although it’s a lot of work the payoff is grand. So this year it’s about facing the excuses so I can sleep with the light off.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Silent Bones

A future- my future; I saw it for certain, or thought I saw it. It’s been 30 years since I started putting bits of who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do together. And when you’re young you see things that aren’t there, I mean, they’re in your mind yes, and when you’re sitting all alone in your bedroom they seem real and everyone tells you they’re possible, but when you open your eyes, they never happened.

When something does happen even a glimpse of something you panic and get excited and believe that it’s the answer to all you’re looking for that this one creaky door, tipping open will lead to a hall way of doors opening, that this one little creak is the answer.

That’s what my training in imagination has been for, stay young, stay that child dream out loud, dream in lights and colour, believe in the marquee and the novel with your name written on it four or five times; on the front and back covers.

When you live by yourself that’s the way it happens, no one sees it but you; it’s as real as you want it to be. It’s as quiet when it doesn’t come true. 
I'm editing the crap out of this little piece, if you look at the first page of "The Sweet Hereafter" you'll see many things that are similar... but as I'm editing it, I wanted to keep this copy, there's something about it I like


Monday, December 3, 2012


I looked at the therapist.

He asked “what did your husband do to upset you today?”

I wanted to tell him I didn’t have a husband, but he’s so convinced he knows me and can help me, that I don’t want to break his heart, hurt that look in his eyes. I figure it will cause to much confusion now, to tell him I’m single.

“He told me he found a lover.” I said

“Are you OK with that? You sound OK with that.”

I answered “He kept making excuses for why he couldn’t come home at night and I was getting used to not having him there. I told him he should stay with this lover.”

His eyes lit up and he leaned forward. “So you sound all right with this maybe this is what you’ve been looking for.”

“Yeah,” I said “Maybe it is what I’ve been looking for.”

 He leaned back at the end of the session talking about my husband and said “I believe we have made some real breakthroughs today.”

I nodded in agreement. This was the last Tuesday I had to meet with him.

All I knew is that even my nonexistent lover didn’t want to be with me. I felt depressed and deserted.

I walked out to the car where my mother was sitting and convinced her to go out for a beer, we had many.

To take the edge off we went down to the gazebo by the river and threw rocks until we were sober.

“Take that you cheating husband.” She would say and another rock would splash in the river scaring the frogs hiding along the riverbank.

Today I walk along the gazebo yard no mother no drinks free from the therapist and left on my own to figure out the inner workings of my feelings and who I am and why I do what I do. For me it’s better that way.


Sunday, December 2, 2012


There was an incident on the playground this week where one of the males I work with was referred to as “the queen.” He was more than ok with the remark. To the others that made me “the king.” I was not so impressed. I became incoherent upset and we stopped the jokes for a while.

I appreciate that I’m not your stereotypical woman. I played math and science games as a child, beat the boys at chess and still help the groups with the heavy lifting “Oh you can carry that generator.” Say the men who don’t know me. I have bought make up on and off in my life but always fail at using it and go to the national geographic magazines in the DR’s office “Chatelaine what?” But I am not a King.

I’ve worked damn hard to be a girl and survive as a girl and be a girl through all this world has thrown at me. I have a hard enough time, expressing my sexuality and I didn’t feel like I needed another strike against me with the boys calling me “King.”

This week of course led to a weekend of feminist literature and a greater understanding of who I am as a female. I’m sure there will be more discoveries to follow. As I become healthier I hear more comments from others about who I've become over the past 30 years.