*This is the only thing that I am sure of
And that's all that lives is gonna die
And there'll always be some people here to wonder why
-The Band Love
------------------
Right now it's 4:33 in the morning; a time I usually get up to check the time (I have this clock in different neon colors, very soothing) maybe get a snack, make sure I have not rolled over my cat, then back to sleep. But early this morning I had a gentle epiphany that had to be written down.
A while ago I spent this time in the morning in constant pain and/or anxiety-just a general worry all that time. This morning it occurred to me that it was the relationship I was in then. The person was so vexed with angst about him, that his anxiety passed over to me, so I felt it was my problem. The entire few years were his problem, which I never saw because the relationship was in constant turmoil to the point that I had to worry about whether it could be mended and not 'should' it be mended. So there was never breathing time to wonder the obvious- He is making all his problems as 'our' problems. At little more to illustrate my point then I'll move to my theme (Francis Bacon never even had a thesis thank you).
Ashes to ashes. He came from a rat race and went back to join it, so I suppose he never had breathing time to believe life could be better. He had a girlfriend who (at the time, before I got on the bus Gus) loved him and was financially independent, who believed in his dreams. All he cared about were issues not related to me. Yet I always felt this heavy pressure about his problems, because they affected how he made me feel. If he was stressed about work, I had to carry that burden. His future angst was mine. He wanted his band to work. His car payments, his electricity bill paid: all these cares that vanished like smoke in a blown out candle when I left. Now I can sit in the sun and smile. When my worries come, I will not bring my partner down.
I live in a town where most places are in walking distance. When I move, I'll have a car. I have one last semester of school. Until then I worked as a daycare provider and now I'm studying for Spanish 2. I'm buying artwork on-line and framing my apartment. But I can move, the world is my creation.
When I was a child, Spring in our woody area of land meant that dinosaur eggs were blooming. They grew as eggs in white with red strips on a certain bush. We would go to this stream with a giant log across it and search for sand rocks. Sand rocks are called something else in California. They are perfectly round rocks that, when cracked open, have a gold-like colored dirt inside them. My brothers knew a recipe to mix the gold dust with a special stick and our hose water to make real gold. We worked magic.
There were the swings. A certain swing was held on the branch of a giant oak tree (this was before we all read LOTR). That tree was moody but special, and had a soul inside the bark. The bravest siblings or friends would take the swing and fly to the bank on the other side of a lot of water, screaming something adults would laugh at now. We made our own fun. In these games we were gods.
I've enjoyed life since I left an unhealthy relationship. I don't feel like this town has nothing to offer. Anyone who feels the Redwoods are boring needs to open their eyes. I run up to four miles every other day. Hot Yoga Sundays (your body is your temple), learning about Spanish culture, blowing bubbles my cat obliterates like Bruce Lee. The beach. Fashion. Lust. What is there to worry about?
I always said that people want what they can't have so much, that they don't stop to wonder if they want that thing honestly. Same with relationships- when they break like glass in shaking hands you wonder how to reassemble, but don't wonder why it broke. So you could never imagine the character of the person because the relationship is a 'thing' in itself. Without imposed worries I don't smoke, I am healthy, hell I'm getting my first facial/massage this Friday. Everyone who knows me now are nice to me. For a few years I heard they would not be.
We imprison ourselves. Then we allow the rules and labels of a contrived society to keep us down. Life is short, I promise you. I'm 31. I remember like it was yesterday making a joke about turning 17 next week with my step-sister. It was said to me that William Blake's mother never corrected him when he would imagine things not real, such as angels in the trees. If a relationship is so stressful that drugs are the glue, or cruel remarks are the norm, you're a slave to pain. I'm a beautiful person. That time was poison for me, in every way. Take a day to lay in the grass and make shapes from the clouds. We are not a war torn country. Take every free moment you can now now now now now. As Poe said, "Life is but a dream in a dream".
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Scratching The Surface
I don't belong here. Why should I have to change my clothes to have your love?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
San Francisco, 2003
I wrote this theme poem while living in San Francisco. Most of my work at SF State during the two years I went, along with the rare poetry books, were destroyed- thrown away- so I could board a plane. I don't have the same brain that I did when I was 23, but I can do better now at 31.
1.
We melted into each other like colored candle wax,
warm like a child's day dream
intertwined in sleep.
I named him Arch Angel Gabriel,
but never knew his real name.
2.
Blond hair, platform shoes,
dirty receipts found on cement corners and gutters reading "number 365",
black men with guitars strumming to a secret rhythm,
red traffic lights leaving glowing lines,
caught conversations that say,"But after two lines of coke..."
3.
I don't belong here,
why should I change my clothes to have your love?
4.
Ah, these people are like trains,
strangers,
a procession without flowers,
a line at an administration building,
strangers.
I want to take hot showers with them.
5.
Women with protruding pelvic bones,
ivory flesh,
They may consume your soul and make you whole,
with an open mouth kiss.
6.
Break his nose-blood in a straight line going into his mouth,
what color red would come out? fresh over those lips (like a Spanish gambler),
the action gives him such a function,
clinging to my skin, under my clothes, under my act,
take my white glove and come home.
1.
We melted into each other like colored candle wax,
warm like a child's day dream
intertwined in sleep.
I named him Arch Angel Gabriel,
but never knew his real name.
2.
Blond hair, platform shoes,
dirty receipts found on cement corners and gutters reading "number 365",
black men with guitars strumming to a secret rhythm,
red traffic lights leaving glowing lines,
caught conversations that say,"But after two lines of coke..."
3.
I don't belong here,
why should I change my clothes to have your love?
4.
Ah, these people are like trains,
strangers,
a procession without flowers,
a line at an administration building,
strangers.
I want to take hot showers with them.
5.
Women with protruding pelvic bones,
ivory flesh,
They may consume your soul and make you whole,
with an open mouth kiss.
6.
Break his nose-blood in a straight line going into his mouth,
what color red would come out? fresh over those lips (like a Spanish gambler),
the action gives him such a function,
clinging to my skin, under my clothes, under my act,
take my white glove and come home.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Water
I have always wanted to go to one of those Baptisms they have in the South. Singing and praying and clapping. The holiest person holds you as you fall without abandon into cold water, newly saved and cleansed. You trust this person. They are there to catch you,to embrace you, and their love vibrates through out your body.
About this time last year I went to a flowing river where the pine trees grow in diagonals out of mountainous ground. Cold green water made up the rapids. Water flowing forever. I was with a boyfriend then, just a year ago. I did love him then. I remember this thought clearly as I was reading a chapter of "Trout Fishing in America" by Richard Brautigan, and felt the heat burning the top of my shoulders, my bikini was cold while sticking to my flesh, and his smile.... there was music in our lives. I tapped my 30 year old body quickly over the hot rocks of Northern California and slowly dipped into the green river, after the rapids, where the water was clear and still. I dunked my head under completely.
When suspended in water I freeze that moment. The water was so cold, pure, organic. There are no rules while under water. You are just suspended under the same substance that takes up 70% of your body. The substance that dominates our planet, our body, our life force. I held my nose under that silken green water; what I consider sacred, and dunked my head all the way back, making a wish, dropping to my knees so I was far enough to pull all my hair back in one fast motion. Then I surfaced, my hair back, coming up just plain happy. It's like being in the womb. All the elements are intensified. Both water and love are essential to life.
The same memory came from dunking my head in the Finish Hot Tub in Arcata while I was with this same man. I knew the moment was just a point in my life, but I savor all that is good. I dunked, I did handstands, I swam like a fish, I opened my eyes and noticed tiny jet bubbles. I saw the man I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with when I rose to the surface. That day while we were in the tub together he said he would dedicate a song to me.
Now we are separated. A quick fight with no talk to give any type of closure. Those water moments are just what they were to me then; suspended in time. No song was made. All promises broken. Being an English major I do like the metaphor of fresh, flowing, summer water, and two lovers alone together in nature, with flowing water over our feet and legs, and that's it. There was flowing water, and next to my feet I noticed when the water trapped it became stagnant, dirty, unhealthy. Metaphors again. A lot of promises were broken, but love what you have, then move on to more love.
I did not listen to the rules above the surface. That was my mistake. I was underwater and in love. But you need to come up for air. Underwater feels like I can do anything. Above the surface you take that nature and apply any metaphors to your life. Like the river, I'll always be flowing, another man in the same love. No, a higher love. My personal evolution has skyrocketed after leaving this man behind. Our lives should flow always, to remain fresh, not stagnant.
"We live, as we dream, ALONE". This is a positive thing, though I'm all for immersing your soul in love.
About this time last year I went to a flowing river where the pine trees grow in diagonals out of mountainous ground. Cold green water made up the rapids. Water flowing forever. I was with a boyfriend then, just a year ago. I did love him then. I remember this thought clearly as I was reading a chapter of "Trout Fishing in America" by Richard Brautigan, and felt the heat burning the top of my shoulders, my bikini was cold while sticking to my flesh, and his smile.... there was music in our lives. I tapped my 30 year old body quickly over the hot rocks of Northern California and slowly dipped into the green river, after the rapids, where the water was clear and still. I dunked my head under completely.
When suspended in water I freeze that moment. The water was so cold, pure, organic. There are no rules while under water. You are just suspended under the same substance that takes up 70% of your body. The substance that dominates our planet, our body, our life force. I held my nose under that silken green water; what I consider sacred, and dunked my head all the way back, making a wish, dropping to my knees so I was far enough to pull all my hair back in one fast motion. Then I surfaced, my hair back, coming up just plain happy. It's like being in the womb. All the elements are intensified. Both water and love are essential to life.
The same memory came from dunking my head in the Finish Hot Tub in Arcata while I was with this same man. I knew the moment was just a point in my life, but I savor all that is good. I dunked, I did handstands, I swam like a fish, I opened my eyes and noticed tiny jet bubbles. I saw the man I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with when I rose to the surface. That day while we were in the tub together he said he would dedicate a song to me.
Now we are separated. A quick fight with no talk to give any type of closure. Those water moments are just what they were to me then; suspended in time. No song was made. All promises broken. Being an English major I do like the metaphor of fresh, flowing, summer water, and two lovers alone together in nature, with flowing water over our feet and legs, and that's it. There was flowing water, and next to my feet I noticed when the water trapped it became stagnant, dirty, unhealthy. Metaphors again. A lot of promises were broken, but love what you have, then move on to more love.
I did not listen to the rules above the surface. That was my mistake. I was underwater and in love. But you need to come up for air. Underwater feels like I can do anything. Above the surface you take that nature and apply any metaphors to your life. Like the river, I'll always be flowing, another man in the same love. No, a higher love. My personal evolution has skyrocketed after leaving this man behind. Our lives should flow always, to remain fresh, not stagnant.
"We live, as we dream, ALONE". This is a positive thing, though I'm all for immersing your soul in love.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Insect Gangs
Maybe it's Africa, or maybe it's South America, somewhere exotic. A certain species of ants manages to form a two foot ball and roll down hills, consuming all life in their way. For this blog and what my point will be, lets call that an "Ant Drive-By".
When my oldest brother and step-sister heard in their classes that ant species do not like different species, they did what I considered was a shockingly mean experiment. They took our family ant farm, and dropped a fire ant from our nearly two foot ant hills found behind our home inside the ant farm. In seconds the foreign ant was torn to pieces, limb from limb.
#As a side note, that farm taught us that ants can die of frustration. Take my word for it. We just shook their home 3 separate times and after all the work of restructuring their home, they died. That is the extent to how mean we got to animals as children, and I just observed. I'd be an accessory to murder.
People are viscerally territorial. Take the town of Big Flat, California: off the 299, population less then 100 people. I moved there with a man I dated off and on for almost two years. He lived there for over seven years before my two week stay. The locals did not accept me. At first they had no reason, they were just literally illiterate jerks. I tried so hard to be liked it was ridiculous. They would do things like mention they were driving to Redding (at the time my friend's first baby was having her one year birthday) and in the presence of my boyfriend say they would take me. After he left for a grand mother's funeral in a different state, the rules changed. I knocked over and over. It was my best friend's daughter's first birthday. I could hear these adults get quiet when I knocked. They would hide. Adults. At this point I was desperate for a friend and felt so foreign and detached. So I started to buy beer in the morning. I went to take their dog- the dog on a one foot lease that never went on walks- for a walk for once. The dog ran for freedom as soon as I untied him and I had to ask for help retrieving him (took all of 5 minutes from the owner, who now had a reason not to like me.) Nothing makes me more angry then animal cruelty. I was there for two weeks. When my boyfriend got back and saw the town did not accept me, he did the cowardly thing: went with the crowd. I moved.
The same in L.A. Ant brains. I had not a single friend. I became a cheerleader to a reject who had all these wonderful ideas about talent and being a team. I sunk into depression from lack of exercise, which lead to seek happy chemicals, which lead to fights, and eventually I left and never looked back. I think this man was more of an ant because he knew I left a stable life for him, and if the roles were reversed: if he was a guest in my family's home, I would have treated him like a king. Two against the world. He is probably still living with his parents. I came back up to Arcata, got a job, started running, quit smoking, had not been this happy since; a long long time. So it was a blessing in both cases.
High School was a baffling time to anyone who ran into me, because I was not in a click. So the main question I was asked was, "What music do you like?" I value being unique. I am drawn to unique people. I am not part of an ant farm. I have no role.
There is a similar themed blog in here about being around very smart people, who I had coffee with from a girl who brought me with her to their after-school coffee shop. They too rejected me for being shy (I had just moved from the East Coast to Redding, California) under the pretext of wearing a Banana Republic T-shirt (with pride, it was my step-sister's treasured shirt and my favorite gift from her.) I never returned to that coffee shop again.
Follow the music. Ants may listen to it, but just for the abstract hooks. You have friends in literature characters, artwork, ideas, theories. There are lots of others out there to meet. Too many to fall in love with if you really open your eyes.
Having the freedom to be unique is something I actively treasure. There is no Caste system here. I can listen to The Nitty Gritty Dirty Band if I wanted to (but I don't.) I will think twice about moving into someones territory again, but true love does not act that way. Class, dignity, love: they transcend us from our primal behaviors. Class, dignity, love, and understanding. Follow the music.
When my oldest brother and step-sister heard in their classes that ant species do not like different species, they did what I considered was a shockingly mean experiment. They took our family ant farm, and dropped a fire ant from our nearly two foot ant hills found behind our home inside the ant farm. In seconds the foreign ant was torn to pieces, limb from limb.
#As a side note, that farm taught us that ants can die of frustration. Take my word for it. We just shook their home 3 separate times and after all the work of restructuring their home, they died. That is the extent to how mean we got to animals as children, and I just observed. I'd be an accessory to murder.
People are viscerally territorial. Take the town of Big Flat, California: off the 299, population less then 100 people. I moved there with a man I dated off and on for almost two years. He lived there for over seven years before my two week stay. The locals did not accept me. At first they had no reason, they were just literally illiterate jerks. I tried so hard to be liked it was ridiculous. They would do things like mention they were driving to Redding (at the time my friend's first baby was having her one year birthday) and in the presence of my boyfriend say they would take me. After he left for a grand mother's funeral in a different state, the rules changed. I knocked over and over. It was my best friend's daughter's first birthday. I could hear these adults get quiet when I knocked. They would hide. Adults. At this point I was desperate for a friend and felt so foreign and detached. So I started to buy beer in the morning. I went to take their dog- the dog on a one foot lease that never went on walks- for a walk for once. The dog ran for freedom as soon as I untied him and I had to ask for help retrieving him (took all of 5 minutes from the owner, who now had a reason not to like me.) Nothing makes me more angry then animal cruelty. I was there for two weeks. When my boyfriend got back and saw the town did not accept me, he did the cowardly thing: went with the crowd. I moved.
The same in L.A. Ant brains. I had not a single friend. I became a cheerleader to a reject who had all these wonderful ideas about talent and being a team. I sunk into depression from lack of exercise, which lead to seek happy chemicals, which lead to fights, and eventually I left and never looked back. I think this man was more of an ant because he knew I left a stable life for him, and if the roles were reversed: if he was a guest in my family's home, I would have treated him like a king. Two against the world. He is probably still living with his parents. I came back up to Arcata, got a job, started running, quit smoking, had not been this happy since; a long long time. So it was a blessing in both cases.
High School was a baffling time to anyone who ran into me, because I was not in a click. So the main question I was asked was, "What music do you like?" I value being unique. I am drawn to unique people. I am not part of an ant farm. I have no role.
There is a similar themed blog in here about being around very smart people, who I had coffee with from a girl who brought me with her to their after-school coffee shop. They too rejected me for being shy (I had just moved from the East Coast to Redding, California) under the pretext of wearing a Banana Republic T-shirt (with pride, it was my step-sister's treasured shirt and my favorite gift from her.) I never returned to that coffee shop again.
Follow the music. Ants may listen to it, but just for the abstract hooks. You have friends in literature characters, artwork, ideas, theories. There are lots of others out there to meet. Too many to fall in love with if you really open your eyes.
Having the freedom to be unique is something I actively treasure. There is no Caste system here. I can listen to The Nitty Gritty Dirty Band if I wanted to (but I don't.) I will think twice about moving into someones territory again, but true love does not act that way. Class, dignity, love: they transcend us from our primal behaviors. Class, dignity, love, and understanding. Follow the music.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Imaginary People
I've been inspired by blogs my literature comrades have exposed me to recently. So I'm spreading the enthusiasm with this list of my favorite/ most intriguing fictional characters. Here are the fabricated folks that make up my top ten list.
1.) Kilgore Trout (from Breakfast of Champions)
2.) Henry Chinaski (from Ham on Rye)
3.) Boaz (from The Sirens of Titan...just because he loved those jelly creatures)
4.) Miss Lonelyhearts (from the same title, and probably Shrike from that too)
5.) Margaret (from In Watermelon Sugar..she had a big broken heart)
6.) Ignatius J. Reilly (from A Confederacy of Dunces)
7.) Judas (from the New Testament)
8.) Finny (from A Separate Peace...he really inspired me when I was 12)
9.) Satan (from Paradise Lost)
10.) Batman (from DC Comics)
11.)Judge Holden (from Blood Meridian) who may not be completely fictitious.
-I said ten characters, but Judge Holden inspired me to re-open this blog, which was originally written a while back. I encourage you to google his image and/or wikipedia his name.
Also remember there is no morality in art/literature.
#If anyone can inspire me with other books with fascinating characters, please add names in the comment section.
1.) Kilgore Trout (from Breakfast of Champions)
2.) Henry Chinaski (from Ham on Rye)
3.) Boaz (from The Sirens of Titan...just because he loved those jelly creatures)
4.) Miss Lonelyhearts (from the same title, and probably Shrike from that too)
5.) Margaret (from In Watermelon Sugar..she had a big broken heart)
6.) Ignatius J. Reilly (from A Confederacy of Dunces)
7.) Judas (from the New Testament)
8.) Finny (from A Separate Peace...he really inspired me when I was 12)
9.) Satan (from Paradise Lost)
10.) Batman (from DC Comics)
11.)Judge Holden (from Blood Meridian) who may not be completely fictitious.
-I said ten characters, but Judge Holden inspired me to re-open this blog, which was originally written a while back. I encourage you to google his image and/or wikipedia his name.
Also remember there is no morality in art/literature.
#If anyone can inspire me with other books with fascinating characters, please add names in the comment section.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Poetry
I knew this guy I met in the Redwoods while I was jogging. He asked to walk me home, either trying or succeeding in impressing me with little personal thoughts like, "People are beams of light". He was the Captain of the Cross Country Team in the Redwoods of Humboldt, and he told me to gain energy in competitions he would 'borrow' energy from the trees. To this day, years
later, I tell my older brother, "I'm stealing your energy." when we do a run together.
*Side Note: No one is more fun to run with then my older brother Tim.
Anyway, I run into this runner randomly all these years later. I'd say I see him on one coast or another about every two years. Once I tried to hide from him, after he did not return one of my calls when I was very young and had first met him. So I tried to out run the cross country team in the woods. I ended up hiding behind a tree. I never got close enough to ask him if he saw me hiding.
This man's claim to fame (and his chick magnet) is knowing Neil Young's children. Neil Young is in my psychology book under, "The Theory of Multiple Intelligence" for his music 'gift'. Earlier in this interview he calls his talent a gift.
Neil Young was given the gift of a gold heart and music. But, "They give you this and you pay for that." Balancing out the universe, his wife gave birth to two children with Cerebral Palsy, which is where the runner who steals tree energy comes in: He pushes the wheel chairs of Neil's children on their summer Hawaii family vacation. Also one of his children and Neil Young himself have Epilepsy (as did Ian Curtis). Would you want his talent for the trade off? Balancing out the universe like bargaining with some supernatural force?
Also in this blog I'd like to remember a beautiful man who would come to my apartment in San Francisco, a musician, who would listen to Neil Young's every note, then leave with hardly a word exchanged between us. He once said that Neil Young's voice was as fragile as he seems.
No poet can say this better then Neil:
later, I tell my older brother, "I'm stealing your energy." when we do a run together.
*Side Note: No one is more fun to run with then my older brother Tim.
Anyway, I run into this runner randomly all these years later. I'd say I see him on one coast or another about every two years. Once I tried to hide from him, after he did not return one of my calls when I was very young and had first met him. So I tried to out run the cross country team in the woods. I ended up hiding behind a tree. I never got close enough to ask him if he saw me hiding.
This man's claim to fame (and his chick magnet) is knowing Neil Young's children. Neil Young is in my psychology book under, "The Theory of Multiple Intelligence" for his music 'gift'. Earlier in this interview he calls his talent a gift.
Neil Young was given the gift of a gold heart and music. But, "They give you this and you pay for that." Balancing out the universe, his wife gave birth to two children with Cerebral Palsy, which is where the runner who steals tree energy comes in: He pushes the wheel chairs of Neil's children on their summer Hawaii family vacation. Also one of his children and Neil Young himself have Epilepsy (as did Ian Curtis). Would you want his talent for the trade off? Balancing out the universe like bargaining with some supernatural force?
Also in this blog I'd like to remember a beautiful man who would come to my apartment in San Francisco, a musician, who would listen to Neil Young's every note, then leave with hardly a word exchanged between us. He once said that Neil Young's voice was as fragile as he seems.
No poet can say this better then Neil:
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