Category Archives: Writings by Sparks

Stay Awake Sparks

Her lingering lavender perfume smells incredibly delicious on my blanket.  Famished and alone, I enjoy this innocent indulgence as I pluck the torturous pins from my flesh one by one.  I get out of bed and cool my skin with splashes of tap water.  The nightmare of ego, lust and insecurity flushing down into a dark and dirty drain.   Stay awake Sparks.. stay awake

Tehachapi Mountain Heat

There is no mystery to why visual artists come to places such as Tehachapi to find inspiration. The magnificence of granite boulders and trees has endured the struggle of time, casting shadows along the sun-coated mountains creating natural muses.  Sounds and smells of wildlife and earth’s magnetic pull on melted snow is the perfect blend to animate such an atmosphere of subsistence and energy.

Incredibly soothing, a boulder soaked in solar heat brings me warm sensations while lying naked on its majestic form.  Nothing could be more pleasant at this moment, with the exception of a lover. There is no greater warmth for me than that which comes from making love. A lover not only provides warmth, a lover also has the ability to award me the desire to radiate warmth from within.

This powerful mountain had somehow arranged for all my immediate desires to come true.  I instinctively glanced toward the sky. Standing before me wearing eloquent facial features, a firm body, a kind smile and eyes of wonder was the power and the beauty of a courageous warrior. One who has often appeared in my sleepless dreams.  Perhaps looking for a place of solace and peace after nobly battling civilization and every day society.  Wholesome, strong, and leaving me with nothing more than hopes of someone who has a sturdy heart to carry my yearning spirit.

Both eyes felt damp as my intended lover walked toward me, the look of disappointment at my existence and submissively offering to move further down the path, crushing.  In order to convince this handsome being to linger a while, I pretended to stay focused on my book, a novel by Jose Saramago.  After what seemed an eternity, happiness filled me, the warrior finally rested on a flat boulder.

Emitting false signs, not having intentions to invade ones solitude.  Yet, internally pleading the contrary. There was nothing I wanted more than to share this beauty with nature and the majestic mountains surrounding us.  Exhilaration consumed me as I heard clothing drop on a boulder nearby.  At that moment I wished I had peripheral vision. The only wish this mountain had not granted me.  I could not turn to face my paramour in fear of showing my truth. I’m naked to all in body, never in mind or soul.

Instead, I watched the wind gently waft across green grasses and bold flowers.  Reminding me of ocean waves.  Always moving, never repeating, yet with a similar cadence.  The desert, my burgeon, I was born here, I live here and someday I will become one with Earth here.

Gentle orbs of sweat glimmered on my bare chest as if dancing in celebration of this phenomenal view.  I was distracted by a tap on my shoulder and a hazy shape sparkling in the sunlight.  Difficult to behold due to the glare, yet I was delighted at the voice and angelical gestures before me. Calming and confidant, slowing my anxiety enough to surmise; this was an offering of water. I drank from the bottle of wet and refreshing liquid, and in doing so, I placed my hand over the giving hand of kindness.  Our first touch, captivating.

My senses became translucent as I listened to a chivalric speak of books read, and journeys through forests.  While I constantly gazed at an arousing silhouette displayed on stone.  Giving forth verbal tokens of graciousness and potency; as cerebral images of intimacy frolicked in my head.  Not knowing how my phantom appeared unclothed, I craved to touch, smell and taste this enchanting nomad.

In time, descending shadows notified me of a movement I had long anticipated. This sensual spirit began to embrace the granite on which we sat. Moaning as comfort came, allowing me to freely view muscular shapes and well-framed contours. Back, buttocks and legs, sculpted by the likes of Charles Antoine Coysevox, with flesh slightly bronzed by Earth’s light.

Ardent and humectant, our bodies glistened in warmth.  Bravely, I lifted strands of long hair, soaked in sweat, to quickly savor the nectar of concupiscent. When rejection did not surface, I gently positioned myself on top of my passionate lover. I felt a rapid heart, and the softness of skin.  The increasingly slick surface on our bodies smoothed the path for motion.  Pressed against naked flesh, circular grinding created weeps of pleasure.  Thrusting my warrior into impenetrable rock, and scraping tips of breasts with grains of dust, it felt like a powerful force carrying us from one sphere of existence to another.  Orgasmic rapture flowed through us with the energy of the mountains.  Heat and thunder, rain and snow, four seasons all at once.  Tehachapi, I’m home.

Turn, show me your naked body.  I will face you; I will reveal myself to you, mind and soul. What if man, woman, or spirit. I will blanket you with devotion, never to have shame, always to have strength, I embrace a love that is pure.

My Love

My Love ,

deeper than intellects are able to describe.

A brilliant companion, all others mundane by contrast.

I dream to reflect from your coveting eyes.

To feel the reverberation of your voice waft across my unclothed body.

All that you are echoes within me.

You resolve my actions, my inspirations, and my fate.

In silence my heart lives with the resonance of you.

I am without yearning, without need, without envy.

You are my celebrated days and the buoyancy of my nights.

Embracing you as your childhood nightmares come out to play.

Your difficulties are my battle to fight vigorously and without fear.

Respecting you with admiration, tender yet strong.

Lead me to your well of blue water, to the dark and cloudy skies of warmth.

Take me to the mountains and juniper trees.

Take me to where it is that your smile breathes life, a place of comfort.

Take me, for you are my best reason for existence.

You are my love, my life, my siege of ultimate happiness.

by Sparks

Still Loving You

I remember how I breathed as I clutched the sheets
while the rhythm of Us descended upon me…

Here I stand looking into the eyes of your soul once again…
Breathing the same breath as I did so long ago

I wounded you and brought death to your love for me

Now, I look at you and see caverns
Haunted by shadows of darkness.
Lightly brushed with tones of only my love for You.

I feel empty, restless and I harbor a great void within me.

Here I am
loving you,
yet not wanting you.

I embrace you.
Despite the pain I have handed you….
You have never abandoned me.

Take my heart now….

I’m yours,

Let Insanity Be Sweet

Let Insanity Be Sweet

by Sparks

Life and my ideas of her assimilate inside me at times without my knowledge. Innate defense mechanisms naturally conceal painful experiences via denial, lies and suppression, while other survival instincts foolishly embrace pleasures regardless of the consequences.  This is normal, however a fragile mind often requires an opaque retreat in which  to shelter it from the glare of sentience. Inebriants obscure the sharp edges and smooth a long and jarring journey through life.  While sober, the need to forget ones experiences are required frequently.  Cowardly, I have acquired much of my reality by self inflicted illusions and untruths for the sake of self-protection and peace of mind.  Inevitably, my reality is difficult to comprehend. Oh, but how exciting confusion is while intoxicated.

Recently I have become acquainted with neurosis. I am completely lost and severely weakened by a personal void and a severe lack of toxins. This is the price one pays for a life of self indulgence. My external means of happiness and comfort have all abandoned me. It’s just me, myself and I along with a vast emptiness that resides here now. Alone with myself I attempt to make conversation with a person I no longer recognize.  The role I play in a script I wrote and produced for my life is no longer substantial enough to survive. Without my supporting characters, I too am disintegrating into emptiness.  This reminds me of the movie The Incredible Shrinking Man.  How small did he get?  Is he still alive fighting off creatures that cannot be seen even by the most powerful microscope invented by mankind, or did he simply shrink into nothingness?  POOF, no remnants whatsoever, not even a speck of dust that remains forever in the Universe. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

Overwhelming fear forces me to make the most significant decision of my life, and to face a climatic dilemma.  Sanity or Death. Death with the interpretation in the critical sense, for I have already died in a story book of tales soaked in alcohol and cocaine. Incapable of leaving the house, I am unable to replenish my supply of  booze. This has left me horribly sober.  As chunks of truths and emotions once suppressed by alcohol regurgitate from the deep and dark vaults of my being, I find it necessary to make serious choices.  Naked and confused, I slowly attempt to dissolve delusions one by one. In anger I gather strength, in sadness I become humble.  I explore truisms as I continue to try and fill the emptiness inside me with substance.   At times of weakness I hold on to my lifelong and comfortable bed, a bed I myself manufactured, a bed of lies and denial in which parts of me will be forever lost.  These difficult decisions and feelings of despair often court death, a courtship to which at times seem like the easiest choice.   Teetering on the border of insanity I am forced to revisit the past over and over again in an attempt to decipher actual events from falsehoods.

I need to organize my thoughts, write them down, no matter how simple or complex:

I am loved and accepted by all,

Truth: I am hated by bigots.

I don’t hurt people,

Truth: I hurt people for my own selfish entertainment often.

I close my eyes to envision the color blue, I hate the color blue. It reminds me of a bad relationship. Ironically I actually liked blue as a child. My sisters always wanted things pink, their clothes, their toys, and of course, the wall color of their room. I preferred blue, especially when it came to my clothes.  I don’t really hate her (the reason I hate blue), not everyone is capable of being a good friend or lover.  In truth, it was me I hated, not her. I felt I had to make our relationship work because I couldn’t do better for myself. I hated the fact that she could make me cry, that I allowed her to demean me, and I hated that I accepted the position of a second class citizen out of fear. F–k it all. Who the f–k cares.  I was weak, so the f–k what.  I still don’t like the color blue.

Truth:  I hate the color blue because it reminds me of how much I hate myself.

“Hmmm, that went well”.

I will mentally place these issues in the Closed file section of my mind. Three down, 179,401 to go.   I slip down onto my pillow and try to sleep.

Fear consumes me.  Knowledge of my desperate and inadequate attempts of self preservation in the past are revealed. I hate myself. I hate myself , I hate everyone. This uninvited, yet welcome transformation is an asset of sorts, it serves as a shield to block out external distractions.  I no longer need to exert extra energy by treating others compassionately.  Anger is my favorite defense mechanism.  I employ this emotion to conjure up strength and create a powerful warrior willing to fight to free me from the abyss of dementia.

Frantically I pace the long corridor in a house with too many windows as my dog barks at a stranger. Moving through the house I  can feel my heartbeat accelerate at the sight of me laying in the fetal position in the corner of my bedroom.  Daylight and nights, hours and minutes, all moments are jumbled into one. Concerned friends knock at my door and beg to help from the outside.  Curtains sway without a breeze, and cabinet doors lose shape and liquefy. Deep slumbers fail to revive my appetite for food.   “The Truth Will Save You”, a quote used for manipulation. It’s all bullshit. Yet, in my sleep I continue the grueling process of analyzing, decoding and revealing my existence. Trying to stay sane is exhausting, I’m tired, I’m afraid, I’m slipping away.

Please, let Insanity be sweet.

With The Touch Of Her Heart

She is defenseless in her innominate mask.

Literary profundity intensifies her awareness, passion and wisdom.

Her pain, completely recognized, is unsympathetic and combative

And yet, she weeps at the sight of anguish

This insatiable poet’s love has countless tribulations…

She will envy your significance and despise your deficiency.

Devoted to convictions that in time no longer hold true.

Her fear of being exploited is parallel to her desire to love.

A constant need to be surrounded by feigned aficionados…

Persuades her self-manipulated disguise to be her most intimate bond.

Consequently, I can only love her for what she is not.

My truth of her lies far beyond an invincible shield,

Her reality…

Is in the palm of her hands,

And with the touch of her heart she will give it all away.



The sting of her slap hurt like hell,
a reminder that I’m still alive.
How cruel of me to show affection,
to be so sexually passionate,
only to abandon her after one night.

Intense emotion during casual sex is confusing.
Sure, I did what could to get what I wanted.
Drinks and flattery…
She assured me she understood the meaning of one night.

I gave her truth and voiced my fears.
We shared love and compassion into the morning,
agreeing it was what we both needed for the night.
I can’t remember her name,
I can’t remember any of their names.

“Brenda, my name is Brenda”,
“Damn you”, she sobbed as she walked away to her car.
I closed my eyes trying to ignore her smell of lavender
Fighting to stifle words that may encourage hope

“Brenda! I yelled to her.
Your favorite color is teal.
You like cats, squirrels and buttoned-up shirts.
You love teaching children and you read fiction,
and your mom… she touches you in your dreams.”

I lowered my head to my hand,
feeling the sting on my cheek from where Brenda had hit me.
Regretful for my moment of weakness, I looked up at her to explain
just in time to see her beautiful smile as she waved good-bye.

I still remember her name.


In a winter village where Indians once gathered acorns
a wind whipped summit station saw trains pass under four seasons.
Above the desert, snuggled in the south tip of the Sierras
powerful hearts lift buildings from one town to another
only to later see them burn in fire and smother under water.
The many deaths by White Wolf brought cries to a devastated people
as the earth ripped apart and caves coughed dust.
Dimmed light in sunken tunnels still illuminated possibilities.
The Loop and windmills on the hillsides, our future.
We see our mountains fill with colorful wildflowers,
a botanical garden waves to wine grapes on the vine.
Cemented marvels raise a dam and flowing waters fill an aqueduct
in far away places that won’t give us a second thought.
We remain alone, surrounded by our love for the mountains.
A man fights vigorously to help others who sweat in a cheating labor.
Artists create passionately here, for their muse is magnificent.
An actor finds peace, a singer tells a story and a writer believes.
With more hills to climb, spirituality embraces our community.
This is what it means to live in Tehachapi

Who I am – Bombastic Bitch

I probed into the silenced and unjustifiable, that which is not permissible along side my consciousness.  A much needed communiqué with my fears, wishes, and immoral thirsts draw me in.  An instance of calm and dominance constrains my logical thoughts and well-constructed pretense, releasing my otherwise conscious perception of dishonorable behavior onto the stage of my intimate existence. I set the stage with characters and props, immediately opening direction using both spirit and substance.

The sun flashes ostentatiously through the darkness and the stars began to play.  The contemporary bondage of my reality becomes subservient and allows the vibrant liberation of my emotional honesty.  I welcome the paradox union of morality and truth, nirvanas and torture, imaginary and authentic. I experience influences that interrelate with my memory and establish themselves in the physical component of my psyche; this is who I AM.  The atypical and unexplainable delusions of my emotions conformed into reality.

Here, I will hate you, I will love you, and I will fear you … this is my Truth.

Tehachapi – A Centennial Celebration

10 Minute Play submitted by Sparks for TCT Play Festival
Title: Tehachapi – A Centennial Celebration
Tori: 30ish year old woman
Calli: older than Tori
Women are wearing hiking attire
Stage setup: Full moon and some stars
Calli is carrying a backpack. Tory is carrying two camping folding chairs, both carrying flashlights. It’s nighttime with a full moon.Tory and Calli walk slowly on stage)
Tori: Are you sure we’re getting close to the right spot? My legs are about to give out on me.
Calli: Yep. (as she reaches the center of stage) Here it is, and all this…(Calli spreads her arms out with flashlight still on and in her hand, and does a 360 degree turn) …is TEHACHAPI.
Tori(looks around) It’s beautiful! Well worth the long hike up this mountain. (Tory hands Calli her flashlight and sets up the two camping chairs. Both ladies sit down. Calli puts flashlights away in backpack and pulls out 2 bottles of wine from the Souza Vineyard and Winery from her backpack and hands 1 bottle to Calli.

Tori(pulls cork out of her bottle and takes a drink of her wine from the bottle) Mmmm, great choice of wine.
Calli(pulls cork out of her bottle and takes a drink of her wine) This wine is made right here at the Souza Vineyard and Winery. You’re drinking fermented grapes grown from Tehachapi soil.
Tori(takes another drink) I have never seen the lights of Tehachapi from this angle before. You’re right; it is very spiritual up here.
Calli: Ya know, in 1876 Tehachapi was created by the railroad, a few hundred-railroad workers and their families were all that lived here. The town was called Summit Station back then. Over there, (pointing toward audience) on Hwy 202 in Old Town; that was Williamsburg, although many towns’ folk called it Tahachapa.
Tori: I forget how much you know about Tehachapi. (Pointing to the left of stage) When was the cement plant built?
Calli: In 1908. It was called the Monolith back then. The cement made from that plant helped build Hoover Dam and the Los Angeles Aqueduct! Most people don’t know that… (Calli takes another drink of wine)
Tori: Hmm, nothing that grand has happened here since I was born.(sigh)
Calli: Are you kidding me? Did you know that on your birthday, I mean the very day you were born some guy won the Guinness World Record for Longest Cowpat Throw right here in Tehachapi.   Two Hundred and sixty six feet, now that is quite an achievement.
Tori(drinking wine.. spits out wine.. laughing). Indeed, that is spectacular! (laughing)
Calli: Ok, forget Tehachapi’s cow crap throwing world record. You were also here when 2 idiots burnt down the Train Depot due to the misuse of firecrackers just last year. That was a disaster that will be read in our history books. Heck, the Train Depot was over a hundred years old too. What a couple of morons.(drinks more wine)
Tori: Yeah, that was a sad day for Tehachapi. (Shakes her head) Hey, why do you live in Sand Canyon instead of in the city?
Calli: I like living on the same ground as the Kawaiisu natives. The Kawaiisu lived on that mountain ridge over there (pointing to the left of stage). That is Tomo-Kahni also known as Winter Village. I swear I can still hear them beating their clappers at night.
Tori: The name Tehachapi meaning the Land of Four Seasons came from the Kawaiisu right? (drinks more wine)
Calli: Yes and no. Sure Tehachapi has four seasons. The climate here can be sunny and warm in the morning, cloudy and windy by noon, and then turn into a raging blizzard by nightfall, but I don’t think the word Tehachapi has anything to do with our seasons. The Land of Four Seasons just sounds better than Sweet Water and Acorns, or A Windy Place as some believe to be the true meaning of Tehachapi.
Tori: What do you think Tehachapi means?
Calli: I think Tehachapi came from the Kawaiisu word Tihachipia meaning a hard climb… In fact I know it did especially after the hike up here, cuz my damn feet are killing me.
(sound of dogs howling/barking)
Tori: It sure was a hard climb (takes off shoes, rubs feet, listens to dogs barking)
OH, hey (looks over at Calli, as she fans the air with hand) Did you cut a fart? (moves chair over, away from Calli a little bit)
Calli: I don’t think so, you’re the one that just took off your shoes(laughing)
Tori: Wow, there sure are a lot of dogs around here.
Calli: Why do you think the first major legislation Tehachapi ever made was a domestic animal ordnance? (Answering her own question) Because Tehachapi folks are all a bunch of crazy ass pet lovers, that’s why.
Tori: (laughs – looks around) I’m still amazed that some of the buildings in town are over a hundred years old.
Calli: Yeah, back in the late 1800’s those railroad workers didn’t tear anything down; heck they moved some of the businesses and almost all the buildings out of Williamsburg.   I mean literally picked them up and moved them over here. (Calli leans back in chair smiling) I’m glad we came up here to celebrate Tehachapi’s 100th Birthday, she’s been good to me. Did you know that Tehachapi was incorporated on August 13th 1909, which was a Friday, I’m not kidd’n ya she was born on Friday the 13th.
Tori(drinks from her bottle) Maybe that is why so many bad things have happened to our town, you think?
Calli: Could be, the town caught on fire and many of the businesses burned to the ground once, and there was a huge flood in 1931. A lot of houses were under water; it rained like hell I hear. And of course there was the 7.7 earthquake that destroyed most of the town in 52. The earth cracked opened wide with that shaker, and train tracks were bent up in the air like giant horseshoes. Even some of the tunnels collapsed. That quake killed 13 people and injured many more. Yep, Tehachapi has seen some hard times… but she always pulls through.
Tori: True, the trains are on track rolling around the Loop and we already have plans drawn up to rebuild the Train Depot. Oh, and don’t forget we rebuilt the new Beekay Theatre this year.
Calli: Yep, the good ol Beekay is back in business, now that’s another thing to celebrate. (drinks wine) Remind me to bring a sweater next time we go see a show would ya?
Tori(laughing) You’re always cold when you’re sober.   Remember when we went to see those big birds and you had to stay in the car because you were cold?
Calli: Big birds? Oh you mean the ostriches; yep I remember. I remember one of those big birds stole a pack of gum out of your shirt pocket too. (laughing)
Tori: (laughing) No one warned me about their thievish behavior. Hey, you never told me why you wanted me to come up here to celebrate Tehachapi’s birthday. Why is this place special other than the obvious?(Tori looks around at the beautiful view)
Calli: Oh that… I lost my virginity right here, right here under this chair I’m sitting on (points down to the ground below her chair, wobbles back and forth a little from being drunk)
Tori: Are you serious? We hiked all the way up this here so you could revisit the place where you had sex for the first time? (laughing hard, bangs hand on leg) I thought you wanted us to have a spiritual connection with this mountain.
Calli: Hey, it was a spiritual connection for me, (smiling)
Tori(shaking her head smiling) I’m sure it was.
Calli: Damn, I’ve sure had some good times while living in these mountains (lifts up wine bottle trying to give a toast to Tehachapi)Happy.. . (Accidentally drops wine bottle on ground, slumps back in her chair) …Ooops
Tori: Here, let me do that for ya. (Stands up raises wine bottle high in the air)

To 100 amazing years, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TEHACHAPI!
(lights dim)