American God, Misfortune

I am thankful that I am especially amused by the little things in life. What a tragic existence would it be if I did not have humor in my life. :]

Across the river stands a man. In the man's hand, there is a whistle. His chin is covered in a scraggly beard. His eyes are blurred by old glass lenses, and a single silver chain connect his pocketed pocket-watch to his vest. He is wearing a thick, Russian-esque winter coat, with great big patches of fur on the sleeves and around the neck; but he leaves it unbuttoned and brazes the heavy breeze.

He has one eye open and the other closed, tightly shut. His open eye is a soft gray with flecks of gold in it, and there is a heavy hunger in his eye, lurking at the edges of the iris. His mouth is hidden beneath a mustache, but his powder pink lips stick out like a fish's.

I have never seen him open his other eye, and so he appears to be in a perpetual state of winking at me. There are worse things, I think.

~Hammeh

Apples, but no Oranges

I love apples!! Like, really, really LOVE APPLES.

APPLES, APPLES, EVERYWHERE.

I grew up eating Gala apples, then we changed to Fuji for a bit. But I kept trying different kinds of apples. It's more about finding the one that meshes with your personality. I know that's weird, and it doesn't make sense until you've had your perfect apple.

For me, Galas are kind of dry, and what does "gala" mean anyways? Isn't it like a party or an event? I think so. That's not really me, if you know me, you know I'm not a party person. I love the idea of a party, but only when you can have lots of fun and be silly. A gala is more of a black-tie event, and Lord knows I am not black-tie material.

Fuji apples are okay. They're nice a crisp, but the taste is kind of bland, and the skin isn't very tasty. Which I guess is really funny if you think about the fact that the inside is "bursting" with juice, right? Kind of like Mount Fuji, haha. But the skin is all blech and tasteless, and do you think lava would have a taste? I feel like it would be super hot watermelon, if you can imagine such a thing. But maybe it's tricking me, and really, lava tastes like the inside of a Fuji apple, which makes sense, bland taste, lava would have a bland taste, it being molten rock and all. ((I don't mean to offend, because I know that some people regard Mount Fuji as sacred, and I apologize if you do take offense. It wasn't intended.))

Red Delicious apples literally taste like paper to me. Not even cardboard, because cardboard has some sort of flavor--don't ask. But paper? Yeah, that's Red Delicious alright. That name always cracked me up, because--well, let me start off with the fact that when I went to private school, that's all they ever served and that's all we private school kids ever ate. Anyway, I think it's funny because it reminds me of a crayon color, do you remember those crayons that went by such ridiculous names like mac-n-cheese? I don't know about you, but my mac-n-cheese was all different colors, but that's beside the point. Red Delicious apples are about as tasteful as those four-crayon boxes you used to get in Happy Meals. And by that, you know what I mean, 'cause those crayons never lasted.

Next in our line up is the Granny Smith apple which I absolutely would not eat anything else but them for a while. But the phase, though long, was unremembered. Alas.

So, after searching for years, this year I came across my Apple. Well, for now, we shall see if my tastes change, though I really love this one. Okay, my goal is to try as many types of apples as I possibly can, because, as I mentioned ((perhaps it was not warning enough?)) I love, love, love APPLES.

[[Sorry, I just ate an apple seed, whoops. At least, I think I did....?]]

Weird story: I'm a total fangirl for "Good Omens" by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I was reading fanfiction on the story, and one of the characters (Crowley, the serpent from the Garden of Eden) mentioned Pink Lady Apples.

I had to try them.

And now? I'M HOOKED.

My favorite type of apple? PINK LADY APPLES.

That's all lovies!

~Hammeh

And Love Will Steer The Stars

North Star

A breeze in the air,
sharp claws at the waist,

The green-yellow of grass,
and the vagueness of this poem.

My mind is unhinged,
the receipt from my last checkup
is way out of date.

And I've seen the stars,
Jupiter isn't aligned with Mars,
and today is not a day for poetry.

~Hammeh

Sharpies, WIgs, and Nutella

I'm dyeing a wig with a sharpie right now, so I think I'm a little high off the smells. xD

Untitled

There's a challenge in the way your eyes widen,
the way your heart opens,
and the way you smile and promise never to pressure me.

Sharpies

I can smell the colors,
black gives me a headache,
and silver a heady, cloud-nine feeling.

Aqua has always made me sneeze,
and the puce green you're so fond of,
constantly makes me ill.

The purple reminds me of that one day,
when the grass was yellow,
and your phone call told me how sharp the knife was.

I was thankful when I got to the door, raindrop blue,
that the knife was still clean in your hand,
and the smile a broken promise on your face.

~Hammeh

Raspberries and Thank yous

Epileptic

I hold my wine, index and ring curled inside the stem.
When my eyes drift down,
I can see them,
two shining pennies.

He tells me the years,
one for her birth, one for her death.

He laughs, clear and sharp and dizzy.
My wine-filled head overflows,
and my thoughts rush out onto the carpet.
Like blood in a crime show,
or tension in a soap opera.

His penny loafers are ruined,
drenched in my past,
and soggy with well-oiled memories.

Rust-ridden thoughts scratch against his silk socks,
and I drop the wine.

The glass shatters,
and I see myself
on the floor.

~Hammeh

Flight of a Soul

Two week mark! Hooray!~ :D Check out the coast of Ireland via satellite! Isn't it beautiful?? It's Phytoplankton blooming in the North Atlantic!~

Twang

Today, I'm focused on the pink of your tongue.
On the inner reflection of your glasses,
and the heartbeat you say doesn't exist.

I know you better than all of these things.

Your middle finger curves outward,
smooth as a dorsal fin.
The taste of honey and ash in your mouth,
putrefying in the creases of your lips and the dip of your tongue.
Like a flash of pink and gray and gold, sweet gold.

Silent as the rush of mice feet against the baseboard,
I'll watch and see, and see and fly.
Within your soul, exists another.

Wings like mammoth fur wrapped in sheaths,
explode!

The muscles of your back, of your tongue, of your soul,
flex.
A heartbeat, a wing beat, a single backwards glance,
and you come tumbling back to green lands and cerulean waters.

Tumbling back.
Into my arms.

~Hammeh

We and Us

Ars Poetica, Again

The smell of ink,
like the mudflats in the heat of summer.

A pencil stroke,
heavy and slow.

Your eyes,
flitting across the page, blue and gold.

My heartbeat,
thrumming against my chest.

Drawing Across the Keys

No headache tonight! Yay~

Late May

There's a little bit of me in the cracks of the wall.
Footsteps burned in the grooves of the stairs.
The touch of fingers on the high balanced ceiling.
Worn marks on the door's copper knob.

The soft, quick squeak of the ceiling fan.
And the wings of a moth, like velvet, beating against the screen.

A breath--in through the nose, out through the mouth.
The clear convex dome of your eyes.
And irises in full bloom.

~Hammeh

Missing You

Just a smidgen tonight. My mind hurts.

Sometimes, late at night, I think about my future. And how if I hadn't made that mistake three years ago, was it three or could it possibly be four? If it's four, I refuse to believe it. But if I hadn't made that mistake and cut you off completely, before we could even try talking it through, I think about how different my life would be right now.

Would I be in your arms right now?

I realize now that I didn't understand love. And the problem remains, I still don't understand it, and maybe I'm waiting for that one person who will teach me.

Or maybe it was you, and I never gave you the chance.

Orange Street

I realized that in about three weeks, I'm not going to have internet for a week, BUT I will continue this on paper and upload the all the missing days the day I get back. :]

The Sunny Side

The fir tree on the other side of the lake has been talking to me.
It's been asking about you.

But then I remember how you're allergic to fir, or fur, or something like that?
And I think that maybe I shouldn't be so honest with it.

It mentioned yesterday how much you liked candy canes,
and how in the chill of winter, you would hang them,
all over it's branches--the ones you could still reach.

And we talked about summer, and the concrete-damp weather,
and how it cast shadows like fishing nets over your sun-stroked skin.

Which makes me wonder things about you and your "Navajo" background,
and why you always claimed to be allergic to peppermints.

....I have no idea.

~Hammeh

Science and Literature

What? What's this? I'm doing an EARLY entry. xD It's 'cause I got sleep last night, as in, I didn't /just/ wake up. Moving on to more important stuff. Today is my friend Sarah's birthday, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!~ :] ((And now on to the blog itself~))

"Would you stop looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you can't decide whether you should take my liver for black market value or if maybe we should go get ice cream, preferably somewhere that has those rainbow jimmies."
"Are you an alcoholic?"
"What? Why the hell do you care?"
"I'm taking your observations seriously. Just answer the question."
"I could be lying, you know."
"It's a risk I'm willing to take."
"Right up there with jail and the hospital bills you'll have to pay when I kick your ass?"
"Pretty much. Are you planning on 'kicking my ass' after I've killed you for your liver?"
"What if I say I'm not an alcoholic and I really am, so when you try to sell my liver, it's too late?"
"Why would that matter? You'd already be dead."
"Point. But then you'd have to go through the whole mess of making sure you hid the evidence, and it would be for no profitable reason."
"Four hours."
"What?"
"Four hours. That's all it would take for me to dispose of you so no one would suspect me."
"Are you....are you serious? You know what, never mind. I don't actually want to know. Besides, what about dealing with my family? I know how you feel about my sister."
"I hope you would know."
"Which?"
"Both. That I'm serious, and that snide comment about my girlfriend."
"Well, how would you deal with that?"
"Who the hell is going to suspect me? If anything it would be you killing me that would be expected."
"What's that supposed to mean? You do something to my sister?!"
"No, it's just common cliche, okay? How are you even in this class?"
"Because I'm good at science, oh Literary One."
"Yeah, yeah. Hey, let me see the answer for number six."
"No way! Give me back my lab; I'm not done with it."
"And you're not finished with it either, but that's another matter. I think you meant to put centimeters here."
"What? Oh, hey, yeah, I did. Thanks."
"No problem."
"Can I have my paper back now, jackass?"
"Nope. Hey! I was copying that!"
"Not a good enough reason."
"Christ, fine. Listen, ice cream, I'll pay. Just give me the damn lab."
"Rainbow jimmies?"
"Ha ha. Yes, fine, okay?"
"Deal. Here. Answer to seven is on the back."

All in Good Company

Beneath

The ink on your finger,
the misshapen nail,
and the creases beneath your eyes.

These things tell me more about you,
than that one paragraph bibliography in Stars Weekly,
ever could.

////////////////

Untitled

I wish I knew what it was you saw in me.
The waiting, the embarrassment, the texts and non-existent phone calls.
The blushes in badminton, the morning kisses.
And I wish I knew why I cut you off so harshly.

Yeah, that's all for today. Kinda bland.

Hammeh

A Little Bit of Something

This is for my mother. Because she is amazing, and I would be absolutely lost without her.

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life — It goes on." - Robert Frost

I still remember being little and sitting in the basement which was the office -- that's all changed now, because we never go back there. It hides things that we can't afford to clutter our life with -- and I remember when my mom would get mad at my dad, and he would sit there at the computer with those ridiculous glasses on, and she would yell at him, but she would do it in that soft, low voice. The one where you know that if you don't listen and learn from it, there are consequences you wouldn't even dream of.

And I remember him taking me to the new MICA computer labs, and I remember researching ostriches and emus and getting really interested in Adobe Photoshop and Elements. I remember him spending hours and hours on classwork. And I remember my mom taking care of my little brother -- of my brother on a nebulizer with a pacifier still in his mouth under the mask -- her helping me with homework, and all at the same time, she's working at her own business and helping him pay for school.

Right before high school I got really into watching That's So Raven! on the Disney Channel. And I remember this one time that I was watching it while waiting for them to come home from work. And I also remember the carpets being torn out in the playroom, and the way that instead of the bright pink and blue shag it was now dark gray. The time I realized I couldn't afford to spend my time playing with toys.

It was that time. When I was watching the show, they came home. I remember it like it was five minutes ago. I remember my mom all dressed in black -- She never wore any colors in those days. -- And them coming in, the clacking of their shoes on the kitchen's hardwood floor, and I remember knowing, just knowing what was about to take place. I remember thinking that I was psychic, kind of like Raven. But I knew what it was then, and I know it now, and I never tell anyone, but I'm going to tell you.

It was that they came home at the same time.

That I had noticed that my father wasn't there every night; that they tried to hide it, but there were too many clues.

So, when they told me that they needed to talk to me, for me to come upstairs. I knew. And it took me a while to get my feelings together about the situation. I remember that what bothered me most was that my dad wouldn't be coming up to our annual summer vacation, and I wanted them to promise that he would.

I still remember that one night when we were all on vacation, and I looked into his room. I remember what he looked like when he was sleeping, and that was the last time I thought of my dad in a positive light.

I was starting high school that fall. A transfer from a small all-girls private school to a public co-ed high school couldn't have been more different for me.

And the important thing that I remember is how much badminton changed all that. How absolutely terrified I was on that first day of tryouts in the end of summer August heat. I remember my mom dropping me off and telling me to just try because sports help -- And I remember feeling my new shoes on my feet and the reminder of a week ago when I helped my dad with cleaning his new house. The new computer room he built and how we decided my bedroom would look. -- It was badminton that helped me see past all the differences of this school, and it was badminton and the team that I was on that helped me become okay with these changes.

It was all in the wrist.

And I remember working on a report for U.S. Government class, and I remember sitting on my dad's couch watching ROME and thinking how I would never get it done. How I could not get anything done because he wasn't helping me. -- And ever since then, he never has. And to date, I have not heard from him in eight months. -- And that's when I said I was going downstairs to work online. But, really I called my mom. I begged her to come get me.

Ever since I left with her that night -- And it was a rainy night, go pathetic fallacy. -- I knew where I stood, and I knew where my dad stood, and most importantly, I knew where my mom stood.

And I knew that no matter what, she would be behind me, and she would encourage me. And I knew that she would yell and get mad, but in the end, she would be there for me whenever I needed her, and I would always be there for her too.

And that is what unconditional love is really all about.

EDIT: Last part was removed on solid advice. 6/25/10

Of Friends

So, this is going to be a short one, because I'm not feeling well. Hopefully, I'll feel better tomorrow.

Speaking of reality, I decided this morning, around 2am, that I should watch "Glee," because everyone raves about it. So, I took the plunge, and I've almost completely caught up.  :]

But anyways. Perhaps a bit of poetry for a good friend of mine, Teb.

Roommate

I think it's the way that you hang your sweaters
on the back of the chair, weighed down;
the russet pot on your desk, and the way
you've forgotten its name.

Or maybe it's different,
like your style of art,
and the missing Rs in your words.

But the truth is, I know it's not just
these things that make you special.
And I have so much more to learn.

That's all I can do. Cheers!~

Hammeh

Curled Up Beneath The Comforter

Almost didn't make my self-imposed cut off! That was close! This one's a bit weird. Stick with it, okay?

It was the way she held herself around him that first caught his attention. The length of her body and the shimmering movement of her hips. He used to think that he would be safe at night; that locking the door kept her out. Then he would wake up and find her soft breathing against his face and her great green eyes peering into his soul.

He was confused. What was he supposed to say to this revelation?

More often than not, she did not speak, but her muteness made him want to understand her all the better. Sometimes when he babysat his nieces, they watched The Little Mermaid, and he wondered if maybe that was the reason. Maybe she was undeniably in love with him.

But he would change his mind the very next day, when she would stretch herself out on the yellow-green grass of his lawn. Her eyes would catch those of the neighbor's, and he would wonder if all he was seeing was a fuzzy misunderstanding.

There were days, when he returned from work, when he would find her combing her hair on his bed. And he could swear she was laughing at him inside. That she only did this to see his reaction.

And react he would. She would find herself suddenly on the other side of his bedroom door. And some days, when he knew that she could tell she had upset him, she would stay there. She would sleep on the hard floor and wait until morning.

He always forgave her then, and he always carried her to his bed where he brushed her hair until it was gleaming. Then he would kiss her forehead and head off for work.

He wasn't sure how she did it, but she managed to take care of herself when he was away. When he was gone a short while, she always ignored him upon his return. When it was a middle amount of time, she held her head high and gave him a single long-suffering look before prancing off to her own bed.

It was when he left for a whole week that he knew she actually did love him. He would leave her meals for her to eat while he was gone, explaining to her that he had to go and that this meal was especially delicious on Thursday afternoons. She would glare at him and curl up in her bed when he left. He would sigh and let her be, knowing she would be here upon his return.

When he returned, she would come running and he would pick her up and twirl her around. She would rub her face against his cheek, nuzzling him and purring.

He was always most happy at these times. The two of them would snuggle together, warmed by the blankets, and she would purr, and he would read, sweetly scratching her behind the ears.

Cheers!

Hammeh

They Could Not Take Your Pride

This was the final stand.

"Arieus!"
"I see them, don't worry." He said, focusing on the creatures in question.
"You have to get rid of them!" Antanas cried as he backed up and slid next to Arieus. The Southern elf just smiled and patted him on the shoulder, assuring him that his campy little garden would be okay.
"They never stop," Antanas whispered, his eyes going wide as one of the creatures looked up at him with her doe eyes. "It's like they're a bunch of bottomless pits."
Arieus closed his eyes for a moment, trying hard not to laugh. He pushed away from Antanas and stepped over to the garden. He froze the moment that the creature paused and looked his way.
"They're onto you!" Antanas shouted and rushed forward, facing his fears head on.
"Antanas!" Arieus yelled to silence him, but it was too late. The half-elf rushed forward and bare-handedly tackled one of the does.
"Well, now we know they won't ever come back."

Yeah, I have no idea what that was about. It was going to be a death scene, but it turned into Antanas and Arieus having a deer-infested garden. Whoops.

Alice Hunter and Tyler Gregson

"And when I said that, I meant it, okay?" Shaking his head, Ty slumped back over the workbench. He was running a rather thick piece of leather under a skiving blade that he had set up on the corner of his bench.

The girl at the top of the stairs looked down at him wondering what had prompted him to leave his career and work from some dripping, low-lit basement making crap books and badly adorned leather wallets. She shook her head and turned, her heels clicking systematically against the hard wood floors.

Alice reminded herself why she was here. This was her chance, her opening into the press, into the world of cutthroat letter presses, back alley coffee runs, and wonky headlines. Tyler Gregson had stepped out of the public spotlight almost eight years ago, and nothing had been heard of him since.

Alice just happened to be the girl next door.

She could remember the first time that she had met Tyler, or rather, Mr. Gregson, as her mother had told her to call him. She had been writing a piece on old people for her high school health class....and this is where it had lead her.

She braced herself; this was ridiculous. She was not going out of here empty-handed!
"Look," she started, heading back down the stairs and straight toward him. He tried to cut her off; his eyes wide and dull green in the poor lamplight. "No, I don't wanna hear it. You're going to listen and then you're going to talk, and I don't care whether or not you trust me because--"

"You listen, girly. You don't even know what you're getting into. You have no idea who I really am, and you think it's safe for you to sit down here and threaten me? For all you know, no. No, I won't say anymore." He was facing her now. She could see the black ink smeared across his forehead, the raging burn of insanity in his irises, the hard callused fingers of a printer, and the terrifying darkness of his smile.

"I already know who you are." She said, hesitating only slightly.

He cracked a wicked smile. "And you're still here? That must mean you only know who I am, but not what I've done. Am I right, Miss Hunter?"

She didn't want to answer.

Tyler laughed, leaning toward her as he stood up. Alice looked up at him, in shock as to how he fit himself in the small basement.

"You were a chef."

"That's putting it mildly." He rebuked her. "I was a Master Chef, and I knew how to prepare anything--and, of course, the best way to handle a knife."

Suddenly, the press didn't seem so important.

The hell was that? I don't even know these characters. They just appeared. I apologize.

In The Corner of Your Room

The paper walrus in the corner of your room,
has always reminded my of that Beatles' song,
and the way your grandfather's mustache tickled
when he gave us each a kiss goodnight.

Plastered

Have you ever noticed how plastered walls,
mark the difference between just started and almost there?
And, yet I fear the pockmarks will exist forever upon our souls.

I'm going to go have some mint tea with honey. I suggest you do the same. Good night. :]

Sisyphus

At the bottom again,
restart,
no game over, no finish.


Terrified of existing,
or rather of this clumsy existence.


Is this all I was made for?
So close, three more steps, one foot, a second--


Crash.
Impossible to breathe.
Rock pinioning me.


Verge of giving up.
But I cannot.


I hope, no--
I believe that this cannot be it.


This cannot be all of my existence.
There is more, and I will keep on trying.


Cheers,

Hammeh

Thoughts on Love

Thoughts on Love, by Arieus Verra

"I do not have a way with words, and I would prefer solitude to company. Often, I have wondered if there is something in my blood which causes me to behave as though I have no softer emotions. It is a very real possibility, being raised as I was, that this part of my lifestyle was omitted. Perhaps, I was meant to learn from experience, but I have no grasp on what it is that I should look for or start with. Am I supposed to make the first move, or is that the role of my object? Should I approach this as I would any other relationship; proceed until causation of duress?

Can I even be sure that this, this thing I am feeling is even existent? For all that I am experienced in it, it is a figment of how I believe I should act and perhaps does not even account for what I really feel. I have often wondered if all friendships have the chance to take this course. Maybe it is not dependent upon a soul mate, but rather upon the effort you give forth. Perhaps it does not require such strong, maddening feelings. Could it be possible that I only feel this way around him because I so badly desire to be wanted and to want back? If this is the case, I should drop all of my intentions and remove this feeling from my mind. I would never want a falsified relationship, one that I only feel now, but once I have it, it is meaningless. I would never want to put anyone through that kind of emotional wringer. It would be cruel, and no matter what anyone may say to the contrary: I am not cruel.

It must be easy for him to see it in me. I am sullen and short with everyone else, but when he is around there is a spark--a small spark, but nonetheless there--that twists against my heart and brightens my eyes. I can feel it when it shoots up through my throat and emerges, speechless, into the world. And that is when I most believe that I cannot be lying to myself. That these softer emotions do exist. That I am not without a soft spot. And I grow irritated at my self for thinking such mawkish thoughts. But I cannot help myself all the same. "

This is from the perspective of my character, Arieus Verra, and it is completely unedited.

~Hammeh~

The Beginning

There is a point at which I realize that I have not been writing, and that hurts because I've loved to write all of my life. This past week I have been trying to help my brother in writing his first paper, and I cannot help but wonder if I was as ADD as he has been.


Sure, I know I'm ADD and I have been since second grade (incidentally, the same time I started writing), but I'm talking about the difference between us. I believe that the difference here is that I loved to read when I was little (and I still do!) and that writing an essay was as much my chance at writing a book as I could get at the time. Being able to find what makes the book work as a story and as a greater theme is really cool. I wish my brother understood how important writing is, because he believes that he'll never have to do it later in life. I believe in a lot of things, but most importantly that everyone should be able to read and write. If they have that opportunity before them, they should seize it!


Back to my original point, which was I have not been writing. I set up this blog years ago, and I never used it. I'm taking the challenge this summer to try to write something every day--no matter what it is--because I need to get my style back in shape.


And I should write something every day.


Cheers!


Hammeh