Tag Archives: heart

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

Bedevil


art jenny liz.jpg

It’s your birthday month.  Will someone bring on the Bacardi rum?  I no longer feel the sun since you’ve been gone.

 

I want you to trouble me, puzzle, muscle and rebuttal me.  I want you to disturb me, discern, immerse and return to me.  I want you to haunt me, taunt, flaunt and want me.

 

I think I found love with you.  I spoke to mourning doves about you.  I swear I found a home with you.  I even ask the honeycomb on my altar about you.

 

I think I found wholesomeness with you.  I’ve been at homelessness without you.  I swore I kissed the skies when I was with you.  I even ask my thighs why they cry now that I’m without you.

 

You put a love inside me I can’t get rid of and at times, you were my antidepressant drug, the one I sometimes dream of handcuffed, strangely enough.

 

I’ve been cold since we both disappeared.  I haven’t found my heart in two years.  Won’t you appear with your childlike light in my sullen atmosphere?

 

I had a boyfriend who cared about me but he came with his own limits, his own gimmicks and every minute he’s attempting to disguise low spirits with a million cigarettes.

 

He’s nothing like you and you’re nothing him and that’s just one problem.  You barely came with conditions or superstitious wishes, but you were the warmth and blood to my heart even when it rocked bottom.

 

And I look to the sky and I ask why.  I look far and I look wide and the answers were because I cried honesty rather than decide to spend the night with pride.  You made me work for forgiveness like I was some damn spy.

 

What if I asked you to send for me?  What if I asked for your body?  What if I admitted to my monstrosity?  What if every fear we own were given to prophecy?  Would it change the divinity of possibility?

 

I can’t forget the first glance that cemented our song and dance.  I can’t clean the scent of your home from my hands.  I can’t eradicate the taste of you from my throat glands.

 

What if I still loved you beyond this distance and chip on my shoulder?  How am I to know when my heart froze that last time in October when my entire life as I knew was over?

 

And if I show up at your door, will you come?

 

Trouble me.

Disturb me.

Haunt me.

 

-Pennington

An Open Letter to Indifference


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It took me a good length of time to warm up to your hands and be open to your kiss. I never imagined the day. That one time when we took time off from seeing one another – a month and a half – I had far-reaching sentiments wrapped in a box with ribbons that glowed of reasonable expectations and hopes. I loved you.

And on that altered afternoon when I came to visit, I went with every intention to slowly pull away the gift wrap that was you – emotionally speaking. I fancied to display how much I missed you and your darling face and your scent I consider home. I looked forward to quality time and a world of welcoming love same as usual. And perhaps it was my mistake – expecting you to always be on the identical page as mine? We were disconnected.

And my eyes were wide open to your loud actions and your words failed me because they were of a sexual nature and your hands no longer defaulted to being warm. They were indifferent now. And with an energy of a wolf, you came onto me and unwrapped my clothes with hungry claws leaving me bared for a moment just enough to capture the view of the voluptuous latina you glared as feast.

You walked me to your white door and pinned me against it with heavy aggression and kissed me with the same force with a tiny dollop of love inside your breath. And you groped every part of my meat and ate from it as if you were in a state of panic, of pure desperation, of a teenaged boy whose hormones got the best of him – just like a wolf taking over its prey.

And boy, I wish I left. I wish I could take my heart out my chest and stomp it onto the ground until there wasn’t a beat left – how it hurt like the day I was five years old and my mother first broke my heart with parental neglect. Because between loving you and the three hour trip it took to travel made even my thoughts feel small until they disappeared like smoke, like white lies, like happily ever afters.

And in this instance, you didn’t understand – how my sensible feelings have changed and how they buried themselves in deep despair and how anger created a shift in perspective; how these sentiments were relentless and at the same token – unforgiving. You didn’t realize the crime being committed; the way I was dramatically falling out of love with you; how this time when you cupped my face, kissed me deep and served me pleasure in the bedroom I was gone. I checked out emotionally and felt like freedom contained in the wind.

It was easy to become the watcher and observe from the outside in how you made me feel – like a woman selling herself off Hunts Point Avenue, like friends with lewd benefits. There was a dangerous courage in your behavior because of all the history that came before and will continue after us. I’m in disbelief and I can never feel the same way about us again. However, this has been a long winded way of saying: I’m not a maximus call.

-Pennington

Revolution



Dawn The Great

Missing him when
he’s gone from feet of vision
Endlessly
I think, his thoughts, how’s it be?
Ring on my finger
a venerable object
as to why I leave it on though
I’m not his anymore
Double lives I live
a fraction of a second
of plenty gifts
I sought to give
He showers me
everywhere I go
as I look for
Peace Corps by my door
Umbilical cord
of my heart
O how am I to part?
I’ve ridden you down
to parts of his crown
Is this love
How I defend it over and over again?
Guiding spirits
my invisible friends say
“it’s a revolution!”
Questioning mind of mines
what’s to know
under what exemplary condition?

-Pennington©

Have Some Respect For The Craft Will Ya?



“Is anyone afraid or disheartened?
He should go back to his house,
or he might cause the heart of
his comrades to melt like his own.”
–Unknown

I have a friend who sometimes acts more like an associate depending on the many Subjects of Life.  (Who doesn’t?)  I want to know if anyone of you guys have a friend like this in your life:   The kind, who, in their own way means well on those aspects of life which you two AGREE upon.  But on the same token, their persona gets in the way of what it is you actually live everyday for.  In my case:  Training. 😉

Every once in a while he’ll invite himself (lately) or I invite him (usually says “no” because he’s lazy when it comes to physical labor of any kind.  Probably why he has a desk job?) to the Gym.  Things always start out well.  But he criticizes exercises, programs (like my current one) and even the amount of effort that must be put in to Lifts, at times.  And I can relate to this last thing whereas I’ve done it periodically myself:  He’ll like an exercise up until the point where I have to come over, whisper in his ear so he doesn’t feel embarrassed around others on how his form is off or shy of being completed.

But by far the thing I hate the most (probably because most men I’ve trained with or trained tend to be this way) is when he has to throw his ego into the lifting session by making absolutely sure he’s piling extra weight on the barbell or dumbbells, (even if it’s just 5-10lbs) for the sole purpose of beating me with numbers.

Rather than making this shit about me, I rather it be about the respect for fitness altogether whether it’s the process of a lift or the exercise itself.  Rather than get the basics of the deadlift form or heed my advice on how not to go about hurting himself, all he sees is the amount I’m doing (which isn’t heavy in my book at all: 145lbs) and how he has to go over it!  This has been this way for a fucking decade.

I told myself as long as he doesn’t increase the weight I’ll do him a favor (which isn’t a favor at all, just being spiteful) and let him believe he somewhat can handle the form of Deadlifting.  Second set came and he performed the same numbers.  Third set comes around and he has to stack 20lbs over.  During this time he was being overly confident and decides to ask, “How much you think my Max is?”

I didn’t give him full encouragement of any kind.  I kept it at the 200lb range for someone who prefers mall-walking to going to the gym to grind life and aggression the fuck out.  What he does?  Stacks 2 45lb plates to 3 plates.  With those 6 plates altogether there was no lift off and he could have really injured himself.  I can say I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him on my watch.  But, who am I fooling?  He fucking deserves it with his foolishness.

Ultimately my thing is I would like it very much if he and if anyone one of you know someone who has an aspect of their life they’re completely in love and infatuated with to just respect them and what it is they consider to be a craft from their heart and passion.  Don’t ruin it for them because that’s not what being a friend is about.  Plus it speaks of a character who displays contempt for what the other person does.

It’s hard to find someone who puts forth every bit of their being into something they truly enjoy.  But it’s even harder for the outside person who owns no passion but absolute bitterness to the world outside them and within to watch someone put their passion into their craft.  Of course it’s an envy thing.  How many people do you hear of loving exactly what it is they do in Life?  Not many.

Training is to abide what is true to you/me above all (and many times over anyone).  For a person to disregard a certain type of lifestyle in any form of way becomes an elite asshole for as long as I shall live and beyond.

Simple as that.

-Pennington

Unknowable


I see the stars shining off their own rewards.
I see the glimmers, endless with hope, lost in space.

Within me a hunger grows out of line.
And in my mind, I travel, but, with a different face.

There no longer exists a perfectionist’s heart,
Nor a perpetual run with a disciplinary ancient art.

But a feeling, unknowable, quite like a stranger’s hand.
A devastation, trembles my soul, of a target perhaps missed.

Of a sun wiped away off the surface without a plan.
A clenched fist, I persist, but what if I’m on a waiting list?

-Pennington