Aug. 13th, 2008 09:20 pm
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My sister’s beeswax hair is everywhere now
it bounces and sings
in the spun color of memory
on the lemonade bedspread
a blur of dandelion crowns
and butterfly bonnets

It twirls and curls
on the sun-soaked porch
in the cream corn linen
in the isotopes of hope cake
where tiger-lily tabbies make biscuits
     til the spontaneous day breaks

It dances with fairies in the saffron wind
in the clatter of white rain
in the sleepy spoon swimming pool
in the harmony of yew wood
under the West Main Street sycamore trees
and helicopter promise seeds
     glittering in the sun

For Bobby

Dec. 7th, 2007 10:19 pm
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Dear Bobby,

Tonight I went to Barnes & Noble to pick out a few books to mail to you for Christmas. It was hard to choose because you just turned four last month and I haven't seen you since your first Mother died. I don't know what books you already have, but I assume you have some because I know your Dad likes to read books.

I browsed the picture book section and bought you some books that Karma and I had when we were kids: Harry the Dirty Dog***Lyle, Lyle, Crocodile***The Fire Cat and a book of poetry by Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends.

Looking at all the children's picture books sunk my heart into murky water where memories of your Mother lay and the reality of her departure from this world and what she had to leave behind: you, her beloved son and the rest of us who loved her so much.

There seemed to be so much symbolism in the titles of books on these shelves, books about things she loved when she was alive: horses, unicorns, rabbits. I pulled a book about horses off the shelf and looked at the pages, wondering if she is riding horses in another world with your brother Brandon, your uncle Bobby and your Grandma and Grandpa Jones. Or maybe they're riding unicorns, who knows? Or giant velvetine rabbits.

I got you these books because they are familiar to me and they live somewhere in my soul and in Karma's soul, too.
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I dreamt it was 1991. She was still alive. We could still take guitar lessons in the spring, learn how to harmonize like the Indigo Girls. I'd beg her not to go to Texas. We'd drive to Alaska in my Ford Escort, end up working at a resort for minimum wage. Exhausted in the evenings, we'd put down our cigarettes and pluck out teenage dirges. (I wouldn't make fun of her poetry this time). We'd sing Harry Chapin songs and Simon and Garfunkle songs. We'd write goofy songs about a yellow tabby with a million nicknames, songs about rocks we found along rivers in Missouri, songs about the stormy Indiana summer nights, how we ran barefoot in the downpour, the pavement still holding the heat from the day, how we skipped and twirled on the soft, wet grass between the Esplanades, the sky cracking open above us.
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I love John Lennon as much as the next guy but the song "Imagine" has always bothered me.

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try

I imagined there was no heaven once, gathered all my strength and imagined that this life is all there is.

above us only sky

I imagined this not just for an hour or a day, but every waking moment for several years. Initially it was liberating, but that sensation didn't last long. An all-consuming emptiness set in and I began to obsess over the implications of such an existence. In short, I went quite mad. I came to the same conclusion this Russian Orthodox monk did who wrote:

"If man is to end in nothingness, then in the deepest sense it does not matter what he does in this life, for nothing he may do is of any ultimate consequence, and all talk of 'living life to the full' is empty and vain. It is absolutely true that if there is no immortality, the world is absurd and 'everything is permitted'--which is to say, nothing is worth doing, the dust of death smothers every joy and prevents even tears, which would be futile...Nothing in this world --not love, not goodness, not sanctity, --is of any value, or indeed even has any meaning if man does not survive death."

I ain't no day tripper, but I changed my mind. I'm a dreamer, a believer and a lover of peace. I get high with a little help from my friends and I imagine heaven.
Humbolt Redwoods State Park
I also like to imagine that this ball of blue light is my sister Karma, visiting my parents and I in the Humboldt Redwoods State Park. I always used to call her "the blue thing" because her eyes were blue and also because of a They Might Be Giants song.
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At my sister's funeral, my father got up and spoke briefly to all who had gathered. He said that he had lost his daughter 10 years ago when she moved to Texas (and married a Texan). Someone shouted out, "You didn't lose a daughter, you gained a son!" My dad also said that his biggest fear when his daughter moved to Texas was that she would vote for George Bush. Five days later my brother-in-law told me that he had shouted out in reply, "She already did!"

At the time, angels prevented me for hearing such a thing....

My dad has a burning dislike for Dubya and his policies. This is an understatement. At my sister's viewing, my dad stood over my sister's dead body, a body which also held a dead baby and when he tore himself away from the coffin, he said to me with tears streaming down his face, "I feel so sorry for the people of Iraq."

He's burying his daughter and his grandson and he thinks of the people in Iraq who are also mourning the loss of their loved ones. And he loves someone who voted for George Bush. He loves someone who was raised by him, to think for herself, to love the earth above all, someone who, at the age of 31 and eight months pregnant with her first child, voted for Bush.

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My sister, [livejournal.com profile] karmajones, who lived in Houston, died suddenly on Saturday June 4, 2005 from an infection in her intestines that went unnoticed long enough for her to go into septic shock.

She was 32 years old and 7 months pregnant. Her unborn son, Brandon Paul Jones, died with her. She leaves behind her husband Bill of 11 years and their 19 month old son, Bobby.
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Be verry quiet, I'm hunting wabbits
This is the butt-nugget with whom I am competing for my sister's attention. Please note the Michelin man tire legs which I hope he retains FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE! Oh, he may look innocent, but he's guilty as sin! Guilty of tearing me and my sister apart! Guilty of depriving the world of the much needed comic relief that was formerly supplied by his mother via phone calls to me and updates in her livejournal. And he's also guilty of stealing my rightful spot as the center of the universe.

Okay, enough of that Shiite Muslim...on to other news.

What I really want to say is ***HAPPY BIRTHDAY*** to my mother, who was born on Friday, the 13th of August in like 1943 or thereabouts. Everyday when she goes to work, the first thing she does is check my livejournal to see if I've written anything. Then, and only then, does she check my sister's husband's website to see if he's posted any new pictures of the butt-nugget. So at least one person in this family has their priorities straight!--first ME, then Bobby. It's only fair since I was here first! So get in line, BAH-BEE!

Now, I don't want to gloss over the fact that my mom was born on Friday the 13th. In fact, I'd like to discuss an interesting pattern that appears to be developing in my family's history, a little pattern that from henceforth I shall refer to as "The Family Curse."

I'm not sure how far this goes back but to my knowledge, crazy, wacked-out things have happened on certain family member's birthdays.

For example, my mom was born on Friday the 13th and everybody knows that psycho serial killers like to wear hockey masks and murder teenagers on this day.

Then, there's my other sister, Cathy, who was born on July 20, 1964. Not a big deal. Not a big deal that is until her 5th birthday came along and we landed on the moon! Nobody cared that day that it was her birthday, as everyone was glued to their respective televisions, watching the news unfold.

Then, my sister Cathy had her first baby, on SEPT. 11, 1991, and nobody gave a rat's ass about his 10th birthday, I can tell you that much right now.

So, are you seeing the pattern here? I predict that on butt-nugget's 15th birthday some serious shit is going to go down. Possibly the discovery of life on other planets. Possibly another 9/11. We'll just have to wait and see. But remember this day folks, Nov. 5, 2018.....
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My sister, [livejournal.com profile] karmajones is a beotch and I'll tell you why.

She is the most hilarious person on the face of the planet and yet she refuses to update her livejournal on a regular basis, depriving me and millions of others of much needed comic relief.

I'll give you a few examples of why she's so funny after I bitch about her briefly.

Okay. She up and moved to Texas several years ago and had the nerve to marry some Texas guy which severely decreased her chances of ever escaping from that horrid state.

I was able to deal with that by getting my fill of her over the phone, but then she had to go off and have a BABY of all things so now when we talk she's always like, "Oh, hang on a second, Bobby's trying to eat dog food", or "Can I call you right back, Bobby's about to drink some Drano", or "I can't talk right now, Bobby just pulled a turd out of his diaper and now he's wiping it on the walls."

So now I have to share her with some little white-haired, chunky monkey, butt-nugget who poops and blows raspberries all day!

The last time I was on the phone with her I was trying to tell her about how my life is really crappy and depressing right now and she all of a sudden bursts out laughing, and I'm like, "HELLO?!? I just said I want to crawl into a hole and die and you burst out laughing?" And she's like, "Oh, sorry, Bobby just did the cutest thing, he..." [blah, blah, blah, I don't know what he did]. But then she's like, "Okay, what were you saying about wanting to die?" And I go on, "Everything sucks right now because... *and she bursts out laughing again*!!!! So I'm like, "HELLO!" And she says, "Oh, man, Bobby just tried to eat the cat, ha ha ha blah blah blah.."

So I say, "Call me back when Bobby gets his own damn apartment!!!!" CLICK!

to be continued.....
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OK, I don't know HOW my little sister lands these jobs where she makes like three times as much money as I do.

First of all she more often than not smells like urine, sour milk and butt worm medicine. She once wore a TRASH BAG as a Halloween costume and she never flushes the toilet because "the ghosts will suck her in." She screams bloody murder if you stab one of her dolls in the butt with a butcher knife and she goes crying to her mommy if you give her a bloody nose or try to tell her that unicorns aren't real!

She sits frog-legged three inches from the T.V. watching "Fraggle Rock" (which everyone knows is for people who like the smell of poop). Her socks never match and she has a wart on her toe. She once ate a whole bag of potato chips and barfed on her mother!!

She tried to BREAST FEED kittens from her own 7 year old nipples. She crapped her pants during a bike ride in the park, vandalized a construction site, and got busted for stealing eye shadow from a grocery store. She also has been seen on NUMEROUS occasions eating her own boogers!!!!

She used to tell lies about how she supposedly lost her virginity to a greasy clerk in a gas station bathroom of all places!!! (as if this story would impress people!) And she used to give herself hickeys with the vacuum cleaner so the slutty chicks at school would think she was cool!!! She once told me that NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK were better than the Beatles!!! For this offense alone she should NEVER be allowed to make more than $5.25 per hour!!


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