Some secrets about the creation...originally, I met Joanna when I was in a band, and we were all at the Waffle House late night. We did share a few words. And then, I imagined what her story might be, and I combined some of my experience with it, and the poem took on a life (and character) of its own. This is often how I begin to develop characters...a combo of different folks, all wrapped in one, as well as a l'il of me buried in there. Hope you like it. Love, C.A.
Joanna at the Waffle House
Coffee or tea? You're lucky, see --
some nights, the blackest alleys
still reach for me. See, they want me
back. Mornings -- blinding, man,
And the bottle was the place
that I called home. When I woke,
sometimes I found strange blankets,
or maybe a brand new bruise.
Some girl was always askin' T-bird
who she fucked last night. Shit,
never talked to that kind. I traced
my way somewhere safe. Thick,
fast, mean love shook me loose,
like a wicked cough, like a wheeze,
making my chest push and pull
within the hours, when I felt
the noise of everything close.
Maybe it was even you. Hell,
I remember the slick, nasty streets --
the muggers, and the dope boys,
and the Lusty Lady strippers.
Outside smokin', they wore nothing
but red robes. I remember the punk
kids, the snapping, the slapping,
and the cracking. Everywhere,
smiles held gaping holes. Back
there, in the box, a baby. You need
more time? You're lucky, see.
Some nights, the blackest alleys
still reach for me, 'cause back there,
in the box, that baby was mine.
Maybe it was even you.
C.A. MacConnell
6/30/2019
6/29/2019
Sideburn
From the archives, today. An interesting little piece. Hope you like it! <3
Sideburn
It is thick, thick,
then narrow,
then thicker.
A full-grown,
deep-angled,
tricky, wild,
steep stairwell
leading down
from floor two,
your ear,
stepping
all the way
to your jawline,
the landing.
Flatly, no,
shockingly,
it ends.
But in the white
space between
your hair
and cheek,
my finger becomes
the imaginary
razor, testing
the shaved line,
lingering
on the edge,
feeling the way
your smooth, hot,
strange skin
so easily leads
back into the hall,
back into the rough.
C.A. MacConnell
Sideburn
It is thick, thick,
then narrow,
then thicker.
A full-grown,
deep-angled,
tricky, wild,
steep stairwell
leading down
from floor two,
your ear,
stepping
all the way
to your jawline,
the landing.
Flatly, no,
shockingly,
it ends.
But in the white
space between
your hair
and cheek,
my finger becomes
the imaginary
razor, testing
the shaved line,
lingering
on the edge,
feeling the way
your smooth, hot,
strange skin
so easily leads
back into the hall,
back into the rough.
C.A. MacConnell
6/28/2019
Photo: The Architect
The Architect
"'So to reveal myself, that was a big hurdle -- not only to be the center of attention, but saying, Look at what I've created. Do you like it? As
you know, everyone has an opinion. But I've been through a lot in my
life, and I have a thick skin. I learned to trust my gut early on. I
knew that I was on the right track writing songs and performing, knew
that it was going to open up for me. I trusted myself.'"
-- artist Ray Lamontagne, from an article by Eric Snider, Tampa Bay Creative Loafing, April 2009.
Today's Truth: Trust yourself.
C.A. MacConnell
-- artist Ray Lamontagne, from an article by Eric Snider, Tampa Bay Creative Loafing, April 2009.
Today's Truth: Trust yourself.
C.A. MacConnell
6/27/2019
6/26/2019
Photos: Rare Sun, Saying Hello!
Lately, we have had more thunderstorms than I have ever seen in this town. And more to come! I've always felt connected to storms, and I can't help but think something exciting is coming.
But for today, I'm enjoying the rare sun. Now back to work on BOOK THREE, design aspect. <3 to you,
C.A. MacConnell
6/20/2019
6/17/2019
Photo: Nineties.
Nineties
Clifton, OH, Color film, Nikon.
Clifton, OH, Color film, Nikon.
THE HOUSE OF ANCHOR is a fast-paced, intense, literary mystery set in Seattle in the nineties. Sometimes dangerous and often humorous, this novel is a deep, epic adventure packed with vivid dialogue. The slick use of voice is fresh, addictive, and engaging; it'll stick with you. It digs deep into skateboarding, hostels, grunge, and addiction, and it's real and raw, with a street edge, but it also shows the voice of recovery.*
Every day, people message me, email me, and tell me in person how engaging it was, that they couldn't put it down, and that is so rewarding.
If you haven't already, I hope that you can join me on this epic adventure!
C.A. MacConnell
*Note: story contains strong language.
6/09/2019
The Body: It Carries Us Whole.
I admit that I like to perform – to speak or read in front of crowds.
I find that these types of experiences energize me but ironically, I
also have a strong internal critic that's a real bear. Every day, I
fight it, and I’m sure everyone experiences this negative dialogue to an
extent -- some worse than others. When it gets bad, I call people,
walk, move, move, move. Riding horses used to help me a great deal.
Baths, meditating, being with animals, being with nature, helping
others, enjoying art, sex, laughter, acting like a goofball -- all of
these things provide temporary relief.
Or I write to you and you and especially you.
As it is for so many, facing the self-esteem issue has been a long road for me. As a kid, I had no real solution for my severe depression. Desperately, my mind sought an outlet, and my brain latched on to my self-esteem, my physical self, and my ability to achieve, and there was (and is) a real, constant beating.
Well, the other day, I was listening to the radio, and I heard a writer talk about her body view. She told the story of when she visited a California nudist place and at this particular one, when she ventured into the sauna and glanced at the other women, she thought that they all had nearly "flawless" bodies, in terms of society's stereotypical external standards. From the Midwest, the writer had given birth to two children, and she knew she was fuller figured than any of the women there. At first, she felt like she didn't fit in at all, but then she thought about how each supposed "flaw" on her body actually represented a piece of her life story.
True, she wasn't living in a perfectly healthy way, but she had the following sudden internal revelation: if she hated her body, she also hated all of the experiences through which her body had carried her. As the heat sank in, she thought back over her life; she began to honor the ways that her body told her beautiful tale. Maybe she hadn't had time to tone up like she wanted to, but that was because she was present to raise her children and watch them grow. She hadn't always treated her body well, but it still continued to perform for her. Without retaliation or resentment, her body had selflessly continued to give back. It represented who she was, and she realized that she had to love this outside shell in order to honor her whole being. If she were going to feel complete, she knew she had to forgive herself and love the physical form that had carried her on her journey thus far.
Listening, I thought about the ways that I've daily picked apart my body. But these strong arms, strong legs, and good balance kept me safe while riding horses for many years. And later, this body carried me through yoga. My body has carried me through great trauma, as well as great healing. With this body, I have given talks to thousands of people. With these arms, I have hugged many people and animals. Maybe my voice or smile helped someone laugh. Maybe I helped to save a life. The woman’s words echoed in my mind. If she hated her body, she also hated all of the experiences through which her body had carried her. I was reminded that my body is a vessel that represents the richness present in my life and with this physical self, I have felt and expressed love, and isn’t that why we are here?
C.A. MacConnell
Or I write to you and you and especially you.
As it is for so many, facing the self-esteem issue has been a long road for me. As a kid, I had no real solution for my severe depression. Desperately, my mind sought an outlet, and my brain latched on to my self-esteem, my physical self, and my ability to achieve, and there was (and is) a real, constant beating.
Well, the other day, I was listening to the radio, and I heard a writer talk about her body view. She told the story of when she visited a California nudist place and at this particular one, when she ventured into the sauna and glanced at the other women, she thought that they all had nearly "flawless" bodies, in terms of society's stereotypical external standards. From the Midwest, the writer had given birth to two children, and she knew she was fuller figured than any of the women there. At first, she felt like she didn't fit in at all, but then she thought about how each supposed "flaw" on her body actually represented a piece of her life story.
True, she wasn't living in a perfectly healthy way, but she had the following sudden internal revelation: if she hated her body, she also hated all of the experiences through which her body had carried her. As the heat sank in, she thought back over her life; she began to honor the ways that her body told her beautiful tale. Maybe she hadn't had time to tone up like she wanted to, but that was because she was present to raise her children and watch them grow. She hadn't always treated her body well, but it still continued to perform for her. Without retaliation or resentment, her body had selflessly continued to give back. It represented who she was, and she realized that she had to love this outside shell in order to honor her whole being. If she were going to feel complete, she knew she had to forgive herself and love the physical form that had carried her on her journey thus far.
Listening, I thought about the ways that I've daily picked apart my body. But these strong arms, strong legs, and good balance kept me safe while riding horses for many years. And later, this body carried me through yoga. My body has carried me through great trauma, as well as great healing. With this body, I have given talks to thousands of people. With these arms, I have hugged many people and animals. Maybe my voice or smile helped someone laugh. Maybe I helped to save a life. The woman’s words echoed in my mind. If she hated her body, she also hated all of the experiences through which her body had carried her. I was reminded that my body is a vessel that represents the richness present in my life and with this physical self, I have felt and expressed love, and isn’t that why we are here?
C.A. MacConnell
6/08/2019
6/07/2019
6/02/2019
Hippie Living: Free Dance!
Howdy, a comedy piece for you, creative nonfiction, from the archives...
Hippie Living: 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
Hippie Living: 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
6/01/2019
From the Wolf
-- One of my faves. Hope you like this piece...it sends me somewhere. From the point of view of a Wolf. Love to you, C.A. Mac. ;)
From the Wolf
You are there to me, Mouth
You are here to me, Ear
You are Teeth and Paw
Tonight, where is Pack, I'm coming
Only the gaping
Hello silence
Then Pretty Wolf, somewhere else, West, calls out, yes,
You
Something Thin is running -- slow Old Deer heads south
We let Him live once, remember
I sing, testing Air, loving Wind,
Like Mother told me way back when, over Milk
Pretty, I hear your tone when You are
Home, at hunt, at play
Last week, we ripped up Rabbit
Seems like always, we have Howling
Then we're trapped in Quiet,
Like the too-long Tooth that never falls out,
When it tucks deep in Cheek,
Pressing there, making a Hurt,
A strange shape in Jaw, no matter how hard Brother plays,
Trying to knock it
Loose
Shiver myself dry, and I almost see your
Black Wet Nose
Whiskers, bring your Face home, here, with me
Man, the two-legged ones dug holes again
So I can't find Father
Pretty, Left Ear twitches for You
Lip curls, for above all, I am
Fierce, first
Neck hair feels stiff
Tell Uncle I smell coyotes
I make Prints
I mark Ground
You will find me if Gray Stray doesn't fight me first
We can have Sleep together
I hear You, but I can't see those
Eyes, perfect, like Moon, yours
Soon
You and me, shredding Meat.
C.A. MacConnell
From the Wolf
You are there to me, Mouth
You are here to me, Ear
You are Teeth and Paw
Tonight, where is Pack, I'm coming
Only the gaping
Hello silence
Then Pretty Wolf, somewhere else, West, calls out, yes,
You
Something Thin is running -- slow Old Deer heads south
We let Him live once, remember
I sing, testing Air, loving Wind,
Like Mother told me way back when, over Milk
Pretty, I hear your tone when You are
Home, at hunt, at play
Last week, we ripped up Rabbit
Seems like always, we have Howling
Then we're trapped in Quiet,
Like the too-long Tooth that never falls out,
When it tucks deep in Cheek,
Pressing there, making a Hurt,
A strange shape in Jaw, no matter how hard Brother plays,
Trying to knock it
Loose
Shiver myself dry, and I almost see your
Black Wet Nose
Whiskers, bring your Face home, here, with me
Man, the two-legged ones dug holes again
So I can't find Father
Pretty, Left Ear twitches for You
Lip curls, for above all, I am
Fierce, first
Neck hair feels stiff
Tell Uncle I smell coyotes
I make Prints
I mark Ground
You will find me if Gray Stray doesn't fight me first
We can have Sleep together
I hear You, but I can't see those
Eyes, perfect, like Moon, yours
Soon
You and me, shredding Meat.
C.A. MacConnell