Category Archives: Writing

See How That Works


It’s easy to put someone on a pedestal when I know nothing about them.
I imagine all these renowned blends of hot weekends and being the best of friends.
  

I like you because I know nothing of you.
I like you because in the moment I’m willing to play a fool.


I like you because I’m not emotionally invested.
I like you because I’m restless and totally tempted.


But once I get to know you I start looking for a way out.
I turn my back on you like I would any boy scout.


I start to zero in on excuses that creep in my head.
I auto-suggest and suggest until you’re unwise and dead.


I doubletalk yet act as if all my intentions are good.
I ask the lord to forgive me because I’m often misunderstood.
 
I start to pick on your flaws like a bad student.
I will say you need improvement until you lose it.


I will even make you rethink your favorite drink.
While I run hot and cold like an ambiguous sink.


And the thing is, there’s a big dark sea –
How in tarnishing the image of you, I tarnished the image you once had of me.


-Pennington

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The Vanishing


I haven’t been in the best state of mind.  Lately, I’ve been trying to adopt different approaches such as talking gentler to myself.  My therapist says, “Try coddling yourself as you would do a young child that you actually like.”

I’m up with the moon throughout the month and down in the soil all the other times.  Occasionally, I wake up passive and on other days I wake up aggressive as fuck.  I’ve come to terms with my mood disorder.  It’s behavioral, it’s learned, it runs in the family.  A few years ago, I’ve become aware of many effects and suspected my actions may or may not have been completely me.  Things have gotten to the point where even the most basic functions of existence do not seem basic anymore.

I lost who I was.  I think this is the way it goes, right?  Aging.  I’m not sure who I am anymore, aside from a maturing woman who’s both lovely and extreme.  I must admit loudly how I’ve been working on how to manage my mood swings for years and for a good part of my life, exercise and writing have kept a slight handle on the swings, but every day the things that used to work then haven’t been working now.  I’m puzzled.

So, I’m older and in some ways, I absolutely adore it and in other ways, I don’t think I enjoy it because the short-term memory keeps failing me.  It dissolves.  I think because there’s something in the water, something in the air, you know, there are things in our food we can’t pronounce, and that shit doesn’t allow our minds, bodies or spirit to function at an elevated level.  It’s like people hit a certain age and they flatline.  I feel there’s so much working against me in general, and this goes back to how I’m not in the best state of mind.

Over the years my discipline and motivation have taken a dive, so much so, it frightens me.  There are plenty of details in between, some you guys know and others I won’t bother getting into at this time.  Still, I’ve been trying to find my new normal concerning everyday life.  I’m going back to the basics on everything and am currently on a search to reestablish some things I used to love about myself, that now feels like the vanishing of a short-term memory.

I feel like there’s a sport psychology book calling my name out there somewhere.

-Pennington

Aging


aging-semmick-photo

There’s something to be said about aging and how it sneaks up on you like sweet tasting wine right before you’re smashed drunk.  There’s something to be said about becoming softer as one gets older in the center of the heart and in the marrow of bone. There’s something to be said about elasticity having its own state of mind and temperament time. There’s something to be said about sitting down profoundly alone and analyzing every choice and decision from the past to the present. There’s something to be said about the longer your life extends, the more regrets seem to surface without warning.

There’s something to be said about noticing the daily judgements and having to unlearn the customary act of judging simply to judge. There’s something to be said about wanting to pass wisdom down to youth or to anyone who may listen, but holding my tongue may be the purest wisdom and there’s something to be said about that too.  There’s something to be said about ending memories being the most significant and the beginning the least important.  There’s something to be said about annoyances by a person and how when that person is gone, suddenly those same annoyances you miss.

-Pennington

Sharp


1

I let my nails grow.
I paint them with the pixie dust that fall from the fairies in my backyard.
I want to speak, but I learned a few things.
If I’m silent like a mouse, my hearing becomes sharper
And I’ll learn better than the mouth who hunts
all at once.

I let my grays grow.
I allow them their passage within my black strands like ornamental streamers
For they retell the wisdom that teaches how darkness beds with the light.
Do you like absence?
It’s where we find ourselves, stark and naked
built like the sacred nature of trees.

The world is beautiful,
but they didn’t tell you this because they wanted to ruin it for you too.
The black magic of which we fight against.
A mashed-up world of thoughts and identities hide in the crisis
Of the bloodstream from all the things you were told, you believed you were not.

How can I tell you the world is beautiful?
We learn to appreciate it late.  The wind, water, the rocks,
And the soil are boundless in a way where we can’t measure on earth
’til we leave this place.  But, until then, let’s love the world today.

-Pennington

Comedown


flower

i don’t pay attention to the weather forecast
for its broadcast with the same gas I pass from my ass
on a perilous day my awareness grew vast
like dead hands of the past
immeasurable as the ethereal dimension
i can feel its attendance traveling on my skin
directing connection perplexing affection
i can feel the invisible ones watching on
in the shadows of dawn

and when I wake from a slumber grave
and when I lay to sleep off consciousness
i can feel the various factors of providence
i can feel the different ghosts from every consequence of yesterday
i can feel the young man’s murder on Sixth Street
when I heard the gunshots that night
and how I read about his death from a corner away
from where it happened with lack of astonishment
and yes, he may be gone in a physical sense
but he’s not forgotten
i can smell the hot blood of the junkie
the authorities in blue left on my doorstep
and I’ve never felt so powerless;
veracity can be so flowerless

i’m close
i can feel the edges of supernatural empowerment
aerial contact prose
i can feel the rush of the present
a spiritual meadow under my perceptive nose
a subtle pulse of anything goes
echoes of unapproachable distance
feelings of insurmountable brilliance
i undergo glimpses and experiences of a concluding death
i hope won’t arrive catastrophic
and it makes me cold
there’s a blinding light bulb out in the crossroads
it shines and speaks of all the lives I owe
how time is loan
and I must return to where it’s infinite on each of its matchless codes
revisiting a question mark, a veil I failed to recall

-Pennington

Subsequent To


art Shang Chengxiang

1.

I’m not interested in teaching ways to love or even how to think it up.

2.

I can’t teach you about sacrifice or about how many times we die in this life while we’re alive raging in this deteriorating flesh.

3.

I want the unreasonable and clever aspects of existence to clinch among the goodness and omitted parts of one another.  I want for them to discover the undiscovered.

I want to be taught and be on the receiving end of the million and one things I don’t know like why roses guard themselves by using thorns or why immortality comes on slow but heavy with disdain.

4.

I won’t allow others to share my prayer rug with me if I love in greater ways than them for I would be unfulfilled at an uneven heel feeling the disgust of unjust.

5.

I don’t want to feel less is more when it’s impossible for me to give in smaller amounts as I evolve.

-Pennington

On Writing


Before the love of writing started I began with reading lots and lots of books – all kinds really.  Then for a few years came book reports.  I enjoyed breaking down a story as well as making drawings for the report cover, particularly as a way to stand out from the rest of the classmates.  After book reports I started to write around the age of 9.

I wrote short stories back then, mostly horror because my family was big on watching horror films and I needed an outlet for my reoccurring nightmares.  So I wrote and wrote and each time I felt my heart become more and more alive.  I remember I enjoyed writing not just because I felt full of life, but because all my teachers said I was good at it.  And whenever someone gave me constructive criticism I was determined to get better.  Eventually I won a writing medal at elementary school because of that attitude.

In Junior High I would go on to write graded screenplays for the entire class to act out on.  By seventh grade I turned my attention to deeper writing like journaling and confessional poetry and during this time short stories were put on hold (and for the most part still is) as my writing began to take on a form of therapy.  With being a loner and feeling like an outcast from family and school, I learned to create friendships with my writing.  Then in later years, I learned about blogging.

So, even though I wouldn’t change a thing, it wasn’t until very recent that I realized I tend to write predominantly when I’m feeling glum (manic), bitter, displeased, enraged or dispirited.  Then of course there are the feelings of when I’m hyped, full of mania (highs) and excitability with huge shots of adrenaline when I train before, during or after.  Once in a blue I write when I’m happy, obsessive or in love too, but my heart lies with writing sorrow first.  So what’s the dilemma?

One dilemma is I believe I’ve limited myself to writing with and/or about certain emotions, so when I’m actually happy I find it difficult to write or get inspired to write.

During the time I was on a mood-stabilizing pill I stopped writing for 3 months completely (which is absurd), not just because it changed my persona to a degree, but because I had less bipolar episodes, less sadness, less excitability, less highs and lows.  I was somewhere in the middle, but not quite.  I wasn’t necessarily happy, but wasn’t necessarily sad.  Maybe neutral? But it made it difficult to find any drive to write.  Now, I’m trying to come up with solutions and creative ways to write about anything and everything to push myself over the boundaries I’ve created.

The second dilemma aside from finding inspiration through negative tone emotions is I started working on a book (a novel).  But, the problem for me is I stopped writing short stories decades ago, so I doubt my abilities since I’ve been out of practice.  Writing in narrative, I find to be more difficult than say, writing a poem, prose or a blog.  This is another challenge I’ve been trying to work on AND I’m open to suggestions from anyone who is kind enough to share.

Thanks for reading.

-Pennington

Other Entries


Hello.

These are some of the latest entries I’ve written on the other half of my blog.  One is pretty new and two are older work.  I keep thinking I can’t move forward until I feel in some way I can move in a chronological fashion because this is the way I’ve always worked when it comes to blogging and writing in general.  But now I’m up in the air, trying to remain open.

I apologize to everyone who comes over to check up on things around here.  I’m sorry for disappearing.  I’d be lying if I say I don’t write every day because I do and that I haven’t created new blogs because I have (they’re not fitness related).  All in all I’m going to do my best to come over here and create newer entries even if it means I have to go backwards and post the past first.

I believe, over the course of time, I’ve gotten used to hiding.  Hiding from everyone and everything in the world.  Isolation has made me a private person.  This is something I’ve been struggling with lately.  How much should I share on my newer blogs?  I don’t know.  I always write from the heart because really that’s all I know how to do.  So, here are a few pieces of me for you to click on.  Hope you enjoy.

1. Crossfit Weekend

2. The Reminder

3. Open Canvas 2

Thanks for reading!

-Pennington

hiding


art-crespella
I’ve been trying to get out.
I’ve been trying to unearth the right time.
I’ve been talking to dead fish by the river.
I’ve been talking to the celestial body, reigning orb of night.
I’ve been trading places with shadows.
I’ve been in hiding.

I’ve been throwing things out.
I’ve been investigating my patience.
I’ve been talking to ducks by the Brooklyn bridge.
I’ve been talking to the brightest star, singeing god of land.
I’ve been trading in shades of light.
I’ve been in hiding.

-Pennington

Mother


destroying_mother_nature_by_williamorihama-d7ag83t

The fable of the world doesn’t exist.
Ask the hologram of his kiss.
The dreams we dreamt evaporated.
Ask the schemes of the advocated.
The blindfold is fool’s gold.
Ask time; it never grows old.

And although nothing can stay
I wish you were here today.

The moment arrives and befalls.
Like the highs and lows of cholesterol.
The things I wish for are transient.
Like the ambiance of accidents.
The faith in my chest is insoluble.
Like consolation in the uncontrollable.

And although nothing can stay
I wish you were here today.

The memories spin on its own axis.
And feelings give way to its blackness.
The wind whispers your sweet name.
And I’m allowed to say hi without blame.
The seasons change vast and fluid.
And warm and cold weather are reputed.

And although nothing can stay
I wish you were here today.

-Pennington