Your eyes cut me open like knives
Staring into my soul
You own me

Summer 1986 Sunday 5:30AM

Misty morning in Malibu.
Seagulls stitch the sea to a subtle
silver sky. They sputter stridently.
Each elegant gull hovers effortlessly.
Entreating each other. Echos bounce
off the sound of the surf into eternity. The screeching of many a
soliloquy akin to silence.

I sit on the pier. The water before
me washes onto the staccato legs
of tiny waterbirds who wander
in and out of the surf. Little
windblown ***** of ecru and grey
wool. I worship in the womb of
the great goddess ~ nature. I wasn't to know the Creator was watching patiently...

6:30AM
I make my unhurried way up the
pier to my car. A cheap but
comfortable convertable. Nobody
walks in LA. I punch in a tape.
Don Henley. Boys of Summer.

I take PCH up to the incline that
takes you from the beach. Pushing
the pedal slightly as I slide by the
colossal bleached cliffs of
Palacades Park. There the homeless
sleep under the benches dedicated
by friends and family in
rememberance of loved ones.
Small plaques attatched for
posterity.

My hands are on the steering wheel
at 7 and 12 o'clock.I look at the cast
I wear on my right wrist. A token
of rememberance from an angry romance. He and I parted
respectively, if not at all
respectfully. I drive.

7:00AM
Venice beach. Not yet boysterous.
But never boring. The young people
(and old) still bundled together in bed. Saturday night hangovers will
be had by most of the denizens of
Venice beach boardwalk. A grainy
eyed few wander around abstractidly. Shopowners enter
their buildings, their storefronts
almost as small as booths. Graphitti
and giant works of art grace walls
everywhere ~ Jim Morrison and
Venus in workout leggings much
in evidence.

I smoke my cigarette and drink my
hot coffee carefully in the open cafe'.
I consider the eyefest of the crowd
that will congregate here to enjoy
the clement weather.
The cacophony and the clamor.
Touristas and Los Angelinos alike
drawn In by calculating vendors
and coyote souled street performers.
I look forward to seeing the
non conformity usually. But not
today. For now I sit in the quiet cafe'.

Venice beach. Vulpine. Vacuous.
A strangely vunerable venue. The
***** and the beautiful. The talented and the ******.

A street performance pianist trundles his acoustic piano on
casters out onto the boardwalk.
I ask him if I may play. He looks
at my cast doubtfully.
"I can still play..." I tell him.
He ascents and listens thoughtfully
as I play my compositions. He really
likes them. I ****** the ebony and
the ivory with insistant fingers.
The smile on his face is irrepressable. I smile back and we
flirt in self conceous, fitful fashion.
Time to leave.

9:00AM
Radio is on in my car now. A cut
from the musical Chess. One night
in Bangkok makes the hard man
humble... I like the driving beat.
I'm going up I-10, a single blood cell
in the main artery that brings life
to the flesh of this mamouth town.
Traffic is tenuous. A boon here in
this conjested city.

I drive to Fairfax and Sunset, where
I lived with in a tiny one-bedroom
apartment with my mom. An
ambitious actress. I an ambivalent
artist.

Sunset. The Roxy and Whiskey-a-
Go-Go. Cartoon characters Rocky
and Bullwinkle casually cavort on
the top of a building. Billboards
as tall as the Hollywood sign. The
street of broken hearts for many
an actress -slash-model. They
wander about on street corners
looking haughty and haunted.
Waiting for who knows who to
honk. Their dreams have flown
away like the exhailation of smoke
from the mechanical lungs of the
Marlboro Man. Schwab's drugstore
and diner. The place where some
famous starlet was discovered.
Delivered into the arms of the
Hollywood machine. I opt to go
to the Sunset Grill.

11:00AM
I'm walking down Hollywood Blvd.
Perusing shops and persuing
pedestrian pleasures. Everyone
talks of the star-studded sidewalks.
To me they look tarnished and
filthy. Stars from a sultry smog
laden sky come to earth. The names
of some of the folks honored on
them I don't recognise.

I'm here to view movies today.
I'm definitely not going to
Grauman's Chinese Theater.
Been there. Done that. Gave the
very expensive T shirt to
Goodwill. I look around at the
proud and the plebian. The pedantic
and the pathetic. No prostitutes
out yet that I could see. Probably
toppled into bed to sleep
(for once). Deposed kings
and queens of the monarchy of the
night. The homeless hobble along
with their hair matted and askew.
Shopping carts with stuttering
wheels de reguer.

A couple of tourists with Izod shirts,
plaid shorts to the knee and deck
shoes sans socks gaze in a shop
window. It's borded by tarnished
and faded silver garlands... tinsel
Christmas tree.
"Want to buy a mood ring today?"
One of them querys his buddy,
laughingly.

I find my small theater and enter
the air conditioned lobby. I purchase
a soda and pass on the popcorn.
As I enter the theater's modestly
plush, dimly lit cocoon sanctuary
I notice very few patrons are here
for the matinee. GOOD. I finally
watch the premiere product of
Los Angeles. Movie after movie
slides across the screen. The callus
morally corrosive corporations
conspire with the creative to produce
the culmination of many art forms
in one. Cinema.

LA. Languid. Luxurious. Legendary.
Rollicking, raunchy rodeo.
Seaside city. Sophisticated. Spurious.

SPECTACULAR.

8:00PM
I wend my way up Mulholland Dr.
Another tape is playing in the deck.
One of my favorites. David + David.
Welcome to the Boomtown.

I pull over at a deserted vista. From
this viewpoint I can see the city
spread out like a blanketfof brilliance. The gridiron of LA.
Glitzy and glamorous. Generating
little gods and goddesses. A gigantic
gamble for the disingenuous and
gouache. Tinsel town. Titillating.
Tempestuous. Only the very brave
bring their dreams here... or fools
rush in where angels fear to tread.
All but the fallen angels. They thrive.

Oh! If this place could be bottled it
would be such sweet poison. I
look up at the auburn sky and back
down at the breathtaking panorama
The metropolis that is LA with awe
and angst. I carefully stub out my
cigarette and flip it irreverantly
toward the lagoon of lights.

I get in my car to drive home.
Home?
Could this imposing, inspiring,
impossible place be called home?

Well. Home is where the heart is.
And I live in the heart of a dream.
This is the city of dreams...

CITY OF ANGELS.

Soul Survivor
Catherine E Jarvis
(C) 2005

Hey, are you okay?
You look like you need a friend
Averted stare, unmanaged hair, fresh wet skin under those eyes
Hey, are you okay?
I think we have all been there
Disturbed, unheard, horribly impaired

I love you and even if I didn't
There are a million--no, billions who would love you in a minute
Don't dread and tread all over that beautiful mind
I'll take you in and call you mine

Fix you up, give you strength
Until you are ready to take the lengths
Walk on your own again, remember how bliss feels
I'll give you my heart as a meal
Eat it up, love for two
And if I fall back you'll be ready to catch me

The never ending cycle of needing one another

Dark
Mysterious
Eyes that could lure
The most vunerable women
He just raised a finger
His will was done.

Who could match his will
New within the walls
Lurked someone
Who had a will of steel
Much like the weapons
She practiced with

She never spoke
Her eyes would speak for her
The warriors she encountered
Would lay their weapons down
At this ones feet.

He had heard
Of this silent warrior
So summoning her
He waited

To his suprise
She appeared
Standing in the rafters
Watching him
Instead of jumping down
Her image disappeared
And reappeared in front of him.

As he spoke
Her eyed flickered
She was a demon
When he was finished
A smiles crossed her face.
Her voice was barely above a whisper

"Dark Prince..
You summoned me...
Yet...
You cannot fathom....
The power I can unleash...
But I will stay...
But mark my words...
Tonight...
Darkness will forever...
Be your throne..."

She stayed with him
Staying in his shadow
Her demonic eyes
Flicker
Waiting for her time to play
From her Dark Prince.

I look in the mirror and I see an older face, a thinner body and different hair. But the same emotions stay in place as I try not to care.

Honestly,
I find it rather cruel to leave me lingering.
Lingering like unwanted taint from a long, hard day of work.


You should of just crushed me.
You should of told me there was no hope.
You should have told me that it all was just a fallacy.
You should have made me hate you.
Even then, after I would regroup my dignity after being such a fool,
I do not believe my heart would wish ****** harm against you.
How pathetic do I sound right about now?
All I pray for is to have a stronger heart,
A stronger mind.


Already, I grow tired of pining over you.
The one time I decided not to shut someone out
And in return, I am left with a much larger void.


I greatly dislike my understanding personality.
It is something that I never possessed,
But I did not expect to find someone similar to me.


I simply wished that I was burdened
By the ignorant naivety of today's youth.
I am finding it quite factual that I am deemed cursed.
That real love or an ideal relationship,
Has forsaken me.


I am aware of the obvious.
I am aware of my own youth.
I am one who survives on the care for others.
Only for ones I see fit.


Alas, here I am rambling on about the usual.
All I must say, is that my feelings were true.
Surprising, actually,
For I was only seeking company
And found something much more.


I find it a burden to know that
Someone as good as you, is out there.
I simply wish, I perhaps will count the days,
That one day, I can call you mine
And I, yours.


We all know that is just the latest crazy talk
That mind-fuckery builds when we
Are alone, yearning for the things we cannot have.


**** this hopeless romantic heart of mine.
**** being weak.
**** being vunerable.
**** being understanding.
Just, **** everything.


I leave you with:
You should of just crushed me.
You should of told me there was no hope.
You should have told me that it all was just a fallacy.
You should have made me hate you


Yet, knowing I,
I want to linger.
I wish that I will linger in your mind.

If not, I simply hope that peace with shroud every inch of you
And that you will find what your heart seeks.

Dean Roberts had two homes
One was in port Adelaide and the other was in rhw Adelaide hills and he lived in the adelaide hills but he had paranoid mates living 3 doors down from his Port Adelaide home
You see there were squatters living there making everyone living around there scared to leave their homes and this usually happened every night from 4pm till dawn and then it appeared to be early but nobody went near the hooise except for dean Roberts who was hermless but the residents
Of the nearby homes barocsded themselves in their homes and there were psychiatrists around for anyone who becomes too scared to cross the main road and making sure no vunerable person was struggling getting to where they wanted to go or where they lived and dean Roberts was unaware of all this because there was no sign of people living there and dean's best friend Toni was the target in some way, you see she lived in the house opposite that house
And she called the police numerous times which forced cars to follow her making her look very scared but she still wanted to help the police remove them so she used herself as bait to catch them
But this was easy for them but Toni was in danger of losing her life making her scream so loud
But while Toni was with them dean was trapped inside his port Adelaide home but he broke the window and iinstead of going home to the hills he slept in his car waiting for the
Squatters to come back and When they did dean grabbed a broom and came in there saying come on get out of my house and then while that was going on Toni was panicking crossing the road making it half way across and then going back especially after they took her from her place of work and dumped her at the lights making her scared to hold someone even the police
Cause she watches the news where people dress up as police to take advantage of ladies like Toni and after dean got rid of the squatters for bow
He drove home with people yelling out to him hi mr hero
With people bipping their horn
Saying you are port Adelaide's
Hero but Toni was still struggling to get home and this forced the police  to grab her and take her home
To take her medication and go to bed and one of the squatters returned and was caught and shoved in Ron coopers psych ward where he was put on eppelim and he was forced to one day tell them why he lived in dean Roberts property and squatter said his name was ken
Psrtley and Ron gave ken an injection of abilify to calm
Him down and Ron went back home and had pizza and coke
While ken was stuck in a Place he hated and Toni was still paranoid about crossing that road and dean helped her get through this like a friend would

Love
Once upon a time
It rendered me weak
Wary
I crave not its company
I choose to be
Singular
Alone
Rather than vunerable
Avoiding the pain of attachment
The sickly sweetness of affection
The irritation of adoration


Love
Once upon a time
Blinded were my eyes
I silenced my cries
Covered the bruises
So none would know
I submitted to the blows
Red stripes filled my craving for attention
For my emotions ran deep

Love
Once upon a time
I became who I am now
Open were my eyes to that which I could not see
To hatred hidden behind loves face
Never again will I allow this to be
I choose to be solitary
Reclusive
I force love to vacate my heart
I am no longer weak

Love once upon a time




This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base.  All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby

Green dances like waves around her wide pupils, eyes lashes like curved feathers graze the top of her eyelid.

Flaming orange spirals from her beautiful mind down to the end of her back.

A canvas
Her face resembled as the flecks of freckles formed a gorgeous piece art.

Her body was as though it was sculptured carefully to put on display in greek goddess section of the museum

Sadly it wasn't
Instead her body was forcefully abused and harmed as it wasn't societys shallow idea of beauty

She wasn't tan
She wasn't blonde or brunette
Just a pale ginger.

She considered herself to be hideous

She became weak
Vunerable
Easy

It wasn't her fault
She needed the money
She lacked self esteem
And so selling her body gave her the worth and attention she never had.

Beaten
Hurt
*****

Her life was gone
The green waves in her eyes stop dancing
The lashes were now harsh lumps of dried mascara
Her beautiful hair was bleached blonde, frayed and cut.

And her body was now just another puppet to an old mans torture.

I weigh myself on these scales as I’m keen for you to know I exist. I wanted you to answer my letters, realise that these words I write with dedicated perfection and chardonnay are for. You. I wanted to be your only to exception to the rule. I wanted to be your fool. I wanted to be. Just me. And that was to be enough, but the road was too rough. Drowning in pity, suffocating in sin. My words were too pretty and delicate. Worthless to the deaf ears they fell upon. My tears, my tears they fall wasted to the ground. Ravaged by my mis-communicated sound. The way I gave my body to you. I let you in. I let you feel my grief and you buried your way in. Deceitful you. Beautiful you. My life, my soul, what happens in heaven now?

I thought too many times I would be forgiven. This person was too much for even you to take. I kept falling. I kept going too fast and not using the brake. I thought I had finally landed, grounded myself from this stupid obsession. That someone once made me feel I gave the wrong impression. Too needy, too weak, too vunerable, too loud. Wore stupid clothes that stood out from the crowd. I gave too much then held it all back. Click, click, click, ******* clack. Where were you when I called your name. When I took you and held you in vain. There was my shame. There was my guilt and pride. Took you along for a ride? Are you sure my dear? Are you sure? Fed up of being told what I am worth waiting for. Yet I would make a pilgrimage for you.

Faster and harder braver than before. But you never liked that. You showed me the door. My light too bright, too shiny, too new. I was overall, too much, for you. For your highly expectations I was bound to fail. Just one small girl in an overpowering world of you. This power, this lowly pleasure, of giving you your due and then to hear your whatever. I am lost, I am lost, I am lost. I am bound by your words by their very cost. I never expected to borne to this, I thought I could just get on without your redemption. Lies and lies and more from your hand. This is not my world, your ideas are too un/planned? Who are you, who were you back then? To tell me that I am not right, I need to change from within. No. What? Your preaching’s are confusing to even the most intelligent man.

My body, my life. My heart, your strife. Not done with everything, you wanted more. Hell over high water, you threw me up on the shore. Please, oh please, oh pretty little please, wait, hang on a minute whilst I fall to my knees. Let me know when you’ve made your decision. Thanks. I’ll just wait a little lon-ger. Tell me. How does your faith instill such emotion? It’s all false love and devotion. Popular back in the day, the 80’s I may say, back when kids were high and it was easier back then, easier for me to write without a red pen. So you invented love as your folly, to prey on the weak, the young and the sought after. So you could fill your life with the ***** of your laughter. Ever-y-thin-g is so long and drawn out; be wild, be shy, be quiet. Don’t shout, so LOUD. At me. I need to hear what exactly you are telling me. To be.