Full Circle

A bit of autobiographical prose I wrote in an English class I took (and failed) in Spring.




Full Circle


I remember being small. At one time, I was thin, long-limbed, and flexible. I was both frail and strong. My strength came from knowing how to maneuver around an opposing force. But if I couldn't avoid something, it would usually knock me down.


My family made light of my thinness, or perhaps it really concerned them. I remember my grandmother always trying to make me eat, and complaining that I was too picky about food. Really, I'm surprised all the hearty German home-cooking she provided didn't put any weight on me.


But I did wish to be sturdier, stronger, able to stand up to opposition and not get knocked down. My mother and grandmother are sturdy. It shouldn't surprise me that I've begun to look like them. But it's made me realize that ultimately their kind of sturdiness can be detrimental. Ailments caused by decades spent under the burden of their own strength have become more evident lately. And they've become evident in me. Eventually, I'll have come full circle. Frailty leads to strength leads to frailty. Over and over.


—Adrienne McKay 2010

Old Thoughts New

Try to imagine this with a steady, melancholic melody to it. It might help to listen to Black Star by Radiohead beforehand, as that's what I was listening to just before I wrote this. Without the tune, it'll probably just seem goofy/rhymy.




Old Thoughts New


I'm too afraid of death to keep on living
And I'm too afraid of life to tell the truth
I'm too afraid of lies to try forgiving
And I'm too afraid of age to keep my youth


Already I'm too old for this
And too young to feel like that
It's too bright in this abyss
And too dark to shine a light at


It hurts too much to see you
But I'm praying for the pain
And all these thoughts feel brand new
But they're only just the same


—Adrienne McKay 2010

Night Musings

Sorry for the lack of words. Here's a spontaneously psychotic bit of blather (alliteration is fun).




Night Musings


Beyond these windows and walls
The chaos of worlds harmonizes
With the symphony of trains flying through the air
Outside, a war is waged by boys
And boys of men who sit immobile
Only their voices charging the enemy
Ghosts of the victims of self-inflicted violence
Take shelter with me
In my dreams I rush to meet them
Desperate for their false touch
And their silent forgiveness


—Adrienne McKay 2010

Hey Look

Nothing new for today, sorry. But if I may, I'd like to turn your attention to my new, non-poetry blog, The Other Side. It's just a regular blog full of my obscene thoughts (hence the mature content warning you'll find when you go there). If you're really squeamish about language, I suggest you don't read the entry entitled Pink Is Not My Color. Otherwise, enjoy.

Sleep Talker

Just another bit of a fragment.



Sleep Talker


No words can convey my sorrow
No emotion befit these ragged days
When sleeping on a bus is the only way
To guarantee I won't sleep alone
When the perpetual amber twilight
And the whisper of the populous
Are my greatest comforts
When endless nights of seclusion
Cause dreams of nihilistic narcissism
And somniloquence knows no bounds


—Adrienne McKay 2010

The Cream-Colored Cat

A new piece with not much explanation. The photo is of my cat Buu (who lives with my parents). She's not the cat in question.

The Cream-Colored Cat

The cream-colored cat resides with me

Like the asterisk at the end of the sentence that defines me

Appearing from the shadowed corner of an empty room

Staring at me with lily eyes

I ask her the questions I’m too scared to ask myself

When will my soul return?

Will I sleep tonight with this hole in my chest?

She abides my derangement

Silently nagging me with her piceous cry

Telling me I am weak

Worthy of nothing more than the subtle mockery

Only she can convey

She ties the cord around my neck while I sleep

So that the screams from my nightmares don’t disturb

Her midnight prowls

And if, when I awake, I’m still alone

I know I’ll see her there

Defying my existence

—Adrienne McKay 2010

Untitled

Just posting so this blog doesn't die. I haven't been able to write much lately. There's too much going on (in my head) to really focus my words. I'm in more of a visual art mood these days. Here's an untitled fragment I wrote while staying at my parents' house. It's another one of those wannabe-song poems, so it rhymes. I feel awkward writing in rhyme. I'm more likely to say something that rhymes than to write it. But it's all I've written in the last two weeks.


Swallowing pieces of pain to forget
Making confessions I always regret
Seeing the sunlight and wishing for rain
Trying to lose you then find you again
Asking for freedom from being alone
Hoping to lose myself on my way home
I see in the mirror I'm no longer sane
All as I swallow, swallow the pain


—Adrienne McKay 2010

Update

Sorry for the lack of poetic non-poetry the last few days. I'm in a bit of a verbal rut, with too much on my mind to focus any of it into a creative form. So anyway, I'll just post a bit of news.

Tomorrow I'm taking a road trip with my best friend Victor down to our home town to visit out respective families. I'll be down there at least until the 20th (figured it would be nice to actually see my dad on Father's Day). I'll be running around quite a bit for the whole week, visiting some of my seldom-seen friends, spending the 16th with one of my other best friends, Eman, for his birthday, going to the dentist for the first time in over a year (oh shit help me), and finally getting my hair cut (I look like a palm tree).

In short, it's unlikely I'll be posting anything for the next week or so. But then again, I might be so homesick and missing my roommate/other best friend Crestal (I have four best friends, btw), that lightening may strike. Who knows.

Anyway, after I get back, I've got about a month before I have to move out of my apartment. Victor and I and another of his friends are getting an apartment together in Oakland. I'll be sad to leave San Francisco, but it's a step in completing my dream to live with all four of my best friends at some point in my life. And besides, Oakland is a much cheaper place to live than the city, and it's a veritable housing goldmine at the moment. We haven't picked a place yet, but that will be the easy part. The hard part will be timing everything right, so I'm not homeless between places. The homelessness itself doesn't bother me (I have places I could stay), but I do need a place for my stuff... sooooo...

Anyway, I've bored you enough.

Substance

Wrote this last night while marveling at my not-quite-addictions. Not my best work, so I would appreciate some technical critiques.

Substance

Trying to balance the turmoil

Only substance can save me

One to soothe the raucous fears

Another to extract me from sorrow

The only medication

For my tattered self

The calm, the thrill

Each is bitter, mask it with sweetness

Forget that it’s a sickness

My body’s protests are muffled by my weary brain

Forgetting to warn me that pain is bad

Do not touch the hot stove

Do not slide my finger down the cold edge

Do not examine the precipice

Everything is dangerous

In the end, what will it be

That gets me?

—Adrienne McKay 2010

Birth

Here's a fresh poem, something I wrote just a few minutes ago. I drew inspiration from a Star+Gate reading (it's a little like Tarot) I did at a friend's house last weekend. I found it rather insightful. In this poem I used the images in my "where you came from" section: the egg, the harp, and the star of reaching.

Birth

An egg lies beneath a barren sky

A silvery presence in the night

A pearl, and at its center a grain of life withheld

Like a seed beneath the soil

Unknowing, and unbeknownst

Sheltered from the cruel and mirthless world of night

Silence envelopes it, waiting to be broken

Suddenly, a single star breathes light into the sky

The silence and the shell are splintered

And the egg overflows with life

As the star emerges, so does the creature

The star takes the shape of a hand

And in the hand of the creature, a harp

Music quivers in the frozen air

And there, beneath the star of reaching

With my gift already in hand

I am born

—Adrienne McKay 2010

Sick

If none of my other poems have made you sad, this one might do it. There's a bit of a story that goes with this poem. One night, I was talking with one of my best friends about my worsening depression. I hadn't really been able to talk about it before, and I was so caught up in what I was feeling, I wound up saying something that hurt her. If I hadn't been so focused on my own pain I would have known better, but as it was I didn't even realize what I'd said until it was too late. That night, I hardly got any sleep, because I was crying too hard over what I'd done. The next day, no longer feeling sorry for myself, instead feeling sick of myself, I wrote this.

Sick

A wall of clouds approaches
Animals flee before the blackness it brings, yet I stand in a stupor
Overwhelmed by these sun-blotting behemoths, I see what they are
They’re the collection of my grief, making me ignorant of the sky
I’m shooting blindly in the fog
Crying like a lost child when my shot finds an unseen target
And like a lost child, I still believe myself the victim
I am sickened
Guilt and disgust are two fangs in the mouth of the serpent
Whose coils envelop me as I am devoured
And its venom steals what little strength I had
Yet my tears lend strength to the clouds
My voice shakes the distant hills
Shakes the breath from my body
Unearths the creatures we forget exist
They writhe at my feet, blinded eyes staring
My own stare back, and though I cannot see them
I am sickened
Their stench drives upward, intensifying the black walls surrounding me
Alienated, lost, suffering
Always at my own hand
Crying forgotten words to the heedless creatures and the unforgiving clouds
Tilting into madness, still shooting, still creating victims
Still unable to see them
I am sickened

—Adrienne McKay 2010

This Train

A sad and lonely love poem (most of my love poems are like that) I wrote in February of this year (nothing to do with Valentine's Day, I swear). I wrote it with a rhythm and repeating phrases, almost like it was a song, but the melody, or lack thereof, is completely up to the reader.

This Train

I’ve been ringing the bell on this train
The light rail of my heavy heart
The subway running where no one can see
But how could you not feel the rumbling when it goes by?
The whistle shouts “Get off the track”
Or you could just get on board
This train, it stops at every station
And sometimes it waits for you
But if you’re slow, you’ll miss it
It can’t wait forever
I’ve got to keep moving on
Stations come and go
This train stops at every one
Hoping you’ll be there
The lights stare through the tunnel
Perilously searching
For what the conductor can’t see
This train, it breaks out of the dark
And it would shine in the sun
But it’s been long neglected
It’s better off in darkness
I’ve got to keep moving on
There’s a place where the track ends
Turning back on itself
At the last stop the train is abandoned
Passengers flee to the rest of their lives
The end of the line is the scariest place I’ve ever been
What happens if the train never comes back?
This train, it may break down
And it has from time to time
But do you ever notice?
It won’t inconvenience you
I can’t keep going on

—Adrienne McKay 2010

Atlas

A short poem I wrote earlier this year in the midst of introverted contemplation. It's less of a poem and more of a confession.

Atlas

Sometimes I use the world around me
to distract myself from the world within me
And sometimes I use the world within me
to distract myself from the world around me
My life is spent keeping these distractions balanced
determining which world is the lesser threat to my sanity
and outfitting it for my comfort
This, in itself, is no small task
I like to consider myself a master
in the art of balancing worlds

—Adrienne McKay 2010

River

In honor of the birthday of my favorite actor ever (ever ever ever), Rene Auberjonois, here is a prose piece I wrote last year, inspired by and based on my two favorite characters from DS9, Odo (played by Rene) and Kira (played by Nana Visitor). It's a paradoxically vague yet detailed single-scene short story. I mainly wrote it as a way to practice descriptive imagery. But you can think of it as fanfic if you want.

River

In the dim light of their shared quarters, she drew towards him. His eyes were warm blue beacons, inviting like a clear midday sky beyond a window, when all she'd seen out her window in nearly seven years had been the startling, star-littered blackness of space.

Staring at her with those distant sky-colored eyes, he seemed to absorb what he saw; her naked form, soft, yet infinitely strong, her wide brown eyes, whose depths, wreathed in long lashes, were hidden from everyone... everyone but him.

Her body was inches away from his, and they could feel the sparks shoot between them, like powerful magnets of opposite poles that could never be separated once they were together. Slowly, as if with great care, he brought his hands up to her shoulders in a familiar way, cupping his wide palms around the domes and letting his fingers rest on the long, taught muscles suspended between her neck and the bones of her shoulders.

Her face turned up towards his, and the shadows danced across the delicate ridges on her nose. She noted the impossible brightness of his deep set eyes, surrounded by shadows, and the perfect angles of his nose and jaw.

She was about to lift her arms to embrace him, to finally press her body against his, but a movement from him made her pause. With a slowness that was nearly painful, he moved his face toward her, but instead of a familiar kiss on the mouth, his attention was on the narrow tendons and smooth skin of her neck. Realizing this, she lifted her proud chin to give him access, and closed her eyes, focusing on her sense of touch in anticipation.

The lingering milliseconds seemed like hours to her as she waited in darkness. Shivering slightly, she could feel her nerve endings reaching through her skin, blindly seeking the warmth of his lips. When she thought she could wait no longer, she felt it, and sensation exploded in her skin. With a sharp inhalation, she drew her head back even farther. He could feel the muscles tense and pull backward, but his hands stayed with her, gentle but strong.

His lips slid with the ease of liquid to the front of her neck, moving across the solid arch of her throat. She had been holding her breath, her eyes squeezed shut, but now she released it in a long, shuddering sigh, and suddenly they were together.

Her lips found the sloping junction of his neck and shoulder, and she moved across it with desperate hunger, using lips, teeth, tongue, seeking him, and knowing him for what he was: like a wide river, smooth and calm on the surface, but boiling with unimaginable strength and turbulence beneath.

—Adrienne McKay 2009

Cold July

A surprisingly unhappy poem I wrote last summer when I was surprisingly happy, shortly after I moved to SF.

Cold July

Fog trundles in all around
Closely packed buildings
Like cattle in a feed lot
Roosted on humpbacked hills
Disappear in the cloud
A ribbon of blue is visible
Due west, thinly veiled
Watch as it vanishes
The air weeps with gray
Like and infected wound
Swollen beyond recognition
Seagulls lunge in and out
Like the flies in this apartment
The swarms in the basement
I haven't seen the sun in days

—Adrienne McKay 2009

The Ocean and The Moon

A love poem/prose piece I wrote in 2008.

The Ocean and The Moon

The Ocean and the Moon
are very old friends
And they haven't seen each other
for a long time
Each misses the other dearly
For so near to her heart,
is the Moon to the Ocean,
that she reflects her more brightly
than any other can
And so dear is the Ocean
to the Moon
she'll never stray out of sight of her friend
Each pulls night and day,
asking the other to visit
But the moon has outgrown
the place the Ocean calls home
And the Ocean cannot be
separated from her foundation
How can two so different
be friends?
While one is held in a space
that shapes her
The other roams,
claiming her own form
One knows an unconquered
but desolate existence
The other sacrifices herself,
but is filled with richness
But each has scars
They understand each other
and give each other gifts
The Ocean paints pictures
on the land
And the Moon writes
poems in the sky
They are saddened
yet fulfilled by each other
They will continue to pull
to ask for a visit
Even though the Ocean sadly accepts
and the Moon knows it's true
that they will never embrace
The two friends will go on
loving each other
as long as the Moon can look down
upon beautiful paintings,
and the Ocean can read
beautiful poems
As long as the Moon
shines brightest upon the Ocean

—Adrienne McKay 2008

Erosion

A short poem I spontaneously wrote last year.

Erosion

Internal dance

Tango of blood and bone like river and stone

One must inevitably destroy the other
Outside, I lean out dangerously into space

And I see that the moon is over my head
No matter where I am
The cruel sandpaper of wind and rain
Takes the flesh of paint from crippled wood

The layers between me and this harsh world grow few
Now four layers stand alone
Skin, muscle, blood, and bone

—Adrienne McKay 2009