Silent Film Life

In sepia toned dreams

you hope and scheme

brown turns to gray

burnt sienna overlay

an exposed brick wall

shadows cast and lights fall

on a gallery display

image of a memory at play

frozen celluloid moment

mental projector jam imminent

jazz horns wail

in this silent-film life

words fail

Copyright 2010, Aura Shannon

A Rap for Lonely Artists

These lights have faded

I'm feeling jaded

back to square one

where I started

before you put stars in my eyes

back on the fringe

and broken-hearted

just another lonely artist

outside and nameless

maybe that's where I always belonged.*

*A note: I usually have an aversion to rhyming.

How Hot Is It?

It's this hot. R.I.P. , some child's lost red crayon. 

If There is Any Justice in This World

If there is any justice this world, the executives and suits that make an insane amount of profit at BP, the safety regulators, and the oil lobbyists would be down in the marshes and on the beaches, knee-deep in that shit and cleaning it up.

It seems pretty simple to me.

What about you?

Why I Woke Up Crying

     I had an awful dream. What makes it more awful is that I didn't wake up and realize that it was just a nightmare. This time, it was still real. Some of the details of the dream are fuzzy, but I think I remember the parts that I do because that's what's important.

     There was some sort of warning about a tidal wave or some sort of surge near Miami, FL. In the current, there were thousands of marine animals, trying desperately to swim away from something, the way that a crowd of people would run away from a collapsing building. As they were attempting escape, many of them were getting caught up in this current.

     Somewhere in this chaos, there was a pod of porpoises. They were growing tired. (You know how it is sometimes when you're omnipotent in dreams? That's how it was in this dream, either I understood what they were communicating to each other, or I knew what they were feeling.) Their eyes were burning and irritated. the inside of their mouths were raw and sore. They got into the oil earlier in the Gulf of Mexico somehow and felt sick and scared. They didn't know what exactly was going on, but the worst part was that even though they didn't understand what was happening, they knew or thought that we had something to do with it. Not in a psychic way, just in a simple way - like the way that your dog knows that you drive a car. I understood this in pictures, as in what they saw. They knew that the oily stuff was used by people in boats and things, but the rest was just confusion and fear and pain.

     When they finally had to start fighting this current that they ran into, they decided to beach themselves. They were literally so sick and tired and scared that they were willing to just give up.

     So here comes the punchline of the dream. This is the shocker. They consciously chose to beach themselves near a populated urban area. They wanted us to see that something was wrong. It wasn't defiance or anger or hate or anything like that.

They just hoped that maybe we could fix this.

Mardi Gras Indians

These photos were taken Mardi Gras Day, February 16th, 2010

Super Sunday, when Mardi Gras Indians from throughout New Orleans meet, is this Sunday, March 28, 2010.

Wanderlust

What would I do

to ease this ache

for this thing that I can't

quite put my finger on

I miss something I'm not sure of

I miss a place I almost was

I miss a life I almost have

in this other almost

in this never again

the sweet dull ache

that grips my chest

and scratches at the door

of my soul

I wander until I find

the place again

like a dog who wanders into the room

and forgot why he is there

is this it?

A Thought: The PeopleThat Surround Us

I've been thinking about changes I've made in my life recently and what a huge difference they have made. I've been thinking about the people I choose to surround myself with, the people I let go, the people I reconnected with, and the new people I have sought out.

Since then, one thing has become very clear to me:

Maybe it's not always about surrounding ourselves with the people who think that we're good enough.

Maybe sometimes life is about surrounding ourselves with the people who see that we can be more.

wandering in the rain

we find ourselves wandering
city streets in the rain
lights sparkling in
droplets of water
breath heavy in the
cold damp mist
the only warmth comes
from between us
in our orbit
as we pass each others space
I see the stars in your eyes
pretending it's just the reflection
of city lights
in droplets of water...
pretending that I don't wonder
when we'll find ourselves wandering
city streets in the rain...

again

Strange Exchanges, No 4

Strange Exchanges, No 4

"Peacocking"

I was on my way to work after an odd little errand I had to run on Gravier Street (but that's another story for another day). As I was walking up one of the side streets toward Poydras, I encountered a man in full punk regalia: a hairstyle that contained both elements of the mo-hawk and a mullet (although not gelled), a wife-beater tank, numerous piercings, skinny jeans, and lots of bright tattoos. Suddenly, he began to speak, much to my surprise, in an Australian accent.

"That's some very bright lipstick you have on there. "

True, I was wearing a bold shade of lipstick, but I found the statement odd considering that everything in his dress was loud and commanding, and comparatively I was dressed in a conservative manner. Not sure of what else to say, I replied, "Um, thanks. Those are some very colorful tattoos you have there. "

Strange Exchanges, No 3

Strange Exchanges, No 3

"The Game"

Overheard downtown: Two men were walking and talking in a busy shopping center. Very loudly, one exclaimed to the other, " How can you watch the game at a strip club?!?!"

Strange Exchanges No 2

Strange Exchanges No 2

"The Pen is Mightier"

Walking in the Garden District on a beautiful, sunny day, I noticed an elderly gentleman trying to cross the street as I was crossing the same street one block up. He was breathing through a tube attached to a device and used a walker to keep his balance as he walked. At first, I was concerned that he was out by himself, because he looked frail. Upon closer inspection, his clothes were all very well-pressed and he was clean and well-groomed. Someone was taking very good care of him, at least.

There is a small park on the neutral ground across the street, and as we approached the area, I heard him shout behind me.

"Miss! Miss! "

Initially, I thought that maybe he was lost or needed help. I turned toward his direction.

" Yes, sir? "

He reached into a belt pack on his hip and produced from it a very nice pen, the kind that people receive in those expensive desk sets that one gives as a gift because they don't know what else to buy someone.

" I want you to have this, " he said.

"Oh, no. Thank you. That's very nice, but I have a pen, " I said.

I could picture him going home to his family or caretaker and relaying this story of giving his pen to a lady on the street. (Surely there's a joke there, somewhere. )

"Oh, but you're very pretty, and I want you to have this. It writes very nicely. "

Now I was slightly embarrassed, and also started looking around to see if someone was keeping an eye on him. Had he wandered away from a nursing home? Was there even a nursing home close by? The closest one I could think of was at least a mile away, if not more. I didn't see anyone around. Finally, I replied to him.

" Thank you. That's very sweet, but I can't take it. You might need to write down something important later. "

"Okay, well you're a very pretty lady and have a very nice day. It's a pretty day to be out for a walk. "

"Yes, it is," I said. "You take care and enjoy your walk, sir. "

At this point, I had to hurry on my way. I was already running late. I just hoped that he wasn't completely confused and made his way back to wherever it was that he belonged. And I hope that he had his pen handy when he had something important to write down later. Or maybe he gave it to another pretty lady.