Happy New Year.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Wolf Hiding

Wolf Hiding

Cincinnati Zoo

Wolves. Wolves and hawks. My spirit animals. It switches around, it seems. Sometimes geese, ducks, dogs, tigers, cats, a rooster, you name it. Whatever gets my attention. God reaches out to me in so many ways. Truly, I feel like someone is watching over me, sending me messengers.

I think that it takes me longer to bundle up for my walk than it does for me to do my actual walk. It's been in the single digits around these parts, and with the wind chill, it's been negative. But it's worth it. The quiet is surreal, because not many brave souls are out. Not even my hawks are around.

The sunrise was amazing this morning.

On the writing front...I started a new project. Looks like it'll be Book 4 at some point. Just working on the first twenty pages or so, and I'm going slowly on it. Still tinkering away at getting Book 3 out there as well. Might have to revise it, not sure yet. Frustrated sometimes with that, but I keep trooping along. Because it's my dream.

The holidays were super busy for me this year. That's not the usual case, but life changes you, aye? I'm content, and I feel loved and blessed. I hope you feel peaceful. And somewhat wild, like me.

Thanks for reading. Much love,

C.A. MacConnell

A Good Hand.

She’s not playing any

War.

Maybe some stray cats suck cigars.
They like to bet.
They like to watch.
Others play poker in the
Basement.

She returns for

More.

Maybe some like to
Fish.
Maybe by the river, an all-day game
With the packed cooler,
And the bait,
And the hook.

Always, she wishes for a good

Hand.

She can’t live

With the broken zipper.
The only fix
Is the face, and some kind of

Reality, like blue
Eyeshadow.

-- C.A. MacConnell

P.S. "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." - Eleanor Roosevelt

Photo: Hawk

Hawk

Lunken Airport

This guy's there to show all the planes what it's really like to fly.

C.A. MacConnell

Every Day.

Have a good time with family and friends during the holidays! A new year is approaching fast.

Within nature, every day is a miracle.

Love,
C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Lunken

Lunken

C.A. MacConnell

Happy Holidays!

Happy holidays!

I know what you want for you and your loved ones! My books! 

 If you read along, you'll become part of some magnificent adventures, I promise you. 

You can find GRIFFIN FARM here. 

You can find THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR here. 

Descriptions of the novels as well as details on purchasing are provided by the link. Very smooth and simple to order, I tell you. Both are in paperback. Griffin's available on Kindle as well. Anchor will become an Ebook soon. 

I hope you join the journey and purchase these great books during this holiday season. And as always, tell your friends. Spread the word!

Much love to you and your families and friends, wherever you choose to go, however you celebrate. May peace, love, and happiness fill up your lives.

-- C.A. MacConnell

Untitled.

C.A. MacConnell

Photos: Secrets

C.A. MacConnell

Cape

Hi there. Poem I wrote just now. Little flash poetry session. Hope you like it. Poetry helps my writing get back in gear...you know...focus on each little word and line, the rhythm of it all. Hope you're having a good day. I feel blessed, truly. Love, C.A.

Cape

I have heard this yelling:

blue eyes make me weep
in the morning's brittle garden,
in the wind's canine chill,
in the hungry afternoon,
in the vapor-rich night,
in the screen of the sky's sea --
how it pours forth the gray coat --
in the almost-accident,
in the azure sunset,
in the sure, little death
of each and every sleep,
in the wicked toss to wake,
and in the backache stretch
to rise. Tear off the sheets.
We wear secret, golden skins. 
Some call us sun and moon.

See the baby in the cape.

C. A. MacConnell

Photo: Garden Shack

 

Ye Olde Garden Shack

Milford, OH 

C.A. MacConnell

Photos: Parade Girl

Parade Girl

Cincinnati, OH

20,
C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Abby

Abby

C.A. MacConnell

Well, Look at You.

My Friend Argo

Well, Look at You

Today, I was in line at the "self-checkout" at the grocery, which is where I always go, because I must, I must fill my bags a certain way. Anyway, at first, there weren't any checkout stations available, so I waited at the front of the "robotish self-checkout" in that space that's really part of the grocery aisle. I'm sure most shoppers know the feeling. When I stand there, random shoppers try to come through, and usually one or two appear with the "kid car-cart," and they barrel on in, and I'm totally in the way. Every time.

Yes, in the way, I scanned the stations. Still nothing open.

But when I looked at the station directly to the right, I saw a short-haired, thin woman slowly checking out, filling up her bags, pressing the buttons on the screen, heading for the credit card machine. Her movements were slow, jerky, slow. And by her side, stretched out on the floor, looking regal, there was a tan, medium-sized, pointy-eared, beautiful service dog. He wore a crimson coat with a tag that read, "Ask to pet me. I'm friendly."

To the dog, I said, "Well, look at you. You're so beautiful." 

Then the dog turned his head and looked at me through incredibly soulful, black eyes, and he rose up. Ever so gently, he began to approach me.

So I asked the woman, "Can I pet him while he's working?" 

She smiled wide and said, "Yes, you can." 

The dog came closer, and he rubbed his nose on my leg. Then he looked at me again as if to say, "Go ahead, touch me. But only you." 

So I did. I told him I loved him. I could have stayed there all day.

Now, what I didn't realize was that while all of this spiritual dog energy was going on, several checkout stations had become open, and the line was growing and growing behind me. I didn't care. I was having a moment -- a silent connection with this dog -- and it meant the world to me.

But just then, the woman behind me angrily asked, "Are you going to check out?"

With that, I jumped, rolled my cart forward, and the dog seemed to smile, heading back to his owner's side. I looked back at the line, whispered, "Sorry," and moved to an open station. Indeed, I knew I was caught up. See, the past two days had been rough, and for that minute, when I was connecting with the dog, I forgot about my restless mind. I forgot that I was at the grocery. Indeed, I lost all sense of time and place. All that mattered was the innocent creature in front of me...and the love coming from his eyes. He was so incredibly gentle and kind with me. 

And I thought, Hey, world, that is God.

All the way home, I felt the connection stay with me. See, ever since I was a little girl, I've often connected more with animals than with humans. And some particular animals strike me more than others, just as some people hit my heart harder than others. All creatures have their awesome personalities, their trials, triumphs, and quirks. And all are so unique. And yet each and every being understands the language of love. Truly, the Spirit of the Universe speaks to me through the eyes of so many creatures.

Well, look at you. You're so beautiful.

C.A. MacConnell

False Events Appearing Real.

Fear. For the past few days, I've been all in my head about certain situations. Over Thanksgiving as well, now that I think about it. But none of the things I was worried about were real fears; that is, none of them were things I was presently facing...right here, right now. They were all "future events appearing real."

When I told others what I was thinking, I heard this:  That's never happened to me in 70 years, Give yourself a break, and What can you do about any of it right now?

In all truthfulness, there's nothing I can or need to do about any of it right now. So what helps? Telling on myself. Telling others the thoughts that are running around in my head. Letting go of the shame about my thoughts and putting it all out there to someone I trust. This seems to alleviate some of the stress.

Now, this is something I learned years ago, so why does it always seem so difficult? I suppose I worry of judgement. Or I worry that I may "bother someone." Things of this nature. But when I think about the times that others have called on me for the same reason, I've never felt annoyed or judgemental. I've felt honored that someone would trust me with their deepest pains.

So, today, give yourself a break. If you're struggling, find someone you trust and let it all out. Sharing takes the power out of fear, I've found. Allow yourself the opportunity to reach out and be healed.

I hope you find love and peace today,
C.A. MacConnell

Caricature.

Caricature by Petlowany

:)

Black Draft

C.A. MacConnell

Roanoke Star

Roanoke Star, Mill Mountain

Roanoke, VA

B/W film, Nikon. Up close, day time, this is what it looks like. From far away, at night, it is a wildly bright star on the top of the mountain, and you can see it all over the city. Not sure why it was built, but it always brought me a strange sense of comfort when I lived there on and off for 7 years. I'd like to be there right now, actually. My heart lives in the mountains of Virginia, for sure, all the time. I'll have a little house there someday.

Happy Thanksgiving to you. I plan on seeing a movie, actually, ha. I'm usually odd man out.

Want to go?

:)

May love fill your heart.
C.A. MacConnell

Fiction: Dirty Turkey

Here's a short story for you, a fiction sample. Your not-so-usual holiday story. Be prepared. Ha. Hope you dig it. Love, C.A.

Dirty Turkey

Thanksgiving break. Evening in Jaytown, flocks of college kids browsed the stores and each other. Back home, each year, Rose became one smooth deal hunter. Her jeans were the black, skinny kind -- straight-legged and tight. Casually dressed to kill, she was window-shopping until some voice came at her from behind, the way she liked it.

“Hey!” he yelled.

She whipped around. "Hey yourself," she said to the man in the new T-bird. The car wore temporary tags.

She looked him over. Fresh meat, she thought, grinning. He was young, around her age, nineteen, and his build was hardly bigger than hers. He sank low in the leather seats of his crimson car. His hair was her brown shade. His wild brows weren't plucked, like hers. His shirt was red and fading, bleeding like hers.

Waiting for him, she leaned back against a storefront, restless. Maybe she’d buy a thumb ring later. Maybe skateboarders would soar and wreck, nursing breaks and bruises on Jaytown's streets. She never knew what characters would appear or vanish. She looked at her watch. Dad might ground her if she were out too late.

Hand at her chin, she studied him.

He parked crooked as hell. He was half-baked. He wasn’t careful.

She liked this.

When he climbed out of the car and reached for her, his shake was firm, like hers. “I'm Billy,” he said, raising a brow. “You look familiar." Billy touched her wrist, which cracked.

In his hand, her wrist became weak and fragile, like a wishbone. For a moment, she liked this too. "I'm Rose," she said, grinning. He seemed like a good egg. And when he touched her hair, she felt a shock, which was strange. She liked strange birds.

His eyes turned round and large, nearly buckeyes. "Come with me," Billy said, tugging her small wrist.

Meeting Billy was a good excuse to avoid home. Dad was usually out. Or making juice or eating tofu, watching Survivor, just checking out. Mom checked out too. Ten years back, on Thanksgiving, raspberries were on sale again. What a deal. Mom went to pick some up, planning for Dad’s special pies, but she never returned. Around twelve items or less, Mom disappeared. Dad let the turkey burn, burn, char in the oven. Dad still called her "missing;" he still put up signs. Rose couldn't picture Mom anymore. Rose only saw smoke.

Past the ghetto mart, past the people gliding through auto-doors like shopper hawks, Billy led her into Jaytown's famous ice cream shop. They shared a cone, berry sorbet.

Rose called it a date. Each year, back home, around the fourth Thursday in November, she had dates like this. She grinned, reminiscing. She checked the wall clock. She knew she had to either push this one in the oven or let it sit. She checked her watch, scratching her head. She would already be in trouble by then. Might as well stay out.

Backtracking, they paused in an underground parking garage until it became a deserted maze. Sex began with the slight tearing of shirts until both were bare, focused on skin grabbing. Billy let her suck on his finger. He let her suck.

Rose discovered that Billy was the sweaty kind – nearly cooking. And Rose discovered that someone had written Bush Sucks on the wall in black. Overhead on a fire escape, a couple fought until breakables began breaking.

Billy scooped his arms above her, making weird wings. Then he reached down, gripping her wrists, pinning her down on the ground.

It was hot, mad, wet, rough, and then her body became his giant skin pillow.

His chest, his body curves fit hers.

She wondered if she'd see him again. She fell asleep wondering.

--

Stiffly, she woke. It wasn’t that cold out, but Rose shivered. The world was hardly lit. She squinted to see. She was whale-hungry, chewing stale gum. She looked at her weak wrist. It was 9 a.m.

Billy slept spread-eagled on the blacktop. Then he came to, rubbing his buckeyes, moving his mouth like hers. Chewy.

Quickly, they dressed before crowds or cops appeared.

Her car had a fresh ticket. Using a rust crayon she found in the gutter, she scribbled her number on the back of the ticket, handing it to Billy, saying, "That's me." Rose sat in her car, wondering if Dad would ground her for staying out. That turkey.

Blocking traffic, Billy leaned at her window, hovering and shifting like a drug dealer. He said, “I’ll call,” and his buckeyes loomed at the surrounding traffic. All around, drivers’ faces burned red, trapped in various road rage stages. "I will," he said. Then he kissed her. Then he paused. Then he kissed her again. “I’ll call,” Billy said again. Then he shot away, heading for his T-bird, heading for the highway.

She didn't believe him. She never believed those turkeys. No matter how good they tasted, the seasoning was never quite right. Gripping the wheel so tight that her wrist, her wishbone, hurt, she noticed that her red shirt was too loose, too faded. It wasn't hers. It was Billy’s. She should give it back. She smiled. She followed him. She was close. Too close.

His lead foot was serious, like hers. Deep into the back roads, Billy flew easily until he couldn’t take the curves.

She tailed him. She was close. Too close. She watched him weave, trying to lose her, but she grinned at the game. She knew these moves, these streets; they were all a familiar recipe.

The T-bird screeched, wobbled, then flipped like a toy, landing upside down. The car was no more than shredded, splintered metal. A smoldering nest.

Pulling over, Rose's body simmered, shaking out a small earthquake. She listened for Billy’s life signs, blinking repeatedly. No movement, no life, no breath. So much smoke, so much black ash mascara. Her eyes smarted, taking the burn. Her eyes leaked, crying and drying. One thing was clear – another turkey was burning. It was too late for Rose to check out. Dad might ground her. Dad sent Mom out for raspberries. He had to have them. Twelve items or less. I’ll call. I will. That liar. All those liars. Express checkout, motherfucker. She shrugged, running her hands together – slap, slap, slap – then licking them clean. All she had to do was speed and wait and watch the time, and this dirty bird was done. She clapped, just once, feeling suddenly sleepy.

Rose's U-turn was hard. She scanned the road, studying the cars, the colors, the metal skins. She knew how to pick a bird. She followed another car. She could see the back window, then the plates, then the driver’s hair -- tangled with angry wings, beyond help with flyaways. She was close. Too close. Rose was one deal hunter. She smiled, red-faced and whale-hungry again, her teeth tearing through stale gum.

This was a rare one. The head was feathered messy, out of control, like hers. Rose looked at her watch.

-- C.A. MacConnell

Kylin, FB.

Yesterday was the anniversary of when I lost my writing partner, Kylin, pictured above. Today, celebrate the most soulful connections in your life.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Graffiti Wall

Graffiti Wall

Yellow Springs, OH

C.A. MacConnell

Morning Coffee, Attica

Wrote this just now. Hope you like it. A gritty piece. Love, C.A. 

Morning Coffee, Attica

Only black,
Brazilian
brew
back then --
Jesus,
bring me the grandfather
clock.
I was wound up with her.
And now, the baby's not a baby.
I am one
of the last
of the few
with an out
date.
Now, instant, I'd kill for you,
you fucker.
It doesn't matter if it's Tuesday.
Waiting for the cleaner,
the weak, lying, prick from the south,
I bolt upright
and consider
the country.
In brave time,
six years,
I'll buy a blue-grey,
six-toed,
one-eyed
beast named
Bandeira,
make him a home-bed.
I do what I can.
I hang on the bars.
Yesterday, I traded a joint
for the hot.
Mop man,
slide the bag
of scalding water
under the hell door.
I'm sure you understand the quick
pour.
When the dogs aren't looking,
maybe I could make a deal
with a visitor
and fit inside one sister's
old, wet,
unbleached
pocket.

C.A. MacConnell

Let Me Remind You...

THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR IS NOW ON SALE, AND YOU CAN FIND IT HERE. Inside this book lives an adventure of the nineties -- a mystery, a gritty street story, and some rad brotherhood. Check it out.

GRIFFIN FARM, my first book, is available here.

Be a part of the adventure.

Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

P.S. Congratulations, wherever you are.

Milk Carton

Proof of life:
Tangled hair, twisted throw.
The animal and I,
We wake.

Strange captor calls from the
Family.

Now, stretching. True, I'm no brow-beauty.
Some other missing girl will
Bring the ransom
Home.
She'll be a longer living wall fly.
Some say she'll stick.

Ground coffee, look here, I make the black
Law. I admit, it's a little

Strong.

Call the shepherds. They know
Blood.
Find the sign,
The lost shoe,
The search team, the one
Phone call,
The right or wrong
Words. Relatives know how to make a
Deal. Someone finds a bad sock,

A trace.

Hero, empty or full, don't forget the suit
case.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Three.

Three.

One of my faves I've taken. See what you think. I've always thought of the trees as musicians on stage, singing to the sky.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: New Guy

New Guy

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Hoping

Hoping

Always good to spread some hope. Here's to you, hoping your day is peaceful, happy, and free from suffering. May the Creator of the Universe bless your heart,
C.A. MacConnell

The Misunderstood Ones.

 

Argo, Above.

Bismarck

I'm adding to my collection of neighborhood friends. I have a soft spot for the fierce and misunderstood ones. Bismarck is my new friend. He likes getting his picture taken, but Argo doesn't. Bismarck is soulful and unique. To look at him, he's very intimidating. I may just get a German Shepherd of my own one day. Such interesting creatures. And once they like you (which sometimes takes a li'l bit), they're unbelievably loyal. It's as if they test it out, but once they make the decision to love, there's no turning back in their hearts. Like a switch goes off, and they're suddenly your number one protector and friend. And no wavering.

Beautiful.

I've been working on getting Book 3 out there. Stay tuned. It is a difficult process, but I keep reminding myself of this:  NEVER GIVE UP.

Love to you on this chilly, fall day,

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Lost Glove 26

Lost Glove 26

C.A. MacConnell

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween! I love Halloween. One time, I dressed up and celebrated for a whole week. Wait, never mind, that week wasn't Halloween...that was just my usual attire. Like Jim Carrey said on SNL when he was dressed as "Hellvis," It's the one time of year when I actually fit in.

C.A. MacConnell

Happy Almost Halloween!

Wolf

Wolf Haven International. Tenino, WA

Working on getting my third book out there, woohoo!! Keeping fingers crossed. :) <3 And going for a walk with one of my best friends. It's gonna be a beautiful (although chilly) day. Love to you,
C.A. MacConnell

My Totem, and Checking In.

Dear you:

My hawk returned. Usually, the female comes first, and then the male rolls in after about a few weeks. I see them each year, right outside my window. :) They both adore this tree. It must be a good lookout for their din din. Also a good place for them to hook up and have "dates," ahem. They're not shy, believe me. And not quiet. Ha. So I saw her yesterday right when I needed to. See, when I catch a glimpse of them, a feeling of peace always settles over me. Suddenly, my heart feels full, yet calm. In short, I feel loved. I see it as a sudden, tangible reminder from my higher power...something, out there, is definitely telling me that everything's gonna be OK.

She came right on time. So, thanks, Great Spirit, for reaching out. I love hawks; I believe they're my totem these days.

Working on some new fiction. 💪👍😁🙌 Right now, I have an outline/shell going, along with a few chapters. Definitely in the beginning stages, but I'm rolling with it. Today, I'm meeting with an old friend to do some research, because I'm at a point where I can't really go forward without it. Rad. He was kind enough to offer up his time for me. Real, in-person accounts are always the best way to go when researching, I believe. Well, of course, the best way is to actually experience a story myself...dig in and just become the research, so to speak.

For my second novel, THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR, I embarked on many years of research. I interviewed skaters, read numerous skate magazines, studied about weapons, boards, ramps, trucks, wheels, and on and on. I learned all the skate tricks, went to competitions, watched tons of street-based movies to create a mixture of dialogue, took notes, emailed skaters, stopped people on the street, read books, read transcripts, lived in Seattle and became immersed in the actual life, spent some time living on and off the streets, you name it. I wasn't shy with it, ever. Years of research. I took notes. I became these notes. I'd love for you to pick up a copy. There's a description of the book when you click on the link. If you've already read it, please tell a friend!

If you'd like to check out GRIFFIN FARM, my first novel, please go here for a description...and for purchase details! It's easy, I promise you.

Love,
C.A. MacConnell

P.S. Morning shots. I'm usually up around 4 or 5 a.m., but I'm not great in the mornings, as far as social abilities go. But it's all right, since most people aren't up at that godawful hour, so I'm only cranky with myself, which can get ugly, now that I think about it. I usually feel better around noon.

P.P.S. Check out my big noggin. 💗 And Happy Halloween!!! It's coming!!!👻 Don't forget, THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR IS NOW ON SALE!

Photo: Let Me Show You

Let Me Show You

C.A. MacConnell

Photos: Limbs, One Yes.

  Limbs

 

One Yes

Sometimes, all we need is one yes. I've been trying my ass off and waiting on that yes for 23 years. Writing can be really tough, sometimes. But my heart feels good and true, and I have so many blessings. That's what's important. <3

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Overlook

Overlook

Mariemont, OH

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Argo the Dog

Argo

In case you didn't know, I used to be quite afraid of dogs, and this German Shepherd, Argo, lives 2 miles away from me. So I started walking to see him sometimes, just to test myself. It took me an entire year before it was safe to approach his fence; he's quite fierce, and he could sense my fear as well. But after some work, we've become best friends. Lovers, you might say, in fact. When I come now, he can't wait to jump up on his fence and lick my face. Back in the day, he'd show his teeth and rage and bark and act like he was going to tear my arm off. Not anymore. Now we're soul mates.

It's been a beautiful journey. I love this dog. You never know what may happen in life, if you just stick something out and show someone a great deal of love.

C.A. MacConnell

Vacation Room

There's no question -- she is beneath him.
Flat on her back, licking her lips,
swimming in sheets, she is seemingly
satisfied. For miles, no one is near. Quiet,
the hours. They could be under water.

Blue on white, she buries herself
under blankets. Always, she’s on time
to meet him. True, she's always drop
dead, carrying limes. Mornings, door
service, it seems that he couldn’t live

without her. Nights, he stacks trays,
unsure how long she will last. No rain --
each dawn glows in the vacation room.
Surely, hiding will make her and break her
into the love of his life. A vision, she sleeps

cold now. But shouldn't her middle hold
less curve. Shouldn't the cut cheek slide into
the chin, stabbing the jawline. And the side
of her face -- shouldn't it hold more lines,
showing the age, the lost years etched

into another shade of eye. When will the pupil
become larger, the black giving up to a fierce,
traveling light. And when she turns, tosses,
rolls over, why doesn't her tired breathing
deepen, like the bravest at rest, like horses.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Power Lines

Power Lines

Lunken Airport

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Step Up

Step Up

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Drummers

Drummers

Clifton, OH

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: When Light Breaks Through

When Light Breaks Through

Miami Meadows

C.A. MacConnell

Free Dance!

Throwback Thursday, some Comedy for you. C.A.

Free Dance!

Back in 1998-9, I worked at a health food store in Virginia. It was a privately owned, high maintenance, cultish, superbly organized place, and I have no idea how I got the job because I had no experience, and I was newly sober, and I wasn’t feeling well in the head at all I might add, which made it a true adventure, since I suddenly morphed into a wild hippie – not shaving, all natural everything, very high maintenance. Anyway, being the extremist that I was, I got so obsessed with ingredients that it took me all fucking day to shop. Suddenly, when it came to food and cleaners and detergent, I had to be 100% pure. Sure, I have always had trouble with the “happy medium” idea, but at that time, it was extreme. And then I created an entire recycling center inside my one bedroom apartment. I had so much recycling that I had room for nothing else in the apartment except for an egg crate cushion, one chair, and a small desk. That’s it. Anyway, I got so obsessed and spent so much time studying labels while shopping that even though I became an absolute expert, I got fired.

Actually, I probably got fired because one day at work I asked my coworker this: “Hey, do you know of some kind of aromatherapy that helps out with crazy racing thoughts? My mind is in fuckin’ overdrive!” That’s right, I really said that. In front of customers. So my coworker just looked at me weirdly, shook her head, and picked up the phone, and in case you were wondering, yes, the call was about me.

After my short adventure at the health food store, I became so excited and intrigued when I met this medicine woman who only had one name, like Madonna. She was rad, and she loved my “quirky” personality, so she introduced me to her secret society of “Free Dance.” On Friday nights, a group of strangers got together at some vacant house, and she turned some music on, and we “danced out” the way we felt. Like therapeutic movement, only there was no real therapist there. Just a bunch of wild hippies dancing out feelings. We were ultra-serious about it at the time, but thinking back, I’m sure it looked like a circus. Actually, it was fun as hell…for most of us…

See, there was this one chick who was kinda down I guess, because she spent the whole dance night curled up in a little ball on the floor. That was her dance – some kind of never-ending, weird, slow-mo somersault. Every single week, she curled up in this ball, so I’m not sure if the Free Dance was helping her. My dance was pretty intriguing. Kind of a mix between some stoned-out hippie crossed with a hip hop act crossed with a kangaroo crossed with a spider crossed with someone who just got electrocuted. Really, my Free Dance was no different than my regular dancing, to tell the truth.

Maybe I’ll start a Free Dance class around here. You know, get a boom box and some old used CDs, and find some warehouse. I might be the only one attending. Just me, some Dead Can Dance, a candle, some incense, hells yeah. I’d write more, but I have to Free Dance to the kitchen. I may return, I may not.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Little Miami River

Little Miami River

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Tell Us

Tell Us

Going deep into Kentucky today to share my story. Wish me luck. :) <3
C.A. MacConnell

Clock-in

Hi there. 👀👄💗💪Been cooking up some ideas for some new fiction. I have some ideas, starts, musings for some short stories, books, and the like. Probably a new book. Book 4. I think of good ideas reading random things -- the news, old stories, and even old excerpts I've written. Sometimes I get ideas from poems. Right now, just gathering info. Will focus soon. That's how it works...I take walks, read up, feel like a mess, and then suddenly, I focus, and it comes together. Ha. Like magic.

Well, it comes together with a lot of painstaking hard work + magic.

Still working on getting book 3 out there. It's a process, aye. But I won't give up! Wish me luck. Time to rest. I've been a bit under the weather. Just wanted to give an update and wish you well. Hope you like today's poem.
🐯
-- C.A. MacConnell

Clock-in

So clean the buckets
or don't
scrub a-thing.
Maybe ride the finest
gelding;
that boy's 100-K
at least.
Fix what's black
and make it
white-smooth,
or watch someone else
get the leg up;
he'll become
the cowboy you never were
and never will be.
Teach this and that kid
how to win.
Always.
Or head down the drive
and lose every single one
all-the-way.
The cat lives or dies.
Look, Mac the dog smiles
almost-forever.
And then the barking.
Above all, keep-moving.
And just when true-
love comes
to break the back of work,
perhaps he never even knew
who you were,
but like God, now he hears
your name,
and he's with you
wherever-you-go, even
when you clock-out.
So walk in silence
or hammer-something.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Roar

Roar

Cincinnati Zoo 

 

Film, b/w. :) <3 Hope you have a good day. I'm slow to start! Much love,

C.A. MacConnell

Shavings

Songs are poems, poems are songs. Ray Lamontagne is a master at the craft, in my opinion. Rich with concrete imagery. :) Love it when it comes from real life, from the gut. -- C.A. MacConnell

Shavings

Hand me a bandage. Earlier, I cut myself;
we are forever blending into some couch.
You are made of smog, smoke, fog, steam.
You are dust. You are an intangible buffet,
a cirrus cloud, a vast scab, a gorgeous vapor.
Your shoulders are static rather than bone.

Something hangs between us – a fight never
fought, a loss never lost, and the irresistible,
makeup screw. To our mad, silent lives --
from the dirtiest laundry to the lightest
sheets. Sometimes, I see your shavings.
Cutting the quiet in two, sound is our knife.

I see our small house, white paint peeling
on the left, the heart side. I see you call
the painter. I see me call the gutter man.
I see our swing, our kitchen, our late night
dinner -- orange, fake fish on green plates,
no napkin, bare clean kitchen, the scent of it.

The table, the imperfect circle. And no matter
how the meal ends -- empty or full, imagined
or real -- even if I could, even if I should,
I wouldn't take anything back. Hand me
a bandage. I see us sit down at the same
time, sinking into high-backed, black, plastic

chairs, praying and laughing and digging in,
whether or not people need to eat
in heaven.

C.A. MacConnell

Church

I see your face
in the face of

strangers --

in the lick of lips,

in the sweeping,

and my eyes become
blue,

like you,

and the green becomes
my tree,
my man,

my church.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Pay Phone

Pay Phone

Anywhere, US

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Pumpkin Carver

Pumpkin Carver

Roanoke, VA

Howdy. Been working too much. Ah. Some things that come to mind at the moment:

1. I think I'd like to marry someone. I suppose I'd like to hang out with the person first. I would also like to have a tiny house behind the house (large or small) of the person I marry, and we'll just live in our own places and meet at one house or the other whenever we want to have a hot rendezvous. I would also like my tiny house to have working plumbing.
2. The sequel to "It" should be "Not It." That shark movie was terrifying.
3. Diet Cola is every bit as good as Diet Coke. In the Midwest, we call it "pop," not "soda." If you judge me for drinking pop, I'll say something like, "Hows that fuckin' massive burger you scarfed down earlier?" or "I'm sure you're a perfect person; that must be fun." Hahaha.
4. I feel sad for pumpkins this time of year.
5. I love raptors, Good 'n Plentys, and Quest bars, as well as ducks, Argo the dog, and you.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Wild Horses

Wild Horses Monument

Vantage, Washington

From the late nineties. Original was film, scanned in. Love this place, the freedom there. <3. Hope you have a good day. Time to get to work.

Much love,
C.A. MacConnell

Happy October

 

This Morning
C.A. MacConnell

Hoping.

Hi there. Well, I just finished working on Book Three. Feels great. Another milestone.

Now it's time to send it out. Just sent it out this morning, actually. So we'll see what happens.

Following the steps, going through the motions, leaving the results up to the universe, and of course...

HOPING. :)

In the meantime, gonna get out in some nature.

Hope you are well and happy. Hope that love 💘💪😍fills your heart today.

Oh, and one more thing...in a previous blog, I was talking about my old horse who died, and I wrote, "It is not polite to speak of the dead." That was actually a quote, a Lakota translation, from Dances with Wolves. Indeed, I do actually choose to mention those who passed from time to time, telling stories, working things out in therapy, and the like...it can be healing of course. Just didn't want people to think that when I mentioned the movie quote, I meant that a celebration of life wasn't a beautiful thing. It is, indeed, a beautiful thing, when done with respect and love, of course. I didn't mean it literally; in this case, I was just quoting one of my favorite movies. Just wanted to be clear on that. Those who move on to heaven...or whatever new universe they see after life...some of them truly leave a mark upon our hearts forever and sharing that with others can educate and spread life's awesome joy in so many ways.

Much love and respect,



C.A. MacConnell