Sleight by Sloane Kady

I promised this review a few weeks ago, but life got in the way and I’m late.  I apologize to author Sloane Kady for my lateness. I made a promise, so here I am.  Please visit Ms. Kady’s website here.

It’s actually hard for me to review this novel.  The first paragraph grabbed hold of me and I actually got a little scared to read any further. 

“I’m the daughter of two defective people.  They came off the factory line dented and chipped.  If you could pick them up and look underneath them, you’d see that they’re just hollow molds, meant to look like real parents, even sounding like them sometimes, but you know you can’t keep them because those chips left sharp edges that will make you bleed, and they’re not real, anyway.  No one wants a cheap knockoff.”

It was too real for me.  Too familiar.  Too raw.  Not from anything that’s happened recently, but with things I’ve put behind me many years ago.  I could feel the pain this author poured into this work, because I recognize it.  I haven’t read anything else by Kady, nor have I met her personally, but I do interact with her at times on Facebook because many of her posts speak to my soul.  Her writing does the same.  I’ve grown a great fondness for Ms. Kady.

Sleight is raw and not for the tender-hearted, yet tender-hearted is exactly what Bryce is beneath the tough, cold exterior.  She’s full of pain, full of loss, full of confusion and all of it together has her stuck… stuck in the pain of a past she can’t forget, stuck in the confusion of a present she doesn’t know how to handle, and stuck in the fear of not knowing which future to choose.  The anger she’s held onto for so long because of the things she once knew, is tossed into chaos as she struggles to re-identify herself as her father struggles to hold onto to his own identity among the identity-stealing grasp of Alzheimer’s.

“The woman looking back at me in my oval bathroom mirror is a stranger to me.  I can see in her eyes that she doesn’t know me, either.  I watch her, trying to familiarize myself with her shocking appearance.  Inside, I’m still casual girl, with my torn skinny jeans and black turtleneck sweater.  The woman in the mirror would pass me on the street and at best glare at me from the corner of her eye in contempt of having to share the sidewalk with me.”

When do we form that inner soul? Mine is still a scared little girl acting tough in a violent world. Even now, she is the voice that moves me forward, reminds me of what I’ve already overcome, and compels me forward.  It’s paragraphs like this that resonate with me, and why this author has a fan for life.

What I saw in this novel is the beauty and ugliness, but most of all the reality, of love.  The chaos of pain.  The consequence of pride. The scars of hate, prejudice, and ignorance. Oh, if we could only get out of our own way sometimes.

As an editor, I found the writing fluid, like it was poured directly from the heart.  The pacing was consistent, slow in the moments of reflection, and then fast in the heat of emotion.  The language was raw and real, which gave an authenticity to the character’s voice. 

I don’t recommend this book for those easily offended or those blind in their preconceived boxes.  It’s a must-read for those with minds wide open, who’ve experienced some shit in their lives, or those who aren’t afraid to face some raw truth and emotion. 

Good job, Ms. Kady.  I look forward to reading more of your work.

Till next time,

~T.L. Gray

Published Author

Georgia Author of the Year Nominee

Editor at North Star Literary Agency

Encourage Yourself

I started writing another heart-wrenching blog post this morning, because in truth, my heart is aching something bad right now.  But, after I wrote all those words, tears streaming down my face, a huge lump in my throat, I wiped my face and took a deep breath, and deleted the whole post.  It doesn’t matter. Those words don’t matter.  Those thoughts don’t matter.  They don’t change anything.

But, what WILL change things, what does matter is filling my heart, my mind, and my soul with positive thoughts. Remembering my dreams and the things I want to do in my life, those things will fuel me. They won’t take the pain away, but they’ll help dry the tears and push me forward. 

What we put into our minds, what we listen to, what thoughts we entertain, form our thoughts and effect the things we do, the choices we make, the fears we let consume us.  I’m a rebel. I often act against those fears, in spite of them, face those things that scare me most.  I just wish the rest of the world did the same. I don’t allow the world to tell me how to feel, what to do, what is the right way to go.  The world has been wrong. It’s always wrong.  Listening to the thoughts of the world has hurt me more than I’ll ever be able to express. Cowards. The world is full of cowards.

Today is a new day. Yesterday is gone.  The sun has risen once again and I choose to live. I start a new phase at work today, and it seems a new phase in life. Even though my heart hurts something terrible, I choose to smile, I choose to focus on the positive, I choose to tell the world to go fuck itself and take its doubt, depression and double-minded desires with it. I don’t need its bullshit.  Instead I will fill it with beautiful words of encouragement.

“Don’t cry over the past, it’s gone. Don’t stress about the future, it hasn’t arrived. Live in the present moment, make it beautiful.”

“There are two ways of spreading light, be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.”

“So, take a deep breath, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again.”

“A beautiful life begins with a beautiful mind.”

“Ships in the harbor are safe, but that’s not what ships were built for.”

We tell ourselves that we must do this, we must do that, we must love this way or think that way. It’s all bullshit.  EVERY moment of every day we have a choice, and in that moment NONE of the world’s bullshit matters.  Regardless of the shit I’ve had to deal with in the past, regardless of the shape my heart is in, regardless of how shattered I am… IN THE MOMENT… this moment is all that matters. The choices I make right now… to love, to not love, to hate, to forgive, to doubt, etc.  THAT is who I am. 

I choose ME.  For no one else will.

“What we are today is the result of our own past actions; whatever we wish to be in the future depends on our present actions; decide how you have to act now. We are responsible for what we are, whatever we wish ourselves to be. We have the power to make ourselves.”

We choose to believe. We choose not to believe. We choose to fight. We choose to run. We choose to love. We choose to hate. We choose to forgive.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s to fight. Fight for what’s right. Fight for what you believe in, what’s important to you. But most importantly, fight for the ones you love, and never forget to tell anyone how much they mean to you while they’re still alive.”

Someday, someone will believe I’m worth fighting for, too. That day’s not today, but someday.

“I want to be your favorite hello and your hardest goodbye.”

“If you think positively, sound becomes music, movement becomes dance, smile becomes laughter, mind becomes meditation, and life becomes a celebration.”

In the midst of pain, in the darkest moment of despair, hope still lives and love still remains. I’ll never apologize for loving. I’ll never regret taking the chance.  I’ll never look back on my life and say, ‘only if’. I have fallen. I have tasted rejection. I have hurt to the deepest part of my soul, but I have no regrets. I am a lot of things, but I’m not a coward. I’m a fool.

“Three simple rules in life.  1. If you do not go after what you want; you’ll never have it. 2. If you do not ask, the answer will always be No.  3.  If you do not step forward, you’ll always be in the same place.”

Waiting for something to happen. Waiting to heal. Waiting to love. Waiting to explore. Waiting to have an adventure. Waiting for success. Waiting for forgiveness. Waiting for dreams. Waiting for happiness.  Leaves only one thing… you waiting.  None of those things just finds you… you have to fight for each one of them. You have to choose them. You have to want them. You have to face your fears and take them.

Till next time,

Black-Eyed Beauty

Where the Dead Things Are

*New original short story Where the Dead Things Are© by T.L. Gray  - Part One

My Mama once told me, "If a man only wants to see you when the sun goes down, he's a vampire. Baby, run away. He'll bite you, leave you all mesmerized until he drains you of everything that makes you alive, and then he'll toss you into his collection of other dead things." She told me that once while braiding my hair. I remember looking into a dirty, smoke-stained mirror, watching vacant eyes stare off at nothing with a cigarette hanging out the side of pale thin lips. I can still see those small jagged lines along the edges displaying leftover bits of dark red lip stick. She looked younger when she smiled, but she hardly ever smiled.

Of course, my wild imaginative mind took the story literally to heart and in my youthful naivety found myself fascinated with the supernatural; vampires especially. Then after Mama died a few years later, I became obsessed with stories about death. However, I look back on that moment and realize she wasn’t talking about vampires at all, not really. I never thought Mama had much sense, but as I’ve met my own sort of vampire and found myself struggling to climb out of this cavernous pit of death, I now realize she was much deeper than I ever gave her credit.

Looking down at the shimmering Vodka, I see my dark red lipstick mark along the glass lip and can’t stop Mama’s words from echoing in the deep part of my mind. How did I get here? When did I lose myself and turn into Mama? Where had my soul gone? Will I find it among all the dead things?

I can tell you the exact moment, the particular hour, the definitive minute everything changed. It all started with the sound of tires slowly crunching over gravel as he pulled into my driveway. My heart started beating so fast I thought it would literally jump out my chest. It sounded too loud and I wondered if he’d be able to hear it. I quickly checked my underarms for moisture, because I was nervous as a chicken in a fox hole. My body may have been hot, but thank goodness I was dry and smelled like fresh flowers. My cinnamon breath caught as I gasped, almost letting out a small squeal as I heard the car door open and then close again. I never heard the engine at all. It’s like he floated in on a dream.

With shaky legs, I walked out the French doors that led to my patio-porch, and then to the privacy gate. He’d parked his car just on the other side. I could see the light green hue of his exterior between the fence slats before I caught a glimpse of him. It was only a slither of a glance of one of his long, bronze skinny legs sticking out a pair of basketball shorts, but I was transfixed. I tried to calm my breath as I opened the gate, but there was no controlling it. I’d lost it completely. It evaporated from my lungs altogether when my gaze locked onto those dark, brown, mesmerizing eyes and that soft crooked smile. The setting sun behind me cast a golden spotlight on his beautiful caramel skin, highlighting his chiseled face, full lips, and aura of authority. He looked like a god bathed in glory and I felt myself wanting to fall to my knees in worship. I mean I literally felt like falling when my knees suddenly buckled beneath me. I had to grab the wooden gate to keep the ground from jumping up and slapping me in the face.

Sometimes I wonder if he knew the effect he had on me. I doubted it, but I often wondered, still do. He always had a way of bringing the hidden things out of me, and reflecting my own image back at me when I tried so hard to focus on his. He didn’t have one. He was a mystery, yet something I understood without words, without explanation, and I loved him deeply. I still do. But he left me where the dead things are, tossed me to the side once he’d drained me of all the vibrant life I had once held. But I’m not without hope, not without magic. That’s what’s brought me to this bar in the middle of nowhere. I’m trying to escape, trying to save the last bit of my soul, trying to put some distance between me and him so that I may one day find the strength to resist him, breaking the power he has over me, and crawl out of this place of dead things. He doesn’t want me, but doesn’t want to let me go either.

I threw back the shot of vodka, feeling the burn all the way down my throat and settle into the emptiness of my stomach. Alcohol on an empty stomach always hurt, but it also helped the numbness rush in faster. I glanced down at my watch and realized the sun had surely already set outside. I needed to be on my way. He’d be able to find me. If he ever found me, I know I’d never have the strength to resist him. I pulled the small wad of twenty dollar bills I’d kept in my front jeans pocket. Slapped one down on the bar and then threw back the last of three shots I’d ordered. I wiped my soft lips with the back of my shaking hand and walked out of that dead place filled with other dead people, into a city where all the dead things are. Yet, I’m a survivor, and though too faint to hear, my heart still beats.

The Zombie Killer

I will admit, I’m really confused this morning, which isn’t to say that I’m not confused most mornings. My thoughts are always deep, always reflective, and most often beyond my comprehension as the new day begins. Sometimes I love this about myself because it’s a reminder I’m much more than this meat suit I’m wearing. I’m deeper. I have a mind, a soul, and a heart. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one. I know, I know… I know I’m not, but sometimes it’s just so hard to see them in a world full of zombies. It’s so hard to love those zombies knowing they feel nothing in return.

When I’m referring to zombies, I’m not talking about the walking dead like in the television show. I’m talking about people who live in this world but they’re not really living, only existing. They don’t think about anything but themselves - what they want, what they need, what they hope to the point they can’t see the living around them, and in essence due to their selfishness, destroy that life by infecting it with their disease. They walk through life existing, doing what they need to do to get through the day, through the week, through the month, through the year, doing the same thing over and over and over, wanting more, desiring more, but doing nothing more to change anything. They’re waiting, sleeping, hiding and hoping that someone will come into their life with a cure and magically wake them up, and their life will change. They’ll get that new job. They’ll win the lottery. They’ll fall in love. They’ll write that book. They’ll take that trip. Their estranged family members will forgive and reach out to them. Lost loves will return and love them again. This reminds me of a meme I once saw with a group of people all walking in the same direction, but every one of them was looking down at their phones and not seeing they were part of a group, that others walked beside them.

I understand the disease of zombie-ism. I lived as one for a little while. Well, lived isn’t quite the right word. I closed my heart, and hid deep inside because I was so hurt and so afraid. I walked away from a man I was deeply in love with because I was trying to be selfless, yet in turn became selfish. For the first time in my life I was a coward. Fearing death, I became afraid to live. Since then, I’ve been hoping someone would come along and help me feel alive again, be the spark that would bring me back to myself, resurrect that woman living out loud. Yet, that kind of external spark doesn’t give life, it only creates a monster that doesn’t understand it’s a monster until confronted by a hateful, prejudicial, and judgmental world. In ignorance, there was a false and temporary sense of happiness. (I’ll get back to this subject in a moment.) The true spark of life had to come from within myself. I knew this, but in my zombie state I had forgotten. There were other things I had forgotten as well, such as how it felt to have someone treat me like I didn’t matter, like I was unimportant, and unwanted. He was right. I don’t matter to HIM, and he now no longer matters to me. But I thank him for being the asshole he was, because he reminded me that I do matter, I am important, and I am very much wanted - to ME. He’s the one that’s lost something wonderful - he lost a cheerleader, a friend, someone that would’ve given him the world. Fuck him. His loss is my gain. His actions of shutting me out, fueled me inside and finished waking up that sleeping giant. I don’t wish him ill, though. I do love him very much and no matter how he treated me, I honestly hope he finds the happiness he’s looking for but couldn’t find with me.

That anger is still fueled inside me. It’s reminded me how my ex-husband treated me as inconsequential for twenty years. Yes, he was a great father, good provider, steady hand in a world of uncertainty, but he was a zombie and a terrible and lousy husband who nearly every day of our marriage let me know I wasn’t what he wanted, but a responsibility, a promise, an obligation. I can say this one thing about him, which is really, really, really rare in the world today, he at least kept his word. The world is so full of liars. I’m so sick of liars. I heard he’s getting remarried soon. With all sincerity, I do hope he’s finally happy.

But, what is true happiness? Who really has it? Is it found in something tangible, in a kiss, in a life event, in a moment? In money, marriage, security? Another friend of mine wrote a thesis for his college paper and asked me to review and edit it for him, and I can’t get the idea of this pursuit of happiness out of my head. Perhaps in combination of the many changing events in my life these past few months it’s all coming to a juncture and has my mind whirling at the moment.

I know a man that tells me he’s happy, yet his actions confuse me. He’s married to a beautiful woman, but she isn’t enough for him and he has girlfriends on the side. Yes, yes… I can hear my guy friends right now saying, “Sounds good to me… I’d be happy too with a wife and girlfriends too.” I don’t understand why this is a man’s fantasy. But, are they really? Is the lying, cheating, sneaking around, being deceitful, and possibly breaking the heart of the person or persons they claim to love really what makes a man happy? Is that true happiness or just another lie they’ve told themselves to appease a guilty conscience, a false reality, a fantasy? Do they have a conscience? Are they not just a zombie feeling nothing but the desire to feed their own needs, their own wants and carnal desires, with no regard to the destruction they leave behind, or realize they’re infectious and spread their disease to the very people they claim to love? This particular man calls me a fool because I hold onto the belief that I will one day find real love, the kind of love found in heroic stories and fairy tales, a forever kind of love, that one day someone will love me as honestly and as deeply as I love them. So far the world has proven me wrong and him right, but I’m still holding onto that hope – that one day I will find that love. I know that kind of love is possible, because I have that kind of love. If it is possible in me, then it is possible in others. Or, is this some false reality I’ve created for myself? I’m telling you, it’s getting hard to believe these days.

I’m often told I’m weird, odd, and different. While I know they mean this following statement as a compliment, but when I’m told, “You’re like no one I’ve ever met before,” it makes me want to cry because usually what follows soon after is, “I love you, but…” The funny, well, not so funny, thing is… they really do love me. Most of them are still part of my life because they love me as a person, as a friend, they just didn’t choose me. I used to think that something was wrong with me, that I wasn’t enough, that I was just too strange for them, too unpredictable. I suppose that stems from all the years of being told I wasn’t what they were attracted to, or I’m too wild, too rebellious, too opinionated, or they chose the safe route, the sure thing. But I believe it’s because they realize I want more than they could offer. I don’t dream little, I dream big. I am a fighter and I don’t sit on my ass waiting for my dreams to come true, or someone to come along and hand my life to me. I take it. I make it happen. I have soared to unimaginable height and accomplished some things most only dream about. I’ve also fell to great painful depths, and experienced true horrors, yet in the face of them possess the ability to still love, to still hope, to still dream. They’re right. They don’t deserve me. I deserve a true hero, someone that isn’t a coward, someone that is willing to risk everything for me – because they love me, because they know I love them and will risk everything for them. I deserve what I’m willing to give – and that’s going to be a whole lotta man and some big ass shoes to fill. Cowards need to just run away, because I could never choose a coward, because I’m not a coward.

So, in consideration of my friend’s thesis on happiness. I have found my true happiness comes in the everyday little things of life. I appreciate life in so many different ways. I find beauty in the simple things – like a father horse-playing with his children, a friend spending hours playing a video game as a distraction for their heartbroken friend, best friends arguing over who’s turn it is to do the dishes, yelling at other drivers because you’re late for work and your bestie backing you up with sign language, a friend listening to you butcher practicing your daily Spanish lessons, getting unexpected, silly or inspirational text messages through the day, friends reading their favorite books together and then having long discussions, playing a game together, cooking for one another, dancing while cleaning, singing out loud and off key in the car. These are the true moments of happiness…. And these moments can only be experienced when we live in the moment – not lost in the past, not hoping for the future… but in appreciation of everyday little moments, being considerate of those we love, inviting them to share in our lives… all of it… our hopes, dreams, pain, doubts, fears, objections, wants, etc. Sharing life – looking up and noticing the person next to us is a breathing, living, person with emotions, thoughts, feelings, and ideas.

I see you.

Do you see me?

Or are you a Zombie?

Till next time,

~The Zombie Killer

Waiting for Superman

If you’ve never heard the song by Daughtry, “Waiting for Superman,” then you should definitely take a minute and check it out. I’m not going to say it’s the best song ever, I don’t think I could ever really say that about any song, but it’s definitely a song worth listening to at least once. I’ve actually had this song for a couple years now in my iPod, and play it every so often, but for some reason over the last few weeks I can’t seem to get it out of my head.

A friend of mine told me recently, “Songs to a person mean what you want them to mean. They don’t have to be amorphic. That’s why writers write in such a vague composition when it comes to songs. They want to include everybody’s feelings and experiences.” I suppose I should get to the song and how I’m finding relation to what it says, or at least what it says to me; that is, after all, the purpose of this blogpost today.

Another dear friend of mine told me recently, “You know, you’re always waiting.” I know the context in which he was referring, and when he said that to me, it hit me hard, because even though I knew that particular truth somewhere deep inside my subconscious, I didn’t realize it. Realizing the truth about something is the first step to changing it.

The song starts out...

“She’s watching the taxi driver, he pulls away
She’s been locked up inside her apartment a hundred days

She says, “Yeah, he’s still coming, just a little bit late.
He got stuck at the laundromat washing his cape.”
She’s just watching the clouds roll by and they spell her name
Like Lois Lane
And she smiles, oh the way she smiles

She’s talking to angels,
Counting the stars
Making a wish on a passing car
She’s dancing with strangers,
Falling apart
Waiting for Superman to pick her up
In his arms, yeah, in his arms, yeah
Waiting for Superman…”

Wow, the imagery my mind creates with that story. It’s amazing. But the pain I feel in my heart creates this huge lump in my throat and I can’t stop the tears that start to pool in the corner of my eyes. I get this song. I feel it. I can even taste it. What is it I’m experiencing? What is it that I’m seeing and relating to in this song? I see a woman who had to endure watching the love of her life, the hero of her heart and imagination disappear right out of her life. I’ve felt this now… twice. Twice, I’m left waiting… waiting for one soldier that will never come back, and another that chose not to. I’m the woman left behind, refusing to accept the truth, living in a delusional state because the pain is too hard to accept. It took me more than 20 years to visit the grave and stop waiting for the first soldier, my first Superman; how long now before I stop waiting on the second?

Superman, the superhero, was my first love, ever. At 10 years old watching Christopher Reeve fly across that screen, it literally took my breath away. To this day I’m a diehard Supes fan. I’ve always wanted to be Lois Lane, the woman who stole Superman’s heart. I even became a reporter at one point, obviously in an attempt at fulfilling that deep seeded fantasy. But, the more I think about it, I’m not sure I want to be Lois Lane anymore. What does it mean to be Lois Lane? What does it mean to be a woman so in love with a man, who sees him as her hero, who worships him like a god, yet is always waiting and will always come second to the world? A woman constantly deceived and lied to? A woman, a hero in her own right, yet shadowed by the spotlight of the man in a cape?

The delusions and excuses we tell ourselves to block the pain of reality is a hard pill to swallow. We wait. We wait for the truth to become the fantasy. We make excuses. We cling to a hope that our superhero will fly back to us one day, so we wait. Just the thought of him in our fantasy makes us smile with a pure joy. Yet, we can’t breathe, so we take these small, tiny, minute breaths, which deprive us of the levels of oxygen we need to think more clearly. But we don’t want to think more clearly, because to think more clearly is to lose the fantasy, to realize he’s not stuck at the laundromat washing his cape - he’s just not coming back. We pray to the angels, we count the stars casting our wishes upon them and all the passing cars. We dance with strangers, make the appearance that we’re fine, we’re okay and living our lives. We’re mingling with others, laughing out loud, yet constantly looking for his face in the crowd, his eyes behind every pair of glasses, his smile, his touch… but we can’t find him among all these strangers. Inside we’re falling apart and become just a pile of broken pieces, waiting, waiting, always waiting. We’re just waiting for our superman to rescue us, to pick us up, to save us and put us back together. Why? Because... we’ve flown in the clouds with him, we’ve tasted the sweet softness of his lips and felt the strong security of his arms. We’ve listened to the beat of his heart through his chest of steel.

“She’s out on the corner trying to catch a glimpse
Nothing’s making sense
She’s been chasing an answer, a sign lost in the abyss,
This Metropolis

She says, "Yeah, he’s still coming, just a little bit late.
He got stuck at the Five and Dime saving the day.”
She says, "If life was a movie, then it wouldn’t end like this,
Left without a kiss."
Still, she smiles, oh, the way she smiles, yeah…”

When the heart wants what it wants, and the mind wants something different, a war begins between the two. I’m learning that love isn’t rational, and can’t be conquered, or overcome rationally, because it doesn’t fight rationally or fair. Love is a tricky little devil and stubborn as hell, and wild – so wild it can never really be tamed. We can be as delusional as this woman waiting for the hero that will never come, looking for any and every sign of hope, clinging to every lie because it’s better than the truth no matter how rational she wants to be. She’s not blind, she sees the reality, and the truth… she just can’t escape the reality of her heart no matter how rational her mind wants to be. Love can’t just be turned off. All she has to do is close her eyes and remember… and the burn of the kiss is still there.

I used to think this kind of love didn’t exist. I had convinced myself I had made it up. Loving a hero long gone, it was easier to deny the pain I held in my heart by creating a universe where I had only imagined the love I had thought I felt to try and escape the pain at its loss. The delusion helped me be rational in all my other relationships. But, what I thought was rational was just another delusion, because the love was still there, it was still real, and it still hurt that my hero had died and left me behind, left me waiting for a return that would never come. It took finding, feeling, and falling in love with another hero to show me the truth, to remind me what that wild love felt like, to show me the denial of it was the true delusion. Watching and feeling the loss of the second one, helped me grieve the first. I was able to finally say goodbye after all this time to my lost hero, but I haven’t quite figured out yet how to say goodbye to the second. I had no choice in saying goodbye to the first… he died. The second chose someone else. My head knows he doesn’t deserve me, that I don’t need to be saved because I’m the only one that can truly save myself, that I’m my own hero, that I can fly myself… without him. But my heart still desperately clings to the fantasy that he’ll one day fly back to me. And so, I smile, Oh, the way I smile.

I don’t want to be Lois anymore. I don’t want to keep waiting for Superman. I realize the truth - he’s not coming back, he’s not at the Five and Dime saving the day, he simply just flew away. Acknowledging the truth is the first step, now I’m just waiting on the change to happen and I hope it doesn’t take 20 years this time to accept it, and I’ll soon be able to say, “Later, gator.” Maybe my next great love will be something a little simpler and not involve capes.

Till next time,



~Lois Lane

Daily Lessons

Everything in life poses a lesson, even the good things right along with the bad. Having an open mind makes all the difference on what lessons we learn from those experiences.

I can go through my life and tell you good things I’ve learned, and also how I was really stupid at other things. I wish I always chose the right choices, learned the right things, and made the right decisions, but most often it was the mistakes that taught me the greatest lessons. I don’t regret my mistakes… only perhaps the lessons I might have missed along the way.

What are my lessons now? What are my struggles today and what can I learn from them? Again, life poses many struggles for me, but right now the consuming ones would be how to get through the day after losing the friendship of someone I loved very much, how to love the new friends in my life, and how to live in the moment – and to let that be enough.

I can’t change my past. I can’t make someone love me that doesn’t, or hate someone I love. I can’t control what tomorrow holds. All I can do is live the best I know how in this moment, in this day, in this time. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I’ve died twice, and I can’t help but think I’ve lived for a purpose. Have I already fulfilled that purpose? I don’t know and I honestly don’t care. The purpose will fulfill itself.

In living today… for today… I’ve become very picky about the people I let into my life. Dating is complicated. I hope with every date, but have learned to let that hope leave as quickly with those dates when my princes turn out to be frogs. I’ll find my prince someday, but until then I’m determined to remain content in being alone. Yeah, it’s lonely, especially when I’m cold, or scared, or excited and want to share that excitement, but I’m not without love or friends… or lessons to be learned.

I find out later this month if I’m going to be able to move forward, or if I need to jump into the trenches to take a step back. Until then, I can’t thank God enough for the love, support, and distraction that my Destiny clan, no my Destiny family, has provided for me. I have made some connections that I know will be lifelong family, and I have made some friends that I hope will always be there. Who knows… Destiny may even lead me to the love that has evaded me for so long. In that world… I am KV Kvothe, beautiful, sexy, and a greatly loved goddess. My clan and my friends never fail to make me feel wanted and appreciated. I’m not the best gamer, but I hope I’m the best goddess they know.

What are my lessons during this time? Persistence. Stubborness. Strategy. Loyalty. Clans. Leaders. Romantic gestures. Friends. Determination. Letting go. Breathing. Losing a muse, a god, a hope, a fantasy, a love. … that life is meant to be lived in the moment, to still love the world even when it doesn’t love you back.

Till next time,



~KV Kvothe

Oh, My Weary Soul

God, this world is so messed up, and I’m broken in so many shattered pieces, there are just some days too heavy for me to bear. I’ve lived in this valley for a long time, actually I think I was born here, and I can’t seem to find my way out.

I’m so tired of saying ‘goodbye’. What the hell is good about bye? What the hell is so wrong with me that I’m never enough to fight for? I don’t think it’s that I’m not enough, but that I’m more than they deserve. Because I know I sure as hell deserve a lot better. I deserve something real, and the world is full of cowards too afraid to be real.

I have scars all over my body. I try to hide them, not because I’m ashamed, but because I also carry the inner scars that were created from them and don’t want to share them with just anyone. People are strange creatures. We’re controlled by our fears, and often can’t see a person beyond their skin. We lie to ourselves and convince ourselves that our faith, our beliefs, our values, or our philosophies guide and lead us in our decisions, but they don’t… our fear does.

I have a friend who says he fears nothing, but he’s lying to himself. He runs as I hard as I do, perhaps even harder, because he’s afraid. But I don’t have to tell him. In the silence, he knows the truth. However, knowing the truth doesn’t keep him from being an asshole. Even still, he’s beautiful and I love him, even though I also hate him for his vanity and cowardice.

I heard a quote this morning from Jim Carrey – “My soul is not contained within the limits of my body, my body is contained within the limitlessness of my soul.” The Journey of Purpose. I believe this. When I look at someone, I look beyond their flesh and try to see their soul. When I tell someone they’re beautiful, it isn’t their body I’m talking about, but their soul.

Who sees my soul? Who can see past the smile or beyond the scars? I believe no one. I’m just the girl who ______ (fill in the blank).

My soul is weary. My heart is crushed. My faith is weak. I’m tired of carrying this mangled scarred body around. I can’t run any more. I wasn’t meant to run, but to fly. I’m lost.

Elusive Dream

Elusive dream, why do you turn into vapor every time I dare to touch your essence? 

I watch you swirl around others, guided by the gentle wind. I can see the euphoric expressions on the faces of those you entice, hypnotize, and fill with your peace. 

But for me, you recoil. You tease me, taunt me, but most of all haunt me, showing me your beauty yet leaving me in the cold, dark shadows. 

Elusive dream, I’ve learned to hate you. Though I long for you, desire you, and love you deeply, I yearn for the sun to ignite and consume you into mist, evaporating my torture along with you. 

The sun refuses to shine and the moon fights for permanent dominance. Without the radiant light my branches wither, my leaves fall, and I slowly die. 

Elusive dream, release the night or else kill me. I can’t take anymore. Please.

~T.L. Gray

Etching Scars Upon Our Souls

There’s something inside me, a certain flickering flame, one that for a brief period of time burned really bright. So bright, in fact, it threatened to consume everything inside and around me. With both feet, I surrendered to it. It was magnificent, wonderful, and greater than anything I could ever imagine. But it was only for a moment. Over the past year it’s been dying. I felt it slipping away from me. Every day it grew smaller, colder, and darker. Every once in a while It would flare, just for a second, before it dimmed even more. The difference is that I’m not doing anything to stop it, now. I’ve done everything I could. I don’t understand why it has to be this way, but I’m praying it will hurry and die completely.

I can close my eyes, hear a particular song, or come across a familiar scent and instantly be transported back to that particular moment when that flame burned it’s hottest. I can still feel myself shaking as I stood on that curb, and in the background heard the sound of jet engines. It’s like an adrenaline sting - ice and fire at the same time. I’ve tried to hang onto that feeling for as long as I could, but I’ve finally reached a point - to let it go.

Recently, I’ve sought to see if another flame could be lit in its place. For a brief moment, the band-aid held. While there were definite sparks, there was also something missing inside. I’ve felt this emptiness before. It’s familiar. It’s the same numbness and void I felt standing in a little restaurant many years ago staring down at a set of dog tags. I can still hear the sound of those tags clanging against one another, reflecting the sunlight off their dented faces, sliding around along the riveted chain that held them. They made a distinct sound. Even to this day I can’t breathe when I think of that moment. What I find odd, I pass that little restaurant almost every day now – and though it’s closed, I can still feel the pain of that moment as if it were yesterday.

There are some moments in our lives that create these shadows, imprints, rifts in the universe, etching scars upon our souls. They never go away. Some are good, some are bad, all are significant. This is yet another scar. But as I have survived the others of my past, so too will I rise above this one. This latest burned brighter than all the ones before. Perhaps the next one will consume me completely.

Till next time,



~Scarred Soul

Cycling Trivialities

My post this morning is inspired by Jose Gonzalez’ song “Cycling Trivialities”.  You can listen to it here on YouTube… http://youtu.be/RknUh1LapJs?list=AL94UKMTqg-9COSk53zABGSE2rVRux8vJn


How often do we spend our lives chasing things over and over in a vicious cycle that has no meaning, that bring nothing into our lives? Insignificance is what steals our joy.  But I have to be careful to not discard those things, those hard things, or even those simple things, that have filled my life with meaning.  On the surface they may have seemed insignificant, but often held the most importance of all.

I can’t get a quote out of my head that my friend, Sergeant Solano, wrote to me last week.  “Just because you do the right things, doesn’t mean you’re right.  History determines if you made the right choices, and that great revelation doesn’t come until the end of your life, right before the clarity of regret shows you the light.”

I’m turning 43 this week.  It’s not a big deal.  I’m not one of those women who shy away from their age.  Probably because I feel and look younger, which is also probably why most of my dates tend to be younger than me, too. I suppose I’m just too energetic, too active, with a sense of too much to do for some older man ready to retire and relax.  I’ve just got started.

The only thing that makes me apprehensive about my age is knowing the clock is ticking down.  I’ve watched 43 years move by me and I’ve done some great and terrible things. I’ve experienced joy and pain. I’ve witnessed horror and beauty.  I’ve loved and lost.  I’ve laughed and cried.  I’ve lived and died.  All of it has made me who I am.

Could I have made better choices?  Sure.  Looking back we can always see where we could have changed our lives, but that’s not how life works.  Those bad choices, or bad circumstances, helped make me who I am. I have very few regrets, because I know I’ve mostly lived my life honestly, being me.  Fearing bad choices keeps us from making any choice.  I can’t live like that – no one can. That’s not living… that’s going around and around in a cycling triviality… and it’s stealing our lives. If I could tell my 23 or 33 year old self what I know now, I could have saved myself a lot of heartache.  But then again, I wouldn’t be me.

There are some choices I would love to make, but they’re are not up to me.  They involve other people and their free will.  I can’t make someone else love me, choose me, or want me. If I could, I’d make the whole world love me.  I was loved once, but couldn’t see it because I was busy looking for a dream, a fantasy, an idea - I was searching for a feeling, a magical knowing, chasing a cycling triviality. I couldn't recognize the real thing right in front of me.

We fool ourselves into thinking we know what we want and create this image of perfection in our minds, and quickly dismiss anything that doesn’t fit that fantasy.  I got to see real love in front of me in the face of a determined soldier, got to feel the completeness of that love for two whole days, and then he was taken from me. But, even that taught me something very important.  The best way I could honor that love is to see myself the way my lost soldier saw me, to love myself with that unwavering love.  The way he loved me, never giving up, is the way I choose to love.  I think that if he could see me now he’d be so proud of the way I pulled myself out of that darkness and am now putting myself out there.  He’d want me to find another love.  Perhaps he will be the one to send him my way.

What have I truly learned from my own cycling trivialities? Outward beauty fades, bodies get old, faces get wrinkled, and no one is perfect.  Sex is great but has little to do with love.  The best things in life are when you touch a soul, stimulate the mind, laugh, see the world with peculiar eyes, notice the light in someone, and understand they’re more than a name, a face - that they matter, that you matter.  That’s really all that is important.  Everything else can be worked out.   How many divorces or failed relationships do we have to experience before we stop the insanity of looking for the same thing over and over and over, yet expecting it all to work out differently? Cycling Trivialities.  Let history determine that you lived honestly, openly, and took the biggest gamble of all – to love and be loved.

Lyrics:

Too blind to know your best.
Hurrying through the forks without regrets.
Different now, every step feels like a mile.
All the lights seem to flash and pass you by.

So how's it gonna be.
When it all comes down you're cycling trivialities.

Don't know which way to turn.
Every trifle becoming big concerns.
All this time you were chasing dreams,
without knowing what you wanted them to mean.

So how's it gonna be.
When it all comes down you're cycling trivialities.
So how's it gonna be.
When it all comes down you're cycling trivialities.

Who cares in a hundred years from now.
All the small steps, all your shitty clouds.
Who cares in a hundred years from now.
Who'll remember all the players.
Who'll remember all the clowns.

So how's it gonna be.
When it all comes down you're cycling trivialities.

So what does this really mean.
When it all comes down you're cycling trivialities.
Cycling trivialities.
Cycling trivialities



Till next time,

~T.L. Gray