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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

The Zone

I could call it "the zone," or "moving meditation" or “God consciousness.” A dreamy feeling that comes while I'm awake, it courses through me, changing me completely, if only for a while. It used to come with yoga, guitar, and riding horses, but now it creeps in there when I’m walking, writing or reading something engaging, singing Nina Simone in the shower, listening to and/or helping someone, giving a talk, playing piano, or just stopping to really look at the trees. Ever notice how they reach for each other? It is striking the way the branches bend, leaning in for touch.

Sometimes it happens when I'm alone. Sometimes it happens when others are there, but they may melt away, and the world becomes just me and the sound or the words. Other times, I've felt this zone when watching someone sing, when I feel connected with the person, the sound, the night, the feel, the light, the crowd, whatever the case may be. I remember intense detail, and those nights stand out. I'll remember the hats and shoes that everyone was wearing. I'll remember who had a bushy eyebrow or a gold tooth.

The best moments are the ones when I seemed to share the zone with others -- in the riding ring, playing music with others, in yoga class, while dancing, at poetry readings, and even in the mosh pits. To me, these were all times when others people were experiencing a shared zone; that is, being gutsy, ultimately expressive without caring what others thought, being down and dirty and real, absent of fear, and utterly alive. Now that’s something. And sure, of course sex puts me there -- maddening, soulful sex, getting lost in it, losing track of the world. And falling in love -- that moment when you wake up next to someone and you think, I just want to be closer and closer. I want to crawl inside you. So rare and yet, when it happens, truly magical.

Why can't it be lasting? What if we could all be that way all the time and live naturally in another state of consciousness? Let the room slightly blur. Let the eyes soften. See blue or yellow or white light. Feel a part of things, like we're right where we're supposed to be, as if meditating with the eyes open. Let the people around become a blur and feel the moment, the air, whatever’s close. Become completely engaged in art, beauty, movement, people, sound. Become connected to all things, see how they are right and beautiful. Lose track of time. Let the adult daydream take over. And when you come to, feel the after shock, the sudden shudder of knowing. There now, see?

Maybe, maybe, that is exactly where we are all headed and sometimes, we just get lost along the way.

There's a scene in Dances with Wolves when one of the Sioux warriors walks across the plains, gently moving his hand across the tall blades of grass, bending it. Through this small gesture, without any speech involved, he becomes a part of the world around him, and he is able to tell who has been there and who is coming. He enters a divine space, and he lets go, feeling the world around him utterly and completely. To me, it is a beautiful and genius scene, one that is so telling without any words being used at all. To me, these are the best scenes, the closest thing to perfect that I know.

To me, there is heaven in this silence.

C.A. MacConnell


High Rise

Couldn't sleep, so I'm working on this baby. Man, I want an adventure. A f'n roadtrip, somethin. My heart is on fire. Love to you this fine morning. I suppose I should get back to bed. I'm starting to picture Jo from Little Women, how she would be half asleep in the mornings, always lost in her planet. Yeah. Ha, anyway, hope you like the poem. I think it's got some juice now. C.A.

High Rise

In pictures, showing teeth, a couple drives west. Another,
The mountains or the zoo.
Look there, in the quiet
Morning, some man touches some woman’s neck,
And she shudders, taking it.
You can see the vein.
I don't wanna be naked
Anymore, but I'm a fucking butterfly.
Hand me the smoothest
And I’ll show you my book, my tongue,
My latest hummingbird,
My wing beat. There's a hole
In the net. Some say I may lose it and
Talk trash.
But the heightened fear of garbage
Lives in their eyes.
Others want me
Simply for the record. I could throw you out.
I could find a suit and a high rise.
Dear mom and dad, no, I’m not
Swiftly, words lift me to the fly-top, something like
And then I dive back down
To the streets.
Grief is a thick, young thief,
A chest mugger. It comes with living,
A bitch of a trip.
I'm guessing you hear me.
Now give me a cookie
And an instrument.

C.A. MacConnell


Scene with New Employee

New female employee:  Hi! Nice to see you this morning! So you know I'm new here, what's your story?
Male Manager:  No.
New employee:  Oh, that's interesting, just trying to be friendly. So what do you like to do outside of work?
Manager:  Nothing.
New employee:  Cool, so do you like sports, or anything like that? Art? Music?
Manager:  I hate sports.
New employee:  Awesome! Me too, hate them. So what are you passionate about? Like, if you could work anywhere, where would it be?
Manager:  I don't want to work. I'm burnt out.
New employee:  Oh, I see, me too, I'd like to retire. Maybe you should find a sugar momma? But there must be something you like to do?
Manager:  I'm always here.
New employee:  I'm thinking of walking out actually.
Manager:  If you did, I'd applaud you.
New employee:  How come nobody talks to me around here? It's weird.
Manager:  No one wants to get in trouble for sexual harassment.
New employee:  Oh, I see. That's pretty funny.
Manager:  Why are you laughing?
New employee:  I'd tell you, but I have to help that client who just walked in. Man, did you see that lady? Fuckin' smokin'. I think she'd make a great sugar momma for me.

-- C.A. MacConnell


Scene with Wal-Mart People Greeter

Leaving Wal-Mart with a full cart, at the automatic doors, Girl Shopper stops suddenly, turns her head, and glances back at the Store Greeter. Shopper says, "Hey, how are you? Don't you get tired of standing there? Do you get to move around at all?"

Store Greeter, a small, salt and pepper bearded fellow, smiles. Name tag has no name. It reads PEOPLE GREETER. Looking Shopper in the eye, he shouts, "Oh yeah! I can move around some. Well, I do anyway." He shrugs and says, "I always keep moving."

Shopper:  "Working here...hour after must be hard on your legs and back."

Greeter:  "Yes, sometimes, definitely. Not too bad. I've had much worse. Hey, thanks."

Shopper:  "Why? Thanks for what?"

Greeter squints and smiles wide:  "It's been years and nobody's ever asked me that before."

Shopper moves cart out of way so other shoppers can get by. "You've been to war, haven't you?"

Greeter puts a hand at his beard, grins and says, "Yes, but I came back. And something tells me you've been to war too."

Shopper:  "Yes, I keep moving. Hey, thanks."

Greeter:  "Thanks for what?"

Shopper:  "For not stopping me."

Greeter:  "You see my face, and I see yours. The oatmeal and the overalls are on me."

-- C.A. MacConnell
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