My Cardboard Balcony

Back to work after a two week break. It was great to see my girlfriend to celebrate the New Year. I just spent a week testing my girls on their reading, and all of them, at least slightly, have improved. Which is good news. Lots of interesting stuff coming up. I may be talking on a panel for my coworkers in a safe space session. Maybe bring up LGBT stuff so I'm pretty open (obviously) about my sexuality. Performing in a talent show - on my dad's birthday, no less. It's mandatory (funnily enough), but it should still be fun. ...Yeah, I'm not being very poignant tonight. That's what happens when I return to work. Back into a routine. Back into teaching. Back into learning. I missed deadlines to enroll in graduate school, but I'm going to start researching for potentially getting a master's in the fall of 2014. That, or a teaching credential. Or both. Wish me luck. Writer's Quotation of the Night: There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortuna...

Sober Thoughts by Belinda Roddie I’m going outside when the carnival’s over That merry-go-round of everyday life Each creature and beast not quite the same But it spins in a circle every day I’m going to the place where the moon is still sober No wine from the flesh to satisfy   I wait until I can ride the tornado Like the wispy gray back of a wild mustang As it screams its demise, I cannot tear my eyes From the hollow wood whose haven is mine It takes me to the place where the moon is still able To see clearly enough for it to be sane   And so when the fool’s wits are recovered I drink a wine sweeter than the blood of the savior Whoever it is who made the sacrifice Whether to save us or just to be nice I drink to the moon and my thoughts are uncovered In the saving wine’s rich and blessed flavor   A feeling of peace pervades the midnight hour When I leave the storm and dismount from my saddle Into a...

"Don't cry." Can't stop, can't stop. "Don't cry." Can't stop, can't stop. Clinging on wood, chair cushion soaking saliva. No. Can't stop crying as you coil around me. Scaled snake attempting to comfort me. Forked tongue slipping across my cheek. Hot water. Tea steeped. Brewed. Brewed. Served lukewarm.

This Tennis Court by Belinda Roddie This tennis court was once a skeleton of a manor, owned by a wealthy yet agoraphobic family of five: The Earl of Braggart was wistful in rooms as he scribbled away on his own arms to turn calligraphy into tattoos. His wife, the Duchess Chagrin, painted red over both eyes and cheeks, but never on the lips. Their two sons, Condemned and Confused, did sway their heads to Gregorian chants, drugging themselves with opium each night. The youngest, Daughter Slight, held a pillow to her chest even as she ate dinner, but all the family just got thinner.

Master, do not tempt me. You haunt my conscience so. You make me trip over my robes each time I pass your study. You do not lift a finger. You keep on bleeding ink. I wonder if you see me, creeping past your study. The hallways are all iron, red rusted and mocking me. I do not try to see you. I do not try to please you.

The Hobo with a Bad Haircut by Belinda Roddie The hobo had a haircut that looked like it came from Hell, like bats gnawed away at nests of blonde and fat-eyed vultures tore at luscious locks with vicious talons. He kept one eye open all the time as he slept-walked through every nonsense town, mumbling every nonsense word that oozed from the clogged canal of his left ear. And only his left. Do tell, hobo, why do you not use your pair of rusted scissors in your cargo pants pocket? Or the shearing knife in your three- handkerchief bag? He would not tell me shit. He dragged his feet behind him and left tire tracks in the mud. Bobbing along the road like a half-dead pick-up truck, belching dust, and leaving the lice in his half-eaten coif to live out the rest of their beautiful lives.

I will never be a politician. What a life I'd have to lead! Going in and out of grandiose governmental buildings, planting seeds to grow thorny, hoary weeds 'til they coil around my neck and strangle me for sustenance and some haughty words, no less. Let me stay away from D.C. and the angry children there as they squeal out their obscenities and pull at each other's hair.