Friday, June 21, 2013

Where she's bad at focusing

I am all kinds of wound up. This could be from the fact that I have a mug filled with coffee that I've been drinking since 9. It just keeps filling itself up. IMAGINE THAT. We're in the "hurricane season" here in Florida, without a hurricane. Or, as it's locally known, "OH, GOD, MY HEAD - MY SINUSES ARE FULL OF GLITTER AND POP ROCKS" season. And when I say local, that's pretty much the cranky bitch here in my room. I wish she'd shut it. And stop drinking all of my coffee. Which I only brewed to counteract the sluggish headache feeling. But now I'm awake and with a short attention span. I can't focus enough to make anything, and I would like to HOP UP AND DOWN AND TYPE IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS BECAUSE IT IS FUN and I'm listening to British punk music and I have a sneaking suspicion that Frank Turner might be a bit of a bad influence, but what a good one. Because Amelie lies to EVERYONE.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

The First Not-Poetry Tuesday - re: future mr. me


I used to write poetry quite a bit. But I'm not very disciplined in research. I'm just passionate. I dubbed my  poems "not poems", and they've sat in my notebook for about 7 years. I think Tuesday will be  the day for "not poems", which may include poetry or drabbles or comics or pictures of me making an "OOPS!" face at the webcam because I forgot to be creative again and ran out of archived nonsense.



re: future mr. me

the beating of my heart is but a flutter,
as wings against a cage
a creature hidden, with foolsome appetite,
that sulks in quiet rage

its motive often hidden
by more than fickle hands,
its purpose all but gobbled
by times unkindly sands

waspish, shrewish, selfish
lazy, scared & worn
an ever-charging battery
for empty burdens borne

this poisoned fragment
still dwelling in my chest
for some ill reason seems to value
your own above the rest

while the traitor's beating better
no fairer prize will it be
still I hope you waste your lifetime
by spending it with me


Still needs a bit of work but here's me doing something! LOOK AT THAT, INTERNET.

Look forward to an in-progress painting soon...we're gonna chat about doing BIG PROJECTS and jumping outside your comfort zone. I have one success story, and many back of the drawer stories. But maybe fleshing out some of those half finished things and showing what progress we did will help us finish our half done projects off and move on to something new! Right? RIGHT? I HAVE A 2' by 3' DOCTOR WHO PAINTING YOU GUYS. I just. Just. I. I. Uhhh.

TOPICS for next week's Not-Poetry Tuesday? Any suggestions, leave a comment below and I'll see what I can do! Maybe we'll also do Draw Something days and Sing Something days and Vlog something days. And I'll never update on time BUT MAYBE SOMETIMES I WILL because life is unexpected.

Toodle pip, pretties.

The above poetry, like everything you find on Seriously? Sparkly! are protected by intellectual copyright and a fearsome gigantic badger not unlike Spiny Norman from Monty Python's Flying Circus. And she is CRANKY. No use w/o permission. I have books to sell. Lots of Nancy Drews. Is anybody still following this stream of consciousness disclaimer? I'm so sorry to have brought you all this way. Here's cab fare home.

Friday, June 14, 2013

Surgery Sidestep Sideshow

My brother was set to have surgery for a hernia a few days ago. Only, get this: no hernia! Docs today, man, modern magicians.

Apparently his pain was due to adhesions (painful sticky tissue situations that are bad I don't understand medicine unless it's been shouted by Doctor Cox on a marathon Scrubs binge God I miss him). So the next day, he was blearily lounging around in the same loose khaki shorts, vintage tee and SEXY compression socks he was wearing when he returned from 'ospital. It was pretty inspired.

Mom was in nursing. This makes her great to have around in times of distress. It can also lead to uncomfortable situations. The poor patient would disappear into the bathroom for an hour, or anything over five minutes, and gets this line of questioning:

"Are you ok?!?!?!?! Have you 'gone' yet? Anesthesia freezes your bowels! We'll give you a stool softener if you don't 'go' today!"

To which the pale invalid stumbles in and sweatily gives the standard "insert noun here" joke reply we use nearly every day, which in this case turned out to be "YOU'RE a stool softener".

I laughed for about twenty seconds. It was almost like a dying pig squeal. Not that I'd know. But it wasn't a normal human mouth noise, I'm pretty sure.

But then I started thinking.

It was painful.

But if you think about it (ow, I know, sorry), that's a great compliment.


The bowels were once considered the seat of emotions - even passions. I mean, I have a pretty passionate set myself, but I assume that for most people this phrase has gone out of style a bit.

Like parachute pants. Or compression socks.

I digress. (Again. Forever. Always).

BUT if the bowels were the seat of emotion, telling someone they were what 'gets them moving', as it were...that's so unbearably sweet.

Pain medication, making men all sappy in the Biblical sense, since 2013.



Mostly awwwwwwwwwww, though, I'm pretty sure.

A blog, seriously?

Why Sparkly, you might ask. Maybe I was in the mood for something bright, to name this after something that could catch attention or keep me attracted and invested. Something a bit unexpected, something to shake us from the usual ruts and petty patterns of the everyday. Something different, a little exciting and bright and wild - like I'd like to be.

Did you know? Life is always beautiful. And miraculous. It just doesn't always feel that way. Which is such a stupid thing to even type, for someone like me - someone with a roof, clothes, food. Someone with love, for God's sake. But despite the good, things can get very murky sometimes. From things dredged up from the past. From chemicals confusing our poor tired hearts. Sometimes, from no real reason at all. And we slowly get trapped in a terribly great pit of self-loathing and smallness, right inside our own little heads.

How do you clean the lens?

Sometimes, I get the blues. They can be pretty navy. It's hard to explain. There's not always a particular reason. But I get despondent, and gray (blue and gray, work with me, I'm a colorful one), and immobile. I don't really want to see or speak to anyone, and I don't like myself very much. I walk a fine-line, it seems, between this innate sense of brilliance with great optimism and hope for a wonderful future andddddd on the other side a very strong sense of what seems to be well deserved self-loathing. Because I'm interesting, dammit. Or maybe not. Oh, God, my poor human-sized brain that's so bad at math and yet so good at remembering facts about Doctor Who.

But I keep trying to make small stands on getting myself back: starting a painting. Organizing old writings that might go somewhere one day. Working on some freelance pieces for a few extra dollars, for another post-grad job under my belt. A few days at a time, I'll have a spark. And then it's dead. Most things are never finished. And I just resign myself to being this mediocre disgusting creature that let all of its passions fall behind.

Guys. Something that is so important to remember, when you're in this little spiral of disgust and frustration and NOTHINGNESS, is to not let yourself fade.

When you get gripped by the very uninspired and unnecessary clouds in your own brain, fight back. Even if it's something as incredibly small as writing little internet letters and creating silly, stupid, wild (and lovely) random acts of art - whatever your art may be - for no other reason than you still can. Do it. For the love of all that is good smelling and lickable in this world, DO SOMETHING.

"Write it. Shoot it. Publish it. Crochet it, sauté it, whatever. MAKE."
-Joss Whedon

Hop up and down, dance your stiff limbs free. Scream if you can't stand. Sing. Drum, shake, growl. Let the world know you will not lie down and be still, simply because it's convenient to whatever mold you've badly jammed yourself in. Never again listen to the people who make what you want to do seem unimportant, because it's silly or you're not good enough or because it's 'no way to make a living'.

This? This isn't really a way to make a living, either.

Which is EXACTLY the reason why it had to happen.

Make something, make anything. Now. And make YOU.