Lost in Detroit: 8 Degrees

It is eight degrees right now in Detroit. I can not begin to explain how that feels. To say the least it is cold. SO cold that you feel it in your bones and it takes a half hour to feel normal again after spending five minutes outside. Its so cold that dogs refuse to pee, snow turns to ice, and old feelings freeze over. I am officially the ice queen. I have always been known for my stone cold emotions, but now they are ever more present. Every day he says to me, you are so mean. He has no idea. I don't even say anything to him, but I guess thats what constitutes my meanness. Feel the chill, because it is the only defense I have left. I hate to be this way, but I feel like Bush in the Iraq war. My back is up against the wall. If given the choice, I would probably just drop a bomb on the people that tried to kill my spirit as my last line of defense against the axises of evil. LOL



Don't be fooled by the sunshine. You would think the sun would melt away the cold, like aleve is to pain, but it is even more frigid than can be expected. The wind blows across the snow, that reflects blinding light. The icicles on the tree branches crackle and hiss with the beauty of frozen crystal droplets of water. The same beauty carries a load that is too much for the branches to carry and the treelimbs break off, snapping like a candycane at christmas time. The sadness of its beauty is almost too much to bare, but in the relevant desolation, there is a comforting thought of rythmic succession of life. The limbs are broken and in its saddest, maybe even most painful moment, the tree could not look more beautiful.

Lost in Detroit: Can't Sleep

In a city where people won't look you in the eyes, I stand out like a sunspot burned into your retina. What you see is what you get. I have never felt so vulnerable in my life than I do now. Like a prostitute walking down Woodward Ave. (a main drag in detroit) I feel more exposed than the flesh poking through her or his fishnets. Life has never been easy for me, but I never thought it would get worse or at least feel worse. When things happen to you that you have no control over it seems unfair, but you can rationalize bad things happening to good people and all that jazz. When bad things happen to you because your own personal choices and decisions, it is harder to accept. How could you do that to yourself? The tragedy of it all. How oedipus of me to sleep with my mother and kill my father. Essentially you are the cause of your own pain and suffering and it is hard to comprehend why you would do this to yourself. So then you try to make it right, but its harder than you realized, There is justice in this world and like one's man's trash is another man's treasure, one man's justice is another man's punishment. I don't know why I feel like I have done somethine wrong. Why am I ready to crucify myself for trying to love someone and be loved in return? I did nothing wrong! In my attempt to have grace and give grace, I have been possessed by their transgression and embodied what it might feel like for the other person so forgiveness could grow in my heart. Now I am a walking, spewing, inconsiderate blob of selfishness and neglected feelings. Transubstantiation of love forlorn. The bread has become our relationship broken for God, and this wine is the tears that I have cried blood red, to fill my heart's content. But that blood has helped me survive and made my heart stronger so that I might live. What I am living for, I have not accepted. Gosh sometimes it seems so pointless even when things are going good. I hate being a pessimist. "I need Moses to cross this sea of lonliness, to part this red river of pain."- Patty Griffin. I hate being pathetic.

Lost in Detroit: Belle Isle

<<<--------Don't forget to play the music

...all that is left is the dirty ring around the tub, the gook underneath your shoe that you don't want to know what it is, or the grime clogging up your toilet, but as I look around and watch the aqua-blue Detroit river turn into silver chiffon luminescent underneath the sun's rays that flutters above the silhouetted Canadian buildings, I began to feel like the pink accents in the warm, late-afternoon sky that makes you stop and gather its color to you, demanding your attention. This is what makes the world beautiful: overcome with sorrow while being embraced by joy, the little oxymorons that are so big our amiable bovine minds can only comprehend the size. But still my thoughts begin to sink in the mud again and I imagine a man walking along the jetties of the isolated river on Belle Isle, noticing me distracted by the music in my head whose notes seem to reflect off the water because I look mesmerized as I drift away. His shoulders slumped and his fingers twisted in knots, he fights back the sorrow that wants trickle from his eyelids as he sneaks up behind me. My head bobbing underneath my rabbit fur hoodie, I don't hear or see no evil. Before I can speak evil he whacks me in the back of the head with a familiar rock that I probably teetered on the brink for position seconds before and my body slumps to the ground. My body lay lifeless and my soul slowly escapes it's earthly prison. The murderer quietly pushes my body into the water that feels so cold that it burns my skin. Will I fight for my life and scramble for the shore or will I sink even further into depths unknown until the river bottom meets me?