Where will you be tomorrow

When I turn my eyes

Towards the sky

Will I find you

By my side?

Or running down a fine line

Of lovers regret

And a loves end

With this nattering of tomorrow

Weaning the sanity

From my mind

Clawing at today

With all its threats

Of impermanence 

Tomorrow just wants

To chase it all away

So grip my throat

And I’ll beg you to stay

Cause tomorrow’s

Just something

I don’t want to face

©Entirety 2016

photo by Jean Mounicq

Write #Madverse

photo from tumblr


To fill the ache…
…You know the one I’m sure

The one

That makes you reach

For your heart

To wring it out

With all its pleas

It’s called bleeding ink

And without it

I couldn’t breathe

©Entirety 2016

Episode 5 – Christina Strigas

It’s worth the listen for the Ukelele alone 🙂


With the lovely writer, Christina Strigas, we discuss past-lives, poetry and passion. Timmy does his first walk-about to Changing Hands Bookstore to purchase his first Twilight. We also discover that Timmy is on his first life, having just emerged from the universe like a Terminator, disturbingly naked.

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She looked for her place. The one filled with the missing pieces of her puzzle. The holding of all the parts of her that could lead her to the place she wanted to reside.

She thought it was somewhere beneath life’s bridges, gaping chasms deeper than she could see.

She thought the depths and the heights held the unknowns so they must hold that part of her that she still seeks.

She had already swam the dark sea, flailing on her own, gasping for breath between swells, being pulled this way and that by a cold current she resisted, thinking surely this cannot be the place.

She hid in the valley many summer evenings. Plucking wild daisies, and their petals, till night would fall and she would realize that the stems she held were another reminder of the empty crooked lines on her map, from A to B, which she could never reach.

She had climbed a mountain once too. Seeking the jagged edges of their peaks, tracing them, using them as a compass for the destination they must lead. Feeling the space between heaven and earth would cure her of the fact she was alone. But still, the absence screamed, “here we are.” Another somewhere that led to nowhere.

The unsutured edges surrounding these places bled, pooling into the darkness, not of unknowns, but rather of pain.

Pain was nowhere.

It was a reverberating reminder of everywhere else she longed to be and the absence of all that she longed to own.

Nowhere was the place where her voice got lost into the void in the sky, and the notes she wanted to sing from the score fell flat, withdrawing hope.

Nowhere was the place where she was pulled under and the sounds that lay above the surface went mute, speaking in a muffled confusion that only led her to further thrashing and disenchantment.

Nowhere was the place where the flowers were no longer fragrant but instead carried the stench of rot. Where growth was prohibited and the stems cracked with the absence of turgor to bend and sway when the wind would wail through the valley.

How quickly her nowhere became somewhere. A place she could define herself by, the absence of a place to call home, the surrender to her puzzle being unfinished? Incomplete? Incoherent in mind? What did it all mean? When nowhere was the only place she could find.

She looked around the grey, touching the void and something unexpected filled her heart. She knelt upon the rocks beneath her and saw a vision dancing in the electric shocks travelling from her nerves to the lights in her eyes; it was the journey of a woman through fields, hills and seas, all leading nowhere.

And there was relief.

There was something about this place, about the here in the now.

Here now.

There was something about nowhere that she had never noticed before with all the static of being discontent. The knowledge of feeling herself piece meal, in constant search of the illusive treasure that lay hidden in some unknown place, left her more empty than any destination could have ever filled. She sought to uncover meaning, where sometimes, in fact, there was none.

Like an honest prayer leaves the lips of the supplicant she knelt over top of the missing dot on the map, and relished in needing to be nowhere but here. She even cried, half tears of joy, the other half in fear.

There was no piece to find, no place to be, no puzzle to solve, there was just endless space to reside in, in this time.

The grey didn’t depart. It just was.

The pain didn’t depart. It just was.

The joy she sought, it already was.

And it was beautiful.

She wanted to be nowhere forever.

She let the weight of her body sink into the stones beneath her. Feeling each uncomfortable rough edge along her pale knees, shins and feet.

She released the fists she had been clenching and turned her palms to face upwards, resting on her knees. Accepting this space she held. 

She closed her eyes, no longer captivated by visions of poetic mountains and seas but rather the pink flesh that was her eyelids.

She took a breath, smelling neither rot nor perfume, sea salt or mountain air. She recognized it only as the oxygen, which fed each cell of her body, in this moment, right now.

Yes, here.

Her senses were heightened, more aware in this place of nowhere. An oblivion, a retard from the white noise which contained too cryptic of messages for such a simple girl. She took note, of each creak of cartilage, each bone, the rhythmic sea sawing in her chest, as her heart pumped blood from chamber to chamber, vessel to vessel, all into nowhere, while being implicitly fed.

Nowhere was the feeling of the chain around her neck, that passed between her breasts, and settled on the floor in the crux of her thighs. It was both the cool touch of metal, and the warming of it, a dichotomous blend pulling her to feel the spectrum of the here and now.

It was the sound of the sparrows building their nest, and the screech of feral cats in the street as she pulled on the links, feeling the burn in her palm, and the comfort of its heat.

It was peace and it was chaos, this place. It was somewhere but nowhere all at once.

Knowing now
somewhere was not necessarily better than nowhere if that somewhere took her from being anywhere but here. 

It would have been foolish of her to give up her search, but what she sought, changed from what she previously had thought.

Somewhere was no longer the place she was looking for, rather now, she sought out every possible moment that lived in the here. Embracing nowhere, not as a destination to be found, but rather, as a place, she could already be.
©Entirety 2016

photo found on tumblr words © by Entirety

The Wild

Wild flowers grow

Where they are nurtured

By unfettered reserves


By the air and soil

Wind and rain

All things wild

Take care of their own

And are consumed

By what they love

And that is their freedom

©Entirety 2016

photo found on tumblr


She never noticed.  She was probably too preoccupied with her laundry, her shift schedule and the countless emails to even take notice of the card clipped in to the side of the dresser mirror.  
She often hid in his old room, away from the rest of the house that felt cold and univiting during her visits.  At least she could read her emails and catch up under a goosedown duvet while glancing out to the crisp sky occasionally through the picture window.  

She stayed here twice a month, to check in on her mother, to make sure she was not too lonely after the death of her father.  And this was his room.  And this is where she slept.

It had been there for twenty years nearly exactly.  A card written in June of 1996.  The sentiments typical of what every daughter would say to her father at the age of 21 on Father’s Day.  She glanced around taking note of the other piece of paper tucked in to her father’s dresser.  Her wedding bulletin that was printed 6 months after that Fathers Day card was given, in December of 1996.
Remnants of the past, tucked into an inconspicuous place.  When she dressed, did her hair or make up she used this mirror.  Memories hanging in plain sight.  
No matter what relationship she had carried with her antagonistic alcoholic father, he had kept this simple card, and his divorced daughters wedding bulletin in plain view for the past twenty years.  The reflection in the mirror being the last bed he slept in before his final car ride to the hospital to be treated for an infection that would reveal an acute liver cancer that had rendered him dead in days.  
And there were the reminders of a past she could never get back, of a father or relationship she could never reclaim.  And she sat, hollow, empty and alone, the reflection in the mirror reminding her that it was exactly so. 

©Entirety 2016


Dirty Ink 

She coyly teases

The feral verbs

Eliciting soft vowels

That first roll

In a guttural moan

Till pronouns are lost

And all that remains

Is dirty ink

Across a begging page

©Entirety 2016

photo from Pinterest

A New Dawn


I watched the smile form

at the corner of his mouth

the crease that stole my heart

reaching out like a hand

offering me respite

words to start again

like a dawn

of a new day

this was what love was

this was what life was

inside the smile of another

©Entirety 2016


Nursing Wounds

The fire burned
from the inside out
and we chased the sensations
it left
licking our lips
from the burn
we loved the way it hurt
an addiction to the wound
that we repeatedly nursed
then re-opened
the seared edges
to watch everything melt away
inside the lie we called our life

©Entirety 2016

Rattling Bones


Gravity once spoke

To these bones of ours

The rattling

when we got close

Was enough

To shake the walls

Shattering windows

In their panes

It was the only place

Those bones could mold

Around the others flesh

Reaching in


Between what was yours and mine

And space

No longer existed between


So close

Exactly what our hungry souls

Were meant for

©Entirety 2016