It's just me..all about me. My freedom...my control.
HYPER-SENSATIVE. Being Defined..Definition by design. What torments me: my erractic, dark thoughts, things(lets just say)that get under my skin and stick within my veins, slowing me down, loosing my mind and patience; pushing of buttons so to speak, what I imagine, what I see when I have my eyes open, the world and other people's self destruction in it, mindless, humanless, ugly, tainted, mechanical disrespect. The carelessness of your spirit. Having a hard time giving in. Reality. Truth. I seek out a truth obsessively as if I were putting all the peices of a homicide case together. But sometimes when I am not looking it finds me. Peices of the universe do call out to you. Space. Intuition. Perception. Observation. Nothing gets passed me. I have x-ray vision. My eyes will slightly pierce your soul. I have a hard time with having a filter between my mind and my mouth. Some point...something I want to get across never comes out right, unless I am writing. Alright, I don't always think before I speak, thus when I speak it shows how cluttered my soul is with everything. Writing gives me the freedom and the clarity of a flow of free conscience. I feel, therefore I breathe. Our ones' life, reality, is an illusion. If you allow conscience to rule over mind you can make anything appear to what you want it to seem. Mind can be a harmful opposition to one's spirit. If you let go, you are able to see.You either love me or hate me. Standing up for your own actions. "Time never heals a wound, CHANGE does! Helping. Protecting what is close to me. Action. Empathy. Compassion. Hugs. Going on walks. Ice water. Impatience. Singing to myself. James Spader. Love. When the force of the Jedi is behind you it creates unions that are bounded by the laws of nature and equitable LOVE. Giving you the real truth of a person who doesn't leave your side. Doesn't mess with your heart.
I'm thinking about flying tiger striped cat's aboard pirate ships,
sailing towards chocolate coated banana skies.
I am thinking about treasure buried in grains of sand that sifts through the gaps between your fingers as it separates from the palm of your hand,
as a pair of footprints are washed away with another unified step
as the oceantide plays the roll of the invisible man.
I am thinking about strawberry, sunlit kisses drapped across blump, smooth, delicate cheeks of children
as endless laughter is defined by the repetitive echoes of another single, joyous bouncing vibration that mutters from one soul to another.
I am thinking about Peter Pan, Wendy, and Captain Hook
as I search for my own Never Land where I can love innocently,
also carrying the courage and strength upon the blades of my shoulders
if I must defend and protect the purity of the boundless energy that keeps us
us from racing against TIME, when it never really can be planned.
~~Lexi Schaefer
Video footage of the song "Price Gouge'n" by Me...Alexandra Schaefer.
Lexi has low tolerance for biased judgement, shallowness, material gain, distrust, gossip(Someone's story that turns into someone's elses story), spying, broken promises, bypassing questions being asked, cruelty, cruelty and neglect to animals, other's delighting in another person's struggle, arguing with someone's intelligence only for you to feel superior, guns, abortion, fear, ignorance, lies..down right nasty lies..not white lies, there is a difference, etc. She has been recognized for her seriousness, moral qualities, but also her lighthearted..cynical humor to life’s situations.
Lexi is intelligent, has big ideas: she is tolerant and has a strong sense of justice to the human spirit. She has good judgment, good sense and has her feet on the ground regardless of what she is doing or not doing. She has the "gift of the gab", and likes to speak, she also likes literature. At the same time she enjoys complete meditative silence. Lexi gets easily confused when there is a lot going on around her. She doesn’t know where to start managing. She is wise and has mastered success socially. She is respectable, conscientious. She is shy, delicate but proud, bold and lively. She has good taste, has an affectionate nature, her love is warm and deep, based on intellectual understanding and common tastes. She is extremely observant and astute, always reading between the lines and looking for the real meaning behind things. She speaks with passion at any level of any cost. She is a natural psychologist. She is conflicted between a rich and successful domestic life and social success. She has difficulty in succeeding in both. Very perceptive and given to psycho analyzing people. Lexi is kind and sympathetic, with a strongly compassionate nature. Very devoted. In fact, she is devoted by nature, not only in matters of the heart. A strategist. She possesses powerful emotions and intense feelings. She controls her feelings…most of the time. She looks for new ways to relate to others. She has a sense of duty, of self-esteem and is prudent. She can concentrate on a long-term task, manual or intellectual. She perseveres and is serious in everything she does. Because her ego and mind are aligned, Lexi possesses much mental energy. She is always in a position to think about what she wants, and in many ways, this is an interruption of the will.
Lexi has a great drive to communicate with others’. She invests a lot of pride in her intellectual capacities. She may not always listen as well as she speaks, however! She might be too busy thinking about what to say next. Although she is a very curious creature of nature, she enjoys expressing her oneself, but usually doesn’t dominate conversations completely. As far as studying or learning goes, she is better off reading the material herself than listening to a teacher. It is very hard for Lexi to passively listen and absorb information. Also, she simply never gives up. She has tremendous staying power. She is not the slightest intimidated by anybody or anything. Confrontations are not a problem. In fact, talk to Lexi about her life, and you'll probably be in awe at all she’s gone through. Trauma seems to follow her wherever she goes. When Lexi has learned optimism, instead of expecting the worst, she finds that she possesses amazing regenerative powers -- the power to heal, create, and transform. Lexi likes to refer to herself in THIRD PERSON as well. It will happen once, twice, or maybe you’ll never encounter it at all. Analyzing that in itself, could simply be that I subconsciencly separate myself from the "matter" to know what I've become in these matters. Thus, being able to narratively tell a story, comfortably. Some find this absolutely annoying. When I am doing it I don't realize even the start of it. Peace.
Me doing what I love to do....
It was July. Summer's peaking in the Midwest.
The gravel road was long, a straight shot to the yellow shingled house embedded within the sun's orange hue rising from its sleep. Frankie was home or what she memorized of what home should be. Eighteen now, her long, golden brown curls flying in the wind, as she steered her brand new '57 Thunderbird convertible, while music on the car's radio was blasting The Everly Brother's, "Bye Bye Love." It was Frankie's dream car.
A cigarette dangling from between her lips, she rounded to the front doorstep of this house, the dust of the cement rocks shading her already cat shaped sunglasses she had on. Frankie was excited, determined, and indulged to what lay inside. She smiled, as she opened her driver's door, her stocky but strong long legs unwrapped onto the ground; Frankie always sporting her own style, dusted off her pleated high-rise denim shorts with her black high heels matching. She lifted herself up, grabbing her bags from the white leather back seats. She ran up those front porch stairs like she was seven again, with someone chasing her from behind. She paused starring at the red front door. She stammered, taking off her sunglasses, matting down her curls, she looked down to her pocket on her twilled fitted jacket, reached in for this crystal berrette, grabbed it, pulled one side of her hair back to the side and clipped.
She started to reach for the door knob and her instinctive mind flooded with imagination. She grabbed, turned the silver knob to the left, the door cracked. More sounds, images came to her. She stopped from pushing the door open. She imagined her mother then, hearing the sound of the piano that had been with her mother's side of the family for decades, hearing the stairs leading up to the bedrooms creaking. Frankie, as a child would sneak down these stairs to listen to records of Frank or Bobby Darin, or to sneak a crunch of chocolate that lay inside a kitchen cabinet. For a moment she saw herself hiding in the bay window's chest in the living room wanting her mother to come find her, but always waiting...waiting, remembering her Nana sitting at the wooden bench table in the kitchen with the moonlight beaming through the different stain glasses that were placed into the French windows that hung above the sink, laying "playing cards" out on the table for Frankie, as Frankie stood in the entrance way starring back at her with curiosity.
Nana saying,"Child, come sit, play this fortune game with me!"
Frankie would race over, slumping herself on the long bench across from Nana with her stuffed rabbit to her side.
Nana, placing her palm on Frankie's forehead would whisper, "You have that gift, those eyes that see, and don't you think differently!"
Nana would spread the cards out. Frankie would pick ten and hand each one to Nana. Nana then, placed the cards always in an orderly fashion out on a scarf she wore with her uniform. Holding Frankie's left hand through the whole game, she slowly flipped over each card, one by one, telling a story along with the cards character. It fascinated, overjoyed, Frankie. She loved to imagine herself already somewhere else.
With that red door still cracked opened, Frankie snapped back to the reality that was around her. She bent down to one of her bags, reached in, rifling through clothes, searching for her makeup case, she felt it, lifted it out and on the front was THAT card, The Fool, she had tightly secured to her makeup case with too much tape. She smiled. Remembering that first night Nana ever played that game with her and every time she played again and again she got The Fool card in her future spot on the spread. Frankie being so young at the age of five when Nana first played the game, never wanted to give the card up at the end, and Nana always gave in.
Now, it was time for Frankie's real moment of truth, as the red door swung open.
The last;
chest that was my pillow;
moonlight that peaked through my window that was my light through sleep;
spinning drop of wine I quenched of your essence;
penetration of each other's souls with the daunting of dark pupils;
cynical cower that hung on my succulent lips;
of my grace tainted by the exhale of smoke from behind your lips;
grip of my wrists, while tickling my body with your breath;
shooting of cries that kills speaking;
The last;
laugh that I stole from your belly;
of listening when I see behind your silence;
embrace heating me;
love you, emerging in the cold midair;
steps I took, your feet following, gliding around, hands locked;
shared giggle that chased us from behind;
The last;
exit on your path to the right of what wasn't wrong;
time I burned you when I gave you a piece of hell;
dead ringer put on hold;
memory recorded in my gallery;
of your existence is grained into an image;
of my spirit that blossomed, froze not order to grow;
fruitless picking season.
craving still for your taste;
The last;
of your soul that is conflicting my universe;
time my dreams become my reality;
eyelids I want to see flicker when I wake.
fight, I'll give up.
~~L.S.
Maybe.
I sink into a mountain of glistening, iridescent bubbles, soaking tension that has knotted up my back.
Consuming each breath I take.
My arms hover over this hollow cave my soul is dwelling in.
Water perches on my branches, each drop caught in the burning glow of the candlelight that encircles me.
My body's oxygen steams from the pores of my skin, as I lean to the side to grab a neatly place cloth folded four ways to wipe off my bewitching wands painted a nicely dark maroon.
Bubbles fall slowly down my forearm, as I catch up with them with my cloth. My eyes focusing in my surroundings,
I go back to a story, "A very short story," by Hemingway that I chose for my mood; descriptions paint images in my mind.
My head dangles heavily above my breasts from the heat; my eyes close from the blood rushing to thrust my brain.
Gratification wanted; a breeze finds me, caught by the rustling of the trees outside, rushing through the screen enclosing me from the rest of the world.
I hear vacant voices up and down and around.
I open my eyes, resting my head back of the beige porcelain.
My snake that bulges from my back slithers me below wanting my being somewhere else.
With my head halfway submerged, my mouth seeps in toxic water. My ears deafened, piercing a ring, wondering,"Why did I leave my phone on this time?"
As a knock thumps on the door saying, "It's for you!"
My palms resting easily on the bath's floor, I lift myself up slowly, my mouth opens widely, as if I were throwing up all the nasty perceptions my soul was coveting, thinking with a smile, "Maybe next time."
~L.S.
Stand beside me or turn away. Hold my hand or let go. Whisper your secrets in my ear or be silent. Look at me or keep being blinded. Try to fight for Truth,Hope,Kindness,& the Unseen to be Revealed!!!
Layout by CoolChaser Background from flickr user
Cuzidiecuz
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