Archive for musings


Posted in writing with tags , , , , , , on January 8, 2017 by kimmy


Although my imagination tends to embellish more than I care to admit, this time he appeared more handsome and seductive than in my most fevered dreams.

Was it the lazy way he lounged against the elevator wall as it slowly lowered us to the ground, or the gently possessive curl of his fingers around my wrist that made me sweat? I wasn’t sure. The only thing of which I was certain was that my desire would never be satisfied; that this was only another one of our endless erotic preambles that invariably concluded with nothing.

For many years, too many to count, he has prowled my dreams. Like a jaguar, sleek and dark, rousing both apprehension and desire so often that the two chase each other in a never-ending circle. Predator and prey always in motion, neither captured nor capturing. And for all these many years, I blamed myself for not yielding, for not allowing the cat to savage my body and satisfy his need.

But he is and always has been a cruel hunter, not availing himself of easy game, but reserving his attention for only the choicest morsels, those who embody closest his ideal of physical perfection. And I, alas, never conformed to those lofty standards and was, in both life and dream, judged to be wanting.

Yet despite my imperfection, he maintains his irregular orbit. Sometimes so distant that I wither and freeze; and at other times, as tonight, I burn.

And so this chase would continue unabated, as it has done for decades, if not for those fingers snaking around my wrist and his dark eyes prodding me to begin my flight. I suddenly halted the game. The elevator had finally reached the ground floor and it was, at long last, time to exit.

I stepped out and the doors closed behind me, carrying him away to places I neither know nor care. The goddess may be generous and willing to forgive the constant rejection of her bounty, but even She can become weary of the game.



Posted in writing with tags , , , , , , , , on July 2, 2014 by kimmy


Here’s to you, sweet deluded Ones,
With your pseudo-friendliness and false smiles,
May all your journeys be as fruitful as the last,
Replete with self-praise and inflated opinion,
For your company is rarified
And few who attempt to aspire to its heights
Can manage the egocentrism necessary
To achieve the dizzying success that is mirrored
Solely in your beautiful eyes.

And how beautiful they are,
Reflecting all the colors and subtleties
Of the lifeless bones piled high and crunching
Beneath your dainty feet,
And the sparkle of self-fascination
That the only the delusional possess.

Now the time has come for you all to fly,
Higher than previously imagined,
To a plane where your dreams
Take precedence over all others,
And the joy that fills their hearts
Becomes food to fill your hungry veins.

For only when the last drop of blood is swallowed
And the last morsel of soul is devoured
Will your emptiness be filled and
Your sorrow begin.


Posted in writing with tags , , , , , , , on December 4, 2011 by kimmy

I know what it is.  That thing you’ve been trying so hard to conceal.  That image that keeps floating to the center of your mind no matter how diligently you push it away.  That secret you carry around in your heart that prompts you to lie to your friends and family.  That constant inner reminder that there is one person on Earth who knows what you did.

Oh, yeah.  That one. 

It’s a biggie, isn’t it?  After all this time, you still find yourself recalling every detail, etching them into your mind lest they be forgotten sacrifice on the altar of your folly.  And what a mistake it was.  Every hour, every day that passes by since then feels like an eternity.  But all you’ve got is time, time to think about what you’ve done and what you failed to do.

Of course you tried to bury yourself under a mound of artificially generated concern for those whom you felt were wronged.  That’s the easiest way to seem engaged.  As long as you feign interest in the mind-numbing prattle of the zombies around you, they won’t slash you open and devour your entrails.

Because that’s what you really expect, don’t you?  To be drawn and quartered and publically humiliated for the error of your ways?  You sin, you pay.  It’s as simple as that.  And then spend the rest of your life in a guilt-driven haze, cleared only occasionally when you indulge in… you guessed it… your last weakness.

And it saps you of strength, doesn’t it?  You’d rather lie in bed, clinging to those last moments of a dream when you were entwined rather than face the day and its inevitability.  But you force yourself up and paste on a smile, or what passes for one, and carefully misdirect your audience until you can lock the office door and tune out the noise.

For that’s what your life has become:  a blur of nonsensical noise.  A constant clamoring for your attention and the systematic rejection of your deepest needs.  So you defend by emotional detachment and drift away into a solitary world of your own creation.  You lead a completely separate life though surrounded by others.

Lonely, isn’t it?  But you’re resigned to your fate.  You tried to break free once, but you misjudged opinion and it stung you.   It’s always dangerous to expect sympathy from those incapable of it.  And even worse when your entire self-worth is entrusted to them.

So it’s back to the secret life in your head, the one place where you can play with impunity. 


Posted in writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on December 10, 2010 by kimmy

What was it,  a jumbled dream that bled into real life?  A game?  An antidote to boredom?  A lesson in what not to do?

As time passes it becomes fragmented, like recalling moments from a past that is subject to constant revision.  Conscience and third party comments skew the facts so thoroughly that what actually transpired is lost, buried under a mound of disinformation and regret.

For what purpose serve the tools of the waking mind if not to dissect the activity of its freed counterpart?  It moves without restraint to that which beckons, even if those be unsanctioned.   It’s often at odds with life game pieces already played, creating disorder which must be explained… or hidden.

Eventually all accept the proffered excuse because it’s easier to believe a fabrication than to face the pain of our divided nature.  For we all struggle with inner yearnings that oppose our outer lives, but to deny their existence is to reject a part of self and allow it to die.

Is that all it was, a reminder that I am slowly dying piece by piece?  Casting off bits of self until there is nothing left and nobody left to approve since they, too, have self-disintegrated?  Or maybe it’s a warning to begin reintegration while pieces still remain.


Posted in social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 9, 2010 by kimmy

Have you noticed what sour grapes people have become?  Just when you’re bursting with happy news, they’re ready with a needle.  When you’ve arranged for a lovely family get-together, someone decides to air their dirty laundry at the table.  When you’re enjoying a beautiful day at the park, some nimrod parks his Escalade, turns up the sub-woofers and lets loose a blue streak of profanity when you ask him to lower the volume.

It would be easy to follow suit and lose your temper, but what would you gain?  The satisfaction of telling off an idiot who doesn’t care what you have to say anyway?  Why blow your cool?  Sacrificing your peace of mind for a battle that cannot be won is pointless.

Why not kick back and enjoy the show?  Cranky people can be highly amusing.  They are so caught up in their reality that they have no idea of what’s going on… like the Three Stooges without the musical track.  

I have often wondered if their nasty bravado is only a façade designed to conceal an insecure nature.  As long as they are huffing, complaining, whining, sulking, bitching, screaming, demanding and threatening, no one will notice what wimps they are.

Of course it’s difficult to remember that when they are in the throes of a hard-core meltdown.  However, it’s only a strategy and one that you are not obligated to play.  In fact, refusing to play along usually sets them off most spiritedly.  It’s quite an experience watching faces turn red and poison spew from mouths that moments before were pledging solidarity.  And the funniest thing of all is that they have no clue how obnoxious and ultimately repelling they are.  They actually believe their strong-arm behavior keeps the herd together.

Who wants to hang out with a mean-spirited foulmouth?  Nobody.  That’s why, in the end, all sour grapes turn to vinegar.


Posted in politics, social commentary, writing with tags , , , on June 25, 2008 by kimmy

There is no point searching for intelligent design among a species bereft of reason.  Look at newspapers (if you still bother to read one) and television:  More testimony of the failure of human beings to take their heads out of the collective ass.    It’s not only demoralizing to witness, it’s painful to be party to.  One can’t simply refuse to participate without being anti-social.  The only option is to lie back and watch the world implode.

Of course, one can always pick up the banner of charity.  Hollywood loves the earnest celebrity weary of privilege.  Nearly every tabloid carries at least one story of some svelte egotist giving time and self to a heavily-publicized cause.   And the reader of same will sigh and judge himself unfavorably against the actions of his selfless brother.  Oh, but if he were a man of greater importance!  What marvelous changes would be wrought!

It never occurs to him that a 70+ hour work week leaves little time for family, let alone for the needy.  He does not have the luxury of self-promotion because he’s chained to the gerbil wheel and he spins it hard for upper management.  If he did not, he would be standing alongside the bums at the soup kitchen. 

But corporate multinationals don’t want their indentured servants questioning rank, so even CEOs have to trot out their charitable concerns on occasion, just to keep the chattel (and IRS) happy.  Aren’t huge tax deductions grand?   

With the world enslaved or eking out a subsistance living, supervision defaults to power-mongers and narcissists who are incapable of seeing beyond their own needs.  Nearly every day we are entreated to give more of ourselves, usually by the same people who have made this impossible.  Poverty!  Hunger!  Injustice!  Disease!  Terrible problems that can only be addressed if we part with our dollars and embrace our fellow man in a spirit of unselfish love!  One has to admire the balls of those making the tearful pleas.  They know their audience and they’re not ashamed to work every morose sentiment.   

Like the movie audience, everyone is happy in the dark. A handful of people perch atop the remainder and those below are content to fight for their leavings.  The afflictions of the world continue unchecked and the bias circles in perpetuity.  The reason bestowed by intelligent design or accident is subverted and a few lucky people benefit.


Posted in events, musings, personal, pop culture, public confessional, social commentary, writing with tags , , , , , on June 15, 2008 by kimmy

No, I’m not referring to the gaffe during the Greece v. Russia game this afternoon. I’ll leave the post-mortem to the hand-wringers and bloggers in Europe who must be either dead drunk by now or texting congratulations to each other.  Isn’t it just like the inept to take pleasure in the mistakes of their betters?  

But I digress.  Tonight, I’ll leave my knife in the drawer because I’m not complaining about Saturday’s dismal performance.  In fact, the game didn’t interest me at all.  It was so lackluster that I fell asleep a few times.  But what troubles me is the cruel blow that Nikopolidis dealt me today.

Martina, my BFF in Germany, posted a series of pictures showing said goalkeeper in action and I suddenly realized that the cornfed men of my sturdy Midwestern world would no longer suffice.  I cannot live with the predictability of the blue collar man or the vulgar pretensions of the white.  I am ruined.

And Antonios is to blame for my misery.   Before the revelation,  I was resigned to mediocrity.  My world was narrow and expectations limited.   Who has time to dream anyway; the pressures of life suffocate them.  But now it’s too late.  I’ve started dreaming and plotting and envisioning, and I can’t seem to stop!  It won’t be long before I bust out of my cell…

What’s to become of me?  I can feel that question bubbling up like a canker sore, the last vestiges of the Calumet mindset nagging at me.  Doesn’t life have to be laid out like a grid before you, each step carefully constructed and every contingency preplanned?  What if the sky should fall in?  Shouldn’t plenty of worry and anxiety be factored in?  There’s nothing like despairing over a future that will never be realized to make you feel like a true Midwesterner.

Everything has changed now.  Nikopolidis broke my heart from its confines and I don’t know where it’s headed.  But for the first time in my life, I don’t care.