cydniey's podcast

another to give you the impression that i'm bad with people. it is quite possible that i am. or i just meet crazy people and friendships come to a bad end because of that. only one has enraged me enough to write a volume about it. enjoy.

this time i have two pieces for you since they are short. "eventually" is the first and "chanel 66" is the second.

this is about/to an exgirlfriend. i'm so empowered by anger. it's a good reading, though.

this is about a bad man.

this piece is about my head and the games it plays with itself.

inspired by everyone's favorite medium. television.

published as:
if you knew, what would it be to you?

It’s almost too 2D for me, my man . . .
This thing we have instead of conversation

I can sense but can't quite hold that hint
To a question backed by vague fear . . .

But I've got a great grip on the mind-closing
Accusation of weary disappointment.

When do you know that you're going the wrong way
When you've got tunnel vision?

I am not what you thought.
Your assumptions were dead wrong.

You could make a beautiful mistake
You could shut up and listen to all that I say
Because even if I tell it all it will never be enough.
I am different than you made my vision
And I am better, if well hidden and
Anything that really matters I will never tell you.
You will know because you can't help it
And they don't mind it, the ones who've stayed.

Ready made and ready to go -
Looking for the complete package
A fantasy all prepared for you
Without effort or growth from either . . .

I’m not done yet, never plan to be
But I recognize what I don't understand

I gravitate toward it and give myself to it
I take from it all it will give and I never accuse.

I think to myself that the true persevere
And it's better to bleed when the wound is still small.

I will mislead you if you bother to ask,
I will endeavor to chase you away.
I will play all the games up front and
I promise to get it all over then just to see
Whose still standing, waiting, yearning
And then, my friend, I will give up my soul
To be your best resource for those secret things
You have never admitted to wanting.

Angry

Someone told me I sounded angry
Like they were admiring my taste in drapes.
Kind of in awe of how I got those colors to work.
Look buster, here's the thing:
The colors don’t work.
They are made up of memories I
Tend to regard as bad movies
That never happened to me.

You see, I am Cleopatra.

And the only thing you should
Be admiring from that anonymous desk
Is that I haven't taken a 12 gauge to
Mark Anthony and blamed it all
On something Caesar did.
Queen of denial.
Yeah, I'm angry.
I just can't say why.

I can't even convince myself I'm
Not a pathological liar
Or just so crazy I invented my whole life.
What would you be?

But hey, it's my pain and I'm
Not hurting anyone with it.

Every poem I write means one
Less scar on my body . . .
To match the one on my soul.

In this society I could easily
Go kill a few people then
Whine at the judge and
Walk away from it all.
But I just sit here quietly writing . . .
Being . . .
Angry.

from the book "stop poking me lady" available at lulu.com

Those Days

I remember that day
Like it was 1,000 years ago.
Where I sat on the couch
Just being stubborn, headstrong.
You were so quiet I thought
You'd just hide in the closet, then
BAM . . .
Right in the face.
I never saw it coming.
It was so unlike you,
I usually saw it coming.
And the cop was so embarrassed
When he called me to the station.
Face so red as he stuttered, stammered.
He had to ask, he told me,
Just for the record
Could I please just tell him
WHY
Your back was all scratched
And welted and fresh.
So I told him the truth:
The day hadn't started bad.
I remember that day
Like it was two years ago.
That day I'd had enough,
And I'd been working out,
Lifting heavy shit all morning
While you slept fitfully alone.
HIGH - Is how I felt
When I knocked your ass out
And freedom came to me
With one simple phone call.
I was so proud in those
First two months as
I watched your car
Case my house until
OOOPS - It just didn't bother
Me anymore

Apropos of nothing

"You have a lot of pictures of yourself"
Ya, well, it’s an obsession
"Do you ever wonder how many vacation photos you end up on?"
No, though it would explain random bad mojo in my life
"How does it feel to be the most photographed person in the immediate area?"
Pretty fucking empty

Chip said last night at the bar that one person telling us we're great is nice, but what we need (us performers) is 5,000 of them

And last night I agreed
And mostly I still do . . .

Except sometimes when I think about people
And realize there are "ones" who make it seem like 5,000
You know what I mean?
Some people have this thing that makes their attention and praise seem like it's from the masses, it carries that much weight with you
You believe what they tell you,
They are that convincing in their sincerity

And when that runs out, it still feels like 5,000 people
All of them turning their backs
And you get hurt and then angry and if you are smart,
You go on,
If only to prove that one wrong
Prove that you can do it

Whatever it is
And sometimes you are rewarded with the 5,000 for that effort.

And sometimes,
Even after all that,
You still miss the one.

hi, no intro for this one. i didn't want to re-record it because i love this recording. and i didn't feel like adding an intro. yes, i got lazy like that.

don't forget my homepage is fabulousdisaster.com.

selfish

I don't want to hear about how I’m not 'out' enough
Just because I never got beaten up for it
I don't want to hear about how I’m a late bloomer
Just because it took me 18 years to get the hairy naked men off me long enough to think about what I wanted from sex
I don't want to hear about how I am cold and unaffectionate
For the 47th time from someone who I view as entirely too needy and clingy
I don't want to defend my 'alternative lifestyle"
Not to my lover, that's what I do with the breeders

It’s not worth the pirated copy of win98 that I know is sitting in your truck,
Another gesture from me that was not enough.
Some always have the right thing to offer
Some have nothing to give at all
Some hoard it all waiting for a prophet
But me, I just never made the call

I don't want to fight about what you are afraid of
Your age is unfortunate, but not all that important to anyone but you
I don't want to sit here while you vent and vent and vent
I know why you think I suck, I really do, but it doesn't change anything
I don't want to keep explaining my self to your or your friends
In a world of neat labels, I am the ink scrawl on a piece of tape
I don't want to leave things like this again
But I’ve really got to go, I have so much to do, I hope you understand

a welcome to the poscast and brief explanation of why it exsists.

Easier By Far

I've tried to hold you
Over all the miles between us.
I've stretched my love as far as
I think it can go,
Only to reach just
A little bit more.
But I've lost my grip on you,
And you've slipped of the
Edge of sanity and plunged
Into a sea of love.
I've tried to understand it
Through the bits and pieces
You throw me, so
Just in case you fall,
This time I'll know how
To pick you back up.
And though it's gotten a
Little bit crazy,
It's hard to believe you
Don't have the time.
I always thought it would be
Different . . . the end.
I never imagined myself
Saying "I wash my hands, go on, get."
I'm trying to wish you well.
That's easier by far
Than all the rest.

yet another from "stop poking me lady", available for download or hard copy at lulu.com. allow me to recommend the download, it's cheap and convenient and hard to spill lemonade on.

Who is molly?

we met ten years ago.
a small college that would have preferred we hadn't.
we chased away our roommates.
through little fault of our own.
we threw parties.
we spun myths.
her family took me in when mine let me down.
she waited patiently while I punished myself.
for years she watched and didn't judge.
or nag
or question, unless someone was bleeding.
we never fought.
she borrowed my clothes.
and let me borrow hers, even though I was fat.
she traveled in similar circles years after I'd left them.
she found new value in old friends.
she gave the benefit of a doubt.
she broke down her own walls.
she did everything herself.
everything she put her mind to.
I asked myself repeatedly,
"What would Molly do right now?"
we've been called lovers
we've been called sisters
we've been called devils
and we are none of these things
what we are cannot be said.
or analyzed.
we are unconditional.
we are unrelenting.
we are unstoppable.
and together, we are super heroes.

there was the night that we asked the bouncer at metropol if we could punch a guy for touching us.
he said "sure"

there was the time we told our fellow students we drove my mom's microbus to the bahamas.
we made the argument that vw's are airtight.

there was the time that guy thought we ganged up on him and totally freaked out.
okay, that has happened a few times.

we are never boring.
we are catalysts.
we are triggers and buttons.
events follow us like a wake.
or like the crowd after a parade.
bewildered and awed, following blindly for a few more minutes to prolong the feeling.
molly is one half of that.

she is the only person I could share all I have with.
she likes cheesy 80's music.
she is an artist and designer.
she loves her family.
and is close to them.
she is good with finances.
in fact, she has all of the practicality I lack.
she makes me want to behave.
she makes it easy to maintain my balance.
she's just some chick who can see through most bullshit
she's my best friend
her bravery is not a front
and she's never rude to those she doesn't like.
she just won't bother.

from my book "stop poking me lady", available at lulu.com fir download or book purchase. i recommend the download, cheap and convenient and much harder to spill coffee on.

When I Get To My Happy Place

Salt air in my lungs,
Your skin on my neck,
Screech of lazy birds . . .
Give me that warm feeling.

My pulse slows to
A rate I can live with sleep with deal with.

My teeth are dry from
Smiling so hard and
I break free from my clothes
And I'm running down
The smooth wood planks
Then I sink in hot sand,
My toes disappear and
I am still running.

Salt mist on my lips
And in my eyes and
The water is so cold
My soul shrivels up.

My pulse is still slowed
To a rate I can play with love with laugh with.

I free fall into the low waves
They carry me out to bliss
With salt in my mouth
And eyes, nose and blood.
Sweet oblivion, the tide.

I set my fears free
Let go the hate and anger
The sea can take it
I've no more need of it.

My pulse has slowed
To a rate I can smile with run with stay with.

from "stop poking me lady", available at lulu.com

song by c0ntaX of phrenetic.org, lyrics and spoken performance by cydniey

lyrics:

rage rover rant

is fear the quiet gurl in the back row who always wears black?
is fear the perky ladder climber with no panties and a loose tongue?
is fear the idea that they are better than you?

it's a spin on a ride you didn't ask to take when you packed up the truck and went back where you belonged and who wasn't waiting there for you and what things didn't you find and when is this going to run out so you can stop and remember because when it's too good to believe someone is bound to come in and steal your teddy bear . . .

is fear the unrepressed joy that oozes when you see the lights?
is fear the mere thought that those lights shine only for you?
is fear the idea that you are not the only one who is ready and willing to believe that?

it when he looks through you and you can see that in his eyes and you can see so much more like the fact that while he is looking through you he does not see you at all and he is not sure that he wants to and then you turn to someone else and you see the same thing that no matter what you choose to lay on the table they all see that you have a full house and there is no point trying to tell them any different.

is fear the thought of chaos or the relentless urge to roll around in it?
is fear the realization that insecurity really has nothing to do with the games you play?
is fear the power that makes you walk across the room and say the words?

it's still being so obsessed by the one thing I never got I never understood and having it in my face and my head and my lungs and still not getting it and now knowing why and also knowing that why is a lie and there is no real reason and being so frustrated so soon and not being able to wrap back up in myself and stop thinking thinking thinking about all of that and just use and use like they seem to.

is fear knowing that they don't compare?

another spoken piece from "Stop poking me lady"

Open

Sometimes it just doesn't matter how much you open yourself to people. . .

well it does matter, it matters to you . . . you're the only one who really knows how much effort it takes to extend your words as if a physical piece of yourself . . . only you are in tune with the pain when the words are cut off . . . only you see the wordblood . . . and sometimes there is so much blood you think "my goddess, they have got to be able to see this, it's making a damn mess all over the floor here" . . .

And you get frustrated and maybe you get angry because you feel so inept that you can't express the pain with out the frustration coloring it in an unflattering way . . . and suddenly reaching out in kindness or love or something positive has turned into an ugly hot miserable thing . . .

And the next time there is a call out to you, maybe you remember this . . . and maybe you keep your words to yourself . . .

But then you are just empty.

it is so much easier to see the abuse from a distance, once it's over and you are safe again

The Choices
I anticipated death, but instead took freedom.
I compromised so long . . . and don't much,
Anymore.
You thought I wasn't good enough you thought
You were better.
Better than what?
Better than rape, maybe.
I made that choice thinking
It was the last.
Something stopped me from
Rolling over dead.
Maybe a magic dragon hovered
Right above my head.
Just long enough for me
To make the next choice.

I wasn't as unhappy as I should have been
With you.
I gave up before I saw how easily
I could have fought because
I believed I was the trash you
Loved me as.
Trash like who?
The people you know?
Maybe I accepted that idea assuming
It was right.
Something stopped me from
Rolling over dead.
And, no way was it anything you
May have said.
But it was enough to make
The right choice.

In that dream I stayed and watched
In that dream it all made sense
Now it’s gone and the sun is bright
Now it’s gone
And I don’t get it
Anymore
You are circling around yourself
Dancing in the bishops game
Nothing that escapes can be traced
There is no end or clear begin
In the dream I understood
In the dream I nodded my head
Now its’ gone and your mask if melting
Now it’s gone
And I don’t know why
It mattered
Tearing at yourself like this
Reaching out your dirt filled claws
Taking any casualty
When comes your redemption?
In the dream I cared for her
In the dream there was a cause
Now it’s gone and I’m alone
Now it’s gone

just a poem i wrote and included in my book, "stop poking me lady", available at lulu.com. my homepage is fabulousdisaster.com.

this short piece is one of my favorites. it is from my book "stop poking me lady", available at lulu.com. my website is fabulousdisaster.com.

written after a drunken night at the bar about a girl with too many martinis in her. this piece is taken from my book "stop poking me lady", available at lulu.com

this longer piece was written one sleepless and paranoid night in my paper journal. i hope it plays better than it transcribed. this piece if from the book "stop poking me lady", available at lulu.com. my homepage is FabulousDisaster.com.

this piece comes from observations other people have made about me. it is from the book "stop poking me lady", available at lulu.com. my homepage is FabulousDisaster.com.

one of the very few love poems i've ever written. presented mainly to offer range of styles. this piece is about my life partner, doc. when he and i first met i giggled all the time. and wrote silly love poetry. it is from my book "stop poking me lady", available at lulu.com. my homepage is FabulousDisaster.com.

written while at mardi gras, when strange circumstances landed me in a non-denominational church and i had an epiphany during the sermon. i took the communion or sacrament in unstoppable tears of joy. i jotted this poem in an alley during mardi gras in the french quarter.