Chapter 1

Jasmine, what a stupid name, she thought.

A stupid name that little girls who grew up in the '80s used to dream of naming their own little girls someday. Her mother was one of those dumb little girls. She hated her name, and she hated her mother for giving it to her. Really though, Jasmine hated her mother for lots of things. She hated her for being so stupid, first of all, for never forcing the son of a bitch who supposedly fathered her to pay child support. Oh, he came around once in awhile, for "visits". What a loser, and here she was, she "belonged" to him now. She hated her mother for ever knowing this guy, and then for getting into a car with his drunk-ass and letting him smash his car and her into soggy bits one night on the highway. He was ejected, got up without a scratch, took off and then let the cops assume that Mama was driving. There was no way to tell anyway, once it was over. Mother Fucker. That was always the single most thing that Jasmine was afraid of, and one night when she was 13, it happened. Then, Jas's already lousy life changed forever, and look at her now. Stupid family courts, if they only knew, or cared, who they were giving her to.

She shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her grey hoodie and started to walk faster. It was raining by the river, and although it wasn't enough to make you run, it was enough to make you quicken up a little bit. She wasn't feeling well, as usual, and took a quick look behind to make sure she wasn't being followed. She knew she wasn't, but you just can't be too careful in this part of town. She had taken more this time, because she needed it. He always said it would make her feel better, make her forget, and this time she REALLY wanted to forget. But, as usual, it just made her sick, and this time she was REALLY feeling like she needed to puke. Today was scarier than the other times, harder, different, and Maya had taken more too, but Jas thought she had really overdone it because Maya had just thrown up and passed out, and she couldn't wake her up. After a few minutes, she got scared that somebody would come along and somehow know what happened, so she split. She hoped Maya was awake by now, but she didn't really care. Maya was a skank, and deserved what she got.

She hated her father, HATED him, wished he was dead, wished she could make him dead herself. What an asshole. She hated her life, hated what he had forced her to become, and when she thought about what she and Maya had been doing for him for the past 2 years she almost had to stop and throw up right then. This time was different though, THIS time was the worst. This time, oh shit, what had they done? Why did they do it? Why did they let him talk them into it? She and Maya had eyed each other nervously as he was giving instructions, each wanting to say something, but they didn't. Money was hard to get on the streets, and well, now they had some. But Maya's money was probably in the pocket of some bum now, if she was still lying there. The thought made Jas smirk, then she felt guilty for thinking it. Maya was as locked into this as she was, and that girl had it rough too. Neither one of them wanted to do the things that he made them do, but they both did it anyway. THIS time though, this time was too fucked up, too real.

She turned the corner by the bridge. It was raining harder now, and Jas needed to get out of it or get soaked, plus she had to sit down. She scooted her way around the trash and old tires, around the barrels the bums used to burn shit in, past the old lady who was sleeping on the ground (and who she could smell before she could see her), and up into a little filthy little alcove where the pidgeons like to nest and crap. She didn't care, she was used to being dirty. For her, a shower was something you got once a week at the shelter if you felt like standing in line with the rest of the deadbeats. Fuck it, she didn't care. When it got so bad she couldn't stand her own stink she found a way to clean up. She and Maya usually asked Daddy Dearest for a few bucks and went to the truck stop on the highway and took one there.

She tucked into the alcove and wrapped her arms around herself to warm up. Her thoughts once again drifted to what had happened that afternoon, and this time she couldn't help it. Leaning over to the side she vomited, chin trembling, and put her head down sideways on her knees. She looked at the dirty, stinking river, wishing she had enough guts to throw herself into it, then closed her eyes and grimaced, trying not to cry. It will pass, Jasmine, it will go away, you'll forget, you always do, she told herself, cringing at the sound of the hated word inside her head. Jasmine, Jasmine, Jasmine, what a dumb-ass name. A stupid name for stupid, rich, nice little girls with mommies and daddies who love them and take care of them and don't make them do things. Stupid little girls who go to school and have ponies and don't live in run down shitholes with their fucked-up fathers and their drugged-out half sisters who do what they did.

It was not a name for girls like her...not for girls like her.

I am
most decidedly
not
stupid.

I am
absolutely
worth
something.

Alot, actually.

I am
not
only
good
for one thing
and my
place
is where I
want
it to be.

I am
fiercely
proud
of my
nationality.

I am
going
to stand up
for my
opinions
and yes,
I would
do it again.

I am
running
out of
patience
for
people.

I am
most decidedly
not
afraid
of you.

I am
a believer
in God
and
evolution.

I am
really
not
that bothered
by your
decision.

I am
going
to be
just fine.

So fuck off
(if you don't approve).

...here, in my dream

it is dark
night
black
except for the soft glow
of moonlight
from a tiny
waning
sliver
of la luna
tonight
here,
in my dream

it is quiet
still
sacred
except for the soft
whispers
of
nocturnal
life
moving
about as
they are wont
to do,
as they
always do
every night,
here,
in my dream

there is a silver pool
rippling
misty
except for the dancing
blue
fire
that burns
continuously
on its mirrored
surface,
noiseless
but calling
to me
here,
in my dream

What a curious thing, this still blue fire, it burns and burns and yet it is shrouded in mist, that is never consumed.
This fire, it burns as if lit from below, but yet...
It doesn't make sense, but it is so, so beautiful, how it sparkles, and shimmers, and dances on the silver pool.
Look, can you see it?
The water, it looks like mercury, like a liquid mirror.
I want to see it up close, to feel it, to touch it.
And...listen!
It's calling me, can't you hear it?
It's calling me, not with a voice that I can actually hear but with a voice that I can feel.
"Come closer, come closer," it says.
"All that you desire is here, within me.
Everything is here, everything, everything, everything..."
It is so beautiful, how it sparkles, and shimmers, and dances...
I can't look away.
I can't stop myself.
I don't want to.

it is cool
cold
damp
except for the
hot space in my chest
that gets warmer and warmer
as my heart beats faster
and I slowly step
ever closer
closer
closer
to the edge...

i don't
believe
in ghosts

i just
let sleeping
spirits lie

let
their
shadows
tell my story

watch my
lost tales
breathe
and die

Big Ben

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Grand Old Man himself. I was completely prepared to not be impressed by this symbol of all things British...but let me tell you, I was totally in awe. The sheer scale of Parliment and Big Ben is too immense to be described - I could not believe my eyes. And I was so fortunate to be walking past twice, and twice heard the bell. It was almost like he was showing off, just for me, knowing my former doubts of his glory. What a voice, ladies and gentlemen....what a voice. I could feel it in my bones. Wow.

It's pretty easy to become a cop in London.

London Calling

I am in London - my first trip ever (to London, that is). It's cold, dreary, damp...and I did not bring a suitable coat. I'm too spoiled by sunshine to be bothered with thinking of such things, and here is my reward. Brrrr. On foot patrol, I plan to just walk off the cold with my camera today - getting lost and found, and finding all the places I've read about to see if they really are all that. Probably they won't be, but I'm looking just the same. Living abroad has killed the novelty of "new", and a British accent is pretty common where I live, so really, it's just not that exciting...

Warmth
on my skin,
heat
on my hair,
the air
charged
with reasons why
and why not,
chasing a
mirage
that only
gets farther
and farther away
survival
depends
on this
sunshine,
but I
always
forget
to bring
the water.

I watch her
she is tiny
strong
determined
unstoppable
pausing only to
nourish herself
and her duty
she works
unceasingly
for that is her
program
one grain at
a time
day to night
night to day
labouring
constant
immune
to opposition
blind
to spiteful
destruction
for building
this mountain
is her sole
purpose and
before me
beside me
behind me
she will.

Imago Emerging

Quietly
she waits
motionless
dreaming
languishing
in cream
silk robes
waiting
for redemption
longing
for what she
was promised
her prize
her reward
long ugly sufferings
dreamily sold
for
beauty
favor
love
life
she feels
nothing
except her
own growth
and change
she hears
nothing
except
the murmurings
of life
itself
she knows
everything
but
voiceless
can not
share it
for this
is her burden
her life
her transformation
her turn
so she waits
sleeping
dreaming
breathing
planning
the rest of
her abbreviated
existence
knowing
her emergence
from these
silk wrappings
marks the
beginning
of the end
promised
beauty
will not
protect her
golden wings
will never
quite
carry her
she will never
escape from
this
her only enemy
this
her greatest fear
this
the price she paid
the deafening
roar
of
time.
____________________________

for coyote...

Masterpiece

Hallowed and hushed,
this blue nature's nursery
where every nook and cranny
contains a precious jewel,
a marvelous rendition,
in miniature perfection,
of the ones that created it...

And what pity those masters,
artistic by instinct,
recruited by destiny
and paid by survival
will never bear witness,
stand back and admire
their own
greatest
masterpiece.