i would dial the numbers
just to listen to your breath
and i would stand inside my hell
and hold the hand of death
you don't know how far i'd go
to ease this precious ache
you don't know how much i'd give
or how much i can take
just to reach you ...
come to my window
come on inside
come to the light of the moon
come to my window
i'll be home soon
keeping my eyes open
i cannot afford to sleep
giving away promises
i know i cannot keep
nothing fills the blackness
that has seeped inside my chest
i need you in my blood
i am foresaking all the rest
just to reach you
written by Melissa Etheridge
this is how i felt a lot in my 20s - i like this song, it describes the longing i felt so clearly. longing for what? a person? i don't know. just a longing.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Saturday, March 18, 2006
i saw your mother today,
Saturday, March 18, 2006
edwin. a crushed soul. crushed ... and shattered. and the shards cut deep. oh, edwin, such sorrow oozes from each of her pores. and still, she asks how i'm doing. when i touch her hand -- it stings. it stings me, edwin ... you know the stinging when you touch your eye after chopping onions? like that. her pain engulfs me. there's so much of it. it fills this place, this store where you got shot in the head over $47.
i now know why i have felt such fear of entering the store. the energy of your death, the crushing grief your parents feel, at missing you. i feel it. every molecule, every drop of sorrow and grief. my heart, my soul ... they remember this pain, this suffering. plucked away, edwin - this feeling, it's the feeling of 'plucked away.' the most beautiful, well-rooted and healthy feather ... plucked away. your parents, they witnessed what no parent should have to -- watching their own son die violently at the hands of another human. and they continue to live and work in that very place you lost your life.
Edwin ... can you breath some gentle comfort into the heart of your mother ... and shine some soft hope onto your father's anguished soul?
a note from malva: edwin yue, age 19 was shot in the head (and killed), the evening of 20.02.06, while working in the family convenience store. an escaped convict (who had been deemed a high risk to violently re-offend, and who had been missing for several months) killed him, over $47. the shooting happened less than 1 block away from my home. i am trying to come up with some way to immortalize edwin's memory ... something that involves the white lighter i purchased from him the last time i saw him ... i cannot let this boy be forgotten
i now know why i have felt such fear of entering the store. the energy of your death, the crushing grief your parents feel, at missing you. i feel it. every molecule, every drop of sorrow and grief. my heart, my soul ... they remember this pain, this suffering. plucked away, edwin - this feeling, it's the feeling of 'plucked away.' the most beautiful, well-rooted and healthy feather ... plucked away. your parents, they witnessed what no parent should have to -- watching their own son die violently at the hands of another human. and they continue to live and work in that very place you lost your life.
Edwin ... can you breath some gentle comfort into the heart of your mother ... and shine some soft hope onto your father's anguished soul?
a note from malva: edwin yue, age 19 was shot in the head (and killed), the evening of 20.02.06, while working in the family convenience store. an escaped convict (who had been deemed a high risk to violently re-offend, and who had been missing for several months) killed him, over $47. the shooting happened less than 1 block away from my home. i am trying to come up with some way to immortalize edwin's memory ... something that involves the white lighter i purchased from him the last time i saw him ... i cannot let this boy be forgotten
8 comments
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
renewal and rebirth
Wednesday, March 15, 2006i'm working on a heavy-duty post ... its like pulling teeth ... in the meantime here's some more eye candy for you
image: copyright mad malva blue, 2006i love the phoenix and what it represents: rebirth, renewal, regeneration. from the ashes, beauty does arise. the phoenix symbolizes the invincible in each of us - that divinity, that fire that resides inside. this place in each of us - that's where hope arises in the ruins of shattered and scorched hopes, dreams, and aspirations. thru each regeneration, each renewal, we lose a little piece of ourselves, but we gain so much more in the process - if we can only open our eyes, and our hearts, to the possibilities. i want to say to the possibilities of fire - but would that be stealing from our good friend wch?
about this piece: a digital rendering (btw - the afghan hound was also) ... a few hours of some painstaking work, but i am pleased with the outcome. comments welcome and appreciated.
7 comments
Monday, March 13, 2006
disturbed?
Monday, March 13, 2006
image: copyright mad malva blue, 2006this creature is entirely of my own creation, including the photos i used! and i am pretty proud of the results. i plan to make this available as a print. comments welcome and appreciated.
12 comments
Sunday, March 12, 2006
nothing ...
Sunday, March 12, 2006
really wants to come out today, in word form. only lines, curves, colours and brush strokes want to come out today. so ... here's a sample: a portrait of my favourite creature on the planet. his pedigree name is "dragonfly lawrence of arabia" and i call him "brownie" ... but his real name is "blazer" - as in chevy blazer,
which i used to drive in my days as 'taxi-mum.'
which i used to drive in my days as 'taxi-mum.'
image: copyright mad malva blue, 2006
8 comments
letter to an estranged friend
that's what i think happened to us, tho ... on deeper reflection, perhaps we never really stood together at all. we have nothing in common. we stand on opposite sides of the street, and we're headed in opposite directions, in life. if not for nursing school, you and i never would have liked each other in any other circumstance.
reflecting back, i am not really sure what made me like you in the first place. i find you quite superficial, shallow and egocentric. we had the profession of nursing, a favourite past-time, and age in common - not exactly grounds for a really deep friendship. and yet, we ran deep for a while. of course, it didn't last.
you think the hardest thing about motherhood is pregnancy, labour and delivery, and view motherhood as a passage-of-right for all women (ie no woman is complete without it). you assume with so much complacence, you will get a child tht is perfect - free from disabling flaws at birth - and that it will be so easy ... that love is enough. somehow superior, you will not meet any of those obstacles and challenges that many parents face.
you measure success and happiness in terms of quantity, stuff, amounts, accumulation of wealth. and ... i do not. and i never have. and i never will. and i, i measure these things in terms of quality. and the ripple effect my existence has made. my remaining son = my ripple. i see myself as successful because he has made it to adulthood in one piece. in one piece, in so many ways that his parents did not. his spirit made in intact. that, i think, makes me successful. even tho my net worth may say otherwise. he who dies with the most toys, still dies. i use this as my mantra.
the greatest worries of your existence, paying off your line of credit and whether or not your dad will pay you back the $50,000 he owes you. and you tell me that you think your sister, recently diagnowsed with MS, has an attitude problem. you just don't understand this -- she should just get a grip and think about how you feel. (oh yeah - it's all about you, isn't it?)
when you tell me these things, i hold my tongue about my own life. i do not tell you, tho i long to, about the long, sleepless nites i spent longing for my son, and others i have lost too soon, the horrors of violent, anguish-filled deaths that i see every time i close my eyes (the sound, smell and sight of a patients bleeding to death thru either or both gastrointestinal orifaces), and the nagging sense of self-doubt that wraps it arms around me, continuously, like a tight corset. i do not tell you that, the more time i spend with you, the deeper my lonliness becomes. i see now, so clearly ... about us. destined for failure, from the start. a solid friendship needs a more stable foundation. and substance -- friendships need substance. and ours had very little.
reflecting back, i am not really sure what made me like you in the first place. i find you quite superficial, shallow and egocentric. we had the profession of nursing, a favourite past-time, and age in common - not exactly grounds for a really deep friendship. and yet, we ran deep for a while. of course, it didn't last.
you think the hardest thing about motherhood is pregnancy, labour and delivery, and view motherhood as a passage-of-right for all women (ie no woman is complete without it). you assume with so much complacence, you will get a child tht is perfect - free from disabling flaws at birth - and that it will be so easy ... that love is enough. somehow superior, you will not meet any of those obstacles and challenges that many parents face.
you measure success and happiness in terms of quantity, stuff, amounts, accumulation of wealth. and ... i do not. and i never have. and i never will. and i, i measure these things in terms of quality. and the ripple effect my existence has made. my remaining son = my ripple. i see myself as successful because he has made it to adulthood in one piece. in one piece, in so many ways that his parents did not. his spirit made in intact. that, i think, makes me successful. even tho my net worth may say otherwise. he who dies with the most toys, still dies. i use this as my mantra.
the greatest worries of your existence, paying off your line of credit and whether or not your dad will pay you back the $50,000 he owes you. and you tell me that you think your sister, recently diagnowsed with MS, has an attitude problem. you just don't understand this -- she should just get a grip and think about how you feel. (oh yeah - it's all about you, isn't it?)
when you tell me these things, i hold my tongue about my own life. i do not tell you, tho i long to, about the long, sleepless nites i spent longing for my son, and others i have lost too soon, the horrors of violent, anguish-filled deaths that i see every time i close my eyes (the sound, smell and sight of a patients bleeding to death thru either or both gastrointestinal orifaces), and the nagging sense of self-doubt that wraps it arms around me, continuously, like a tight corset. i do not tell you that, the more time i spend with you, the deeper my lonliness becomes. i see now, so clearly ... about us. destined for failure, from the start. a solid friendship needs a more stable foundation. and substance -- friendships need substance. and ours had very little.
Tags: estranged, friend, letters, personal 0 comments
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This means challenging my self to compassionate, encouraging, genuine and hostile-free exchanges. It also means contemplating my reaction to the thoughts, feelings and expressions of others, prior to acting upon them. 
