THE TWO DIMENSIONAL WOMAN

I dream myself, one night, inside the seams of the wallpaper, looking in on our house. It was a wonderful feeling—to be utterly flat, and without a care in the world, living in the second dimension. My family was there, staring back at me, like a crayon picture that had learned to dance about. There were all sort of secrets that I learned about behind the closed doors. My son hid candy he had stolen beneath his clothes in his second drawer. My daughter had a very handsome boyfriend (that was a shock, speaking that he had never come through the front door)! Whenever my mother would stop by to visit, she would comment on how the couch pillows didn’t match the rest of the household, but only under her breath when everyone else was out of the room. It became quite a life.

I eventually figured out how to move from wallpaper to electrical wire, street signs, and so on, until I could make myself useful and run errands. Nothing like getting groceries—two dimensional hands don’t work to well with carrying things. But I could deposit checks, and when I figured out how to walk inside the computer, I really made my way into a different world. My husband would open Word documents, and I would get to rearrange the letters he typed on the page. It made for mischievous fun, and great laughter.

But then I found out a secret that I wished I hadn’t. One that, living in three dimensions, I had never had to worry about. My husband kept a journal on his bedside table, and I had never looked at it before, since it was personal, but while trying to learn to transfer from wall to paper, I accidentally fell into the pages. The first few pages were beautiful. He drew, and wrote, and occasionally scribbled. There was a poem about me. It was like walking in a field of daisies.

It wasn’t until halfway through that things took a bad turn. The daisies were replaced by dead roses, and the sunny skies became covered with thunder clouds, and the beautiful words grew harsh and jagged. He missed me; resented my freedom. Jealousy, anger, loneliness, depression, stress, and all sorts of real world issues fell on his shoulders in the place of mine.

To relax, he had taken up staying late at work. I had never check in on him there, because overcoming the rocky hills he was stationed in had proved too difficult. Apparently, there was a woman he worked with, Stephanie, who had recently transferred from Washington. She had been staying late with him, and they had been entwining together as I entwined with the paintings in the living room.

Which is when I woke up, feeling lonely in the middle of the night, to see him laying next to me. There’s nothing quite like cuddling up with someone after feeling like you lived a whole lifetime apart from them.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

Follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

Advertisements

MANY HATS (AND OTHER HAIKUS)

Rile

Winds brushing through leaves

rile like men, and begin

knocking down their trees.

 

Cat on a Chair

With flat, black ears arched

(their curiosity piqued),

she bats at the fly.

 

Many Hats

My new favorite hat

is a charade of secure.

Won’t match my outfit.

 

Saved

Turn water to wine

and you’re the messiah, or

an alcoholic.

 

The Break Up

She said “over come,”

but I really just wanted

her to come over.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like these poems? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

 

Follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

DISCUSSING THE INFERNO

I’ve never really been one for writing book reviews. That’s what the Los Angeles Review of Books (LARB) is for, among many other outlets. But I did just finish Dante’s Inferno, and talking about it is effectively a book review, so settle in. If you haven’t read it, Inferno is basically what you would expect. Dante, guided by his senpai Virgil, enters and traverses the bowels of Hell. He listens to many, many different sinners, along with their stories. The plot is leading up to him reaching Heaven, but that doesn’t actually happen until after Inferno.

Ok. Cool. Plot summarized. Now to the fun stuff. The Inferno is a really interesting read, because while it is very “of its time” (literally, you would not believe how many then-contemporary Italian political references there are), it also contains many aspects that can be extended to present day political life. I mean, human nature doesn’t change THAT much, does it? If you follow me on Twitter, you’ve seen a few quotes that pretty directly relate to the modern political climate. What I found most peculiar about Inferno though, is how Dante treats sin.

Today it seems like there is no middle ground. You are evil, or you are good, and if you are sinful, then you can never be virtuous. By contrast, in the book, there is a split. There are those people who never look back, and are bad through and through, but there are also those who were great, but punished for their sins. The proof that they were great is that Dante speaks well of some of them. Speaking well of somebody who inhabits Hell, not Heaven, seems a bit…wrong, right? But I think that’s the crux of the story—that despite our flaws and short comings, we can still be good people, if we act in a manner that uplifts humankind. By contrast, if we instead turn our backs on humanity and virtue, and live a life solely for ourselves, that greed will consume us and damage everything around us.

A bit of pride is good. Too much pride is dangerous. The Greeks used Icarus to portray this, among others. Dante used various Popes and historical figures like Brutus and Cassius. Yet those men, if Shakespeare’s tragedy is to believed, were trying to defend democracy in betraying Cesar. They were punished, but their actions were, in many ways, for a greater good. What do you think? Where would you draw the line? Let me know in the comments!

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this discussion? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

 

Follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

ESCAPING SIMULATION

When I watched the Facebook app disintegrate

into the ether of my cell phone’s display screen,

I couldn’t help feeling like I had been unplugged

at the back of the neck from a giant machine

 

and while I at once felt alleviated

from the pain of self-imposed enslavement,

I couldn’t help worrying that an Agent Smith

might be coming to force me back in my place.

 

Perhaps that’s why I cowered in fear

when there was an unexpected knock at my door,

but after a few moments of suspended silence,

I gathered the courage to go investigate.

 

And when I reached the doorway, it was empty.

Outside, it was another beautiful day.

Which is when it crossed my mind

that I had not been outside in weeks.

 

So I took a stroll, noticing how the sloppy details

in the simulated experiences of our technology

couldn’t quite compare to the simple pleasure

of breathing a fresh breath of crisp spring air.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this poem? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

 

Follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

LOVE POEM #54 – FEAR OF DEATH

I’m finally afraid of death,

not because I’m afraid of dying,

but dying before my children are ready

for me to leave them on their own.

 

Children who I haven’t even met yet;

children whose cries haven’t broken

through their tiny, shaking lungs yet;

children who haven’t even taken root

in the safety of their mother’s womb yet.

 

A mother, who to me is still unknown.

One perfectly sculpted woman,

who I have yet to fall in love with.

Who I have yet to share dreams with;

yet to kiss over candle-lit dinners

and travel to cliché capital cities with.

 

One who could show me that love isn’t found

in the superfluous places we buy flights to,

but in the people we board the planes with.

 

But now, after seeing my father off at the airport,

I pause at the door handle of my car,

worried that the plane will crash,

and those excited, to-be children

won’t get to meet father.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this poem? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

 

Follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

DISMEMBERED THOUGHTS

Well it looks like this is the end of the line. I’m rolling down the steps now, and the whole world is spinning around me. I can even hear the sputtering coming from my neck a ways off; back at the guillotine. It must have been comical for the crowd when my head bounced off the rim of the basket and down the steps—I could vaguely make out the bubbling laughter the exhibited as I bounced and turned wildly.

But here I am now, sitting—can we even call it sitting if I can’t take a seat?—as a dismembered head, looking out over the horizon. It was a kindness of them to remove the weight of my shoulders on such a lovely day. The sun was just starting to set, and the bright orange of the clouds hadn’t quite turned that lovely hue of pink yet. The air was cool, but not cold, and the wind was just light enough to be pleasant.

It reminded me of the days with my mother, out on the fields before all of this happened. Those were they days when things felt so much simpler. I could go out running, away from all the noise and struggles. My mother worked so hard then, though at that time I hadn’t a clue. I wonder what she would think of me if she saw me now.

Flash forward a dozen years, when I set off. That was the last time I saw her. Her age was finally starting to shine through, but I was dead set on making my life what I wanted it to be. Not ten miles out from my home I found a woman, about my age, with long blonde hair and a proud smile. She accompanied me for a while.

Another dozen years flew by, and I saw myself grow into a hardened criminal. The thin beard of my previous visions had grown rustic and gruff. Life had not gone my way. I had been forced to steal and pillage to make a living, and in my own way, I found success. I had gained notoriety, and the crown had placed a bounty on my head. In turn, I burned down their capital building and stole their princess. She was returned without a scratch—I’m not a monster—but only after they had exhausted their vast wealth looking for her.

Then at fifty, things began to change. I watched my limbs grown thin and my heart grown darker. I nearly lost my first fight then, to a younger, heartier lad, and I only won because I played dirty. When he pinned me, I spit in his eye and stuck him with my knife, then cut my own belly and swapped the knife to his hand, to make it look like, in self-defense, I had managed to kill him with his own knife. He bled out groveling in pain. But the damage had been done. I realized time was not on my side, nor was it on the side of any living being, and I went back to see my home.

They had left it abandoned, and I took up residence for a time there. I grew fatter, and for a time I like to think that I was happy. Until one day, the corporal found out just who I was, and they took my in. By that time, I was too brittle to put up a fight.

And here I am now, stretching out the last moments of my life, just to watch the sun set one last time. That was my mother’s favorite time of the day, but it looks like I’m not going to get to see the sun fall behind the mountains this time. My vision is already growing hazy, and I can hardly manage the strength to keep my eyes open. At least now, maybe, I will get the time for some rest.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

Follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

TRAMPLED (AND OTHER HAIKUS)

Lines

Skirt the lines of love

with the borders of friendship;

watch it fall apart.

 

Summer Vacation

Watching the waters

of the pool shatter like glass,

shaded by a tree.

 

Unappreciative

Spent today looking

for friends to enjoy it with;

neglected fam’ly.

 

Trampled

The purple flowers

flutter with absolute grace

only to be smashed.

 

Driving Home

The ants go marching

impeccably organized;

I’m stuck in traffic.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like these poems? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

 

Follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

A JOB WELL ENJOYED

Hello there!

I haven’t talked directly with my readers in a while, and speaking that I am writing this 16 minutes before it is supposed to go up, and I had no idea what to talk about, today seems like a good day to do that. And it is a great day to be talking directly with you all. We (mainly my father and I) just finished the major portion of our front yard redesign.

Which makes me want to talk about work from a personal perspective. While I was watering the grass we put in today, I was thinking about how a botanist (probably) loves plants, but may not actually enjoy the tedious aspects of the job; like cutting the rectangular grass so that it matches the rounded edges of the space in which it is being placed. Or maybe doing the mathematics to make sure you don’t over order grass.

Similarly, a teacher may love teaching, but in the remodeling of their room, they may find that it is less than enjoyable. I mean, there is a reason people look down on the mundane jobs of the world, like janitors, trash collectors, and day laborers. Their jobs have no room for passion really. They have little control, and the work they do is always terrible (not the quality of the work they do, but the requirements put on them).

Which is to say that our default nature is that we don’t inherently enjoy the mundane tasks of life. Which I guess is obvious, but at the same time, people talk about making the best of things. How do you make the best of something that you are programed not to like?

I honestly don’t know the answer, but I thought it would be an interesting question to pose. Let me know what you think!

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this discussion? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

 

Follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

LOOKING FOR WORDS

I started out searching in regular places:

under the coffee table, between seat cushions;

I could always find a couple handy ones

hiding between the pages of the dictionary,

 

but like a pair of lost keys, the first few places

often yield unsatisfactory results—particularly

when one is in a crazed rush to find them. Then,

under the pressures to get going, I will begin looking

 

in stranger places—like underneath the sink,

inside the empty spaces of an egg carton, and

even within the frozen depths an ice tray,

like fossils hidden in the arctic that are needed

to complete the evolutionary chain

 

that is the last poem I need for my book.

But then it will happen, in a sinking sigh of relief,

that I will spot them sticking out on the counter

beneath that morning’s newspaper,

which sports a headline that always seems to read

that the world is coming to an end.
And now that the words have suddenly

put me in motion, I can’t help feeling silly

that I didn’t spot them lying there sooner.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

Follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

LOVE POEM #53 – BLUE EYES

They look like the summer sky at midday

dotted with lazy summer clouds,

or perhaps like the arctic frost in spring

as it sheds from winter’s grasp.

Yet without the warmth of your coy smile

or the hymn in your flowered voice

I can’t shake that the icy glare you’ve got

means lonely nights for me ahead.

Which makes me think to Vivaldi’s Seasons:

that in your eyes I can find life.

That I can find the fresh roots of new spring

and summertime jingles that birdies sing

mixed in with the faded red leaves of fall

before winter comes to bury it all.

And that hidden beneath these vibrant songs

is the love you held for me all along.

Hello there!
I’m posting away from home right now, so I can’t link my normal stuff below!

If you liked this make sure to let me know, and follow my blog for more. There’s a TON of poems there (I mean, this is just LOVE POEM #53 so…)

You can follow me on social media too:

Facebook: @cassady_orha

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Instagram: @cassadyblog