StormHawk: Transformation

   Days turned to weeks, which turned to months, and eventually years. Seasons passed and strangers became that once again. In human form, Stormhawk would occasionally look back through memories of her journies and have fond thoughts of people she had once cared for dearly even if not written about. With the change upon her, she scrambles to remember the last trace thoughts in her mind, hoping, yet knowing, it can never be enough to adequately express what those humans and their relationships had once meant.

  Lina, rescued from the streets one fall morning, an instant kindred spirit, and short-lived sister who loved whole-heartedly, but only shared what she wanted to be seen. Stark, stunning, and spirited a glorious raven with secrets of her own. Although fiercely protective, we should have known that hawks and ravens are meant to live alone.

Pravesh, perhaps the wisest of us all, a shaman in his own right. Showering wisdom and insight like mist among the group. Were any wise enough to accept these pearls of wisdom? Although a world away, he saw, knew and accepted without fear or favor each misfit for their individual strengths and weaknesses and gently guided through friendly words.

Shane, the youngest and perhaps most misunderstood. Trapped by his surroundings, he so desperately wanted to be seen, noticed, loved. Behind the face and words of a clown was the heart and soul of a dreamer. He was perhaps the truest, kindest, and gentlest creature Stormhawk had met on her travels. The mouse behind the jackal's facade. The one of us who embodied all of us- showing only the face we wanted the world to see.

Fletch- the cowardly lion after he found his courage- and Stormhawk's sole acquaintance these many years past. Always kind, full of love, the best part of twisted, and able to bring the sun on the darkest days. If ever you are looking for a pot of gold, look towards St. Petersburg, the sun only shines brighter there because it glimmers off of him.


There were a few times over the years when Stormhawk came close to shedding her gossamer wings for good. A night in a graveyard, stolen moments in a hidden hamlet on a driftwood beach were enough to stir her aching loins and pull a few heartstrings.

Her truest temptation was a year spent in the arms of a long-lost lover and friend that had the planets aligned, the fates pulled the right wire, and had things not fallen like so many trees in a hurricane, she would have stayed. Like every other love for Stormhawk, it wasn't meant to last.

It was the end of her final year, she rarely took human form anymore choosing the company and solace of the night. The moon and stars had always been her constant companions, and in this way she could fly over and look down upon all the many and wonderous loves of her life, taking comfort in the tallest tree from time to time. She had lived and would live by her own terms, untethered, flying across the night sky.

Sammy - Supporting Actress

Sammy Marie – When I first met Sammy, she was exactly as I expected: quiet, unassuming, shy, behind bright blue captivating eyes. We automatically hugged because having spoken prior we had built a kind of kinship found between an aunt and niece as she refers. She says I remind her of her aunt which is a huge compliment since that is who primarily raised her.

In speaking with Sammy for the first time and really getting to know her, I scramble through my brain of metaphors to compare her to someone for my readers to identify. In the movie, “The Holiday” Kate Winslet is eating dinner with the 80 year old screen writer who tells her that she is a supporting actress in her own life, she’s not even the main character. That is the best way for me to see Sammy. Her own life has yet to begin; she has been the supporting actress in everyone else’s drama tossed from one scene to the next with no real regard for her own feelings, or storyline.

As a child, she played supporting actress between her parent’s poor choices; being tossed like a Frisbee between them and then eventually staying with her aunt being separated from her siblings. And like a Frisbee, when its usefulness was over, put in a box until the next time it was needed or useful. She learned to keep her head down and hide and is still doing this, playing turtle… don’t notice me…..

Children who grow up this way usually grow up with an overdeveloped heart. Because they haven’t had enough people in their lives to equally distribute their love to in childhood and adolescence, they have an abundance to give as young adults. This is the excuse I give for Sammy being as deeply caring and passionate as she is. It is also the reason she will continuously make poor choices when it comes to men; she wants to believe the best in everyone especially her children’s father. But even with him, she was just a supporting actress as it turns out.

The benefit of this role is that she is always there for everyone else. She is supportive, loyal, fierce, and strong for everyone else. She is SuperMom to her kids, Wonderdaughter to her ailing mom, Batfriend to all of her friends; meaning she has a superhero title when she is working for or helping someone else, unfortunately she has yet to claim her own identity.

With such empathy, she could follow her dreams and be a nurse, but money, time, and her children, are an excuse. So, she will forever be caught in a twister of indecisiveness until she is ready to become the lead role in her own life. Her potential limitless, her beauty astounding, her kindness overwhelming. We often don’t realize the worst enemies in our lives is ourselves and our fear of motion. Staying stagnant is a decision; it’s safe; it’s a Frisbee in a boxes life. But I want to see Sammy soar. Like Kafka, I want Sammy to Metamorphosis from one ridiculous thing into another. I want Sammy to morph from a Frisbee into the Eagle she was meant to be and discover all that one can do when no one else is there to throw or catch you. Because Sammy is a survivor, wouldn’t it be wonderful to see what she could accomplish? 

Mike Dayton - The Tin Man

Mike Dayton – The Tin Man

Who Stole Your Heart

The smile from your face

The innocence the light from your eyes

Who stole your heart or did you give it away
And if so then when and why
Who took away the part so essential to the whole
Left you a hollow body
Skin and bone
What robber what thief
Who stole your heart and the key ------ Tracy Chapman “The Tin Man”
 

I first heard this song back in my college days and loved the imagery and symbolism of all the lyrics; I recommend everyone listen to it. I didn’t know I would meet the real Tinman when meeting Mike Dayton.  The irony of the Tin Man is that he has misplaced his heart, he has lost it somewhere; he has so much love to give, but can’t seem to find the person, place, and time in which to fulfill his destiny. This is how it is with Mike.

I jump out of my car out of driving through the worst New York traffic desperate to make it to Long Island. Standing there waiting for me is my over 6 foot, wiry Tin Man all grins.

“You finally, made it!” he exclaims in that undeniably New York accent that hits me like strong Turkish coffee. You know its coffee, you know what it’s supposed to taste like, but nothing quite prepares you for that strong burst of flavor. That’s how Mike’s accent is. You know he’s from New York, you know what that accent is, but the long vowel sounds assault your ear canals and you realize you’re not in Kansas, or for me the South anymore…  

We joke about it; because in social media, you see people, you read what they post, but you read it with your brain, your voice. If you’re imaginative, you might create a voice for them… you might even make a connection actually speak with them. However, if you are like me, you wait to meet them in person so that you are pleasantly surprised by the nuances of their personalities in life. I make him say a few stereotypical words for me and laugh the whole time.  We fall into an easy pattern of comfortable familiarity of lifelong friends very quickly when he tells me he want to show me his favorite places: a park by a lake, to try real N.Y Pizza, and the Beach. Kindred spirits again I decide immediately.

It is at his favorite spots that I discover the Tin Man. The man that loves passionately: food, family, work, women, and alcohol. Everything that Mike does he does 110%. He works 60 + hours a week, he gives to his family, especially his mother all that he can. He speaks of his heartache and disappointment in his brother. He laments over past relationships. He is verbal, eloquent, thought provoking; he points out different flowers, birds, sights for me to see, all while sipping his wine.

I owe my first foodgasm to Mike. I now understand the Hoopla behind New York Pizza. He asked me what I wanted Sicilian or New York style. I had no clue; I said thick?? That’s obviously Sicilian. He took me to Gino’s. Where this father, son, daughter, operation was going on. Eh, oh, eh, yo, conversation was normal. Mike ordered us two slices of pizza and we sat.

I bit into the square of unassuming dough of ecstasy, and my world as I knew pizza changed forever. Garlic, butter, sweet cream nectar of the gods exploded in my mouth, dough so soft, hot, wet, and full of flavor I literally, not figuratively melted and melded into my booth chair. The fact that the old Italian father was speaking in Italian on the phone behind me made the erotic sensation even better. I had found Nirvana. Mike just laughed at all the facial expressions and sounds I was apparently making.

From there we hit the beach, and the second bottle of wine. The surf and sunset was the backdrop for him to share his heartache. He told me some more of his past relationships, and why he thinks he is doomed to be single. He told me who he is crushing on currently. He feels things so passionately, he is willing to move across the country if a girl would just give him the chance. Hopeless romantic, or hopeful romantic?

We spent a lot of time together that weekend, Mike and I did. I met his roommate, I met the other people in the group at a picnic. I built a lasting friendship with him. I know some of his pain and sorrows and he knows mine. I know that like the Tin Man, Mike has to realize that he has everything he needs, but like the rest of us, he needs to try and shed the past to welcome the future.

Samuel Adams - Indian Lager

Samuel Adams – Indian Lager

His dry wit and outlandish humor that one picks up through the computer monitor is only one facet of this multi layered character. I got to meet Sam for breakfast and coffee, outside of Edison, New Jersey at a mom and pops deli, with Oh my God to die for Corn Beef and eggs.

One of the concerns with social media is will the person you are meeting look like their pictures. How often do people lie about their appearances? I had met several who grossly exaggerated and some who were dead on target. Sam? Sam had never told anyone what he looked like because his profile picture was that of The Rock or Samuel “The Rock” Johnson. Therefore, I would have to trust that I hadn’t lied about my looks or perception, and he would recognize me. I hadn’t.

When I arrived at the deli, up walked a beefy Ali Baba himself, with Jessica Alba eyelashes and grin from ear to ear.  We fell into sync talking because Sam and I had spoken frequently in private messages previously. He was one of the few I had gotten to know a little better prior to this adventure. I knew he had a girlfriend of 5 years; I knew he was in law enforcement; I knew he was intelligent and got my twisted sense of humor too; and I think I knew he was Indian from India, but I knew it now, as we sat down and he told me his history.

He tells me he’s from Bombay, but is frequently confused with someone from Samoa. I laugh because inside my head I’m thinking only Asians or Indians would think this; Caucasians would not look at Sam and struggle overly long with his ethnicity. This to me is something that individual races do. For example when I taught high school, I never realized there was different shades of black. Only black people see different shades of black. So to Samuel Adams, he had to explain to me in his witty humor that his bald head, long lashed almond eyes, beefy build was not that of a typical Indian man despite the sandy shade of epidermis layer, but that it was most definitely more of a Samoan look. I took his word for it.

I think overall Sam is running away from anything that reminds him of who he is or where he came from. He speaks highly of his parents as far as loving them, but doesn’t want to divulge too much information. I do discover that he had a typical arranged Indian marriage that did not end well, and that could be the reason for his turning from and denying his culture so vehemently. How many Indians from Bombay do you know are veteran U.S law enforcement officers, dating blond haired American women, lifting weights daily to beef up, have wit, charm, intelligence and sarcasm on group social media with strange friends and use The Rock Johnson to describe themselves?

Then again, how many of us do the same thing, consciously or subconsciously find a way to escape our pasts by recreating our futures. His present and future are not sad ones. He is very much alive and personable. He has his demons from years in military and law enforcement, but he copes and searches for a better life. It’s just another thing that ties us together in the crazy mixed up world.  

When I go to leave, he refuses to say goodbye. He tells me he doesn’t say goodbye to people. He says something like “see you soon.” He doesn’t want to hug me, but I force him to because I’m a hugger. This is the first time where I can tell that saying goodbye has an emotional and raw effect on him. Leaving people is something he can’t face or do. So I tell him, “I’ll see you soon, brother.” And that’s what Samuel is, a brother. After meeting this, shy unassuming hide behind the mask Indian turned Samoan turned American…. After meeting this bright eyed, sweet, kind, goofy, loving, muscular Buddha. You want to hug and squeeze him, even if it does make him uncomfortable and call him Brother.

Crystal - The Red Empress

Crystal – The Red Empress

When we wake up in the mornings, take care of our children, commute to work, clean our homes, prepare for our daily grinds, pay our bills, how many of us also log on to our computers and check in on our Twisted families within the first hour of waking? I know I do. I sometimes don’t even have my first cup of coffee before I’ve picked up my phone to check on the twisted events from the night before. What have I missed? We owe this addiction, this habit, this communal commonality of weirdness to one woman: Crystal, our Red Empress.

This bold brassy woman had a vision to create a place where people from all over the world who were  strange, had different views than the norm, maybe felt like misfits, could come together and speak their minds without being ostracized by others. She created a community that feels like a home. And she did this because like many of us; growing up, our homes lives for lack of a better life truly sucked.

She shares a rocky background; an abusive an alcoholic parental past. When this happens to people, it makes, breaks, or a combination of the two in the outcome of the resulting person. It definitely created this strong, independent beauty that stood before me that balmy, rainy afternoon; beaming up at me, she embraced me recognizing me as a sister from another mister as we joke.

We spent the afternoon with the rest of the New York twisties cooking out, eating, drinking, and socializing. Living minutes apart; this group of fellow comrades had never really met; their only form of communicating was behind their computer screen, safely hidden from the prying eyes of the real world. And here they stood in front of their fearless leader; their larger than life Crimson Queen. She leads us daily, staring back at us, peering at us with those emerald eyes and we know that today is going to be ok because our family and our sister, our mother is there for us. But today, today on this Saturday afternoon, she really is there all 5 feet 2 inches of her. The image has become mortal, the dream a reality.

When the crowd thins, I get my moment alone with my kindred spirit. I find as I meet each member, that they all truly are kindred in one way or another. I listen to Crystal’s story, so much like so many others. Did we all have the same parents? Was alcohol, drugs, and abuse free to anybody who wanted it?

As a teenage street punk Crystal grew up street wise. Her family then were the boys she to this day calls brothers like Mike R. and Mike D. These men watched her blossom from the ballsy, brazen teenage runaway to the incredible, intelligent entrepreneur she is today. As a mother of three, she not only is a vet tech, but also owns her own pet sitting service, and admins several Facebook pages; the most successful, The Twisted Wonderland.

 This amazing 31 year old makes it look easy: juggling three kids, working 2 jobs, administrating web pages. It’s because she does it her way. She refuses to let anyone or anything stand in her way. She selects people to help her, she takes and consults people on advice, but in the end she goes with her gut instincts to lead her in the direction she feels is best for her people. That’s how she see them: her people. She is the matriarch of this complex, twisted society. She is successful because she has the support of her partner, her members and her other administrative staff.

Different things remind me of people in this group. What can I say, I like metaphors. I’m listening to Matikas’ 1989 Toy Soliders, and that is what this Twisted Group is we are fallen toy soldiers that are finding our way up again. It is this group created by this Red Sargent that is helping us get back up bit by bit after being torn apart at different times in our lives.

In Alice in Wonderland the Red Queen is a Malevolent ruler. “Off with her Head” she would cry, and while Crystal does have that wild temper, she has a heart of gold and rules and runs this group with nothing but love and benevolence. So to those reading this blog, won’t you come play in our Twisted Wonderland; I can promise she won’t take your head the first day… 

On the Road

Life on the Road…

Part of this journey, has also been one of self-discovery. Driving is an ideal venue for this; the mind numbing monotony of the tires on the tarred asphalt and the drumming to the wheels on the pavement allows the mind to wander. Admittedly, it returns to several singular thoughts, my family, my writing, my emotional turmoil. 

  Have you ever tried not to think about something? No matter what, it will seep in in like water under the door, flooding the basement of your mind. I drive and images float across the crevices of my mind like a monarch butterfly dropping down lighting on every flower and creating new life.  When this occurs it’s time to turn on the tunes, blare out the memories and check on my social media family.

Frequently, I am checking in on my social media family. The new trend this week are people are posting anonymous threads. Some are funny, some are sexy, some are heart wrenching, some are mean. The group members comment or like or even ignore. The amazing aspect about this group is that through it all we fight, support, defend and love because that’s what family does and that’s what these anonymous posts are: they are life at its different points and the responses are what family members do. We laugh, we flirt, we, cry, we ignore, we bitch, we complain, and then most of all we love.

I chose this group because of its familial feeling. Part of my interviewing process is to ask what other groups people belong to. I myself belong to several. Nothing out there compares to this. This twisted group of freaks. The more people I meet, the more commonalities I find between the underlying threads that connect us across state lines. Many of us have come from alcohol, drug, and abuse home-life and relationships. Many of us have had suffered some great losses in our lives. Many of us suffer from some kind of addiction: drug, alcohol, sexual, gambling. Many of us have questioned our sexuality. Many of us have contemplated suicide. Through all of these struggles and continuing struggles we have found our way into this twisted family of hope and understanding.

My first night out: 

Night One:The first night I was sleeping in a rest stop. It’s one thirty in the morning and I’m checking in with the group. The windows on my eclipse are extra dark, so I don’t realize a black man has walked up to the window of my car and knocks loudly. The sound explodes through the car causing me to grab the small 32 in my lap and aimlessly point in at the blackened window. I can’t see what I am pointing at because the light of the cell phone has blinded me on top of the darkness.

The man is a pan handler, a beggar, he asks for money or lose change. I’m so irate and scared, that I grab a dollar from the toll money in the center console, slightly roll down the window, aim my gun, rap star gangster style side cocked and hand him the dollar. He just stands there afraid to come closer.

“Here, take it” I yell. Gingerly, he moves forward, quickly grasps it and thanks me and apologizes profusely.

I believe I am the only 40 year old white woman in history to hold a gun on a person and force them to take cash.

Mike RIvera Fire and Ice

Mike Rivera- Fire and Ice

Raleigh North Carolina

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost knew the magical imagery polar opposites hold; so must it be true for Mike Rivera. The first thing one notices about this quiet unassuming cross between Zac Brown and Kevin Smith is his shy quirky smiling eyes hidden behind his glasses and his symbolic ink work.

Emblazoned on each arm is a star one filled with liquid water the other with liquid fire. He explains how to him they represent life and death. Fire being death and water representing the ultimate rebirth of everything. So, I suppose Mike would favor those who have tasted desire in Frost’s opinion.  And once meeting him I would happen to agree.

I chose this representation, because this symbolism, this imagery goes much farther, much deeper than just life and death. It is the entire representation of Mike’s existence. And I don’t even think he is aware of how great the decision of that particular tattoo would be the representation of the core that is Mike Rivera.

Let’s start with heritage. Irish and Puerto Rican. Fire and Ice. The Red hot passionate temperamental Irish and Puerto Rican stereotypes mixed with the cool, laid back have another beer and relax attitude.Moving on to where he resides. Born and raised in New York, the land of bright lights and big cities, he’s now nestled in valley of South Carolina.

Even his personality has a duality to it. In group, he can hide behind social media and let his freak flag fly a bit; let that fire burn. His wit, charm, sexual humor, seeps in through the cracks of the posts, but in person his cool water flows over you. He’s open and light and airy, very social, he doesn’t mind sharing his rough childhood, stories of his son, his passion for music, and his past relationships even; but the fire behind the social media screen has been tempered by the waters of his own personal soul. The only time it is truly ignited is when he speaks about Crystal, the Twisted group Founder.

If Mike is Water, cool and collected, then Crystal is definitely Fire and she ignites not only the passion of everyone in the group, but certainly of Mr. Rivera. But this post is not about Crystal, we will get to hers, this post is about Mike, and what I can say is that that their 20 year friendship has been build out of love, trust, and mutual respect. I’m not sure what kind of man Mike might have turned out to be without knowing Crystal? Probably fine, I definitely think a lot shyer, quieter, hiding always behind his guitar instead of stepping out from behind it occasionally.

It’s ironic that the name Crystal is an ice formation, when it is clear that Crystal is Mike’s Fire and Mike is Crystal’s Calming Ice. She ignites his personality, she is his creative muse, and she burns for her friend’s feelings and needs. And in return Mike soothes Crystal’s anger and temperament. He is there when she needs to vent and needs to calm down. Mike is that cool glass of water, that refreshing beer on a hot afternoon. He gives you fresh perspective on how to handle different situations. Everyone should have a Crystal and a Mike in their lives.

Women just to let you know he is single, but speaks very highly of a few in our group. Unfortunately, he doesn’t use social media for dating, having had bad experiences in the past, but I am sure he would make an exception for one of our twisted family members. And everybody should get a chance to meet this loveable mild mannered Clark Kent just waiting to be someone’s Superman.

We all have people who come into our lives; we can never be sure of what roles they will play. But they leave their marks on us, and like Crystal, the burn crevices into our souls, shape our minds and hearts and help us become the people we are. It is clear that their love has changed and developed over time; what was once passion and friendship, is now familial and bonding.

 That is the beauty of social media, it connects likeminded people so that we might be touched by these individuals. As my readers look upon these words, think about you have met in these groups. Think upon when you have been fire and when you have been ice. Who has ignited your soul and whose fears have you calmed.