oh Sisyphus, you’re a dumb f—-

For a long time, I thought we are all ruled by Karma, but no matter how much I tried to be good and true so that only good would come back to me, shit has always seemed to happen, often tides of it. All at once. One after the other. Randomly out of the blue.

Concurrently, I thought Murphy’s Law seemed more applicable: if it can happen, it will happen. My mother’s birth father was a Murphy though, so it seems reasonable to add ‘and it always happens to a Murphy’.

Lately, my thoughts wander to Sisyphus, rolling that boulder up that hill for all eternity. The moral is that he’s supposedly happy. Unlike Sisyphus, the struggle is not enough to fill my heart. I find it exhausting. Physically. Emotionally. Intellectually.

Sisyphus was really a dumb fuck. Was the path up the mountain so narrow he couldn’t step aside, let the boulder go, destroy someone else’s life?

oh to be the cream

the nearer I am to ether, the

 less consumed am I with those

 there already, or lovers past, passions

connecting to an eternal 

other;

           wrapped in self

contemplations less fragmented 

but prefer the resonance of

my own deep breaths

rattling in my chest 

girl, you’ll be a woman soon

When I first bought my house in Texas, it was May. I’d sit at the kitchen table with the back door open, watching my girls in the doorway watching the rain, turning to look at me in wonder every few moments. They had played wild every moment since the fence went up, no leash tethered from my wrist to their harness. 

I wanted to open the door today and watch the rain here in Portugal, but it isn’t the same. There’s no green grass out the window, only cobblestone roads and neighbors that live too close.

The day is just gray, no sweet girls to observe, to adore.