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Graffiti Love

I was little, very little. It was early morning. I still wore my cartoon pj's., and I was annoyed because I liked my brother's sleepwear much better. Rising up, I was bored, so I wandered around the house before anyone was awake, soon heading into the dining room, searching for entertainment. Sitting at the fancy table, I sneakily looked both ways, making sure that no one was around. Not even Pepper the dog was up. Then, ever so carefully, I pulled out a pencil and poked many holes into the dining room chair seat, making a lovely design. I smiled, leaning back, studying my picture. I was so proud of my secret masterpiece.

Of course, a few hours later, when my parents discovered the mess, I got into big trouble for ruining the chair, but even after the scolding, deep down, I still felt as if I were smiling on the inside. Stubborn me still felt proud of the hidden creation. Sure, maybe it was only a smiley face, but I thought it was a damn good smiley face. Really, I wanted to somehow tell the world that I felt happy that day and at the time, there was no one around with which to share the news, so I drew it.

Simply, I wanted to be heard. In a way, all of these years later, while writing away, I realize that I'm still doing the same thing and now I honor it. Hey, if no one's around, I say go ahead and fuck up a chair. Turn it into something extraordinary, just because. Even scrawled, anonymous, amateur graffiti writings/pictures are small intentions that we put out into the universe, whether or not the subject of the writing ever reads them. On a highway overpass, spray paint reads, EVOLVE. I see it often. It always makes me stop to think, see. You never know who may be reading. You never know who may be paying attention. And you never know who might need to see something beautiful this morning. Hell, think about it -- a few words, a smiley face, something touching -- maybe it can shake up someone's day. Maybe it can save a life.

Not long ago, I scratched my crush's initials into a rock, and I put my initials there too, leaving the rock in front of my favorite Mt. Storm tree. A little magic wish never hurts, even when you're a grownup. Every time I come across childish etchings such as this, I feel like I’m reading someone’s half-revealed secrets. Did you know that some “Tony loves Stephanie” out there? Sure, it can venture into the territory of vandalism, but it’s still true feeling, intention, and a sign of distant affection.

And then there are the pros:
Artist Eoin

So today on my walk, I think I’ll try it again. Lets hope I don't get arrested. I’ll carve something out for all to see..CA luvs…nah...I think I'll change it up and write, CA's here.

C.A. MacConnell


Sign Patrol

Not sure if this place has been rated by the BBB yet, but I hear it's very reasonable.

C.A. MacConnell


Sign Patrol

Just thought I'd stop by and see if they had Amelie?

C.A. MacConnell


What Fills Me Up

Lately, I've been feeling terrible, lion-roarish restlessness. You know, like when you eat a handful of Captain Crunch and then you gotta have the whole damn box? So I woke up thinking this:  what really makes me happy in this life? Not the idea of "what could make me happy," but rather, what truly fills me up inside, right here, right now? Here's the deal...

1. I like to create -- poems, comedy pieces, books, stories, scenes, you name it. Spewing out my trippy head. Currently, I'm about halfway through my third revision of my 2nd book, THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, still plugging away. The thing's a madhouse, and I'm loving it. All the time, I like to imagine, to allow my mind to do what it does best -- run wild and make connections that are seen by some as highly abnormal. I like to call them "genius thoughts," because I'm attempting to be positive here. Yes, I've always been the girl who daydreams, doesn't seem to be paying attention, spaces out, etc. Everywhere I go, no matter who I'm with, I dream up ideas for stories, movies, and the like, or I'll think about what Russell said to me in preschool (he picked my best friend as his girlfriend because she was taller). I think I'd sure be a master at TV or movie writing...I'm kickass with dialogue and visuals. I've thought about that for a while. So I love this creative part of my life, and I wouldn't trade it, although it makes traditional jobs incredibly tricky. Day in and day out, I constantly think this:  I want to be free to create. Free. Let's take a trip. I want to be me.

2. I like to be in love. Deep connections with friends are key, but I also like to have a deep connection with a partner. If I don't have it in my real life, I'm known to dream up something imaginary. Sometimes the imaginary ones seem more real than the real ones. Ah, shit.

3. I like to take walks -- on the streets, through the woods, you name it. I love to walk to see my friend Argo the dog. My favorite walks are somewhat speedy, near woods, vast fields, and hawks. I have a secret spot that hits it. Man, I love this place.

I saw the biggest snake yesterday, and she was rad. Mostly, on these walks, I prefer to be alone. Actually, I always do the solo route these days. I prefer not to trip.

4. I like loose clothes, baggy jeans, collecting sneakers, playing with kids, acting like a kid, being a mentor for young women, skateboards, frozen meals, my cat, the rain, gray days, super hot days, big sweatshirts, teeny tiny sweatshirts, boys' t-shirts, Adidas pants, nutrition bars, learning about random people and their life stories, top notch coffee, soda or "pop" as we call it in Ohio, doing push ups, doing arm balances and handstands and elbow stands, helping people recover, striking paintings and pictures, people who encourage me to be wild and make me feel like a rock star even if I'm just vacuuming again, movies with Dad, my Mom's smile and energy, keeping very little belongings in my apartment, and alone time.

5. Going to museums, art shows, movies, photo exhibits. Checking out other people's awesome work. But if I'm with someone rad, even a trip to Target can be an adventure. I like people who join me in making everything an adventure. Fuck yeah, you rock, you fellow crazed puppies.

6. Dusk.

7. To meditate, pray to something greater, to be alive, to be able to feel all of the feelings and move through them, to be strong, to do the next right thing, to be gut-level honest.

So after thinking all of this over, I realized something:  I am already doing what I want to do. Hm, go figure. Insert grin here. I am living my dream, and when I get all wrapped up, I fail to see it. My world is definitely not traditional in terms of my family's usual route. Hell, to tell you the truth, I don't fit in at all. At family gatherings, I stick out like a broken thumb. Oh well, not like I ever fit in anyway. Might as well throw on some Band-Aids and see what comes next.

I hope you find what makes your heart sing today. You know what, if everyone in the world pursued his/her heart's true purpose each and every day, all of the time, no one would even have to work. What fills you up could fill me up, and vice versa. Think about it.

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. Oh yeah, and I like T.V. and cigarettes, soon to be nicotine gum. See, gut-level honest.



Hi. So I have this side job. I hate it. Picture Janine in Ghostbusters. I consider myself a feminist I suppose, but right now, a hero would be damn nice. I'd like someone to show up and say, Hi, let's get outta here. I want to roadtrip and not return, and I want to scream and escape so that I can do what I love. As you can see, not much is new in my head. I think before Ten came out, Ed Vedder worked at a gas station. Maybe that gas station is hiring? Well, I hope someone hires me to pump out genius writing or act or be creative, because I can rock all that shit, and I don't give up in that arena. Ever. I suppose the grass is always greener and all that garbage.

Fuck all that mental sludge; time to get to work on my monster of a book. Here's a little warmup for the day. Just a shortie, but sometimes that's best. Today I do what I love -- write and then get out in nature -- and I am SO grateful.


He looks best in black.
In this wild light,
she has searched
for the right words,
but they are closer.

C.A. MacConnell



Also, if you want to follow me on Twitter, it's @CAMacConnell


Vacation Room

Funny, I'm sitting here wearing a hoodie and slippers 'cause I'm so cold. And it's the middle of summer, I know. I am one fuckin' spoiled American, for sure. Lots to be grateful for, I realize this.

Hey, when I originally wrote this poem, I imagined what it would be like for a famous actor to try to have a secret romance and avoid the press. Then it sort of turned into imagining what he may be thinking about someone in that kind of scenario. So I reworked it this morning....see what you think.

I'm off to work on my book, which is overwhelming me at the moment, ha. Currently, here's where I'm at in the story:  two skaters, Soupy Stone and Cornwall, are listening to Janes Addiction and partying it up with two Udub students, which is causing a major disturbance in the back yard. If you want to find out what happens, you'll have to get the book, THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, when it comes out! :) Of course, I have to plug the book whenever possible. Hey, I do this by my lonesome, so I take every chance I can get. Here's the poem...

Vacation Room

There's no question -- she is beneath you,
flat on her back, licking her lips, swimming
in sheets, seemingly satisfied. No one is near
for miles. The room is so quiet, you could be
underwater. She buries herself in your blanket,
whether blue or white. True, she's always
on time to meet you. True, she's always
drop dead. You pray sometimes. Mornings,
you don't know what you'd do without her.
Nights, you don't know how long it'll last.
It seems so sunny in each vacation room.
It seems like hiding should make her
and break her into the love of your life.
There's no question -- she is beneath you,
sleeping cold now, but shouldn't the top lip
hold more curve. Shouldn't the cut cheek
bow down to the jawline. Shouldn't the side
of the face hold more lines, age etched
into the side of a different shade of eye.
Shouldn't the sleepy breathing remind you
of horses. Shouldn't the pupil be larger,
and shouldn't the black hold a fierce,
traveling light.

C.A. MacConnell


The Viewing Room

You ride by the windows, staring in at me, your lips
locked shut. Your eyes - round and blank, like plastic.
You are quick, moving down the ring side, your body
shifting in time to your horse's tail. Maybe you look
to see why I rest when there's work to be done -- bodies
to groom, legs to bandage, whiskers to clip. Maybe
you look to see how I sit - legs crossed, eating a small,
packed dinner way past the time. Maybe you want me
to smile back through the thick, shatterproof panes.
Not the slightest grin spreads across your face.
Not the slightest gait breaks in your horse's stride.
You lean down to study the neck, to see the green
gelding give in, lower his head, loosen the grip
of teeth on the bit. You spin in smaller circles,
turning your head, riding by, watching me rise.
I place my hand flat against the cold glass, fixing
my palm in a still, frozen wave, my skin blending
with window. I press the surface. I imagine pushing
through, but I bring the hand back down, swallowing
the last of my late meal, biting my lip. Before closing,
you halt and look in again. This time, maybe you see
me lower my head, chin against chest, hands folded
in that look of feeling full. I breathe and rise. Lifted,
my sore body is newly limber, well-ridden leather.
I slide up and out of my seat in the viewing room,
giving it up.

C.A. MacConnell


F'n Rad Doctor Mom

New secret, profound, thorough scientific studies show that Americans no longer need health care at all! That is correct. Visiting doctors and specialists is completely unnecessary! We have discovered that if you have any kind of problem, be it a bloody nose, heartburn, serious illness, sinus infection, skinned knee, brain aneurysm, or any health concern that exists, there is one solution:  Dr. Mom. For centuries, Dr. Mom has been curing the most grave diseases through phone calls, emails, texts, yells from upstairs, yells from downstairs, yells from the garage or street, heating pads, ice packs, vitamins, and a number of other known-to-be-accurate cures, such as tuna casserole, candy in the closet, and burgers, brats, and mets on the grill. As an added bonus, there are never co-pays, and when you get a hold of Dr. Mom through phone or mental telepathy, you won't even have to talk to a receptionist! Dr. Mom will always, we repeat, always answer the phone. She is on call 24/7 for any type of health questions or concerns.

Here are just a few examples of Dr. Mom's genius cures...Allergies? Eat honey and no sugar. Stomach tumor? Drink tea with lemon, and then come over I have a few things for you I found in the basement. Heartburn? Oh, try cutting out that pot of gasoline coffee you drink every day. Also, honey, do you have that bookmark I let you borrow ten years ago? And as an added bonus, Dr. Mom has even been known to magically turn into Veterinary Mom. Your cat looks sick? Week of rice and a new cat play house. He'll be fine. Oh, Jesus, you don't have fleas he's indoor.

So call Dr. Mom, anytime day or night, because no matter what, she's in the office. Actually, we just called Dr. Mom for some last words of advice, and although she mentioned that it's top secret, after giving back her monogrammed towel from 1982, she decided to reveal some powerful truth. Here's what she said:  If nothing else works, just put Desitin on it. It'll go away.


C.A. MacConnell

P.S. What a perfect band name. Doctor Mom.


Cat Power In the Car Impression

This is my Cat Power impression. Tomorrow we will get back to working on the book, ha.

C.A. MacConnell

Car Snoopers

For the past two years, something strange and interesting has been happening to me when I'm out running errands and such. And it has happened all day long, every day. I'll be at the gas station and from across the lot, some man will smile and stare at me for an insanely long time. I'll be at Kroger and some man will walk up to my window, looking in, waving at me. I'll be on the road, and from his SUV, some man will wave frantically, trying to get my attention. I'll be at Target and some man will walk right up to my driver's side window. Sometimes, they motioned at me to roll the window down and often, they seemed to demand it. Sometimes, if I didn't roll the window down, they tried to shout at me through the glass. Very excited and very persistent.

I bet you it happens at least 10-15 times a day, and I'm not exaggerating. Some days, maybe more. Now, at first I thought, man, I must be doing something right. Everywhere I go, people are looking at me and smiling -- mostly men, but every now and then, a woman. Right on. I thought it was because my hair was longer and back to natural. Or maybe it was my sun kissed skin. Oh yeah. Then I thought maybe it was because I was putting out some kind of desperate vibe. But whatever it was, I thought this:  Hell yeah, I've got it going on. Then one day I realized the sad truth of it all, which was this...

They were not interested in me at all. They were not laughing and smiling at me. They were laughing and smiling at my car. We'll call them "Car Snoopers."

See, two years ago, I leased a Scion IQ, and it's not quite as small as a Smart Car, but it's still incredibly tiny. It does have a back seat, but no one believes it when I tell them that. So here's what I hear from Car Snoopers all day long and when I say all day long, I mean ALL DAY LONG...

Hey! What kind of gas mileage do you get in that thing?
Man, that's tiny! Wonder if I'd fit in there?
Do you feel safe in that thing? I wouldn't. Scary.
Aren't you afraid someone might run you over? Like a truck would flatten you.
Does that thing go on the highway or just on the back roads?
Does that go over 60? How fast does it go?
Is that electric?
Is that one of those cars you plug in?
What da hell is dat thang?
That's the perfect size for you.
Does that take gas?
How does that run?
What kind of engine is that?
Where'd you get that thing? I could use one of those.

Doesn't that feel small inside?
Is that a Smart Car?
I always wanted to get one of those Smart Cars!
Is that one of those cars where you drive it for like 12 miles and then it dies?
Does that have a trunk?
Does that have an engine?

And my favorite...That looks like a roller skate.

Everywhere I go, all day long, I get stopped by Car Snoopers. I am so sick and tired of answering car questions that sometimes, I just stare at them and laugh. If I would've known that I was going to attract thousands, no millions of Car Snoopers, I never would've chosen this, the whole reason I bought the car was because I got a kickass deal. Period. When I get a car, I walk in and say this:  "What's the deal?" And I get whatever car has the best deal going on...I pay no attention to what type of car it is. I just get the best deal. So I wasn't setting out to get this sucker...I just ended up with it and didn't think too much about it until the CAR SNOOPERS started totally busting up my style.

Anyway, I think I'll prepare a pamphlet to pass out, one entitled, FOR THE CAR SNOOPERS, so that when people stop me (and oh they will, let me tell you), I won't have to recite the entire car manual from memory. I'd answer some of the questions here, but I'd like to leave some of the mystery alive for future Car Snoopers.

Snoop away. I'm ready for you now.

C.A. MacConnell

P.S. It has already happened twice this morning, and that was before 9am...more to report.


Sexy Poem of the Day

Dedicated to Argo the dog.

The Battles All Around Us

Yesterday, a red-headed, naturally pretty, tall, fit woman came in to my place of work. In her forties, she was dressed very conservatively, and she had numerous wonderful freckles. I love freckles. Immediately drawn to her, I sat next to the window, watching her interact with some of my coworkers, and I was definitely intrigued with her whole vibe; I guessed that she was a teacher. She had that "in charge" air about her, and it was the middle of the day, and it was summer, so that would've all made sense. From her attire, I assumed that she lived in the suburbs, had a few children, and maybe grilled out with her husband. From the way she spoke, I figured she'd be the one doing the grilling. Maybe they had a dog or a pony, who knew. But there was something else about her -- an intelligent, commanding feel mixed with a strange, endless calm. Curious, I listened in.

Nonchalantly, while chatting with my coworker and paying her bill, she revealed that she was an Army special forces agent who focused on espionage and terrorism. Not her words exactly, but close.

For a moment, everyone in the room was silent.

She grinned.

Then we asked her about numerous things -- the Middle East, combat missions, devastating poverty, what she wore to work, what it was like to be undercover, and on and on. But what struck me was what she said about life in general -- how lucky we are to be able to call 911, to have running water, food, police, and all of the gifts and freedoms that we take for granted every day. And there were three things she said about her experiences that really struck me:

About many current torturous issues, she said, "It's not so black and white, like people think."

About war and her work, she said, "It'll change you. It'll show you what's important. People get worried about so many things, and I think, is somebody dying here? It changes your perspective completely."

About what's important, she said, "What's important? Safety, family, loved ones. Family."

There was a certain serenity and strength that indeed glowed about her, and it seemed to seep into the room. In that moment, I could see a glimpse of how much her fight had changed her, and I was truly touched to the core by her depth. Hell, you can never tell from a person's clothes what he/she may be like on the inside. Some woman could go to war, then later slip on Adidas pants and hit up Kroger. Some man could save a heroin addict downtown, then go grab a burger. We all have these missions that change us forever. People are amazing -- their stories, their histories, their wisdom. These maddening and magical battles are all around us.

C.A. MacConnell



Ha, I keep fucking with this little piece...almost there. It's hard to write about a tree, yo, because it's been done like a gazillion times by babies and grandpas everywhere from Earth to Uranus. Anyway, this has a nice little feel I suppose. When I get lonely, I look at trees. Maybe I'm a loser, but it makes me smile some. Hope you like the poem. I'm gonna go work on my book. Got my glasses on, and I think I need new glasses. Peace out, C.A.


Secretly, last night, you came
reaching long limbs
around my middle,
healing me
front to back,
surrounding my shape, closing
all space between us,
your hollow eye.
Blocking out
the forest,
a list of life rings,
I looked
into your weathered,
carved-out face,
touching the true,
knotted, lined map,
the roughest bark,
and the smoothest leaves,
simply vine green
and twisted.

C.A. MacConnell


Revision Three is a Bitch

THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, my new book, hey, it's rolling. So I've been working my little ass off, I took out a major character and completely changed the beginning...I knew it had to happen, and yet I've been avoiding it because of all the work involved. Now I got it...all working out, see. :) Feels good to have made some huge strides today, and putting the time in is going to pay off.

I learned so much from writing my first book. This beginning is gonna bang, you bet.

Hope you are all well. I feel like shit, actually. Ha.

Just an update on what's to come. This is the best shit I've ever done, just sayin.

C.A. MacConnell
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