the lotus- cira's writing blog

  Exactly, 36 years ago today, as I record this. Chornobyl, Ukraine’s turbine sector, exploded on April 26th, 1986, leaving about 69 people dead on immdeite contact. A low power test went out of control, leading to the explosion and fire that demolished the reactor building and released large amounts of radiation into the atmosphere. Safety measures were ignored, the uranium fuel in the reactor overheated and melted through the protective barriers that shielded the employees from these toxic materials. Initially, that day, the two workers that tested, died from severe burns and immediate blast trauma (don’t look that up) , soon later 28 firemen and rescue workers died only days later from radiation sickness. Experiencing horrific in 2 phases prodrome, latency, manifest illness, and either recovery or death. During the prodromal phase, they usually present with nausea, vomiting, fatigue, and even loss of consciousness at higher doses. The power plant was not equipped to deal with a...

  POV journal entry: Your friend is blind (since birth) so I describe what white looks like White is a woman usually worn by Brides on their wedding day,  the flowers.  She's a clean sheet waiting to be decorated,  darkened and sometimes destroyed.  Anything wrong would have stained her dress,  mistakes, lies and blame.  White is a lonely colorShe has no friends.  A recipe made without a single ingredient,  a routine without a step.  Some may even say she's not a color at all.  You’d feel sorry for her.  White is  a virgin and she can usually be found  hidden in the light of the Morning window view.  She admires the Hues of scenery,  the rebellious pigments, on land and sea.  She's not really jealous, just transfixed on what it's like.  She only wants what she can't have.  You don't know Black, she's invisible even for you.  But you would know Black, the king’s son.  Unlike white, Bl...

       Early May 2009. Sitting in front of my expecting mother, six months in,  due in September. She’s a long-haired blonde, wearing her blue lace robe, I sat within her land of pillows. I'm 3 years old. I love a comfortable place, a protected space. I’ve gotten used to waking up in quiet rooms; little talking. I still have never once spent a day away from her, I couldn't imagine it. She starts reciting words, elegantly spoken. I love this song. A copy of Amelia Bedelia, the one from her childhood, she always shared with me. I adore the look of her reddened fingertips pinching the pages. I admire the forms of her activated lips-talking. The sun touches me, urging me again. The antiphony reaches around my head and I watch the trace of light coming in from the windows. Then I noticed a quiver in her once steady tone, a crack from a tall standing voice. Her face is now rosier than last time. Her lips are trembling now. I don’t like it. She’s threatening to erupt...

  Voicemail- January, 8th, 2007 at 11:42 PM from (210) 733-2493 to (210) 874-2245 { I know you’re running late to something and you probably don’t have time to talk or anything but look-If I didn't love you, I wouldn't be talking right now. I just need you to remember who you’re talking to, who you’re hearing from. Like, remember when we stayed up after John’s pool party and drank cranberry tea in your mom’s greenhouse? Remember we talked about acknowledging each other and other things I’m not used to being? Remember how I started to cry a few minutes in and then - then when you told me I’ve gone on too long without telling myself that I was just exactly enough? And it was the most perfect thing to say in that situation but I just, you know, wasn't ready to hear it and I cut you off and blamed it on those new blood thinners. I lied. You let me do it, Liz, you knew I didn't need blood thinners, I needed blood thickeners if any.  Why did I let you go on for so long withou...

  My tears dissolved the last block of ice in my throat Words float up. Me: “let me tell you about it.” I’m a boiling teapot, I’m spouting with the truth. Even when he stands taller than me, I’m still a rolling ball of hot steam My tree is definitely breathing, little shallow breaths like it  just shot up through the ground this morning. When people don’t express themselves, they die one piece at a time. Because after the beast comes, I’m ready. My last straw has been broken, chewed up and spit out right in front of my eyes My tree needs something. Water drips on the paper and the birds bloom In their light, their feathers expand promise. If you knew, would I be different? I’m scared of being looked at but I need attention Was I raped? Of course I was, but I want validation. Oprah: Let's explore that. You said no. He covered your mouth with his hand You were thirteen years old, it doesn't matter if you were drunk. Honey, you were raped I want to kill him. I’m sorry but I do. I...

  Journal Entry} an infant will fall 2-17-22 An infant stands before falling again Dropping doses of old resentment  But running on the gas of new freedom An infant screams in agony Refusing to be ignored,  they will be nursed , raised and shaped into an idea Before falling again, another time A new collection of bruises They seemed to be stronger as a child Now as an adolescent, But with waves of torture and long-awaited Struggle, they will sway to the side,  gather their strength  And stand on their own,  soon they can walk. Walking, they join the world, they make a life.,  But even then, still walking as they fall, victim Being stabbed in the back,  frozen in the winter and Eaten, gobbled up like a carrot in the spring. The adult that was once an adolescent,  an adolescent that once was a toddler and a  toddler that was once an infant Will fly on doses of toxic waste  and run on centuries worth of Stored adrenaline, they should k...

  Journal entry (2-14-22) The relationships between the stars and the moon With some inevitable Magic, She arrives. Your softest cream blanket and your warmest dream. Taking in, Drinking every kind of glitter and gas. She is something descended from the cosmos. You’ve found yourself a place in this galaxy. She’s something you would love to understand. You, like every other, have licked the plate of the universe but only she gets a bite of the bread. She’s your morning steam and your sigh of relief. You and a million others dance in place, you circle around her at every second. She’s your strongest stone of hope, your brightest white star., one that may not be broken easily. You’ve been here for all of time and proudly you blaze. She’s something made of strange witchcraft and off fate, eerie mystery and older glory but only in her presence may you glow the brightest. Crafted by gods above your head. She will be seen. She will be worshiped.  Journal Entry (2-15-22) Martin spen...