SoHo

Rocks against cast irons, subway

stations filled with being from

top to floor, exiting on past the

platform, reaching for above, light,

air, the buildings touched by angels,

heaven galore. How could humans

makes things such as these?

  • Julia St. Clair, ©2017

    *Image from Google Image search

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Old Love Through New, Open Shores

When it comes to you, my love, my heart is like iron, my

mind that of a conquistador; Just as Columbus dashed

across the shores of a land strange and foreign to his

plans, like Cortes stampeded across the Yucatan, conquering

and slaughtering the first world at hand, as though I were

Pizarro, who marched further south, another empire

capturing on, so I long to sail away to new lost shores, see

your face, complete the Reconquista in my heart, and hold

you safely in my arms. The years no doubt changed me, altering

my face, my body, my hair, myself; perhaps you, my love, transformed

as well, yet the difference it makes is none, for I know in my heart, the

explorer’s curse, what is good and true — I’d sail through

the heavens, climb up mountains, swim the seas and ocean floor, dive

head first into the molten lava and bathe in lake of fires whether they

are on earth or through l’inferno e purgatorio, just to see your face

again, if only to hear your voice. You — the Paris to my Helen, the

Fernando to my Isabel. Tanto monta, monta tanto — together we are

the same, only separated by past pain. Through all trials and festivals,

I find you in a different place. And thus by welcoming you back, through

just one simple spark, the old world forms with new, we return to one

another a third time, this time built to last, for the first time in forever, I

finally am at peace, this ship will land — my

Odyssey of aggeta is ended.

Puncture

Puncture the wound on the

breast of my heart, tales of

new glories and old woes which

tear us apart, lay down the

blade, grasp deeply my hand, breathe

upon my breath as if this moment is

your last. A hole in a hole — salt massaged

into my wounds. A new day arises, yet

what else is there to do?

Detonate

Detonate the passions filling

our hearts and minds, the trials, the

hunger to reunite with our own

kind, kind in such a way unthinkable —

not my creed nor religion nor race — kind

as in the qualities in our souls which are

baptized by saving grace, detonate the mind,

explore our kind, reunite twin flames, for the

connection never dies.

The Qualm was there…

…from the beginning. When I saw

you sitting there. Peacefully plotting

my downfall…as your mousy demeanor hid

the ugliness that lie beneath such a plain

face…

 

That Qualm remained as I knew the girl

behind the face — every bit as dull inside as

was the exterior…yet this dullness held a

darkness, so black and cold like no one I

ever knew…she could be sweet, a best

friend one minute, before stabbing you in

the back after two…

 

The Qualm was there…yet I still felt bad…you

were the replacement for something, someone

whom I once had…yet I cared for you, though you

no longer deserved it…I kept you in my life, called

you “friend,” though you soured my image, putting my

face to your ugliness…you’re an amazing actress…no

surprise to whom they believed…yet I felt bad and

still defended you…

 

That Qualm took hold of my mind when you

ripped the love out of my heart…you knew he was

mine for years, right from the start…no poetic words

to hide…you stole my boyfriend…like a thief in the

night, only you were never his. I was. I still

am, though I surrendered the white flag long ago,

even before that, you declared your illicit

affair “romantic”…Jezebel! You took my place before I

even left. Bravo, Madame de Poitiers. Nice work, Anne

Boleyn — going from side chick to his, though your

replacement will come one day, just you wait. Perhaps

she already has…

 

The Qualm was there, that qualm ignored. My lesson

was learnt, now I do as the mind and heart as one are

taught. I listen to my instinct, that way again I shall never

be…led astray and destroyed by another evil, soulless thing.

  • Julia St. Clair©2017

 

via Daily Prompt

 

1, 2 Squat

Bend the downwards backwards, back up straight. Make it like you’re going to sit elegantly, then squat. Come up, do it again and again till the burn says it works and you reach up to 25. Pushups and I don’t mix well, so this workout has to do. Not that I enjoy working out, but I need a way to stay in shape before I totally let myself go. I don’t want to give up my chili cheeseburgers at Zorro’s or daily cupcakes from Medford Baking; therefore, this will suffice.

I arrive home from work at 5:45 pm and have my meat and potatoes dinner before catching up on Homeland. I pause the remote at Season 3 Episode 6 and take a shower. As the water flows over my body, I caress my thighs, longing to feel them slimmer and elegant as opposed to giant clunks of flesh. Please be skinny again, I plead in my mind, so much so that I convince myself I lost the weight in one day. When I step out of the bathroom, I drop my towel, gazing in the reflection of a volumous body with so much potential to make men mad. Oh Joanie, I think to myself. If only you didn’t have a cottage cheese ass.

So I bend– over and over again. 1, 2 squat, 3, 4 squat, 5, 6– I feel the burn. The burn says it works. Should I stop at 25 like this morning? “No,” I utter aloud to no one. “Let’s aim for 30.”

 

 

 

 

 

via Daily Prompt: Squat

An Epiphany

Recently I posted that I’ll wait to do what I want no matter how long it takes. It’s going to take longer than I thought. Besides participating in an annual mentorship program at work, I’m also getting resume/job hunting help and advice and life coaching from two separate colleagues, one who’s in charge of staffing & recruitment at my job and another who’s my former supervisor. Three people who’re helping me, yet all three have the same advice– don’t give up on your dream. That includes settling for a job I wouldn’t want to do full-time. They, and other colleagues and friends, also advised me to aim for writing jobs and enter contests, which I’m proud of entering NBCUniversal’s Late Night Writers’ Workshop 2017 and can’t wait to enter more. Speaking of which, I know February just started, but I still didn’t hear anything back. If you believe in God, please pray for me, and if you don’t, just send positive vibes over my way. I could really use them right now, because I officially decided to stop applying to jobs that have nothing to do with my dream or end goal. Yup– I made a big decision.

How did such a revelation come about? Three events led me to this conclusion, ironically all three being interviews. The first was the interview for the FT role in my old department, and it was the second interview for the job. I met with the two department heads and felt like I was on The Apprentice during a sunny afternoon. Maybe it was because the room looked like the boardroom of the show, only brighter, or perhaps it was something else. Perhaps it was in that moment they could see the cracks that this is not something I would be happy doing. When asked what I loved about working in my current role, I listed x, y, z, but when asked what I loved about working in my previous one, my acting skills came out, and not that good. For once, I was happy not to get the job, and I found out later on that although they really like me, they knew it was a disservice to them and myself by hiring a highly creative individual in a math heavy role. Happily, it all worked out, and I actually still see them a lot since we all work on the same floor, so its all good.

The second instance was that dreadful experience I encountered last week with that company that could find itself in a lot of trouble if something finds out what’s going on payroll wise. To be conned into a role, especially an internship, which I already have three of under my belt, is a horrible thing. So I decided no more applying to internships unless they’re paid legally and involved in television and/or novel writing. Speaking of which, I just applied to one today, so please wish me luck!

Third strike to make this mindset out? I interviewed for a publishing assistant role yesterday. The title was great, the company was awesome, and the location was a dream come true– right down the block from Grand Central. So what went wrong? I learned the role would only be technical. No room for creative opportunity or growth, apart from making PowerPoints. It was a difficult decision, but after much consideration and thought, I emailed the three lovely women who interviewed me and the recruiter who helped me out a lot by finding me the job in the first place to let them know where I stand. I’m grateful nonetheless, and I am capable of the role, but I want to move away from number and technical heavy roles into more creative ones. I want to be a writer; therefore, I need to write. Write on my blog, write in contests, write for the world, write for myself. And if I’m going to put myself out there, it has to be for only writing roles. Nothing less, only the best. It was a hard decision to come to, and is going to be a difficult road financial wise ahead, but I’m ready for whatever comes at me. Hey, I’ve made it this far, I can surely go farther.

Happy New Year!

After too long a break from my blog, I’m back and more energized then ever. I also have some great news, too.

I finally went public about my being a contestant in the Miss New York USA 2017 pageant, which is now a week away. Words cannot describe the nervousness combined with ultimate excited that I feel. The best metaphor to use would be I feel like Rocky Balboa– anxious yet willing, running through the streets of downtown Phili, only, in my case, it’s dancing around my room to work my legs and practicing the opening number. Speaking of the opening number, I was going to be in the medium gang, but have decided to do the easy instead. I’m like a walking Mel Brooks character, a wonderful thing, but one that happens to not be good at dancing unless its 80s karaoke and I’ve had a little too many zinfandels. To best to be safe than sorry, though I know I’ll kick ass and rock it no matter what 🙂

Speaking of good news, I’ve found another way to make another dream come true– I’m entering the NBCUniversal Late Night Writers Workshop 2017. In order to apply, I’ll need to fill out an application and send, in one PDF file, two pages of topical jokes, desk bits and two skits to perform ala SNL, one topical and one with an original character. There is also an optional letter of recommendation, which I’ve asked for to ensure I’m a final candidate. Although its due in over a week, the due date is the last day of the pageant. Therefore, to ensure I put in my best work and have no pressure, I’m writing everything I need to for the application this week and hope to have it in by Monday night the latest. There are no doubts in my mind that this will work; I just have to show them my talents, but not try too hard. Yet one thing I’m realizing is the only topical agendas that grab attention so far are still the election (or inauguration at this point) and Mariah Carey’s New Year’s performance from Hell. Oh well! As Donald O’Conner sang in Singin’ in the Rain, “make them laugh.” I’ll make them laugh, make them smile, and, as ABBA put it, “take a chance on me.” Another positive idea? “The early bird gets the worm.” After being looked over and denied jobs that, while great, aren’t my dream for so long, this seems like the perfect shot to fulfill my dreams, and the perfect timing, too, since I have nothing holding me down. Plus, I could work at 30 Rock, something I’ve longed for since I was 15 years old! Hope everyone’s doing ok, and have a blessed day!

Daily Prompt: Maddening

Ehhhhh.

Lucinda grunts as she twirls the spaghetti around her fork, the silverware clanking heavily against the porcelain bowel. She kept her composure as she glared next to her at the “empty” chair. Julianna should be here, she thought. Julianna– my daughter. My almost daughter. Almost if my horse’s ass of a son thought with the head on his shoulders instead of the one between his legs that he begged my father and him to get circumcised as soon as he turned 16, though that wouldn’t made a difference anyway. Georgie’s bipolar disorder always got in the way. Of school, of friends, of family, and then of Julianna. She saw it, as did we all, but she foolishly tried to get him help, which he refused. Instead, he constructed some over the top tale of getting tested and “probed up to a treadmill” to prove he was “perfectly sane.” As if any sane man would leave a woman for that.

That filled the void left by the chair next to Lucinda. Nessie– the soulless, vapid figure that took my son. Took him from her, is ripping him from me. Nessie– a danger to soceity far greater than he is, she plays victim to those around her to make my boy a bad guy and her an “innocent” victim. Any “innocent” wouldn’t look as evil as she does, as what she did, taking her “friend’s” boyfriend, destroying my goals and home. Ugh. Ehhh.

“Nessie,” Richard asks, sipping his glass of red wine. “Are you finally graduating community college this year?”

“Oh,” the half wit replies. “I don’t know, you know, what I want to do and all. Maybe next semester.”

“Hm,” he coughs. “Gee, I never heard of people endlessly staying at community college for 4-7 years. Except for you and my waste of life son.”

Smash! The plate originally in front of the girlfriend comes crashing on the floor, attracting the attention of two dogs, who lick up the whole thing.

“Are you crazy?” Lucinda screams. “You’re just gonna let my dogs eat that crap, that’s porcelain, Nessie, they can cut their insides up and die.”

“Your face can make me die,” Nessie spits. “I hate you!”

“How do you think we feel, you little bitch!” Lucinda snaps. “Richard and I were looking forward to having a real daughter before you came along, you and your white trash family, ‘divorced’ parents still living with one another while your whore mother sneaks off with her boyfriend. I never saw more of a piece of shit house in my entire life than when I had to drop you off for the first time. And don’t get me started on that, I knew what you two were doing. I knew. She denied it because she hoped it would end, that you were just another other woman who’d go away, my poor Julie had no clue you’d be the Anne Boleyn to her Catherine of Aragon, and calling you Anne Boleyn is an insult to Anne Boleyn herself!”

Maddening, Lucinda thinks. This girl is maddening! She gazes at Georgie, her son, not defending this creature as he once did, not fighting for her as he, her boyfriend, should. He always defended Julianna without question; this one not so much. I know he doesn’t love her, instead using her to drive him places since Rich and I took his license away. We thought it’d end with they got caught, then after a year. Yet a year turned to two, then three, now over four. Over four and we’re still playing this silly game and I have this trash living with us. And I see my son. I see what’s become of my son, my precious boy, once eager and full of life, now just a sad shadow of his former self. Not even 26 years old, and if beckoned, he’d already welcome death.

“You’re maddening my life!” she continues. “You’ve been maddening it for four years and enough is enough! Look! Look what you’re done to my son, he was actually full of life until he started doing whatever he does with you. You cry wolf on how he treats you. What about how you treated him. You cost him the love of his life and got jealous over what is now a shadow when you should be the bloody shadow. You should be long gone, not her. But I’m glad she is. Georgie, thank God Julianna isn’t here to see you, though I know she wouldn’t care. She loved you son, she really loved you unless this viper. You don’t love one another– you’re infatuated. Infatuated, I tell you. You act like you’re Isabèl y Fernando when you’re really Juana y Felipe, only the genders are reversed.”

“La lalalalalala,” Nessie mocks the poor woman, sticking her tongue out like a child before smashing the wine glass and skipping upstairs. Lucinda and Richard fixate their daggering stares at their son, who throws his head in his hands. His body trembles, his heart beating faster than ever. “Maddening,” he cries. “The bitch has got me maddening and it’s only getting worse.”

“It can end, son,” Richard begs.

“But only if you allow it,” Lucinda affirms.

“Mom, Dad, you don’t understand.” He lifts his tear stained face. “Julie left me, all my friends left me. I need someone to drive me places. I don’t want to me alone. I’d rather go mad with her than be made alone.”

The husband and wife look terrified at one another before holding hands in union. Maddening, each thought. Until a miracle happens, there will always be enough maddening.

via Daily Prompt: Maddening

Daily Prompt: Protest

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

Speak– utter the words which press hard against the veins in my bare neck. I seethe in anger as I watch her bat her fake eyelashes up and down, acting like the self entitled princess she thinks she is. Pop places his hand on hers, the wrinkled cracks looking odd against the youthful manicure Stevie Wonder could see the difference. Middle age versus young, wisdom versus foolishness, and vice versa, I presume. After all, he asked her to be here in the first place, though I know his conscious weighed him down, as I laid his eyes upon her bulging belly. The only part of her that gained weight, she chose the perfect dress to form fit her prize for conquering my father, a surprise sibling whom she’d groom to take mine and my siblings’ places. I would it, this newfound brother or sister of mine no doubt, but I hate her. I will always hate her.

Words can say nothing– the look in my eyes says it all. That and the empty spaces where James and Rachel were to have stood. Protest. They did something I did not do. Protest, though my ocean blue eyes speak lower than any volume an Ozzy Osbourne concert could.

via Daily Prompt: Protest