Unnested Matryoshka

This is where I give Right Brain a turn. Enjoy.

[unnestedmatryoshka]

This was a picture from an attempt a while ago. I wanted to be able to draw shapes and create animals and images from the clouds like we imagine when we are young. We've only seen vast blankets of grey clouds. Maybe in the spring.

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No one is capable of stealing me from you, but you are capable of losing me.

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The Monday After the Project for Awesome

“Why do you look so tired? What did you do this weekend?”

“I frantically tried to upload my YouTube charity video to a website, but there were so many of us that it kept crashing. Fortunately, there were confetti explosions on the livestream to distract me as the volunteers fixed the website. I also listened to an author read from his book, which is made of the same four pages repeated over and over and over and over again.

After I uploaded my video, I watched a guy eat some crickets. Did you know that you can get containers of crickets that look like bottles of seasoning?

Some Mythical Beast joined the livestream and talked to a scientist sitting in warehouse about how many times their parents and grandparents had been divorced. One grandmother was married to 5 different guys and never divorced any of them. Don’t worry, it was legal...they all died.

The next guest came on and gave away her famous green hoodie for $1,000. She was wearing it on her first episode of her cooking show where she made grilled cheese. Well, I guess she didn’t really make grilled cheese, because there wasn’t cheese in the house. She just drank a bunch of wine and made toast in a pan.

There was a Taylor Swift dance party when we raised $200,000 for charity. At $250,000 a New York Times bestselling author who has had two of his books made into movies, woke up his wife, the artist, so she could put peanut butter on his and he could put jelly on her face. Then they put banana slices on their eyes and kissed. At various other funding goal levels, challenges were completed. There was juggling while doing splits, acoustic song covers by the scientist, flipping ears inside out, weird cat mouth noises, and the ultimate reward we all stayed up for was balancing a napkin on a hand (totally worth it).

Between these challenges, at 36 after every hour, we did something called KittyTime. Where everyone got a cat, or a shirt with a cat on it, or drew a cat and tweeted a picture of it. We had #kittytime trending. We are impressive. Oh yeah, and they put rubber gloves on their heads and blew them up so they looked like rosters.

And when it got too late in America, some lovely British people took over the livestream. Where we got to play with cats and look at baby pictures. Throughout the whole event we were watching videos promoting charities and talking to people from around the world in the comment sections, but the British hosts were really good and showcasing a lot of videos.

In the morning, the author came back wearing a soccer jersey for a team sponsored by a YouTube channel. He wore a fox on his head and covered his face in sharpies. Then they waxed the intern’s legs so it said P4A. A porcupine stole the show, because it looked like an alien and seemingly yelled “mine” when you gave it bits of bananas. Oh, and someone cuddled a skunk.

The author poorly washed Fireball Wilson "Willy" Roberts, AKA Bubbles the Nerdfighting Puppy, after he rolled in poop. The dog still smelled of poo after the bath, according to Henry. Someone told us if we paid $5 we could read about how he dated his cousin. A man put on his fiancee’s makeup, a women held a pile of poo, and talked to the scientist about how they should laminate each other’s baby photos and put them in the shower.

When we raised a million dollars, the artist put makeup on the author. The scientist was wrapped up in toilet paper like a mummy, and some lady in New York dressed like a Christmas tree. The author’s lips look like he drank blood. The scientist looked like the marshmallow man went on a diet. The lady in New York was very convincing as a Christmas tree.

During the second evening shift, Fartmas was born in between KittyTimes. They were examining a variety of objects on the livestream, and when they looked at Australian currency, the phrase “But Farts” appeared in the field of view. The super hero ButFartMan was born soon after when the scientist wore his shirt as pants. Then came the birth of Fartmas along with a slew of fart parody Christmas songs. Then they talked about all the books and movies that struck fear into their souls.

The Bristish came back on, and refocused our efforts on watching videos. All and all I watched over 200 videos about charities, because while the silliness is amazing the videos are beautiful. People from all over the world and of all ages post videos promoting their favorite charities. I got to see all the wonderful things Nerdfighters dedicate their time and effort to throughout the year. So many people in a constant effort to decrease world suck. Sometimes people cannot donate money or their time or cannot fix the issues in their lives. They can’t cure their family member of a disease. They can’t travel to countries and install wells. But they can make a video that promotes their cause. They take the time to write scripts, film, edit, sometimes draw or do stop motion or interview people. Hundreds of people told their stories about some of most important issues in their lives, and I had the joy of spending two days listening to them.

How was your weekend?”

[unnestedmatryoshka]

I Unship It

This is inspired by a conversation about "I Ship It." This is not fanfic for the awesome short film (sorry).

I love how "I Ship It" and especially the "Kissing in the Rain" series masterfully builds up a relationship to the tipping point. The first half of ever KiTR episode throws you into the middle of a couple trying to figure out what they are. The short bits of dialogue and acting has to coney a history, a chemistry, and a reason for this to be THE moment everything must change. And it does it better than a lot of films do given an hour and a half.

We were talking about how these were all the building up of something, but what about the tearing down? Which made me want to write about the unshipping of a couple (unrelated to any of those characters or stories). Here is my stab at it:

************

I’m not a snoop. I swear it just happened.

I am sitting on the floor of the closet holding a little black box. I think I know what it contains. I don’t open it. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, well, anymore than I already have. I imagine how he will pop the question.

I go through the list of moments that are just ours. Our first of something moments, “I love you,” dance, date, song, kiss, and so on. I sort through the bits of our joint experiences and shift out and wallow in the ones that instantly change my face and mood to a joyful calm. Some moments are constructed wonderful with us getting dressed up or going on vacation. Some are us just the beauty of two people making it through the chaos, together. I wonder if he will try to recreate one of these moments and add to it by proposing. Maybe we will create something totally new.

Then I try to see beyond the wedding and imagine what our lives together will be like. I wonder if we will still live here. I can smell the freshly churned soil. I see stop motion pictures of plants growing up all around where I stand. Then I see his face in the middle of a crowd in a city. He seems so alive. Sometimes I think he feeds off the energy of the lights, noise, and the perpetual movement of other people. We currently live in the suburbs, where we can both be equally miserable. We are a frog and a bird trying to figure out how to live together. We can both live on land, but we were meant to soar, to swim.

Then all those other conversations rush through my head, where we never even found a middle ground. We’ve talked through them a million times. We’ve respectfully discussed. But no matter how hard you try or how long you talk, some things are just binary, like kids or no kids. All the air in the closet is gone.

He calls my name, but I don’t notice. I stopped responding to stimuli awhile ago. I haven’t heard sounds, felt hunger, or noticed muscle aches from remaining so still in the closest clutching the box, clinging to questions. It isn’t until he is standing right above me that I know I’m not alone anymore. “What are you doing? We are going to be late,” he says.

As I look at him, my eyes are glad to focus on something in the present, because looking into the future has made them sore and puffy.

“What’s wrong,” he asks in a softened voice as he sit on the floor across from me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was looking for something else,” I say with a teetering black box resting on my shaky outreached hand.

He just sits there at looks at me. It takes him a while to form his next words, as if they would summon the boogeyman. If we both just sat there quietly and didn’t say the words aloud, it wouldn’t come into existence. It would just hide in the shadows somewhere.

“They don’t seem like tears of joy. They seem like I’m sorry tears, but for something more than finding the box,” he finally eeks out.

“I love you. I truly love you. We just...I just...could we work, indefinitely? I mean there was never a reason to leave. I am happy now, but will I be later, forever. Will you? Marriage is about building lives together. We just built lives next to each other, but too close so the other one couldn’t expand.” Words become puzzle pieces without fragmented images, and I can not longer attempt to connect them into something recognizable.

“I love you. I always will. Maybe we aren’t a forever. I’ve had that box for awhile. It was just the next step, you know? I didn’t know if it was our next step. I saw the ring and thought of you and all the things I love about you. Then I had to think about how to propose, and then it wasn’t just you. It was us. Then I didn’t know. So I hid it, because I like now. I love now.”

“I know. Me too,” I meagerly whisper as I nestle into his arms, and he pulls me near. I wondered if anyone else will feel like a blanket in the winter guarding me from the frigid world and creating a pocket of warmth. Getting out of bed in the winter is the worst. Staying cuddled just five more minutes never seems like enough. You always want another five more minutes.

“I’m going to miss being yours,” he says.

“I’m going to miss being yours too,” I reply.

[unnestedmatryoshka]

Drowning in Claustrophobia

Walls are made of time.

Air is made of tasks.

Standing in the middle.

Drowning with each inhale.

Wishing exhales where check marks.

The claustrophobia is moving in.

The walls will not pause.

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Because we once did.

Because they use to tell me I could.

Because it would be like standing on the beginning of the solar system.

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For the extra credit Art Assignment we had to take a picture of something we can't touch and say why we want to touch it. I tried to take a picture of me reaching for the moon but this is the best shot I got before being chased away by a raccoon (apparently it also did not want me touching the moon).

[unnestedmatryoshka]

When Dreams Aren’t Reality

<<Pre-reading note: don’t worry, not abusive relationship. Read to bottom>>

Not many people find a love of their life at age eight. The first day I met you I went home and told my mom you were the one. When you are that young, no one believes it will last. I knew if I tried hard enough, if I was just good enough, one day you’d be mine. At first, I wanted you for all the things that made you glamorous, thrilling, and breath taking. I reveled in how you’d make me look to others. As I grew up, I loved you for all the aspects that not many people even knew about. I loved you for the everyday struggles and the big picture moments.

When I was worthy of you, when I finally met your standards, you rejected me. I fully expected to be rejected the first few times. You make people fight for it. You want to know they are serious before you make an investment in them. I had planned to keep asking you until I got old. You were there my whole life, but now after all of this, you are gone. I don’t know when you are coming back.

Pursuing you has made me who I am, and for that, I am thankful.

*********************

A comment on the assignment video by GRRiTSELeNA asked “This is lovely as always! Is this exclusive to romantic relationships? Would it be possible to talk about friends, family members, pets, etc?”

This made me think about writing about a dream that got away or you never reached. In my case, a career that doesn't really exist anymore. What are other people's lost dreams and do you regret chasing/not chasing them? For my romantic “got away” I’ll call in.

[unnestedmatryoshka]

What it’s like to Drink and Eat the Nothingness

We forget it exists until it is hard to obtain. We don’t notice as we slowly sip the air throughout the day. We become aware of it when we gulp it down. When you stay beneath the water just those few extra seconds, then you have to drink it in as soon as your lips or nostrils breach the surface. You takes swills of it while clutching just above your knees only steps after the finish line. You take it in shots when your nose is clogged.

We notice when it is infiltrated. The nothingness around us has a taste. Sometimes the flavor lingers. Others it is gone before our pallets can discern it or compare it to past seasonings. Sometimes we want to savor it and others we search for nose sorbet, a pallet cleanser. Sometimes smells give air a density we can feel. It can wrap around us hugging or just come at us with a sucker punch.

Air is zinging between the gaps of all the still bits, the solids and liquids put in its way. Yet, its constantness allows it to fade away, unnoticed, a nothingness.

[unnestedmatryoshka]

Driftwood

The blue and red lights spin round and round atop the car like those white lights moving aloft slender houses at the creases where water meets land. Houses have horns and cars have sirens, but both wail, “dearest sailor, be you sitting, motoring, tacking, or drifting, the waves are throwing and the rocks are coming.” The beacons are brighter and the sound is surrounding, seeping into the crevices between thoughts. In the end, only the wreckage of a ghost ship clings to the shore.

[unnestedmatryoshka]

Exploring the lunar surface.

See previous post explains this.

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The surface of the moon is a setting, sadly, I've never seen first hand. You asked us to capture the experience of being in that setting rather than just the look of it.

When they first landed on the moon, they weren't sure how solid the ground would be. I mean you know it is a solid, but how solid is it? To me that is like a little kid standing at the edge of a ball pit thinking, "the adults told me I'd be okay if I stepped into this, but it looks like it is just going to swallow me whole."

I used ball pitt balls, bouncy balls, ping pong balls, and golf balls to create a rolling landscape. Two things that pleasantly surprised me were the light reflecting off the balls (like sunlight off of moon) and the heavy bouncy balls shifting things and creating little concentrations (the moon has mass concentrations--mascons for short).

I'll also post a quick video that simulates hopping around in the pitt.

[unnestedmatryoshka]

The View The First Time I Sat at Your Kitchen Table A table nestled near a window presents a lawn to me. But it is not one I possess. It is their new yard, first yard, a plot of land far far from mine. My eyes tell me there is just grass with no adornments, but that is not was I see. Out there lies a fire pit where they will huddle with close friends, marshmallows, wine, and laughs to warm them. I see weekends of basking in books and sun while sprawled on lawn chairs. Baraques are thrown on special occasions or for no reason at all. I see future children climbing trees, jumping in piles of leaves, playing on swing sets, racing bikes, and forming elementary school friendships that will last a lifetime like ours has. This nostalgia for events yet to be has one common thread. They are scenes I will never see for they are ones without me. Where I live is a sculpture of wood and brick laced with wires and pipes. Here, in this chair, at this table, I am home.

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Fruitless Flailing

I hunger to change things.

I hear butterflies can do so with just wings.

I'll die arms tired from flapping

just trying to make something, anything, happen.

[unnestedmatryoshka]

I broke the rules. These aren't portraits but two stories I found interesting.

skinny, story of a girl, such a pretty girl, stolen, size 12 is not fat

and

the fault in our stars, an introduction to modern astrophysics

This was  a lot of fun. I'm sure I'll come up with more.

[unnestedmatryoshka]

Your Callus Kind

It was a rare moment when you’d find my feet dressed in the summers of my youth. The brush of the blades of grass and weeds between my toes along with the sound of my soles as they pivoted one after another on the dirt are just a few reasons I loved running barefoot. I liked to wriggle my toes in the mud. I liked how unhindered feet could grip as I climbed anything I deemed worthy of ascending. I would watch but couldn’t feel the ants as they journeyed up and down the mountain-valley pattern of my toes.

As the summer went on, my feet would toughen from the constant uninhibited interaction with terrains. The driveway was made of small jagged rocks which heated like coals in the sun. Every time I wanted to bike down the hill to gain the maximum speed, these rough hot rocks would be crossed. Just when my feet gained their layer of strength, it was time for them to be snuggled in socks and tucked into cushioning.

Some calluses came at more random intervals not dictated by the sun. Over the years I’ve attempted to play guitar. Each time my fingers pleaded with me to give up. When my hands realized this playing would continue, they built up a layer of protection. Usually soon after this, other obligations took precedence. The guitar was put in a case, and my hands relinquished their newly formed barrier.

Some calluses are permeant protective fixtures. In school, every day for hours on end I would be writing. Taking notes, authoring essays, regurgitating knowledge in test form, or frantically finishing assignments all wore a nice dent into my thumb with a neighboring hardened hill.  My fingers spend far more time typing than scribing and yet the altered landscape of my thumb remains.

What will you be? Will there be a constant cycle of me building up and removing barriers or will it be more sporadic? Or should I just relent and create a solid immovable protective fixture? One can live without running about barefoot, playing music, or writing, but I know I won’t. So my poor raw heart needs to build a callus before you wear away all its layers. 

[unnestedmatryoshka]

The Hurricane that Started as a Drizzle

Patches in the clouds allowed sunlight to drizzle onto the guests.

“Don’t worry, the clouds don’t mean rain. Right now they are just providing shade from the scorching summer heat,” said Pam as she gathered up the train of Lilly’s wedding gown.

Lilly wasn’t looking at the mountain range of clouds but instead the sea of people. “How did this happen? How did I let it get this far,” Lilly thought.

James wasn’t standing at the altar yet. There was still time before the ceremony. Lilly just wanted to see what she had gotten herself into. It started out as a small wedding, but it quickly snowballed. Their intimate wedding had become a social event.

“It looks so glamorous out there! This is exactly how I pictured the ‘Jily’ wedding,” Pam exclaimed.

Lilly just rolled her eyes. Pam held Lilly’s hands and said “I mean you are just as in love as I had imagined you’d be. James is wonderful. I am so happy you found someone who loves you and respects you and is kind and also the right amount silly. He doesn’t look too shabby in a three piece suit either.”

“Thanks, but you should save something for your speech,” said Lilly.

“I hope you have tissues saved for my speech. It starts out with the lyric ‘Into each life some rain must fall,’ and goes on to talk about the timelessness of your love,” said Pam.

Sara interrupted, “Henry is back. He found the bag you were looking for, and he is bringing it to the bridal suite.” The three of them returned to the suite to join Henry and Audrey.

“Sorry it took me so long,” said Henry.

“Thank you so much for going back to the house to get it,” said Lilly.

“I also brought the emergency kit Audrey made with hairspray, baby power, and such. Oh and there are mints in there too. Does anyone want one,” he said holding out the plastic container to Lilly.

Audrey gave him a kiss and told him to go outside to start his ushering duties. As Henry left, John Green, the author of several of the YA books which were adapted into movies Lilly had been in, walked into the bridal suite. He had knocked, but Lilly had been too distracted handing out little boxes to her three bridesmaids to hear him.

“Oh hey,” he said with a surprised look.

“Good morning John,” said Lilly.

“I’m so sorry. I was just looking for the bathroom and got lost,” said John.

“That’s okay. The bathroom is just down that way and to the left,” said Lilly.

“Wow, I mean you just look so beautiful,” said John.

“Are you crying,” asked Pam.

“No, it is just sweat. It is really hot out. Don’t listen to Maureen. I am not always crying,” John said as he left them.

“Okay, open them,” Lilly said.

Lilly helped put the new necklaces on each of them. She told Audrey and Sara how excited she was to finally have sisters. She thanked Audrey for going to all the food tastings with them and trying the gluten filled options for them. She thanked Sara for helping build the playlist for the band. She thanked Pam for always being there and for being the best maid of honor anyone could ask for. Then Lilly’s dad came in to escort her.

From the bridal suite to the moment her dad kissed her goodbye and she stood in front of James at the altar was a nervous and anxious blur. The officiant took a moment to gather her pages before she began.

James took her hands and whispered, “You look so amazing, and me, I am very sweaty. Not that I am nervous. I’m not nervous. It is just the sun. The sun is hot.”

There was the James she knew, the slayer of silence. She smiled. Even though there were still so many eyes fixed on them, it still felt like a secret moment with just them. It was like the cuts in between the flashy scenes. The stolen blips while no one was watching and listening was when they figured out if they liked or hated each other, there was never an indifference.

Halfway through the ceremony, a drizzle started. It was slight and nothing to panic about. Towards the end it was starting to pick up the pace and so did the officiant. At “I now pronounce you man and wife” the skies opened up and people started running for the tent. Pam tried to pick up the train of Lilly’s dress, but Lilly gathered it in her own hands and shooed Pam to the safety of the tent.

By the time James and Lilly made it to the entrance of the tent, a moat had formed in front of the door. James went to take off his sopping jacket and lay in the puddle so Lilly could cross as if they were back in one of their period movies. She grabbed his arm to stop him. A smirk he had become all too familiar with appeared on her face and he knew mischief was about to ensue. Her bright white high heels became instantly brown as she jumped with both feet into the giant pool of mud splashing James with as much forces as she could muster.  Surprise and laughter rippled across his face. Before he could retaliate, she had kicked off her shoes and was running away.

Everyone standing in the tent looking out pitied them. Their day, their one big day was ruined. They pitied the poor muddy couple. They were to get no pictures together all nice and prim and proper. Their gorgeous flowers were stuck to them along with other fallen foliage the whipping wind had picked up. Her makeup was no match for the weather and was ruined. His hair washed into his eyes. The rain rinsed them of all the hours primping. By the time he caught up to her, they were covered in mud, leaves, and other flying debris. They stood in what felt life a hurricane with the wind and rain gusting about them so much it was hard to even see each other much less the tent. 

When their laughter lessened she said, “I don’t hate being your wife.”

“I don’t hate being your husband,” he replied.

They let the drops of sky wash over them as they stood there, kissing in the rain.

[unnestedmatryoshka]

Aftermath

When the inspectors come to scour the ruble of me, the source of the devastation will point to you. They will find no signs of breaking and entering. I did not give you a key. I just told the guards to be at ease, lowered the drawbridge, opened the door, and let you wander the chambers of my heart. Of all the actions and stillnesses, the words and silences, the allowance of hope, your cruelest deed, was what did me in. Each nugget of hope was another stick of dynamite you laid by a pillar.