& it Comes to Be: “Artisans Farm”– Today 2PM-Sundown! NW Corner of 4th Ave. & 4th St. (347 E. 4th St.) Enjoy Local Artisans & Musicians.

Once the sequences align,
Present and Prospected Future, define the infinite balance.

To Imagine:
Unicycling on a tight rope.

Way up,
High on Cloud 9,
Head full of dreams,
& a reality survived.

Continuous…
Cycle–
Action!

Stumble:
Fearing fate.

Idly focused…
The bends don’t break you,
Nor the silence of few–
Balancing, in Greater View.

–Poetically Poised (Jacqueline Mellars Granados Pollard)

A year ago, we stood in this very same position… Oh, but what a dramatic difference.

We’re being threatened with eviction, for the second time this year. Except it hasn’t brought us down. Yes, we are plum out of our minds with the madness of entrepreneurship. Even with the strain of retaining stability for our daughter, we don’t care for the 9-to-5 and a “cup of Joe”. Money is meaningless, and moments are priceless. She sleeps so sound, knowing we’re around.

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Executive Summary.
How does one encompass the entrepreneurial ideas of four years progress…
By knowing that is what will make our break.
Because there is no “or”.
Not in this life we’ve chosen.

Feeling what it is, to chose.
Between life and death, or mere insanity.
Those are the paths that falter.

To flourish!
The path leading on without fear of dieing,
or losing our mind [for it has been lost and found].
Solitude in living life; no dread and depression,
despite what surrounds.

…The strands we build our strength on…

———————————————–

My parents and their purpose in my life.

Always a feasible possibility, that the next time I hear word of either, it will be in notification of their passing. I hold onto that reality, as tight as a hug I hope to have from both.

I have higher hopes for the world as a whole, than them as individuals.

My Mother has gone off without a trace, once more. My door is always opened, but my walls are built blunt.

Father. With the many dreams I’ve had of him, I have recently topped them all…

I am not sure that such a dream needs to be shared. Though, I feel the constant urge to bear a “share-all or nothing” policy. Purely for the cleansing of my own mind, and the opportunity for others to hold a wholesome perspective of me.

… A challenge in the realm of sleep, can be to defend. A punch will often fall short of force, and simply nudge the offender with a smile.

Wouldn’t say I was defending myself in this instance. I was angry with my Father’s heartless half-brained remarks, and distant stare. When someone appears so lifeless, it’s hard to even distinguish if they’re alive.

There’s a part of me, that can see some as a waste of life. Living lifeless; Zombie culture of our present. Those that feed on the rest, for they’re beside themselves with bitterness. It’s a slow and steady deterioration.

Suppose I just wanted to beat it out of him. Force can seem like a remedy; the results are ruthless. Rage may play a role, but my heart isn’t up for the toll.

The brutality of my dreams doesn’t give down-trot to my day, anymore. A message is clear, and I bear no fear.

Most mornings, I wake up to a distinct memory of my dreams.

This morning, I was jolted. I woke myself up, because the alternate-reality I’d ventured to was just not where I wanted to be.

Dreams can be a strong addiction. You always want to know where life is leading you. Where our consciousness lies, the mind wanders into submission to itself.

I have always been strongly in-step with lucidity. One of my most cherished composed poems, comes straight from the mouths of a marching Civil War platoon of corpses. Quite randomly, making their way through the halls of my old middle-school.

Euphoria
21.09.2003

My legion of lonely
Marching way into heart:

“Strike the balance;
Sharpen the blade
…Euphoria, Euphoria.”

Most places are eery, in slumber. Finding myself in wonder of why I am present in such occurrences. The interaction and characteristics I innately want to display, puzzle me. As I am conscious of who I am, and who I am meant to be.

… A world where I am in contact with both my Mother and Father. They are still the same bunch of loons, but they are apart of my life.

Krislynn is around, yet she is in a daycare. Something we’ve never opted towards, not even once. Then forgetting to pick her up, for a second day in-a-row, noticing at 6:07 pm.

At which point I frantically fumble for a phone, and the recollection of a phone number to reach Christopher. Though, I just can not remember for the life of me. OR, so it seems. For every time I complete a dial, I only reach a disconnect tone. Leading toward a thought, that Christopher isn’t even around…

So I just rush for my keys, and out the door. My Mother tries to stop me, in concern for my having her phone number. Completely irrelevant compared to retrieving my daughter. Leaving her behind, and paying not mind, I race on through the car lot. Finding the van has been broken into, doors wide opened. All I can do is panic in place, trying to start the car and pull off before my Mother marches up any closer. I found myself looking in my rear-view mirrors, and having the darnedest time getting my key in gear…

I just decided to jet. I woke up in a snap, stood up from bed, and walked myself out into the living room. Finding Christopher, I was still horribly tired, but wanting nothing to do with sleep.

He was about to retire to bed, having been up all evening. If I had kept to spinning my wheels in dream-land, I may have woken up to a fatal reality. His sugar had plummeted to 56. Sleep may have sent him cold. He was mentioning how it’s odd, “I don’t feel a temperature when I’m like this”. Quite probably, because his body is so close to lifelessness.

I love the life I lead. With a wonderful man, who I can enjoy everyday. A cutie goose of a daughter, who we never have to send away.

Even still, on a day such as today, I do stress. For our rent is accounted for, but not nearly payed. Our bills are past due, and we’re clenching our jaws for a few more days leave. For this, we are obviously in debt. So when my menstruation cycle gives a warm welcome; I have no way of obtaining luxurious feminine hygiene products.

It all boils, and I start bubbling lava. That is how I initially work, these days. My mind is molten; no fluidity.

What gets me through the turbulence in sleep: my consistent breathing, bringing harmony and rhythm to the offbeat thoughts that sway my mind.

Enduring stress is much less, than calming stress. When I want to blow my top off, I know my only need is to succeed. How corny that may sound. The dreams I deal in daytime, are wishes I weave for the winning: worth the waking.