cosmic run on.

Cosmic Love, by Phillip Schumacher
Cosmic Love, by Phillip Schumacher

 

Inner and outer
manifestations (of
rage and tender touch,

of ego pulled
over the head
inside-out,
of space and the
absence of matter,
of ions forgetting charges
and mass not knowing
its how and why,

leaving cracks in
the surface of
what once was,
what is,
what could be,
what could have been
before cosmic collision
exiled its possibilities
into the netherworld
of parallel options,)

become the
stuff of dreams.

The fabric of poetry.
The liquid sunrise
calling us back
to a life we
don’t understand
while painting
its ambiguous canvas
with the language
of purpose.

 

Inspired by “If A Sunsets Behind Buildings and No One Can See It, Is it Still Beautiful?” By Vagabond at https://writtenmad.wordpress.com

 

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2015

a matter of perpetual creation.

Star Child, by Juliette Crane

 

The carbon of my body

recalls the best of it all:

 

the time before

worry and loss,

the time before

hunger and pain,

the time before

good and evil.

 

The time when

atomic collision

was the long

and short of it.

 

When molecules

that would travel

far and wide

before becoming

you and I

and the skies

and the trees

buddied up

in the belly of an

elemental bakery.

 

A super-massive

pulsating, churning,

bubbling womb.

 

A hostile incubator.

 

Our celestial mother

martyred by iron

so that we

might live as

rearrangements

of her labors,

her reflection

eternally trapped

in the eyes of

those who

know her best,

reminding us

to never ignore

that we are

all born

together.

 

 

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

Appalachia.

6123

 

Crammed between rows of anxiously sweaty youths in the smoggy Morgantown bar I waited impatiently, acutely aware of how difficult it had been getting there. Not the particular “there” in time and space at that college club, rather a place in consciousness, a point in thought, a moment where you can reach in and grab what life’s made of. Looking around at the crowd of eager dewy faces falling in and out of love with every rise of tide and break of day, I was as alone as ever. Inches were miles between myself and the world as I hid behind a veil of heavy smoke, the realizations wafting by like letters on paper, too slowly and plainly to look away. My first adult relationship was a flapping fish, a twitching rat, a webbed fly, a starving grizzly. My scholastic path was a crumbling bridge hanging over angry waters. Accomplishments devolved into failures before my eyes, and I’d all but given up on everything and everyone everywhere, myself most of all.

Nevertheless, there I stood one young face in a tight crowd of young faces awaiting two more young faces to grace a low stage inches from the sticky, ashy, filthy concrete floor. A cacophony of friendly conversation, angry outbursts, drunken laughter, and unashamed flirtations reached a fever pitch, giving that place a pulse, a rhythmic heartbeat, a swaying swell of emotion that united us all in one humble hush the moment the lights dimmed. No one breathed, no one spoke, no one moved until backstage doors parted, revealing the climactic and enigmatic faces of Jack and Meg White … as we exploded into a three hundred-headed roar.

They came forward humbly and thankfully into the waves of enthusiasm rushing onstage, Meg sitting behind her peppermint swirl drums and Jack strapping on his plastic red and white guitar. I can’t remember what songs were played first, middle, or last, everything melting together in an amorphous sea of vibe, a swelling energy pulsing with each note and moment. Meg banged away in bare feet and white capris, an angry child and grown woman tuning out of the crowd and into Jack’s next red move. Jack, with his dimpled smile and powerful presence moved between instrument, device, and voice with the intensity of a madman, feverishly provoked by the music within.

“300 people living out in West Virginia have no idea of all these thoughts that lie within you” they sang, huddled around one microphone, (and they didn’t, they didn’t know). The surrounding strangers and friends and lovers had no idea of my thoughts within. The downward spiral of guilt, the paralyzing fear of change, the ever-present threat of failure dominated lucid moments and dreamscapes alike, yet I continued attempting to hide the storm behind damp eyes and pretty lips. Losing myself I drifted further inward despite bumps and elbows from the crowd around, as Jack sang and scanned the room. Quite suddenly his brown eyes locked on to my hazy green, penetrating the walls and pulling me from within, revealing a familiar sadness, a lonely affliction, a persistent melancholy. He was up there in front of us all while deeply alone within himself, and we knew each other’s secret.

As the show dispersed my companions and I stayed for Coronas rimmed with limy pulp, each beer growing my bravery and sense of fantasy, bringing me to a firm decision: I would meet Jack White. We lingered for hours in my almost ex’s two-toned brown Bronco, keeping a close watch on the doors of 123 Pleasant Street. Time rolled on, beers slid down, and still no crowds rushed the club to catch a glimpse of the departing duo. As hours passed, the streets and sidewalks thick with twenty-somethings slowly cleared and I reluctantly gave in to disappointment. It seemed they would never leave that place to board the white van parked in front, already loaded with equipment and ready to go, and there was no sense in waiting until sunrise. We drove off down the one-way street onto the long empty bridge as I chanced a glance back toward the van, hoping desperately to see …

Flashes of red and white leaving the building! Red and white leaving the building! Walking toward the van through the early morning West Virginian air! “Turn the fuck around” I shouted to almost ex, “TURN AROUND!” And he did, he turned the fuck around, tires squealing through a u-turn, racing up the block and back down the one-way street, my heart pounding and stomach dropping as we pulled behind the van, seeing no one and nothing. There was nothing but the silence of the morning and the weight of knowing that they were in there. He was in there.

I stepped hastily from the truck, my brain scattered with booze and drugs, as time slowed around me. This was the event horizon. I was there treading the edge of a black hole, and it felt right. Atop high rubber soles of black platform shoes, I neared the van’s windows and stumbled, turning my right ankle under. The air remained still and silent. Mortified, I ignored the van and pressed on toward the club’s door, pretending to need the lady’s room though knowing fully that it was closed. Giving the knob a few tugs and jiggles, I feigned exasperation toward the empty bar and turned around not knowing my next move. I’d come this far, waited all night, and I was so close to success, yet taste of failure flooded my mouth. I couldn’t knock on the window like a crazed fan, even if that’s what I was. Taking long strides away from the club, the failure went down hard as I passed the driver’s side, nearly choking me when the door popped open revealing the smiling face of Jack White just two feet away.

He floated toward me an unearthly entity, but he was no black hole. He was a star in its prime, a radiant white sun standing before me smiling as if he’d seen light for the first time. Paralyzed and stupefied, “HOLY SHIT” was all I could pronounce, shattering the silence of cool mountain air, and he laughed. He laughed! He laughed and I shook, forgetting where and who I was, knowing only who he was and what this moment meant to me. Nerves took over, and before intellect could stop heart I found myself exclaiming in a quivering voice that with him I was less alone, that his words and sounds helped pull me from the void of recent darkness. As hot tears welled I suddenly found myself in his arms. Seeming massive and warm, he looked down into my eyes drawing me into himself, and I buried my head in his chest for what seemed an eternity.

Reluctantly pulling away, preventing myself from taking his shining face into my hands and kissing his lips until time dissolved, I shakily extracted a copy of “De Stijl” from my bag, asking with embarrassed joy for a signature. His eyes widened and smile grew as I handed him the only writing tool my trembling hands could find: a yellow highlighter. “I have a marker in here,” he said with a voice like wine and honey, opening the driver side door and gesturing for me to sit down, to get in … (to get in)?! I must have looked like a doe eyed madwoman inching toward that door, knees weak and mind reeling as Meg beamed from the back seat with her freckles, crooked teeth, and introversion. It was all too surreal, Jack squashing in beside me, his face inches from my own and his eyes filled with gentle understanding, Meg shyly asking if I had a good time while signing the glossy booklet. It took every fiber of self-control to keep me from turning the keys, asking “so, where are we were heading?”

“I, I … I have to go … I need to go. I love you both … ” I whispered as Meg waved and Jack nodded, both replying “we love you too” as Jack and I slid out of the van. My instinct was to run, to scream, to collapse, to fly, but before I could do any of that Jack reached out, enveloping me once more with his peaceful embrace. I wanted to kiss him, to cry, to never let go as he held me for infinitely revolving, terribly fleeting seconds. With deep breaths we shared those moments, pulling away when the time was right, hands entwined and eyes locked, sharing a mutual understanding of one another. I didn’t run or fly away, but skipped toward the Bronco like a princess to a pony, turning back and waving, watching them wave back (watching him wave back,) as I got in and we drove off. Screaming and shaking, shaking and screaming, turning back toward the club I watched the van becoming smaller and smaller in the distance, that white pinpoint of light the eternal resting place of a powerfully profound memory, as I wondered desperately if I’d ever find home again.

 

20140618_165241

 

 

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

for maya.

Maya Angelou

 

We all have pain.

 

Some more than others.

 

Some people feed

its scraps

to the hungry dogs.

 

Some people take

it to the bank,

stowing it away

in a dusty

safe deposit box,

fading to nothing

upon its key holder’s

fade to nothing.

 

Others fling it

in the face of the

world at large,

an unfortunate fate

for innocents

crossing the paths

of emotional maniacs.

 

Some people

own

their pain.

 

They take it

into their arms

and cradle it

like a newborn,

 

losing sleep

and time

just the same,

 

feeding it from

their well of

inner strength,

nurturing

until it

matures enough

to reason with.

 

Matures enough

to comprehend

how cruel the

world can be.

 

Matures enough to

make peace with.

 

Matures enough

to let go of

like a parent

waving goodbye

over a parade

of packed boxes

and painfully

joyful embraces.

 

Some people

fabricate their pain

knowingly and willingly,

masquerading as

the victim

in a cruel and

unfair world.

 

For others,

the world defines

cruel and unfair,

 

and some,

they let it break them.

 

Others wear the pain

like a pulsating

badge of

bloody honor,

feeding from its

richly caloric

bittersweet powerhouse,

owning it,

embracing it,

overcoming it but

never forgetting

the poisonous needles

prodding them

toward success.

 

We are brothers

and sisters,

mothers and fathers,

lovers and givers,

us all,

and the pain

doesn’t define us.

 

We define

the pain.

 

We define

the suffering.

 

We fuck up

and falter.

 

We squander

and abuse,

 

We withdraw

and explode,

 

We love and learn

while defining

our pain,

 

and it drives

us farther than

the finest

fossil fuel

 

when you

give it

the homage

it deserves.

 

 

images-13

“Cotton rows crisscross the world

  And dead-tired nights of yearning

Thunderbolts on leather strops

 And all my body burning

Sugar cane reach up to God

And every baby crying

Shame the blanket of my night

   And all my days are dying”

– The Memory, Maya Angelou

Renee Novosel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2014

“THE LIEBSTER AWARD” NOMINATION.. CONGRATULATIONS AND THANK YOU ALL!

liebster4

 

 

Although I’ve been writing for most of my life, I’m entirely new to the blogging scene. Blindly fumbling through for just one month, I’m humbly honored to have been nominated for the “Liebster Award” by the talented http://luvlifedream.wordpress.com/2014/04/30/the-liebster-award-nomination-congratulations-and-thank-you-all/. Karen’s writing offers deep insight wrapped in juicy nuggets of sensual language, (and I love it). Thank you Karen for sharing your thoughts, reading others’ words, nominating newbies like myself, and caring about fellow writers!

“The Liebster award is awarded to bloggers with under 200 followers to try to promote their blog and also bring together a community of bloggers. The rules of the competition are as follows:

The nominated user must provide a link back to the person who nominated them, provide 11 facts about themselves, answer 11 questions set by the nominator, and choose 11 more people and ask them 11 questions.”

(So here it goes … )

 

11 facts about myself:

 

1. I wrote a song when I was nine called “Heartbreaker” that was hilariously awful.

2. I absolutely can’t exercise without music.

3. I’m not the best at spelling …

4. I am, however, annoyingly fanatical about grammar, (and the regular use of spell check).

5. My parents have more tattoos than I do.

6. I truly love my hometown of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and its cozy rolling hills.

7. I’m an “INFJ” in the land of Jungian personalities.

8. I was an avid “raver” during the 1990’s, thus explaining my clown-like wardrobe for several years.

9. I want to be reincarnated as honeysuckle.

10. When feeling anxious, I close my eyes and go to Neptune.

11. Although I love all animals, the older I get the more ridiculous my love for dogs becomes. I resist the urge to yell silly words from the car window with every pooch that I pass.

 

11 Questions from Karen:

1.”If you could go back in time and do something you never did what would it be?”

–This was a hard one for me! To choose one thing of all the things in all of time is quite a task considering the epic scope of everything, but I’m compelled toward witnessing a slice of the birth of our sun. Before the planets, just after the spark …

2.”Why do you choose to write?”

–In a way, I think that writing chose me. It always felt natural to pick up a pen and put on paper what I couldn’t put in the air.

3.”What is your biggest inspiration?”

–The immensity of our emotional universe is both maddening and inspiring. Writing keeps me sane. (Sort of sane.)

4.”What is you pet peeve?”

–I’ll choose one from the many: sloppy and moist public kisses. It sounds like you’re stirring a bowl of macaroni salad: please stop.

5.”If you were to be a character of a book or movie who would you be?”

–Sarah of Labyrinth, all the way: she was the biggest bad-ass of the 1980’s female fantasy crew. And Because of David Bowie. Enough said.

6.”What is you best quality?”

–It’s undeniable that I’m a survivor. Stubborn self-reliance and subconscious perseverance seem to be powerful assets in the life that I’ve led.

7.”Do you ever get writer’s block and what do you do to overcome it?”

–YES!!! And I edit. I love editing. I love editing so much. There’s a lifetime of work to do even when feeling uninspired.

8.”How has writing affected your relationships?”

–It’s worked the other way around for me, in that my relationships have affected my writing. During my marriage, I was severely depressed at worst and mildly depressed at best, which drained me creatively. Once the veil lifted, the words returned!

9.”What is you biggest accomplishment?”

–I am a child of an addict and an alcoholic. I married an addict/alcoholic. I am a recovering codependent, and my biggest accomplishment is reprogramming my mind with a new meaning of life.

10.”What is your favorite movie?”

Amelie. Period. I’ll openly admit, however, that Moulin Rouge will forever be my jam.

11.”If you could be anyone for a day who would it be and why?”

–After much thought, I’ve settled on being the president of ABC and giving David Lynch an offer that he can’t refuse to re-launch Twin Peaks. Sure, there are bigger fish to fry, but someone needs to fry THIS one.

 

Karen http://luvlifedream.wordpress.com/, thank you again for this nomination, your fantastic questions, and your gorgeous words!

 

I know some of you guys have more than two hundred followers, but still …

My nominations are:

http://writingsfromtheravensdesk.wordpress.com/

http://glitteringafterthoughts.wordpress.com/

http://poetfreed.wordpress.com/

http://happygirldairies.wordpress.com/

http://darealztalk.com/

http://gatitaoscura.wordpress.com/

http://noelleneverever.wordpress.com/

http://mandy-may.com/

http://rfatharly.wordpress.com/

http://racheltoalson.wordpress.com/

http://ayahsconstellations.wordpress.com/

 

My questions for the nominees:

1. What is your spirit animal?

2. Who was you favorite childhood author?

3. What is your nerdiest pleasure?

4. What book in your collection do you treasure most?

5. If you could have an affair with any writer, dead or alive, who would it be?

6. Regardless of age, what do you want to be when you grow up?

7. If you had a superpower, what would it be?

8. What is your favorite word? (I love how archipelago rolls off of the tongue.)

9. Who was your most influential teacher and why?

10. What is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever see?

11. Can you remember the first piece of substance that you ever wrote? Describe it and your reason for writing.

 

Instructions for the Nominees:

Set #1

1) Post a short Q&A about themselves

2) Answer the questions the tagger has asked

3) Create a new list of questions for their own nominees

4) Choose a list of their own nominees and notify them

Set#2

1. Thank your Liebster Blog Award presenter on your blog.

2. Link back to the blogger who awarded you.

3. Copy & Paste the award to your blog.

4. Nominate 11 blogs to receive the award who have less than 200 followers.

5. Inform them of their nomination by leaving comment on their blog.

Set #3

1. Post the award on your blog.

2. Thank the blogger who presented this award and link back to their blog.

3. Write 11 random facts about yourself.

4. Nominate 11 bloggers who you feel deserve this award and who have less than 200 followers.

5. Answer 11 questions posted by the presenter and ask your nominees 11 questions.

 

Thank you Lorraine Reguly for blogging the Official rules.

http://wordingwell.com/the-liebster-award-the-official-rules-my-first-blog-award-and-a-few-personal-secrets-revealed/