Flickering and low lull of a birds of spring. Learning to build nests and playing puppy time too. Eyes low and spray of weariness, the flame tickled my face and it brought back the days of high school times of tight friendships and the laughter that brought tears and perhaps a few taps of beer. Sitting low on the chairs, the heat and chill of Michigan were slapping at the bugs and at the same time enjoying the dawn of the night. Monsters play around the fire and those that escape first always win the game first. I am the monster. The tall one with the glad eyes and the down to the earth touch. I pray to God that others like me and it is a faith I have to earn upon instinct. Does God give humans instincts and survival of the fittest. Who is going to last the longest on the land when breathing has webbed our social landscape of security and just looking into eyes has been turned down to the ground. I don’t like you for living Heather. The security blanket that has always I have dragged since I was three on the dirt. Adorable shall she be with he big blue eyes, white blonde spiral blonde hair at the age of three. She can not speak. She can not smile. She can not only but glare at the ugliness of the truth. The truth is her heart is the celestial glow that twinkles when she laughs. Not in the form of language but in the way of the stomach and feeling full. Left for hours alone with feces and urine, the only way to switch the mind to the digestive tract was to make her obese as an adult. Feel sad. Eat. Feel alone. Eat. Get touched. Eat. This is angel of God of the faith of beautiful genetics. 30 years and prior and the style and grace of a new city girl in the San Francisco streets taking in the group of languages foreign and fashions that the real working class buy at the stores that only currency could satisfy. I’ve looked for years into the bonfire hoping that anyone would invite me to party. This bipolar chemical tidal wave that flipped the cold water on the campsites of Michigan. No camping yet. No cabins yet. I’ll build bonfires so high that joys of the world dance and since to the moon of blue smiles. Cook thy food and share they table with the newest humans shall meet. Offer the marshmellows and light the firecrackers with the very long match. Spark and laugh at how small frights make the girlfriends laugh and snicker. Picky how the women can be. Around the fire it can be focused on the fonder of the sex or perhaps on the kiss of the night. I used to kiss and it was fun. Close every sense you can muster and then touch the cheek with the tip of the finger on the lips. Brushing left to right, did the “instinct” arise and the star just line up in black or the tips of pink of flesh. There is that, could be considered lingering, before you pressure that decision in your mind of the safety. Judgement cues. Ghost cues. The stories around the campfire as a child when you need the quiver in the voice of the storyteller to trust if you were listening to the silence of truth. Ears and the mouth. How true that they whisper maturity and immaturity plucking like the sparks in the fire pop. What about the chances when the smoke follows your to the face no matter where the chair you move. Tipping back the winecoolers as I did in college, it just led me wanting to sleep in the air mattress of the tent and wait for my lover. The bonfire is entrancing and I must dust it with water and slumber tonight. Good night to you moon, clouds and the fantastical memories of yesterdays heart. Good night to you.
Published by heatherdeogracia
On the first day of my job, I walk into a production studio to hand in paperwork. A young gentleman stands up to shake my hand when I walk into the room. "Wow! You are tall." he states. I point to my heels of my shoes. "Wow! You are short." Laughter lights up the room. Matt Damon San Francisco Clear Channel Radio With an electric soul of an artist, Heather Deogracia, has an interesting personality that uses her manic branches of her mind to express her sense of humor, expand the creative hourly illustration addiction and continually read big books about artistic principles, elements and glorious techniques to feed her intellectual capabilities. “With a splash of color and chemicals in my brain, I have to clean it out once a day or it must flash flood my other organs.” Heather Deogracia Proud to start staging a background of her latest achievements, Heather was on the front page Sunday Feature in the Midland Daily News on Oct. 19, 2016 and is an Award-Winning Fine Artist for the state-wide competition Legacy Trust Award Collection for the past three years in a row. She displayed in over 30 exhibits and fundraisers in the tri-city area over the past four years. She has earned a 2017 Leadership of Bay County Achievement Award from Studio 23 and a Midland County Art Letourneau Award for "Collaboration and Creativity in Community Support". A harshly educated woman, Deogracia spent five years to earn a double major Bachelor’s Degree of Science in Medical Illustration in Pre-Medicine and Fine Art at California State University in San Bernardino. At the same time period, she held down three jobs as an Intern for the District Attorney, Graphics Editor for the college weekly newspaper and created the Peer Health Education program. Her artistic talents covered in the fine studio art requirements included painting, color theory, graphic design, photography, figure drawing, advanced drawing, watercolor, sculpture, illustration and art portfolio assignments to keep work organized. In the sciences, she has a background in chemistry, organic chemistry, biochemistry, advanced human anatomy and psychology, biology, genetics, comparative animal psychology, marine biology and medical microbiology. Currently, she has been an art instructor for workshops for the past year for Creative 360, teaching private art lessons and writing a graphic novel soon to complete by the beginning of 2018 named Heather Hurts Inside: Illustrations of a Broken Human. The new true story is about a suicidal bipolar woman that is prescribed Ritalin at the age of 38 and she reverts back to her glory days of her life. The truth is that no one knows the past is killing her mind. View more posts