I’ve never worn a thong
But I have given myself
The most epic wedgies
Pulling myself up
By my bootstraps
That’s basically
The same thing
Right?
Images frayed by the reality they touch Are not themselves made of flesh They are not inflamed Ensouled, perhaps But that all will depend on bloodwork
I didn’t realize that the rock and roll life would be so unpredictable. The drugs, the sex, the wildly fluctuating emotional disturbances: all that, I assumed, would accompany the road. But financial success – that’s something I didn’t see coming.
I honestly don’t know what to do with the cold, hard reality of having cash in my pocket. Three weeks have passed since returning home from a three-week tour, and I haven’t spent a dime of my $5,000 surplus.
I could really use a trashcan. And socks without extra holes would be nice. Hell, cymbal stands that aren’t held together with duct tape would be a reasonable purchase – I’d still have plenty left; enough for ten trashcans and twice as many ten-packs of socks!
But I’ve gone without for so long, stained, and tattered; my raggedy ass strutting around with the pride of making do with substitute teaching pennies, primed for telling middle schoolers to hush their mouths while in the glory of my perduring presence.
Thus, I’ve decided to quit life altogether. Not, like, kill myself or anything. I only mean that I’m no longer going to be making decisions about what to do with my money.
I’ll let indecisive instinct keep the chips on my shoulders salty and crunchy, daring the roof of change’s mouth to take a bite outta me – I’ll slice a bitch right open, I swear to God!
I need to go to the laundromat. My clothes are piling up, and the crackhead manager, chain-smoking and constantly cleaning the washers, always makes me feel right at home, besides.
I need to go to the Family Dollar. They’ve got a sale on Gatorade and caramel popcorn. Plus, I’ve got a coupon.
I need to pick up some more windshield wiper fluid. The sights of Kentucky, Tennessee, Virginia, and Delaware did quite a number on my van’s tear ducts.
Holy shit! That’s it, that’s it! I just remembered that Synchrony Bank sent my balance to collections – my credit score will blow chunks for years to come whether I pay it off or not!
I’m going to buy a new laptop. Those middle schoolers aren’t going to know how to act whenever I hush them from behind a bright, new screen. I’ll get one of those fifteen-inchers.
And headphones. I’ll pick up some nice over-the-ear headphones.
Word. That’s what’s up.
I’ve heard that age is just a number
That youth can never die
I don’t know if I believe that
After looking in your eyes
Life has clearly dealt you
Traumas piled on high
Your gaze has sunk
From so much junk
Such that
Wisdom must be blind
The moral of this story is forever yet unfolding And I don't have the attention span to match . . . Copyright Keli Birchfield 2023
A few weeks ago, I spotted a tiny lizard next to the marching band field. She was looking a little worse for wear, so I took her in and nursed her back to health. She became the marching band mascot. Kids and staff alike adored her. And she won my whole heart, pure and simple.
But then tragedy struck. She suffered from a neurological disorder, the cause of which will remain unknown. Her death was excruciating to watch, though I was happy to comfort her as she passed.
My fellow marching staff members helped me bury her next to the band room in a ceremony befitting the beauty of spirit she embodied, in the light of a full moon on a crisp October night. The following words represent most of my speech. Some words I jumbled. Some I had yet to find at the time. The sentiment the following words intimate, however, has not changed since her service. And since her service, the marching band executed an undefeated season. I believe Lil’ One was with us every step of the way.
IN HONOR OF LIL’ ONE, THE BEST LIZARD THAT EVER WAS
Memory is tricky. Moments come and go; fade away into an abyss of the past. And when we attempt to recall what no longer is, we never fully restore those moments as we originally experienced them. We forget; we imbue those moments with meaning that reflects more of our current perceptual state than what really was. But some moments are special. Some moments embody and directly express that which connects all moments together, the irreal; the eidetically absolute. In those moments, our attention immersed in pure love, itself, the power of beauty preserves for us the typically contingent content that would otherwise perish through the wild ride of lived experience. Such that when we recollect those moments, we represent their events and states of affairs clearly, distinctly, as they originally were. We feel once more and know once more the full sense of what we gathered; of what we intimately shared with the world. Those special moments reflect a continuous harmony of spirit that ultimately sanctions our humanity. And given that beauty embalms these sublime treasures, recollections of those special moments are typically accompanied by tears.
Lil One, I’ll never forget the moment when I first spotted you on that tiny rock next to the marching field. I’ll never forget your gaping smile as you enjoyed your first bath in your bottle cap swimming pool, in your new, warm index card holder abode. Nor will I ever forget how animated you became after eating two ants in a row for the first time. You mounted your front little lizard feet atop that little log in there, beamed up at me with the utmost self-satisfaction, declaring to me and to the whole world, “Ahh! Ha-ha! I am a LIZARD!” You truly were a good lizard, the best lizard. And though your time with us was short, you deeply touched all our hearts. We bury you next to the band room so that you may guard the purity of our endeavors, here; so that you may nourish the grounds that bring our various heart beats together under a shared rhythm and purpose. May we honor your life and memory through our continuous efforts to perfect ourselves and our craft. May we earn the touch of divine grace you recollected for us by merely gracing us with your presence, as we attend the primal content of our lives, no matter how tiny, with the utmost care.
Your grateful friend, always and forever, Amen.
I’ve felt instances of Beauty so close in Her resemblance
I could hardly stand Her presence
I fell to my knees and blew chunks everywhere
And perhaps soiled my pants a bit
I don’t know; It was hard to tell
With the existential status of the material world deflating, as it were
I’m an illustrated woman
Permanently marked, as such times my life would define
The rhythms of my inner sense generations
And . . . if you look closely enough . . .
Whilst I sit still for long enough
Those markings *will* spontaneously dance
To the beat of their original becoming, yes!
Revealing the taxonomy of circumstances
Which bear the weight of Beauty, proper
Unashamed
In Her fullest glory
Universally predicated upon no judgment, at all
Divine excess is the most unnecessary determination of reason
And yet purpose sustains it whenever conditions suddenly become hypothetical
A complete breakdown in substance, fragmented along the same propositions once holding it together,
And geometry is now a matter of life or death? – This is quite literally a nonsensical state of affairs; I only wish it were irreal!
In the meanwhile, as the eternal awaits its own recurrence, I’ll at least enjoy the phantasms projected on the walls
Copyright Keli Birchfield 2021
Animal's House of Muse 