“It’s Like Warm Apple Pie”

Time for some Daily Blog

This is right in time for a lot of people’s favorite holiday, the one where we stuff our faces to the maximum, remember to be thankful of our lives, and sit around to watch parades or football games. Something that causes me to salivate and reminisce of years past is pie. Apple pie, pumpkin, and pecan come to mind when I think of Thanksgiving. Most other pies are reserved for the spring or summer, but both retrieve memories of my stepmom. She taught me everything I know in the way of baking. Everything from the way the homemade crust browns best if you sprinkle cinnamon sugar over the top and line the edges with tin foil, to learning how to be able to gage the remainder of the cooking time by color and firmness; all of this was originally her knowledge. Okay maybe I get a little emotional about my food, but it’s not always bad.
We would always make extra so that there would be leftovers. This is the one time of year she would let me eat pie for breakfast. The pecan pie would be cooled from all night in the fridge and be perfectly caramelized that allowed it to be the perfect on the go pie. My stepmother and I would curl up in the living room and as frost started etching fractured art on the window panes, we lit the fire and reheated generous slices of apple pie. The tang of the Granny Smith apples was evened out with the spices. Juicy and sweet only comes from the perfect cooking times. Long enough to heat, soften the apples, and bake the dough; but prior to the point in which the fruit becomes mush. Pumpkin pie was always my least favorite of the trio, but by far my favorite to make. The simplistic beauty of its design paired with the intricacy of the spices always caught my mind as a match made in heaven. Like all of our pies, the crust was homemade and we’d have to make the crust the day before. There was no canister of “Pumpkin Pie Spice”; there was the cinnamon, nutmeg, ground cloves, and sugar laid out in front of the mixing bowl. Seeing everyone in the family enjoying the pies, acknowledging the effort, care, and love we put into all that was baked. That is what pie is to me.


Beauty and Reality

Let the rain fall. So much in life goes  unnoticed for its lack of aesthetics. The simple way freckles dot someone’s face like a skilled painter had dedicated hours to the canvas. The way the setting sun back lights the silhouette of trees turning the sky into a partially hidden blaze. An act of companionship that brings two people together that radiates with the care that they have for each other. And not just the plain things, there is beauty everywhere. A pattern of scars on someone’s wrist, a tale of strength with a moment of weakness. Warm salty tears are a release from the ocean of sorrow. Even the ugliest of things lead to a brighter tomorrow if we allow it to be so. The only real thing that restricts a person is themselves. So allow the future to be possible. Strive to push yourself farther than you have gone before. Set reasonable goals and achieve them. Love yourself for all it is worth, because no one will ever be able to love you as much as you can learn to love yourself. Let it all be free, you are the cage and to be able to fly is only on you. The sky has no bounds, nor do you have to reach the same bounds as everyone else. Do what truly makes you happy for there is so little time on this Earth. Make the best of now, because your future starts today.


To the ever lovely Daily Blog


There are times where you have to wonder why thing ended up in your favor, even though impending doom seemed more probable. Things in my childhood home seeing as my parents were divorced and separately remarried. My father’s temper was a force not to be reckoned with, it seemed to be amplified by any change of events. This was especially true when the court summons appeared in our mailbox. This alone awoke the demon within him, to have some lady who he didn’t feel was a significant part of my life waltz in and question his authority. For the next several weeks he had managed to shift the blame in his head onto me and like time and time before, I bore the load without faltering. Those couple weeks I had feared for my spirit and my sanity. It was a waiting game to see which would break first. I can tell you all about the humility I felt when held pressed against a wall with only my collar holding me up, spittle flying off of his lips along with the hate filled monologues. I can also tell you the self loathing he introduced by secluding me from the rest of our family. However, none of that really matters in the grand scheme of things. There were times I almost broke. Many of them and each one was a bullet. Reviewing the events; each moment of weakness looks like a bullet in slow motion, something I could have easily dodged. In the moment, they had been the morning sun. They seemed that they would catch up to me in time and time is something we can never stop. All we can do is get back up and dust ourselves off so we can keep traveling onward.

Oneirophrenia 0.3

The humming and whirring of medical appliances had actually become soothing to Kira, anything was better than the silence. Orderlies bustled around her, taking vitals and injecting various substances into her IV. Her body slowly relaxed as she re-acclimated to life outside of hell. All the noises, so loud, so many of them. She watched her life line, a glowing green snake in this Garden of Eden, taunting her. Even after all that she had been through here at the facility, she still believed in God, maybe not in the traditional sense. Her thoughts on religion are that there is some unknown benefactor that never intervenes and yet makes his presence known through unexpected peace of mind. Just like the tranquility that washed upon her in that instant. She allowed her eyes to close and to wallow in the bliss that had befallen her.

“So Kira, how was your night?”

It was the psychologist, the Americanized Asian one. Maybe he was first generation, but you could hear slight deviations in his voice that clarified that he was still foreign. She replied without opening her eyes, “Oh, the same as usual. You are such a dear for checking up on me.”

“Your fever appears to have gone down, how are you feeling?”

He was going to be very droll with his conversation today, she could tell. She needed to make things a little more interesting. “Doctor, please let’s not insult either of us. We both know I am miserable; the food is, my cot is uncomfortable, the room is too tiny, there is no entertainment, and I am close to being bored to death! If you do not make amends to my situation, I find there is no reason to talk to you.”

At this point I had to open my eyes, the silent reaction would be displayed clearly on his face. The slight contortions in his muscles completely altered his visage. His calm went to vexed and snapped into a gridiron poker face.

“As much as I love listening to all your complaints, I unfortunately cannot change a damn thing thing about your living conditions. Now let’s get back on topic!” he said with a hushed rage.

She giggled and fabricated a tale that would satisfy the psychologist. She spoke not of the hooved demon and its sweet whispers of liberation. It came to her like it had every other night but this time had seemed different. Her vengeance might soon be on the rise.

Living the Quiet Life

In response to the daily post

I love the idea of confidence, it is something so many people lack and what I feel is a driving factor in the current work force. The only problem is, I am a part of the legions of people that really lack it in some way or another. I grew up hearing “it’s not good enough”. I could be the top of my class, excelling at everything I put my mind to. It never was going to be good enough. This definitely transferred into the way I live my life now. I am a pretty shy person and will remain silent and take everything in, gaining information about everyone by listening to the waves of people. I am a wall flower in full bloom. The only real time I exude confidence is when I know that I either am the best or when I need to pretend to be the best. I know that probably confuses the people that know me, especially since I love to sing and debate. This is why I have no videos up of me singing on YouTube, even though I would really like to showcase my meager talents. So maybe one day I will have the inner peace necessary to display such an act of bravery. Maybe. One day.

Oneirophrenia 0.2

The bruises on her arms were darkening with each day. She traced the hand print gingerly with the tip of her nail. Just emptiness. There was no more pain in her mind, all that happened happened in passing. Her consciousness didn’t seem to be present when they came in. Each of their different attributes seemed to meld together. They never gave her peace. The hushed sound of their hose or pants rubbing together came through the door. It was always there. They were always there. Whatever they wanted with her, it didn’t matter, they received it. Their white linen clothes should be soaked in red. Or at least she thinks they should be. Maybe one day soon.

Each night they induced darkness to cloak the pitted room and by the time the lights came back on she needed the nurses to let her out of there. The room killed sound. They must be testing the effects of prolonged exposure to negative decibels. The platform of plywood that served as a floor over the boxed off areas of air. The functions of her body and all the separate noises they made became music to her ears after a day of isolation. The wheezing sound as air hissed through her lungs became the painful reminder that she was still alive. Every flap of her coronary valves made her aware of time passing slowly by. The only interaction she would get is with the nurses and doctors.

Each time was the same. They asked her about her experiences in the room, the sights, emotions, thoughts, or anything else she would like to talk about. Each time she replied the same, describing the aesthetics of the room. She knew from the start that there would be no hope begging or bartering for her freedom. She asked once when she could leave this hell and once the topic had successfully been evaded, there was her answer. She never told them about the first “night” she spent there, the first night into the dark. The first time meeting the demons that had been inside of her head. When the lights went out on that night, the soft beastly glow illuminated the only way to survive in hell.

Oneirophrenia 0.1

The pounding of the blood through his veins was almost literally driving him insane. Everything was bright, too bright as the burning scent of antiseptic flooded his consciousness with white hot memories. Each new one burned like a glass of hard liquor, not like he’d let it show on his face however. Hospitals almost scared him with their potential, just a breeding ground for an epidemic. The last time he’d been in one was…

A nurse appeared from a door that lead to the inner workings of the hospital. She was flustered with her uniform obviously creasing and her ponytail askew. Looking around the room she said,”Mr. Arrowsmith? Right this way sir.”

Panic and nausea didn’t hinder my progression as he rose to follow her to a room. Once she shut the door, his mind flew into a frenzy. All my doubts and confusion swirled around and settled to reveal an unnerving calm. The objective. With every breath, every second that passed reconfirmed that he had to get her back. She needed to break free.

Her, all the memories of her were intensified by the time they were apart. The way she would give him that little sideways smirk after every quirky remark, the sleepy look in her eyes when she first woke up, the way the sun illuminated her hair and left a trail of freckles for him to trace. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. She stayed as caring and as nurturing even after the change had happened. He hoped her strength would hold out for just a little longer.