Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

Everything's cyclical, circular, round All you don't know has already been found In school you learn the life cycle of a frog One day you're a tadpole and the next you just slog Slog from one building into another Crawl from childhood to being a mother Drive in endless circles around one block Scared to go home, be alone, no door knocks Scared to eat the same meal without a prayer The same meal you'd request at the electric chair Scared to go back to the same circular life To be in the same room with the same old wife In circles, to sleep, wake up, and complain In circles, there is frost, and then there is rain We have 50 more cycles of summers to go 50 more times for the front lawn to mow 50 more cycles of seasons to pass 'Til we end up buried beneath the grass Nothing scares me more in this circular drone Than walking all these long circles alone http://thefineartdiner.blogspot.ca/2012/01/christinas-world-our-world.html -->

Sometimes I forget where I am, where we are Like Alice, in my body, I feel much too bizarre I swear and I argue and I use love as a crutch I'm shallow and hollow and I drink way too much Scrape the surface of the thin icy shell Teeth chatter a little as your hands start to swell Maybe you'll see me, just maybe you might Catch a mere glimpse of me in the sunlight You might warm me up, you might melt me down But I'm much too terrified to witness you drown So I clog up my arteries with all the pain And I pretend that I'm foolish and vain It's so much easier to pretend to be free Much better to be... a girl who's not me I take three steps forward, and then four steps back Moving so slowly through the tunnels so black Moving like molasses through a world so obscure Hating myself and then finding a cure Loving myself and then biting my tail It goes in circles to no avail Sometimes I forget where I am, where we are All I know is...

Hold the stress in the palm of the hand, crush it, and watch it sprinkle to the ground, so fine and pink it looks like it could be crusted on cupcakes. Send the thought "I'm not good enough" into a wooden crate and place it in a freight ship bursting with cargo. Watch the ship slowly drift away, into the ocean, across endless blue. When the throat and face get hot with envy and rage, cool them with a sip of cold chocolate kisses, melting down the throat, coating the mouth in sugary goo, preventing a regretful word from being said. When sadness triggers the eyes, let them be, let the tears flow down the cheeks and dribble from the chin. Let the tears dry on the soft skin and leave a trace of conspicuous emotion, as if the face were bathed in salt water. Grab the fear from the crevices of the diaphragm and exhale it all. Like bad smoke, it only rots the lungs, for fear has no place in the body. Feel it burn a little as it rolls out the nostril, and floats away with the ...

i. Moss If only I could become one with the earth. I would lay down on the sweet scented grass. I would sink so low, into the moss, dried leaves, and crushed up Coke cans. I would be a part of the undergrowth itself, with the ants crawling into my shirt sleeves. I would be back home. ii. Toads There's something in the way that he looks at me. I wouldn't call it butterflies. They are more like giant toads, gurgling with the pace of my heartbeat. I feel the slime clogging up my throat, and I'm unable to speak. This is real love. iv. Birds From afar, white swans look like angels, with their feathery wings and bright beaks. Up close, they look like plain geese, with thick, slimy tongues. They make the most awful sounds, and they peck the mallards. I'll never trust beauty again. iii. Rodents My kindergarten used to have a class pet. A small white bunny. My teacher got it for us so we could learn how to respect and appreciate nature. The boys in my clas...

I dreamt last night, I'm not sure why, About pink jellyfish in the sky. They'd shine and fade as they passed me by, These mysterious jellyfish that could fly. The sky was dark as the deepest sea, The night tides had shifted for me. Down was up and up was free, Above me was the most magical quay. Take me to a time when jellyfish roamed, To a time when dreams were my home. Like Aphrodite rising from foam, Carry me to that virtuous zone. Alas, the sky is stuck in one place, Everyday I wake up to the same tired face. I fear and I ponder, am I a disgrace? In this world without jellyfish all over the place. No, in this world, there are only stars in the sky, There are gloomy figures that pass me with a sigh. Men on the platform, waiting to die, They think about it when the train passes by. They think about what lies beyond this doom, Of mundanity, hatred, and car exhaust fumes. They imagine that going back into the womb, Is like spending eternity with jell...

I am so tired of seeing the same person in the mirror every day Roof over my head? Check. Water and food? Check. Family? Check. Healthy? Check. Stable boyfriend? Check. Check. Check. Check. Why does it not seem like enough... It is because I am an angsty twenty-something See, we were raised during an interesting time when flip phones were a luxury in the eighth grade And MSN Messenger was the way to communicate Now, do people even communicate? There was a time when jobs were a tad easier to find Now we sit in a lukewarm pool of our depression and sulk over the youth unemployment rate We believe in nothing, no god to save us, no future for the earth's creatures and plants We just wait for the sun to devour our planet and for the oceans to flood all the major cities like it does in the movies, a modern day tale of Noah We are pessimists, us twenty-somethings What do we believe in? We don't believe in love Love is oppression! Love does not comply with our overly...

A duck sat by a river looking at its reflection Wondering, where will I go? What do I do? When I die one day will anyone remember me? Will I catch a bite tomorrow? Will the nice ladies from down the block come in their bright sundresses and feed me stale bread crumbs while gossiping about other women? Why am I a mallard? Why can't I have been a beautiful swan, elegant and to be envied, instead? Why must I make such hoarse, pathetic sounds? Quack! Quack! Quack! Putting aside all that, why can't I have been born a male duck instead? With their striking green plumage, the purple glitter on their wings, and their mustard yellow beaks? Why must I be a little brown critter? I look like a sad mop! Where will I be five years from now? Ten? Will I have ducklings, or will I be long digested in a fox's stomach by then? What rivers will I swim in, and which ones will I never have the chance to visit? On what day will I swim my final swim? So many things going through the...

What is it, that you want out of life? Have a job, have a husband, a wife? You want everyone to know your name? Will you deal with depression that comes with the fame? Will you deal with your parents when they get old? Will you be able to breathe when your fingers get cold? It's a cruel world, they say, this is true We're floating on jetsam without having a clue It's a cruel world filled with killing and pain With injustice and horrors that we shun in vain I want to do something, I don't want to sit still I want to fill something that cannot be filled I want to do everything and it overwhelms me so much That I get soft and decrepit to the touch 'Cause another part of me wants to chill and just float Hoping that another person will steer the boat Floating, floating, not an island in sight Floating and weeping deep in the night

What do you do when everything you have been working for For let's say, the good past eight years Goes up, up, up To reach a climax The tip of the rollercoaster The momentum The adrenaline That goes down, down, down and around In grooves and loops and exciting angles What happens when that climax Never comes? And you're left there, facing upwards, in a halt Simply trying to not fall back down to where you came from See, I've tried, I've really tried I've prayed, and I've bled and I've cried I thought I got better in all I did I improved my writing I improved my relationship building Busted my bad habit forming Achieved all the grades I wanted to Made friends, lost friends, travelled around Wrote a mammoth 40-page senior goddamn thesis Then I applied to my master's program and I got Waitlisted And the uphill battle came to a stop A deafening screech of the wheels Silence What now? Panic Well, I thought I was smart enough, pret...

The present is all that exists The candle does not rise as it burns It collapses onto itself The bird does not stop singing because, two weeks ago, it got its feelings hurt It sings now because this morning is all that exists History has brought us monuments, Mozart, and star-cross'd lovers Which haunt and awe us today, but cease to exist in tact They are just relics Like an empty wine glass with lipstick stains Or crumpled petals and flower remains Like old movie tickets hidden in a drawer Or a stolen sweater that smells like cologne Yet the present is all that is real That is tangible, that is whole The heart beat, the hum of the fridge, mango hair spray An itch in the neck, a twitch of the nose, a cat's meow Is all of reality Mundane and sublime The aged fruit of old time Rotten berries on the window sill will keep on rotting Good old pals will continue being forgotten The past should not be disturbed The birds, the squirrels, the r...

I have started reading a book called "Help, Thanks, Wow." It is basically a how-to guide for prayer, geared towards spirituals and skeptics alike. The book tries to answer the difficult question: How do we pray? The author, Anne Lamott, recalls her childhood, growing up in an atheist household where only rock bands were worshipped and the New York Times was a temple. Feeling alone, lost, and caught in existential despair, Lamott "snuck off" into the attic to pray to God for help. Prayers for help humble us. They make us feel that the world is out of our control. The cosmos does not act in accordance with our wishes, and our prayers are not answered in the way we would like them to be. Thomas Merton's prayer reads: "My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me" (Lamott 33). Just by reading the "Help" chapter, I realized why I have trouble with uncertainty. Because it is admitting defeat. It is admittin...

The power of perfume  Secrets trapped in cheap glass bottles The air is misty as I enter the room Memories climb through my nose into my heart How weak the soul is! Vulnerable, protected by skin But through the nose, through the mouth, through sad eyes The haunting perfume can get in This perfume, the one with the heart shaped glass Reminds me of the days when I shopped as I skipped class And if I close my eyes just tight enough And if the circumstances are right enough I can sniff the love perfume like a drug That takes me right back to a day when I was a different me Recollecting past memories of ourselves We refer to ourselves in third person That girl, that one who wore this perfume with the long blonde hair flowing down her back Is not the girl I see today, with a hairdo that I would never have the courage to flaunt Back when I drowned myself in the love perfume Like a blooming, honey scented flower Waiting for worker bees to devour me Stop it, old perfu...

I remember the days when I was scared of ghosts After watching a marathon of poltergeist movies About hauntings in strange homes My juvenile friends and I couldn't get to sleep And we'd squeal at every creak creak  On the floor board I'd sleep with a night light on  The one with Winnie the Pooh reading a story to Piglet Yet I'd still lose sleep I was so scared of the ghosts that were out to get me Now I want the ghosts to get me I don't even understand what I was scared of I want ghosts to haunt my house I want ghosts to transcend their world and show their white faces Hell, I want poltergeists to mess my whole room up Because, see, if ghosts don't exist Then why should anything invisible exist, too? What you see is what you know But I don't see love, so how do I know it's there? What if love is just a ghost?  What if "love" is what we label that chemical reaction in our brains that sparks fondness? And...

Nietzsche was an interesting guy. Other than his rampages about God being dead and his morbid existentialist rants, I kind of like him. What struck me most interesting in Beyond Good and Evil was his critique of Christianity. Okay, well, I like to think of myself as a Christian, so I wasn't very much convinced by his longing for complete obliteration of religion. Nietzsche mentions that Christianity has become a religion of resentment, because it started off as a religion of the poor, and its doctrines emphasize the goodness of the meek and the corruption of the rich and powerful. Hence, Christians are jealous of those who flaunt their excess, and wish them to hell (according to him). Christian "anger" hence stems from envy. What he failed to point out was that the rich can also be jealous of the poor...and that in fact the powerful are weaker because they are always afraid of having their goods stolen, while the poor have nothing and so they have nothing to lose. The Chr...

The river of 4 am. Flows through my heart and fills my brain I see moonshine in its ripples I see my pain reflected in the moon It is only at 4 am. that I can touch the moon By dipping my foot into the river To pretend that I am living two lives at once One on earth, in its predictable climate And the other in the river, to where we are all sure to return Sometimes I sleep soundly through the river's calling Other times I feel like I'm drowning at 4 am. And I know it's the river being angry at me Causing a shipwreck in my mind All the anxiety sinking to the bottom To be decomposed and eaten by tiny fish Don't be mad, river of 4 am. I always long to sleep through you But sometimes I fall into a state vanity And I just want to touch the moon

I have a dysfunctional relationship with Time Sometimes I like to play hide and seek with Time Time hides, and I try to find it I see it peeking from behind the curtains But I treat Time like a child, and I say 'Time, oh Time! Where are you?' Time just stands still, trying not to be seen And with Time frozen, I have all the time I can dream of At other times, I wish Time would move along I look at the clock as it mocks me with its tick tock As I'm stuck in a store folding socks And I dream of a day when I will be a somebody A businesswoman with a brief case and a somebody at her side And one day I can create another somebody Alas, it takes time to get promoted from being a nobody Sometimes I wish Time would turn back Because in retrospect everything seems serene What was once a heart ache is now petty What was at one time a death note is now a joke How I wish Time would comfort the poor younger me Time would say, 'Time moves on! Time heals all scar...

It is hard for me to believe that twenty years have passed. Two whole decades. A new generation of kids have entered elementary school. Kids who don't have a clue about Gwen Stefani, Walkmans, or the joys of MSN Messenger. I feel old and yet so ridiculously young at the same time. Twenty is a difficult age: I'm old enough to potentially drink myself to sleep every night, but I'm still too young to be taken seriously in the workforce. Therefore, for me, twenty is all about self-discipline. Having the option to do something doesn't mean you should do it. So I'll stay in school, spending countless hours slaving over essays which will be bell curved anyway, in order to get a piece of paper that may or may not give me a head start in "the real world" (twenty year olds don't really live in the real world, you see). For now, reality as a twenty year old can be summarized in a few simple bullet points: Frozen pizza  Debating between going to class or goin...

Soon, we'll be old and sour and grey, Looking back at today, thinking those were the days, Where dawns and dusks spilled into each other like syrup. At sunrise we slept and at sundown we wept, And all in between we filled our days with nonsense. Soon, we'll forage our memories and become so Overwhelmed with nostalgia that we will have to Caress our stomachs and sit in a chair with armrests, And life will play itself out once more, like a movie, In fragments of memories, sensations, delusions, Of days where we felt so ashamed that we crawled Into ourselves and, like pathetic snails, we waited for life to pass us. Of days where we felt so alive that we risked Our pride and respect in exchange for a glass of beer. Of days where we were so miserably defeated That we cried to rock songs and wondered how it would be To see someone else in the mirror for a change. Little fragments, little things, will flash like fireworks. Then every thing, every dew drop on every ro...

I'm not a role model, an intellectual, a poet. I'm not a good person and I'm not an evil person. I am just a member of the species  Homo sapiens . I am blood, guts, and bone. I am an amusement park of veins. My heart feels no pain or pleasure; my heart just pumps blood. It would be silly to think that there is a deeper purpose, when I am a bundle of nerves wrapped in naked, papery skin. Why would I be part of a grandiose plan? I am just an animal. There is no logic in the animal kingdom. There is no philosophy and no art; just a hierarchy of animals that kill and eat one another. We are part of that kingdom. Maybe Hobbes was right. Without security, we would be cannibals. Without morals, we would be foxes. Without politics, we would be wild. We are wild. We are not ladies and gentlemen. We are panthers and wolves. We huddle in packs and howl at midnight just for the fun of it. We flee from danger by scurrying away like scared little squirrels. We would do anything for o...

There was something about the way he talked. He made anyone who was near him feel a sudden sense of unease. The way his words shot from his mouth like hot bullets, maiming all those who were in his proximity. There was this peculiar way he squinted his eyes so you weren’t sure if he was falling asleep or straining his eyelids to keep himself focused on evildoing.             He was the type of man who didn’t believe in God. He was cynical about absolutely everything, from the long line up at the coffee shop to the very meaning of existence. In fact, he told me that he killed God. We were sitting out on the front porch one nigh staring at the stars. What do you see up there? he asked me. The heavens, I said. He smirked and told me that he killed God long ago. I thought the idea was impossible. And then he said in a suddenly stern voice: I have something to tell you. Because I’m wiser than you. I’m a man. I’ve been through more tha...