Everyday by Teresa Baxley

‘the parents of an artist…who have embraced their own creativity…on weekends, days off and hours off from work…will give what little they have and without.  For only they know, for years to come. things will be researched, discovered, explained and explored.  With only unimaginable thing left…the human imagination!

Everyday Everyone and Everything... has a beautiful side. Everyone and Everything... has a dark side.
Everyone and Everything…
has a beautiful side.
Everyone and Everything…
has a dark side.

Everyday some people only show…

the beautiful side.


they show no fear.


to be honest…

should be love.



be love with no fear.

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“Please don’t take my baby!”

“Please don’t take my baby!”


I remember those words as though it were only yesterday. Pleas by my mother vacant attempts at delaying my first arrest.

But of course, it is not yesterday.  It is thirty years later.  Yet, the scolding vulnerability of such a statement did not stop me then.  The DUI’s, the intoxicated in public, the driving dangerously close to the fatality mark…never hit.

I smoked pot when I had been eight.  I took LSD as an after dinner mint from the age of sixteen forward.  I pillage and rough housed my way through the lives of many who dared to love me.  My mother brought to the pediatrician when I was ten and begged:

“What can I do about her?  She shouldn’t be drinking at her age!”

Only to be told…’she is just going through a stage.’

9-23-05 'alleged dui' results: wreck & injuries
9-23-05 ‘alleged dui’ results: wreck & injuries (Photo credit: vikisuzan)

I sat in barren smoke-stained detox centers and stale but filled with vacant carcasses of humanity rehabs.  I sat in wait for the next carton of cigarettes to be brought my way.  My bruised and battered body running on empty.

Alas, so had I been running, empty and helpless and hopeless.

It is not a fortunate thing, addiction.  It follows the brightest days with a single dark cloud.  It covers the summer night’s with stolen thoughts of ice-cold beer.

Addiction is morose and evil, decadent and strong willed.

The times they are not changing.  For another has been taken by the hands of the devil and a friend of mine.  Young, fresh and waiting for what life may bring young adult…a thought and a glimpse in the rear-view mirror and he too has not fulfilled a life long dream.  A dream to be and wonder and expect and love and cry and laugh and contemplate.

If you know an addict love them.  Most likely they do not know how to love themselves.

If you know an addict and plan to see it through.  Understand the road is no easier to bear and/or bare as a witness  than it is for the lost soul with whom you’ll lay your cares.

Pray for those who do not wake up in the morning but come to.

Pray for those who pass out instead of sleep.


Photo by Nathaniel Paluga
Photo by Nathaniel Paluga (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dear God, I’m only 17!

The day I died was an ordinary school day. How I wish I had taken the bus. But I was too cool for the bus. I remember how I wheedled the car out of Mom. “Special favor,” I pleaded. “All the kids drive.”

When the 2:50 bell rang, I threw all my books in the locker. I was free until 8:40 tomorrow morning! I ran to the parking lot, excited at the thought of driving a car and being my own boss. Free!

It doesn’t matter how the accident happened. I was goofing off — going too fast — taking crazy chances. But I was enjoying my freedom and having fun. The last thing I remember was passing an old lady who seemed to be going awfully slow. I heard the deafening crash and felt a terrible jolt. Glass and steel flew everywhere. My whole body seemed to be turning inside out. I heard myself scream.

Suddenly I awakened; it was very quiet. A police officer was standing over me. Then I saw a doctor. My body was mangled. I was saturated with blood. Pieces of jagged glass were sticking out all over. Strange that I couldn’t feel anything.

Hey, don’t pull that sheet over my head! I can’t be dead. I’m only 17. I’ve got a date tonight. I’m supposed to grow up and have a wonderful life. I haven’t lived yet. I can’t be dead!

Later I was placed in a drawer. My folks had to identify me. Why did they have to see me like this? Why did I have to look at Mom’s eyes when she faced the most terrible ordeal of her life? Dad suddenly looked like an old man. He told the man in charge, “Yes, he is my son.”

The funeral was a weird experience. I saw all my relatives and friends walk toward the casket. They passed by, one by one, and looked at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. Some of my buddies were crying. A few of the girls touched my hand and sobbed as they walked away.

Please — somebody — wake me up! Get me out of here! I can’t bear to see my mom and dad so broken up. My grandparents are so racked with grief they can hardly walk. My brothers and sisters are like zombies. They move like robots. In a daze, everybody. No one can believe this. And I can’t believe it, either.

Please don’t bury me! I’m not dead! I have a lot of living to do! I want to laugh and run again. I want to sing and dance. Please don’t put me in the ground. I promise if you give me one more chance, God, I’ll be the most careful driver in the whole world. All I want is one more chance!

Please, God, I’m only 17!

Heavy Drug (Surrender Sounds Mix)
Heavy Drug (Surrender Sounds Mix) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Pushing the Stranger from the Bridge

There had been a slow and steady purpose to her gate…get it?  The gate?


breaking the rules and not counting the costs?
breaking the rules and not counting the costs?

The gate could have been easily seen as the devil’s P.O. Box in downtown HELL.

The iron wrought fencing held in the ghosts that held her back.  Haggard and hung up wet the day could not end soon enough.  Wind at the front and at the back.  Poker in the front liquor in the back…ha, ha,,  dead ole Grand Dad would say.  The thought of Grand Dad and poker made her sicker.

Great Aunt Sister Ignatius never seemed real.  A paper thin doll met in the lime light of urban white ghetto life.  If that be true she, catholic girl starting much to late for goodness and piety…’why had this been so hard?’

The streets of Waltham ebbed and bowed out not so quietly in the rearview mirror of the Passat.  Mother crying, sobbing and holding on to sanity.  Father roughly making nice nice with Grand Ma Ruth in the front seat.

Words like, she was a good woman, she’ll be missed and try not to spill the coffee on the seat.

She, me, myself and I, catholic recovered felt the raw vindication of Irish drunken ghosts!  The funeral, the wake and the whole fucking boat load of shit on a seedy suburban street made everyone sick.

To this day the smell of worn leather and sidewalk piss makes me sick, she, me and myself, the stranger in the rearview mirror.

Through the barren decayed streets of humanity to grandmother’s house we go.

Why was it every time someone died it all had to come to in end at a little Italian restaurant?

One more condemned by poverty bridge and the suicidal meal would begin…

“It was here!  Right here.  Dad had wanted me to buy him cigarettes.  I had been young you know?  I had done something wrong.  Said the wrong thing.  Spoke the wrong word.  I knew what would be waiting for me at home.  It was right here!  On this bridge where I first thought of jumping from life!”

I looked over to her my matronly support.  She, me, myself and I had no words for the stranger I witnessed.  I just knew that it was there I decided to never let anyone see the stranger in me.

Well we all have a face
That we hide away forever
And we take them out and
Show ourselves
When everyone has gone
Some are satin some are steel
Some are silk and some are leather
They’re the faces of the stranger
But we love to try them on

Though you drown in good intentions  You will never quench the fire
Though you drown in good intentions
You will never quench the fire

Well we all fall in love
But we disregard the danger
Though we share so many secrets
There are some we never tell
Why were you so surprised
That you never saw the stranger
Did you ever let your lover see
The stranger in yourself?

Don’t be afraid to try again
Everyone goes south
Every now and then
You’ve done it, why can’t
Someone else?
You should know by now
You’ve been there yourself

Once I used to believe
I was such a great romancer
Then I came home to a woman
That I could not recognize
When I pressed her for a reason
She refused to even answer
It was then I felt the stranger
Kick me right between the eyes

Well we all fall in love
But we disregard the danger
Though we share so many secrets
There are some we never tell
Why were you so surprised
That you never saw the stranger
Did you ever let your lover see
The stranger in yourself?

Don’t be afraid to try again
Everyone goes south
Every now and then
You’ve done it why can’t
Someone else?
You should know by now
You’ve been there yourself

You may never understand
How the stranger is inspired
But he isn’t always evil
And he is not always wrong
Though you drown in good intentions
You will never quench the fire
You’ll give in to your desire
When the stranger comes along.


You Can’t Make This Shit UP!

English: Strawberry-flavored Pop Rocks candy.
English: Strawberry-flavored Pop Rocks candy. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Today, while I was at work, my sister stole my iPad and tested to see if it can survive a thirty foot drop, just so she can be a youtube sensation. My apple ipad is now broken and she has 83 views. I know this is entirely off topic but I had to share it with someone!

English: A worn, black leather belt with buckle.
English: A worn, black leather belt with buckle. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thirty some odd years ago…my sister who had been given the key to the village of weirdness that stemmed from my younger frame…of course, only when domineering catholic parents were out at play.
Well, my sister who felt it best to rule with an iron fist than to candy coat with Pop Rocks had decided that disciplining my unruly drunken 10 year old behavior with a good spanking of said, leather belt bought but not used to holding up pants, would be the only way to right the wrong. With all the grace that we later discovered she did not have the words of parental control sprang from her lips like the tiny third world wanna be leader she was.

"Sisters are doin' it for themselves
Sisters are doin’ it for themselves

‘This is gonna hurt me more than it’s gonna hurt you but it has to be done…Drop ’em!’

With one swoop of athleticism found only by blind persons playing dodge ball, the big brass buckle fell upon my head not my ass and it was of metal not of leather.
Bleeding from head to toe…lesson learned? Never leave a fool at heart in charge of the card game you will loose every time.

“Sisters are doin’ it for themselves”

Now there was a time when they used to  say-

That behind every great  man there had to be a great woman

Now in these times of  change, you know that it’s no longer true

So we’re comin’ out of the kitchen’Cause there’s somethin’  we forgot to say to you
We said,  “Sisters are doin’ it for themselves”

Standin’  on their own two feet and ringin’ on  their own bells

We said, “Sisters  are doin’ it for themselves”
Now this is a song to celebrate the  conscious liberation of the female state.  Mothers,  daughters and their daughters too, oh yeah, woman  to woman, we’re singin’ with you
The  inferior sex has got a new exterior we got doctors, lawyers, politicians too

Everybody, take a look around can  you see, can you see? Can you see  there’s a woman right next to you?
We  said, “Sisters are doin’ it for themselves,”

oh yes we are standin’ on their own two feet and  ringin’ on their own bells,  Sisters  are doin’ it for themselves
Now  we ain’t makin’ stories and we ain’t layin’ plans.

Don’t you know that a man still loves a woman when a woman still loves a man?Just  a same though
Sisters are doin’  it for themselves.


SpoilIn case you’re tuning in and turning on for the first time. For some strange reason you are one of my new followers let me fill you in:
I am certain it seems apparent to most that I have issues. But maybe I’ve been beating ‘round the bush for those readers who are a little slow when it comes to dark humor.  I put it as gently as I can.  The carnage that is Ambien.

My name is Amber Grace….,I have a nickname that is, Ambien Grace. I won that trophy entitlement by taking a fistful of the above mentioned sleeping pills and then all hell broke loose.
Men, more men and questions of my virtue were thrown about. This scenario happened at my Catch Phrase College yet, it could have happened at Plymouth State.  I was and am a party willing to travel to a campus near you.  The above mentioned incident most likely happened time and time again without my having no memory of it.
I drink too much. I do drugs. I don’t take my suitcase of psychotropic medications as prescribed. I am bi-polar, depressed, suicidal once a month and needing anger management classes.
Excerpts from Ambien Grace’s somewhat pornographic and disturbing diary:

a lot of the reasons why i drank was either because of my mom or well, just my being me.
I just don’t know how many more night’s I can go by crying myself to sleep but I know I do it every night.
i eat when im depressed. i get depressed when i dont see you. So i eat until i throw up and just lay in bed, watch buffy and try and sleep….it doesn matter the time…and then by the time my parents come home i have to put on a fake smile like my day is great. If all else fails after family dinner its back to porn, pills and self-love. I eat before, during and after meals.

Certainly there is more where that came from. My attic room is filled with misled futures and hopes hung on talent I don’t have. I am a nude model for back alley artists. I get paid under the table. I had recently just quit a job because my mother told me too. I left the only people who cared for me behind to be with my mother.

My mother is my girlfriend. I’m sure of it.
Example of parental disdain:
“They make me sound like I get depressed if I don’t like a present. Which isn’t true? And even then I say I don’t want anything and they say it’s about giving to others and I’m thinking I do daddy’s shopping and my shopping for you so get over yourself she’s the one who complains if she doesn’t like something”
My pictures are pictures of pictures others have taken. My thoughts are thoughts that others have had.
I tell all my girlfriends and boyfriends for that matter don’t plan on sticking around long, I haven’t told my mother about you.
I like knives they improve my borderline skills.  In otherwords, I’m just digging ’round for attention I don’t want a suicide watch!
I don’t love much. I had a girlfriend down South; she treated me like the fresh turd that she would warn me not to kick. Our sex life wasn’t a lesbian sex life. We held hands. She tried to stick her tongue down my ear and I proceeded to rip her clothes off. The whole experience was rough, not well planned and pretty much describes any relationship I’ve ever had.
We broke up. She wouldn’t text me every minute, she wouldn’t Skype and masturbate with me.  I thought it would bring us together.

. The one minute she didn’t text me, she fucked the cowboy next door. I got angry and fucked the next door neighbor’s son.
In a nutshell so we can get on with the rest of my distorted life. I am homophobic but wish I was gay. I graduated college by the skin of my mother’s good name. I am not athletic though those rich folks push horseback riding and tennis down your throat! Neither sport painted me in a good light but Floyd, the dead at the head Adopt-A-Dad nor Mother Theresa wanted a daughter of honor and grace.
Concord NH debutante disgraced! Concord’s shining example of young adulthood. My parent’s pumped and pimped me everywhere.
But where there is spoiled DNA there is a rotten gene pool.