don’t make me tell you twice

don't make me tell you twice
FADE IN:

I can’t hardly sleep no more. I useta be able to leave the TV on for hours, and not hear a peep.
Life man, it’s exhausting, and then I can’t sleep.
I got a new home now, a kid. A kid, man!
A kid that –
Listen, the other day he came over to me and said, “For Christmas, I want an X-Box One X. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
I was like, “Ok, fool, whatever.”
A few minutes later, he comes back to me, “Dad, don’t forget I want an X-Box One X for Christmas. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
At this point, I’m like, “Why you tellin’ me twice then?”
And then it dawned on me, this kid doesn’t understand what that phrase means.
So, I explain it to him.
He looks at me and says, “You always saying it at the end of your sentences, and you’re always saying it mad-like.”

That’s a mirror to my fuckin’ face.
Fuckin’ kids.
They’re watching us too much.

FADE OUT.

velocity

velocity

Velocity.
Extreme focus ready to rock the day.
Mind at the service of the body.
At the ready,
What do you WANT to do today?

God, I get so overwhelmed by possibility.
Today’s explorations are endless!
It is like energy bottled, and ready for drinking.
And then here’s the thing:

I fear someone will take it away.
I fear I have to give it up, take on someone else’s wishes.
It haunts me. I stiffen at the idea of it.
And then (the irony), I yearn for it.
Maybe some rest, or going over there is a better choice.

Dog,
Lover,
Family,
Bills, calls, dishes, laundry, etc,
The unexpectedness of life,

Freedom is having the choice
To use my own velocity the way I want to.
To make decision deep within the soils of the soul
So I can birth strong roots to grow a magnificent plant
With leaves that stretch for days,
To nurture not just her,
But all those around her.

same ol’

It’s the same ol’
He said
She said
Tit for tat
Just like that
How many times
Do I have to ask
Why isn’t it done yet?

Love language
Lost in translation
All the best of intentions
The other side doesn’t get it
Just, accept things as is.

Make me feel better
Let me rest
Take the reigns
Let’s pretend
It can all go away.

Impatience taking over layers of exhaustion
The same ol’
Like a monologue on repeat
A record with no stop to it
Where did it all go?

I don’t want to go to bed like this
And it’s happened all week
Close my eyes
Dreams, sweep me
Let EscapeLand whisk me
Away
Cuz tomorrow,
Tomorrow will be better
We’ll be nicer to each other
A new page,
A new day.

Promise?

tender

tender

Weeks, since writing.
Cause? Open heart surgery.
Recuperating is like watching hair grow.
He said many things.
She did the same.
Words, on repeat, like radio.

You don’t really know someone.. until you do.
A wakeup call.
Without warning,
We went from green to red.

I take responsibility.
For stepping over my boundaries.
I carry that mark.
Wounds, please heal fast.
I hope time is our friend, my love.

What a time to be disconnected
In this beautiful, vast cyber city.
What should be hibernation with cuddles and warm blankets
What should be hugs holding us through the night –
Is not.
Let’s see how it turns out…

Tender.
Heart. Pride. Certainty. Love.

Lil’ One

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Dear Lil’ One,

Oh mighty one
Survival is an interesting thing.
Living from a fight or flight perspective is daunting and exhausting.
I know you know this.

And yet, here we are yet again, sitting opposite each other.
Waiting.
It’s the waiting game.
Who’ll quit first.

I want you to know
I come with peace in my heart
A white flag in my hand
Hoping we can come to some agreement.

Hoping you’ll be open to some space
A lil’ room for a shift in perspective
See what kind of information that tells us.

The truth is,
What we’ve been doing hasn’t been working.
I know you feel this.
We are spinning plates.

How about a new journey
A new path
No map, besides our instincts and love
Not fear, not competition, not stupid pride
Nothin’ but us.

There is space for you.
There is love for you.
There is possibility beyond this.

Liza Fernandez

sucks the air thin

sucks the air thin

There’s a silence that’s almost deafening.
The kind where, at a party, the music stops and everyone looks up and says to no one, “Hey, what happened?”
The kind that the body shutters from its piercing.
A Void.

I was turning 16. I wanted a big party; bodyguards, a live band, DJ, pay at the door, the whole shebang. I worked hard; I got my artistic sister to create the flyer, gave them out at my and my brother’s schools. A week before, everyone was talking about it, the word spread quick. The band was known enough to build a crowd, I was in love with the drummer who should’ve been the lead singer he was that eccentric.

I rented a trophy room off a big sports facility, facing a big oval where my brother’s school played footy. The party drew a huge crowd, a long line waited around the bend even until 11pm, an hour before close. I was shocked. I barely knew anyone, and when I did, they were intoxicated and in the throes of what it took to be a teenager at a party in the 90s.

Flash forward to afterward. Mum, bro and sis, and my best friends, with black trash bags and rubber gloves, helped me clean up the evidence. Well, enough to get our safety deposit back.

I must’ve sat down somewhere, took it all in. I hope I did. I’m hoping I popped a squat facing the oval of lush greenery and tsunamic eucalyptus trees. Muscles spent and feet regaining circulation from improper use of heels. A mix of pride and exhaustion. A mix of elation and isolation.

And then silence.
The Void.

How it sucks the air thin.

welcome

welcome

It’s the closest thing I’ve felt to death.

Birth.

5 days of labor and pushing and pain and sweat and utter exhaustion.

Birth.

Hours of almost readiness, a champ in the ring, waiting for her trophy.

Birth.

And he arrives, at a perfect Godly time with absolute intention.

Birth.

He comes uncracked, unwrinkled; life hasn’t stamped her good ol’ reality check on his skin. Not yet.

Birth.

Why do we cry? How does it crack our hearts wide open?

Birth.

We’ve all traveled this channel too. We have got to be as perfect, as divine, as uncracked?

Somewhere underneath. Right?

Clouds hiding the sun, type of shit. Right?

A son. A nephew. A gift.

Welcome.