MinervaWaterhouse's Blog

Minerva Waterhouse — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 21:13:00 +0000

The slow ache of my hip flared up in pain. I pounded the hell out of my hip bone like a butcher would to tenderize his beef. I stretched it so far I could hear the vessels inside my muscles worm around, and inched my toe to the other side of the room until I heard I satisfying popping sound. Since moving to Pittsburgh my lifestyle has changed a bit, less moving and more eating. Short brief walks outside to the car are now replacing 10 minute walks I took to get to every station. Three flights of stairs has been reduced to one flight and the only walking I am doing, besides my small personal adventure walks, is in and around parking lots. Gone are days where I walk with 30lbs of laundry to the nearest laundry mat, juggling a gallon of soap and some dryer sheets lodged in my mouth. It’s a new lifestyle adjustment that I have to well, adjust too. Davidson, around 5 o’clock today, left me in bed in my underwear to facebook, blog, masturbate etc and a full night of solitude. I sat around for a while, watching episodes of John Stewart and taking multiple trips to the refrigerator. After a few episodes I get what I call I.A.D.D (Internet attention deficit disorder) browsing around half hearted for something to catch my interest. In the mean time I was taking resin hits to keep me company when I realized, I was that person, sitting on my bed, half naked, over fed, and stoned off black tar. I decided I would take a another bike ride. Despite my valiant efforts the other day, I dressed appropriately, and headed out. Of course, I started by flying down the streets, so fast I nearly had a heart attack. Did I mention my overwhelming applause I give these people for getting up these monstrous hills? Anyways, I rode around for a bit, but decided to make a right onto Penn Ave. It’s a two lane road. Sandwiched in between everything from anarchist shops to quickie marts, Tattoo shops to a Job Core, vegan restaurants to KFC’s. Down a ways, there is wicked cemetery that I have been eager go into since moving into the neighborhood. I peddled down the widened sidewalk, touching my finger tips to herculean cement wall to my right.

“TO YOUR LEFT…..TO YOUR LEFT!!!” I screamed as I rapidly approached a stocky woman wearing headphones.

I barreled past her, scaring the shit out of her, I heard her scream, “Sorry, my bad”

I turned my head toward her and screamed back, “It’s cool, no worries, I just did not want to hit you”…

“Thaaaaaaaanks”, she said laughing it off.

I was pleased with my exchange with her, just because I never want to accost people while I am on a bike. I feel its a disrespect to whoever is walking on the sidewalk, because I too have been terrified of the young punks on bikes looking to frighten people on the sidewalk for their own entertainment. I turned into the cemetery with a little doubt. I noticed how big it was, and how rolling it was. An overwhelming sense of comfort and peace rushed passed me as I gained speed downward. I felt the smooth air hit my face and body as I stood straight up on my bike. I see the daunting hill before me. There was no way I was going to make it up this hill. My feet came to the ground and my world slowed down a bit. I took a look to my right and saw and exquiste sight. The most obscure headstone set akimbo the two maples trees, Perfectly black, and oddly shaped, resembling a giant metronome. I pulled over to take a break, set my bike down and walked into a cluster of graves. I saw people who have been buried for more than 100 years there. Dead and Gone, dead and Gone. These particular branch of people were the ordained. ”Father Markey, Born in Ireland, came to Pittsburgh and opened the first church of Christ in 1817.” Being in cemeteries reminds me of how short life is. Sometimes when I read a headstone I will calculate how old they are. When I get through, I wonder if they did the things they wanted to do in life. I sat down on the curb, having all these tombstones of lives past, spread before me, I listened to the crickets, felt the breeze and picked the grass from beneath me. When I looked up I saw the same woman I had nearly ran over moments befor. She was walking through, still with her headphones, we caught eyes and smiled ag sweet smile at each other. She pulled her headphones out the same a child would pull a peice of gum out of there hair.

“Fancy seeing you here”, she said.

“Haha, yea right”, I said.

As we got to talking, I filled with excitement that I had made a friend, and even more excited that she was telling me where other cooler cemeteries were. Since childhood, I have had a fascination with cemeteries. I find them to be the most peaceful place to go, and feel alone. My step mom taught me how to drive in one, and I have taught both John and Davidson how to drive in them. ”Its road like a street, but the worst thing you could do is knock down a head stone”… Ever since I was able to drive I loved to go into them, reflect and feel more alive then those surrounding me. I felt comfortable with her immediatly, her stocky frame, short butch haircut and a belly bigger than mine came off to me as inviting.

“Im new to the neighborhood” I said, placing my hand on my forehead like a minion soldier to his general. This was my desperate attempt of trying to block the keilodoscope of sunshine raying through the trees, from piercing my eyes.

“What brings you here, are you new to the hood, or the, like, the Burgh?” she then raised her bushy brow.

“No, totally new to the whole city, Ive been here, well, 24 days now. I’m from Chicago”, I said proudly, like it provided some street cred.

“Oh ok, why you here? School? Yeah, must be school.” Sounding very sure I was just another displaced student off in the whims of youthful stupidity.

“No, I just wanted to live in a new city, try something new” , I said. I was at this point trying to remain androgenous, mysterious, little a hard edged, but still interested in conversation. I could feel her looking at me with intrigue, even with a sweet eye.

Apparently she didn’t buy my story…
” Nah, you either come to Pittsburgh for one of two reasons: school or sex…so which one is it?”

I laughed, appreciating her attitude and candor. ”Well my boyfriend lives here”.

“Yeah, see…sex, I told ya.”

Minerva Waterhouse — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 05:36:13 +0000

Cursory August

Minerva Waterhouse — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 05:26:43 +0000

My sweet home Chicago. It is finally time I say goodbye. Our relationship has evolved into the ever changing effervescence of time together. You allowed me to draw you, naked and vulnerable upon a skyline of choas. See your bones, pull out your hair. A pulse as hard as blow to the gut, you thickend my skin and jarred my resistance. You birthed me from the streets of unknowing challenge; graph so secular its taken new shape of home made elation and pain.

I leave the bustling street corners, amidst my African friends in clothes so colorful, the season steals its idea. The heartlands fire so quick to burn the glossy laminate of a Daly theory; it was sent back to the merchants of gentry. Oh my darling radicals, Brother Dreads and your two for fives, sit in the haze of marijuana and patulli; Sexy Sam meth-enphedamined and marvelous prowling the street in her billowing stained ridden hoodie; Carribean Barber shops, indie art studios, no fence picketed white folks and a bass so deafening it vibrates your bones. We were cohered by blocks among the culturally moxied, which for us, found a new awaited home.

I bid farewell to the slow moan of metal married to speed that worm in and out the trees. Every platform holding an elevated moment I have ridden through. Goodbye my panic in numbers, and every eye set in two.

Sweet waters to the east, I say goodbye but not forever.

I will emerse myself into you again on a late night in June and feel thick shroud of sweat rolling off my chin and back into you. Snow and ice melt off the pointy icicles of our story that stabbed me and stained the white. I will always carry how deep that stain went on my collar. Thank you for teaching me roots, reaching south into the center of me, gravity forcing love and an ecosystem of eminence that will satiate me endlessly. You have been my fruit tree, filled me and poisoned me, loved me and spit me out. I am marching off to my spry revolution, and here lies the liberty of deliverance.

An Observational Jest

Minerva Waterhouse — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 06:46:36 +0000

Its been three solid weeks since I have left Chicago. Its almost 2 am, and the twenty first day has arrived. Computers never interested me much, despite my lack of involvement, I can appreciate it and understand its incredible design. Since moving into my new place, its provided for free, thanks to a very generous and gullible neighbor (of which I would gladly bake cake for if I knew who it was). However, I find myself locked onto the marvels of it. The diamonds of information, the rubies of intrigue, the emeralds of communication. I left a lot of people back home, some of which I love very much and want to continue the exchange of real life mucus. The snots of our everyday aren’t adored in 11 minute phone conversations I have with my sister, my dad, my Nani (little Italian Grandmother) Some of my relationships will sway with the clothes line. As weak throated as I wake up some mornings, I’m here. They are not. No smoke has clouded that crystal, no honey to even smudge it. What exists out here is different. A synthesis of city built on old bones, the ethos of the steel Industry, and the wrath of darkness it had on this city. Many old men and woman, bear handed workers, stoop sitting with a cigarette in their mouth. People sport reality out here like hungry dogs. Women wearing short shorts out here, is the most popular trend I have seen so far. Women bearing fleshy corpulence, pot bellied and permed, ride these teeny tiny little shorts exposing their most undesirable attributes. It’s almost endearing how fashion hasn’t the locals yet. Shorts are so popular out here, even men wear them… with big tennis shoes….a simple white Dego T… and sometimes a neck chain. Now Pittburgh does house a signifigant scene of the youngsters. Hopefully within a good amount of time I can find some of those genuine Pittser’s to show me around this city. I can look only from the outside when I see this place. I need to sew in the roots here and find new seeds.

Minerva Waterhouse — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 02:41:51 +0000

Pittsburgh- Week III: I decided it was good for me to get off my ass and go for a bike ride. Move my joints a little and push myself out of the birthcanal of stonerdom. I was rolling down that hill like a bat of out hell. My brow squeezed harder than I squeezed the breaks. A dozen droplets of water fell onto my head, and the steady ease of rain awaited the clouds call. I felt for the first time in weeks the sweet speed of a bike ride. Chicago, my home land, my reference point, is flat. Graphed and systemed, the earth offers no resistance. I head down the big hill by my house, accumulating more rain on my face as I gain speed. About 7 minutes into my bike adventure I started to sweat. My body was being used as an engine more than I have ever gauged it, when I struggled up that hill. The rain mingled with my perspiration to create beautiful outlines of my breasts, that I later saw of my reflection in some guy’s car window. I trekked on, continuing to breathe like I was under water, encouraging myself to not look like an out of shape person, drenched on a bike. I kept imagining myself as this rough and tumble girl, kicking ass and biking, with rain dripping down my face like in those Gatorade commercials… Riding through life with an attitude and purpose. Again when I saw myself in the “Daddy’s BBQ” shop window, I looked nothing like those people in a fitness magazine, “riding through life with a purpose”, I looked like a homeless street rat wearing a brown bandana. I laughed it off, rode home and sat on my porch. I thought to myself how many weeks it was going to take for me to get used to these inclines. These steep uphill streets, make cars struggle. My poor legs will soon look herculean, and I too will ride with attitude! I plopped myself down on the wooden stair, framing my posture on my knees. As the rain persisted, so did my presence on the porch. Finally, the rain look so appetizing I let it devour me. Standing on the sidewalk, I pulled the ponytail holder out of my hair and looked up into the sky. Every crevice of my body was drenched with fresh rain water. I danced a little, walked off the curb, and let the unfiltered residue of the street water wash over my feet. I felt home for the first time.

Hello world!

Minerva Waterhouse — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 22:32:23 +0000

this application is rough,

a smoke now down on diamonds

a mined heart to smooth to cover

a wide entry way of maladies

and nothing to pine over

two truths like my hands,

to wear onto this world

built pyramids of contenement

to which my heart wont understand

please say im the leader

a line of nowheres

left stranded to a seeker

to find why i am here

A mindless breeder

of entities i produce

and a promise i can not bear

one goes left, one writes right

i welcome a dawned resolution

because you went left

your ink is now on our chest

rememberance had your name

and all signitures you signed

to the right

is your name,

your one truth

endless irony

that your mortality was a shame