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Joli's Journal


Joli's Journal

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9 entries this month
 

Crescent Will

06:22 Sep 30 2008
Times Read: 909





She stirs again, restless tonight

In the bed she shares with her love,

Yesterday asleep between her thighs.

South wind sighs and winds

Down the tracks, nose to the scent,

The intoxicating scent of her skin.

She smells like tomorrow night

Stretched across bedsheets,

Incense and sex

And the warmth of her thighs.



She stirs again, restless tonight

In the bed where she thinks of me.

Her eyes see through the ceiling

To the medicine wheel whispering

The verdant shade of her eyes.

"South," whispers the wind

When four AM is at its darkest

When it is not easy to admit

The thinking, the wandering

And the warmth of her thighs.

COMMENTS

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birra
birra
12:22 Sep 30 2008

...visions of a slice of heaven...





BlackTea
BlackTea
12:28 Sep 30 2008

Jo....wow. Simply yummy.





CTyler
CTyler
15:43 Oct 02 2008

'Yummy' description seconded.

Certainly conjures images.





toor
toor
03:53 Oct 06 2008

THIS IS ABOUT ME.





 

Clips and Shades

06:48 Sep 23 2008
Times Read: 981






“Like a drowned rat,” she said, rummaging in her sewing case. It was avocado green, a shade so popular through much of the 70s, and I was completely fascinated by it because of its resemblance to her father’s tackle box. Both were hard plastic and featured dozens of little compartments in different shapes to perfectly organize the exotic things they placed inside. I suppose I never had a chance with a genetic predisposition for all things compartmentalized. I would grow up to have an appreciation for desk drawer organizers that would border on the obsessive.


“That’s just what you look like, you know. A drowned rat.” My mom held up her orange-handled sewing scissors triumphantly. For a Cajun girl, her assessment of my appearance made my cheeks go warm. In south Louisiana, river rats were a very real part of life. The cruelest of our schoolyard chants haunted my dreams and I worried incessantly that “fat, fat the water rat” might someday be aimed at me. My mom was so pretty, the youngest and prettiest of all the moms, while I bordered on the larger side of Just Right with pinchable cheeks that invited everyone over 50 to have a squeeze.


She walked toward me with her scissors and I knew that I did not like the look in her eyes. I gulped. She cut. I was scandalized the way only a second grader could be. Everyone knew that “all one length” was a sign of hair commitment and we all aspired to have Marcia Brady locks. Everyone but my mom. I risked a glance at her Tenille cut that she hot-rollered toward her face with a precision envied by the Osmond family and ice skaters everywhere. I was not impressed.


My dread grew in proportion to the pile of brunette clippings that heaped and deepened beside my Keds. Mom lifted my chin in her left hand while she fashioned bangs with the right. It was hard to believe that there could be anything left to cut, but she snipped away like a mad woman. I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything other than the itch that screamed along my neck, growing worse every second. "You've got to suffer to be beautiful," she quipped. It sounded only half prophetic. When at last it was over, my mother insisted that I look into the bathroom mirror while she whisked away at the tile floor. The dam broke then and my tears came so hard and fast I thought I’d die right there in the chair. My mom hugged me tight and cooed words I didn’t completely hear…words that sounded like “adorable” and “pixie.”


Staring back at me was a very sad little boy in a homemade yellow sundress. In the middle of his uneven bangs, a small hillock kicked up rebelliously. My mom muttered “cowlick.” She licked her finger and tried to smooth it down. The hateful lump would not be so cheaply bought, not even with the magic beauty secret of mom spit. Now that it had been awakened from its dormant sleep, that cowlick would become my lifetime companion. I wear my hair long these days and the stubborn cowlick shoves the right side directly into my eyes. Many are the mornings that I wake, glance into the mirror, and make a face at the drowned rat who wrinkles her own nose back in greeting.


Somehow, though, I’ve grown into my cowlick in the same way that I’ve grown into a new shade of the people I have loved. I see bits of them in the face that looks back. There was a time that becoming like the people in my family rankled. I was an individual, dammit, a rebel on my own course to set the world on fire. I could not fly out of their homes fast enough to make my own way! But as the lines in my face reflect the experiences of my life and reshape me so earnestly into the patterns of my people from whose cloth I was cut, I take hold of the cherished ribbon that binds me to grandparents, mom, dad, and even Aunt Eunice and her dreaded cheek-pinches. I wrap that ribbon around my kids. Allie snickers and moves the stapler to the tape dispenser compartment in my desk drawer; I glance at Caitlin and recognize the eye-roll that only a seventh-grader can pull off. I smile nostalgically, reach into the scissors compartment and think to myself that they could both use a little trim.

COMMENTS

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imagesinwords
imagesinwords
07:04 Sep 23 2008

I don't think I will ever cut my son's hair again. Ha... but really, I think I understand his feelings just a little bit more. And I have, messed it up before. My brother took him straight to the barber when he saw it.



:)





ChasingTheGhost
ChasingTheGhost
07:34 Sep 23 2008

This was fantastic. Your story danced me through your memories and then left me somewhere in my own. My mother still has her avocado green sewing chest. I can remember spinning spools of thread on the spool holder in the top tray... and those orange fiskars.. I stole my mothers when I first moved out on my own. I still have them. You are a gem.





Beastt17
Beastt17
08:36 Sep 23 2008

Ahhhh, the memories of mom's home hair cuts, delivered with total interest in two generations ago. Even her look of satisfaction was a social death sentence and I pledged never again to submit to one of her shearings. Every... single... time.





birra
birra
17:02 Sep 23 2008

I keep telling my son I'm going to shave his head like mine... he protests, but then will say he wants a Mohawk...



*shrugs*



That is a beautiful story Jo, it really is, and even more beautifully written. Thank you for sharing it!





captainglobehead
captainglobehead
21:09 Sep 23 2008

What a wonderful and moving tradition to share with your daughters.





daemona
daemona
01:13 Nov 03 2008

Nothin worse than the damn Bayou rats!





 

Composed

02:21 Sep 15 2008
Times Read: 1,130





I love the feel of charcoal and a fresh page in my sketch book. I run my fingertips across a new sheet, relishing the texture and the promise of this paper to romance my pencil, holding color and shape, clothing itself in the sweeps of my imagination. I think of new beginnings, searching my paper the way a sculptor might caress a new block of stone, my dance more humble, but the need to breathe life all too similar.


Soft, feathering strokes give shape to what exists only in my mind and I can feel the world pull slightly away from my fingertips where time keeps pace only with my heart and hand. Sound is muffled and there is only the the magic of a willow twig and the glorious feel of paper beneath my hands. The edges of the world dance just beyond my reach should I care to grasp for things of this earth. I am far, far from land and sea.


Oh, the smudging is my favorite part, preferring where I can, to use my own fingers, softening the lines and deepening shadows. All that I have within me belongs on this paper and I channel love, hate, and wonder into the lines that blend, bend, disappear, and emerge again.


The very last detail is all that is left. It is the step of transference, my breath into you, bringing you to life. I have left a space in your eyes. These are the brightest points in my sketch; the paper alone is visible, that same promise of new beginnings unshaded, but wearing still my touch where I brushed my fingers across the page when you were but my dream. You are the reflection of light within my eyes, the glint of tomorrow promised to me alone.


And I love you.



COMMENTS

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Kontradiction
Kontradiction
02:35 Sep 15 2008

and when will you be published?



:)





Joli
Joli
03:07 Sep 15 2008

No plans for that at this time.





Beastt17
Beastt17
06:37 Sep 15 2008

To where does one aspire to go after reaching perfection?





Angelus
Angelus
15:27 Sep 15 2008

..whatr a marvellous descriptive piece. loved it.





Sinora
Sinora
20:13 Sep 15 2008

Great stuff.





sPerAnZa
sPerAnZa
00:15 Sep 17 2008

It makes me want to pull out my sketch materials and create.

You truly are an artist when you can have that affect on someone.





Beastt17
Beastt17
08:38 Sep 19 2008

First I draw, then I turn it to charcoal. It's fitting.





 

No Red, Red Rose Am I

20:33 Sep 14 2008
Times Read: 1,159




All that I have I do not give to you.

I want not all that you are.

My love for you has boundaries,

Which is the truth of love.

How do I love thee?

In the hand that reaches for you

Because my trust is well-placed there.

In the laughter that can match your teeming wit.

In the promise that I will neither lie nor quit.



My love is not sweet sixteen,

And often, I do not faint.

My heart sometimes skips the flutter.

We have world enough and time

Together at each day's start and close

To talk and kiss and lean on one another.

Often, my love is quiet

When you most need my voice, soft inside your ear

And not my silent lips and broken bits of fear.



My love is flawed and I am simply I.

No red, red rose of morning light am I

Nor is the blush of Spring upon my cheek.

Oh, love to hear me speak, yet well you know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound:

Grant that you never saw a goddess go,

And when I walk, I tread upon the ground:

And yet by heaven, think my love as rare,

As any love belied with false compare.



*Thank you Andrew Marvell, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, William Shakespeare (allusions made to each,)and to all poets who have undertaken to capture the romantic mystery of Lady Love.*

COMMENTS

-



Beastt17
Beastt17
06:39 Sep 15 2008

Amazing that they all became famous names without your example to follow.





Angelus
Angelus
15:27 Sep 15 2008

..you thank them, I thank you.





 

PRIVATE ENTRY

20:27 Sep 13 2008
Times Read: 1,179


• • • • PRIVATE JOURNAL ENTRY • • • •


 

PRIVATE ENTRY

17:21 Sep 09 2008
Times Read: 1,231


• • • • PRIVATE JOURNAL ENTRY • • • •


 

A Choreography of Epsilon

04:13 Sep 08 2008
Times Read: 1,292



If the Earth must have an axis, why not me?

I am inclined in a skyward reach, arcing back,

Letting the soles of my feet extend to her core,

Forged anew in the furnace of her belly

Until my toes emerge, newly born from her polar crust.

I feel the dance of the universe in vibration

Along the length of my body and my soul rejoices.

Sur les pointes, pirouetting on the palm of the Creator,

I lengthen my neck, raising my face toward heaven

Where it is warmed in the aria of the morning sun,

And I am attuned to the ancient song of the stars.


COMMENTS

-



Irony
Irony
04:17 Sep 08 2008

Oh, wow... I don't have words for this. You blow me away.





birra
birra
04:57 Sep 08 2008

*swoons*



You need to teach me as only the master could teach a new student....



I have so much to learn...





LIFEBLOOD
LIFEBLOOD
09:27 Sep 08 2008

As Irony says .. WOW.

I simply love your style, ''pirouetting on the palm of the Creator'' ... you're incredible.





BlackTea
BlackTea
11:22 Sep 08 2008

"Forged anew in the furnace of her belly"..."pirouetting on the palm of the Creator"... alll very powerful, all very telling. Le Spectre de la Rose awesome.



I like this visual best "I lengthen my neck, raising my face toward heaven". A very angelic pose, to be sure.





Angelus
Angelus
18:44 Sep 08 2008

..to move the pen, with such eloquence, I admire those deft fingers.





 

Ghost Writer

18:38 Sep 05 2008
Times Read: 1,363





I am missing myself,

Walking the world one step, one step more…

The echo of my footfall empty to my own ear,

As empty as the words I hear myself form,

Words that paw at the ground

Snort, then circle around

I keep my eyes low

Wrapping myself in safe avoidance,

Like the blanket I tugged over my head

When I was a young girl

And safety ended at the edges of my bed.


I must ground myself

Must touch you again, one touch, so brief…

As though you are a wire surrogate

And I am a frightened chimpanzee child.

Reading the mirror shards

Reflecting the schoolyards

Ghosts so real to me

More real than the morning dew,

Where my dog rolls and celebrates the earth

With clear abandon

Each day scented a sun-warmed timeless mirth.


I have lost my place

Searching for the right page, one page, one page…

Mindful of the glue binding it. Binding me.

This mustiness I knew before my own name,

I am the child of books

And puzzled looks

Daughter of the written word

Lighting candles for a heroine lost,

Each letter murderously honed

Whetted on chagrin,

Penned with misgiving, each line painfully owned.


COMMENTS

-



birra
birra
18:59 Sep 05 2008

Welcome back... this is a most wondrous return!



As always, your writing gives me chills and makes me think... to consider the feelings your words invoke... letting it surround me... I sound it out with my own Neanderthal interpretation to consume it further...



...I fear I do it no justice. I fear my unsophisticated interpretation of your words, your art... is the equivalent to standing before the Eifel Tower and asking, "How much oil can you get out of the ground with that?"





LIFEBLOOD
LIFEBLOOD
19:14 Sep 05 2008

Visually beautiful





Irony
Irony
21:25 Sep 05 2008

My god, that is beautiful. I am close to tears. I hope you record yourself reading this one sometime. If you don't, I will!





Angelus
Angelus
01:10 Sep 06 2008

..I too have tears, literally; in my eyes, right Now.





 

Camping in Mississippi...ahhhh. Crickets, diesel, and banjos

21:30 Sep 01 2008
Times Read: 1,462


Hi, all! What a great sight it was to come back and see the updates and good wishes. Love you all and sure miss my VR stomping grounds.


We're still in the campground. They have wireless internet! BUT you can't get it from the site...too far away. So... I can access it via battery. Not a lot of time on battery, but enough to say a few quick hellos. Looks like the storm has been a much nicer fellow than we expected. Never underestimate praying on your knees with all your heart!


Mom has been doing some fine cooking...she saved everything in her freezer in 4 icechests. She is cooking red beans and rice right now. MB and Savvy have been perfect companions. I've done a lot of reading and am about to give Twilight a try. Allie lioved it.


I'm hoping that we'll get the green flag and be home day after tomorrow. I love you all and will try to recharge the battery and get back on tonight.


STABB, you are officially on notice. How dare you not be online? In fact, where the hell are ALL of you? :P


COMMENTS

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thesavageant
thesavageant
21:40 Sep 01 2008

Good to see you're okay.





LIFEBLOOD
LIFEBLOOD
21:41 Sep 01 2008

It's just so good to see that raised eyebrow of an avatar. You are truly missed. X





Beastt17
Beastt17
21:44 Sep 01 2008

Well, as I live and breathe... *checks pulse*



Yeah! It's her!



Hi, Joli. Glad to see you found a place to plug into the Matrix. I hope they don't have those nasty old-fashioned plugs in the back of the neck. I never really liked those.



Tell me you're not still waded up inside a tiny drippy tent?



*hug*





Joli
Joli
21:49 Sep 01 2008

And going so quick that I put this in the wrong section...so sorry. NOTHING poetic about this place, let me tell you. And omg the country music...late...wow. SOOOOO pleased that you needed to share that wonderful ker chank a chank with me while I was reading in a TENT after midnight, Mr. Diesel Pickup truck!



But I suppose the poetry is in having life and family and furred snugglers near when all else is strange and uncertain. Poetry in being nowhere yet having a digital lifeline to friends who care about me. Poetry around it all.





LIFEBLOOD
LIFEBLOOD
21:50 Sep 01 2008

You are the poetry hun, it wouldn't matter what section you posted in.





Morrigon
Morrigon
21:57 Sep 01 2008

Some people are off, wandering around because it's that whole Labor Day thing.



Some are laboring, some are going into labor.



I know Birra is working on his stunning performance in "Italian on the Roof" today.



I have declared it an official, no underwear required day. So have fun!





thesavageant
thesavageant
22:04 Sep 01 2008

Every day is labor day for me. :)



I am such a hard worker..





Angelus
Angelus
23:28 Sep 01 2008

Delighted to see your Avater





captainglobehead
captainglobehead
23:41 Sep 01 2008

Wonderful to hear from you.





pandorasbx65
pandorasbx65
23:43 Sep 01 2008

Glad to see you are alive and kicking! =]





Irony
Irony
00:19 Sep 02 2008

I have been up in Scotland with limited internet but I have been doing the exchange rate prayer every day. I am also likely responsible for a few of your voicemails (you know how I like to sneak attack your phone:P) So glad you are doing well and I am sorry I was not around when you were. Love you!





birra
birra
02:26 Sep 02 2008

Glad you're doing well and Gustav wasn't the unbelievable bastard they thought he would be.



Still... we're here for you when you need us. Just don't be hesitant to ask.





Sinora
Sinora
08:56 Sep 02 2008

Good to have you back x





Ockham
Ockham
17:29 Sep 03 2008

For anyone reading this, I just received a call from Joli, she is on her way home now. She may or may not have internet (and electricity, for that matter) when she gets there, she didn't really know how much damage her home town has taken. She'll be in contact with people once she has taken care of all the important "well, fuck, my home was just hit by a hurricane" stuff that comes with living down in New Orleans.





Oceanne
Oceanne
22:18 Sep 03 2008

Just glad youre ok..so you are home now?





Joli
Joli
23:24 Sep 03 2008

Yes, I got home about 2 hours ago. I checked the Center first and then went home...all is well, but no power. So, I came back to the Center and started putting things away and reconnecting the electronics. Hope the power is back soon, but if not, I may sack out here...nice and cool :)





Silverbow
Silverbow
00:27 Sep 05 2008

I am greatfull that you are safe and sound and well. Tent camping is fun if done for the right reasons.



I will talk to you later, welcome back.








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