Little Pink Heart

This patch on my skin
I don't quite know what it means.
I'm the girl who wakes up with scars in odd places
But I affixed this patch to my ribs.
Does it mean I'm sick?
Will it bring illness to me?
Does it mean I fight the unseen,
Or rather the seen-through-society's-filter way I see?

What is it doing to me, that I can't do myself?
I should do this without help.
Is it cheating death? Or is it worth it
To cheat death to win back life?
Who do I hope to win over with this bit of plastic?
Am I a child, presenting the bright pink sticker
To my friend, to the teacher, to show everyone
That I am the place to be, the one to be inside?

No one ever could get inside me
I tried so very hard to push away, to open up
But I run too slow to catch up to
My mind spins and pulls little fractals of emotion
And none of them add up to make sense
On a daily basis. It's too thick, my membrane
I can't even steal through it.
How can you hope to? Do you hope to?

So why this attempt? Will it prove
That I am stronger, better, more alive?
Will it hurt me? Am I afraid I will do more damage
To my should-be-greatful body or to my
Ineffectual, wavering mind? I don't feel it working.
I hate that word, placebo. My mind is too wary to fall
Into traps of the heart. I hate you, mirror heart.
Are you pink, too? Open me up, boys, see my sticker throb.

~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~

Busy-ness

*Cower* *cower* Ok, be fair now, screaming mobs demanding more bloggyness. I've been very busy and still pretty sick. In fact, today I woke up with a sore throat and an earache. At least I'll get some holiday shopping done with my girl, L.B., who absolutely, 100% rocks!

Why have I been so busy? Well, in between visiting clients and working my two jobs, not to mention Thanksgiving in all it glorious, food-induced arguments and haze of pilgrim pie (sooo much better than pumpkin), one of our clients from my first job is sending me, most expenses paid, to London! Yes, London, England, not London Anywhere Else. I leave the 12th and return on the 21st! I am so ecstatic, I can't believe it! I will be working long hours at the office, but I've already got several contacts from various f-o-t-fam to hopefully take care of me. Up for a whirlwind tour, anyone? You'll have to duke it out to fly in my suitcase, but it'll be worth it!

I have also been hanging out with my friends a lot, seeing a ton of movies (on dvds and in the theater), and reading. Yes, me, reading books. I've read some pretty good ones recently, such as: SUMMERLAND, THE DOGS OF BABEL, SHUTTER ISLAND by Dennis Lahaine (that was freaky), and I'm reading one called A DICTIONARY OF MAQIAO (that's the closest I can get to making the right symbol), THE QUICK AND THE DEAD by Joy Williams, and FISH, BLOOD & BONE by Leslie Forbes. What have I seen recently? X-2: X-MEN UNITED, LOVE ACTUALLY, THE MATRIX: REVOLUTIONS, and PERSONAL VELOCITY (which I loved).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alma Mater

Visited my alma mater this weekend...6 months since I graduated. It feels weird, like I'm beyond it all, but yet I should be living with my old roomie and going to class. A creepy feeling eating in the dining hall and walking the old routes again. It was so nice to have a car and go wherever I wanted, though.

I missed everyone there, but I'm not very good at keeping in touch with people, they just seem to slip in and out of my life, or rather that I slip in and out of other peoples' lives. I must cut down on the slippery stuff I add to my life. That's actually a pretty good metaphor for behavior and relationships...since I say so myself.

I wish I could kick this habit of restlessness. I just have to keep moving, keep discovering. I definitely want to go to India next, then Australia. There are so many places I want to go to, so many things I want to do. I believe that you only grow by living, by meeting new people and having new experiences with your old friends. If you don't try, you just stay the same, locked in a pattern of boredom or apathy.
It's sad to see people this way, shufflefeet, topshelf-eyes, stuck in loops of mud, given up on spinning wheels so sink slowly into deep compliance.

I used to fight, to spin my wheels, to keep struggling, usually against an imagined enemy, or against the wrong thing, but always for the right reasons. But it's so easy to let others fight for you. It's so easy to just want happiness and separate yourself from the world. And I hate seeing myself slip away into obscure happiness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All By Myself...

Had an ok week by myself in the house. I wish I had felt better so I could have gone out more. Had a great time with L. and A., except they're dangerous to hang around, because they make me laugh, and then I can't do a little essential thing called BREATHING. Oh well, I must be getting used to it, right? What's three weeks of being sick when compared with a lifetime?

I need OUT of this craziness!!!

You and Yours

You with your shoes of spiderwebs
and your castiron clothes
You get your feet wet but
are so afraid to swim

You choke down pretty wasps
with a smile and swear
The stings make your lips
look not so very thin

You with your woodcut eyes
and your waterlogged ears
You're dying to hear voices but
can't see the radio signal

You save babies every day
with careless brush strokes
You smash your glass heart
and pretend it was unintentional

~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~

Go big or go poem! <-- More Verses

Two Amusing Articles

These articles are infinitely amusing:
Amorous Ram Jams Spy Signals! I knew rams were suspicious...
Homeless Gnomes Gather Dust in France. Poor things. Even though they give me the creeps sometimes.

There's a Garden Gnome Liberation Front? Oh, I am so there!
What about those plastic deer? And, who could forget the flamingos! Let's be fair, people, no favoritism of the plastic species!

500 Paths

I'm being pulled in 500 directions and I just want to do my whole run through the fields bit. What is with my wandering attention span? Why am I making everything into something it's SO not? In the past few weeks I've played the diplomat, the invalid, the lover, the hostess, the child, the artist, and the mercenary. Nothing makes sense and everything makes too much sense. Ah, bloody brilliant, you crazy spirit!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I make of you a rainbow
I break you down to size
to bite-sized pieces
so I can have you inside.
~~AEW~~ More to come...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sanctity
of society
depends
so much
on the color
of one light
shining through
the hardest rain.

Lighthouse
Stoplight
Beacon
Outright
Downright crazy
Toy's got you hazy
On the details
but you know.

Green for leaves
Red for my fire
Yellow for a sun
Blue for my eyes
My, how time
does seem to fly
when you're waiting
for the world to die.
~~AEW~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flora & Fauna

I think it's time the wildlife of the world told humans and their political games to go to hell!
This display of human power and control over nature (a deluded sense of grandeur and a need to grasp onto life is fed by pieces of paper with presidents on them) has led to open season from aircraft on Alaskan wolves. Does anyone ever say, "oh, the human population is getting out of control again, let's shoot at people randomly from aircraft"? Oh wait, yes they do. I knew Bush had one hell of a hidden agenda, but really! War to decrease overpopulation...I say we eliminate those who take more than their fair share...No, I'm too peaceful. Right.

Oh, and by the way. Go shoot up, Bush. I hope someone figures out a way to make you pregnant. I hope you know the pain of rape and the agony of childbirth. I hope you are in danger of death from a problem pregnancy, and you realize just what the hell you've done to the thousands of women who have to choose between their child's lives and their own. Hmm..let's create even less power for women over their own bodies.

You who say you love families, what about this: you've just killed thousands of women, mothers, leaving their newborn children parentless or motherless. You don't know anything about what it's like. I'm not letting you tell me what I can and can't do with my body anymore. You look at it and I should have the right to kill you for degrading me. I'll degrade you the way you've degraded my ancestors and me. I'll tear you down and bite you, spit you out and then I'll smile when you tell me I'm hot when I'm angry.

I'm sick of talking heads, no one speaking for the rest of us, white men in their 50s deciding the future of my body or my child. Deciding my future. I'm not taking this anymore. This is not a law that protects. It's a law that kills and destroys families. You want to lash out? You think you know better? That's your choice. It's my choice. I'm not going to let you choose for me. I don't try to choose for you. It just comes down to the fact that you want to take power away from me. You must not know me very well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unhelpful laugh of the day: " Oregano on blueberry muffins? I don't think so." "But it's imported oregano..." "Well, that makes all the difference..."

"Quiero" Translation

Quiero

Quiero confundirme
entre tu piel
y la mia.

Quiero confundirme
entre el sabor de tus labios
y el sabor de los mios.

Quiero confundirme
entre los latidos de tu corazon
y los latidos de lo mio.

Pero más que nada
quiero confundirme
entre tu ser y mi ser
hasta que mi alma
se confunde
con la tuya.


I Want

I want to confuse myself
between your skin
and mine.

I want to confuse myself
between the taste of your lips
and the taste of mine.

I want to confuse myself
between your heartbeats
and mine.

But more than anything
I want to confuse myself
between yourself and mine
until my soul loses itself
in yours.

~~~~AEW~~~~

Wake-Up Call

This morning I woke up at 7:00 (after Halloween's revelries kept me up until 2:00) with a coughing fit. I was wheezing, so I sat up. All of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. It felt as if my trachea closed up, and I could only make horrible, wheezing, honking sounds. I couldn't get any air at all. So all my brain would do was tell me "don't panic, don't panic." So I headed for mom & dad's room while trying to breathe slowly and calm down. Finally whatever triggered the closing of my bronchial tubes opened up again, and I was gasping for air. So I went back to the doctor's today, and after many questions and two X-rays, it turns out that I have a viral or bacterial infection in my bronchial tubes, a bronchitis-type kind of thing. Yay. Why didn't they tell me this when I saw them on Monday? I've been coughing for two weeks now! So now I get a funky cool purple inhaler with medicated dosage that could make me jittery and wired (yay, just what I need) as well as the other pills and cough meds with codine. And I need to drink 2 1/2 gallons of water a day!

It was frightening not being able to breathe. The sounds I made were horrendous, honking gasps for air. So loud I woke up Emblem from a sound sleep when I went wheezing by her door. Mom & dad worried and fretted. When I told H. about it he immediately told me to go see him, but he always says that anyway, so that doesn't count. But he was worried, especially with me being solita in the vicinity in the upcoming days. But my girls have got my back, and every co-worker, church member, neighbor, and friend of the family will be checking up on me. Again, yay.

Time to get some much-deserved sleep.

Champs

Hustle and salsa at work....the mad dancing has returned!! World championships, here I come!!!

Wired

I swear I'm so restless I'm shaking. It's weird. Usually when I'm sick, I just get tired and bored, and tired of being tired. But I am wired. I mean I am nervous, sure, but also really ready to jump out of my skin. I had to make myself run in place earlier just to get tired enough to sit down.

When I've been mad recently, my stomach has been churning and I feel like half of the world's endangered butterfly species are doing tangos and treating my stomach like a trampoline...all at once. So I've been dancing out my demons. Getting myself tired enough to sleep, trying not to slip off into daydream world or down memory waterfall. Concentrating on feeling my muscles move and stretch, bend and flex. I swear, I was meant to be an athlete, or a physically active person. A runner, or a jumper, or a dancer in another life. It calms me down, I can focus on just moving my body and getting everything in line, then moving again. Just calms me down, tires me out, keeps my mind from racing alond dangerous curves or moving sluggishly in a pointless maze.

I guess I've just been feeling a little down on myself lately. I haven't been a good friend, or a good relative, or sometimes even a good employee lately. It's hard not seeing any progress in my life. A lot of us feel the same way, but combined with my internal hourglass, I am just way hyped up. I'm looking forward to keeping my own hours and being by myself. Sometimes people just get to be so much to deal with that it wears me down and keeps me earthbound. And I don't have time for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I feel so inept sometimes. I can't just keep my relationships on an even keel. I'm always dashing after some brass will o' the wisp or other. I just want friends, and I keep getting more or less. And I'm sick of all the drama and tension. I think I need a pet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Despite all of the above, I am totally looking forward to a rockin' Halloween party tomorrow night! It should be awesome times. I just love dressing up in costumes. It's the one night a year that those of us who don't regularly parade around can be someone else entirely, or even something else. What a chance!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unhelpful? Who, me? That's such a strong term...I prefer carefully non-interactive in a beneficial way.

Give Way

I just want to stop being sick for a while. The coughing gets so bad that I can't breathe in between the coughs. It's not the least bit fun and the sympathy bit has gotten old. I just wish I knew what it was so I could kick it's little disease-carrying behind.

On top of that, my two best friends in the world are in a fight, and I'm being pulled in two directions. Not that anyone's putting pressure on me to choose a side, I just hate this feeling of letting people slip away from me, of feeling like maybe we've outgrown each other. It makes me so sad sometimes to see people I love in pain. I can't bear it.

I just feel like everything's working up to a climax, to some big event, to some time when something will give way. Unstable elements can't stay in that state for long. It's just that sometimes those in the way of explosions and reactions don't always walk away unscathed.

And I'm getting confused about what I want. I think that this one thing would make my life complete, and now I see that's not the goal, not perfection, just happiness, a better world. I can't keep changing the way I think about every little thing, the way I feel about people every day. I need stability. But my tendency is just to run away. I just don't want the complexity anymore, to feel that I need to follow the rules of the game, that I'm a playing piece, a two-dimensional, unfeeling cardboard cutout that bends and jumps at the will of some other force.

I don't understand why my mind is trying to tell me that I'm running out of time. It's just a feeling, I don't know what, intuition, psychic vibes, whatever. This feeling of urgency is pushing at me, making me restless, distracting me. And I don't need distractions right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So a famous rapper is running the NYC marathon to raise a cool million to give to NYC public schools and raise awareness of the plight of the NYC school system. So the children in the schools can grow up, and the little girls can become not just stereotyped and objectified women, but stereotyped and objectified women who are educated. Hell, it's the principle of the thing, right? Ends vs. means, only ends vs. later eventual ends in this case.

Why does this bother me so much? Personal, Societal, and International reasons. It's not cool. For example, on a well-known cable-TV show, scantily clad women jump up and down on trampolines, leap around and prance about in costumes. I flipped past one day, and a woman with two long blond braids in her hair was gyrating and thrusting to the music. She was wearing a modified Girl Scout-esque uniform. Sash with badges, mini skirt, knee-highs, cap, and blouse tied in a knot over her chest. Not just any G.S. uniform, though, a Junior's green one. So we're teaching men and boys to objectify girls from this age group...in other words, 9-11 year olds. Like there's not enough rape and child molestation in the world already? Let's start training girls when they're even younger. But hey, the dehumanization of half the world's population isn't the responsibility of the show, the actors, or the network, right? They're just getting paid, and so what if they capitalize on age-old traditions of abusing and degrading women.

I don't mind sexy outfits, dances, or women who do what they need to do to get by. What I do think is that I should be able to wear what I please without being labeled a tease, a slut, a whore, or stupid. Wearing a short skirt just means I like the way it looks, or I like the colors, or it makes me feel good to know that I think I'm beautiful. The problem comes from treating women like dogs, from looking at us like we're pieces of meat, or things that can be bought.

Sick

So I've been busy! And sick with a nagging cough that makes me sound like a lifelong smoker. As Emblem says, getting my germs everywhere. Don't know what's going on with that, but I bought some anti-cough stuff today, so we'll see.

Some have pointed out to me that this is not really a log of my life, more of like all of my thoughts poured out haphazardly on paper. To those people, I say, I invented the flaming woodchucks. Shame on you for doubting me.

Anyway, those very thoughts will comprise the essence of this posting. I have a bunch of jumbled verses and song snippets and dream remnants all swirling around in my vast, intriguing brain, and so as not to lose them, I have decided to write them down as invisible data streams. Oh, how smart of me. But anyway, I thought I'd let them ramble around in the big bad world for a while. See if they come back with any musings. Amusing, no?

I'm sinking in,
mesmerized
by the scars
on your skin.
I'm not trying
to hypnotize
still I capture
and you fall in.

I'm sorry, I don't mean
to draw you in this way,
though I did it all the same.
My spells are accidental
it's not nearly my fault,
but I'll take the blame.

It's true I don't
have many
addictions to feed.
The taste of your
skin is the only
drug I need.

Don't mind me
I'm just
jumping out
of my skin.
I can't wait
to have you
near me
once again.

In the scent
of your skin
I recognize
my heaven.
The taste of
your kiss
has me hooked
into this abyss.

And there's nothing
either one of us
can do to pull away.

Beg

You peck at me
scrambling for bread crumbs
in my hands, from my heart.
And you act like
you know me.
My friend from the start.

My life is your
specimen, it's gossip
open to speculation.
And you act so very
concerned
about my pain.
While you ask me
to sign my name.

I feel like a Jesus
but this is no temple
I am not safe from
vultures or theives.
And I can't help you.
No, I won't heal anyone.

How am I supposed
to heal your pain?
I've just met your
eager eyes and
spoken to your
unhearing ears.

How am I
supposed to fill
that emptiness
you've nurtured
all these years?

When will you drink
your fill from this
fishbowl I call life?
When will you stop
grabbing at my clothes,
unraveling the threads
of my life?

~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~

I'm sorry, but split lines are just not attractive on you.<-- More Poems

Brigadoon

Ok, can someone tell me why my Chilean Weather Pixie is always in a fog? I tried to get new code for him, but for some reason, that particular area always shows a foggy background for the poor boy. I know it can't be foggy 24/7 for months. Ahhh! La Serena is the new Brigadoon. Now I get it. Look, it's late, and I'm tired. If you don't get it, I'm not explaining it to you.

Unreadable

I'm sorry
I'm not the one with
grass stains on my knees.
I'm sorry
I'm not the one who'll
let you do anything you please.

I'm sorry
You can't wrap your
head around my ways
And I'm sorry
You're too narrow
to explore my brainwaves.

But not sorry enough I guess
to let you feed
off of my very best.
To sew up my mouth
Swallow intentions so sour
Let my eyes glass over
Let you steal my treasure trove or
To pretend that I care
Pretend I could ever be yours.

I'm sorry
I'm this twisted mass of
triumphant contradictions.
Can't understand me
without glossy definitions.
I'm sorry
You can't memorize me
to learn just what's
inside all of me.

And I'm so damn sorry
I can't let your ego
fill all of me
Till there's nothing left
Because I need me left
And I won't be left behind.

But not sorry enough I guess
to let you feed
off of my very best.
To sew up my mouth
Swallow intentions so sour
Let my eyes glass over
Let you steal my treasure trove or
To pretend that I care
Pretend I could ever be yours.

No, I won't leave me behind.
I won't pretend that I'm yours.
You can steal into my mind
you can take all that's mine
but you won't shake me
won't leave me behind.

~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~

Again, in song format. I guess all that live music I've been listening to has influenced me a bit!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Update 2005: This is my least favorite poem. I can't even look at it without wincing. That's why it's called Unreadable.
Do me a favor and read something else, would you?
As easy as taking allusions from a Greek god... <-- More Poems

Unhelpful thought of the day: "And now, 89.0 FM gives you........the Flaming Woodchucks!" Think about it. Remember it. Someday, those woodchucks will be famous.

Georgetown

Just came back from D.C. (Georgetown) and this college in Pennsylvania, Messiah, were I saw two great concerts! I was able to explore a little bit at Georgetown and at Messiah, where A. & I played in the park and accidentally went stealth mode down the driveway of this amazingly beautiful farm property. The second concert was by far the better in terms of the songs played. I'm sorry I couldn't stick around to see Train perform on Friday, but my feet were about to fall off! I saw Sister Hazel, Vertical Horizon, and some of Train on Fri., and only the first two on Sat. But V.H.'s set was amazing! They played one of my favorite songs from Go for the first time live! And, they played my favorites from E.Y.W. as well. Sister Hazel was charming, and the electric guitarist and bassist were incredible! I was totally blown away by the way they made solos blend with the rest of the songs. And when V.H. broke into Eleanor Rigby, it was so cool! Anyway, I'm glad I got to go road tripping this weekend with my friends. I just wish I could have gotten more sleep! But, I can't blame a certain someone who snored like a small buzzsaw for that, no, not a word of blame. Actually, I got a bit of sleep in between concerts.

One of the coolest things was the weather! It was warm and sunny, with just enough breeze to not make me wish I had brought shorts. Yesterday was nice as well. Too bad I was so worn out and felt kind of queasy all day (probably from not eating properly during the weekend, then attempting to eat at the Cheesecake Factory on Sunday). Whatever, I'm so glad I get today off!

News Crumbs

I booked a flight to Chile to see H. I leave in January and come back six weeks later in February. I can't wait! Just in time for the southern hemisphere summer! I am sooo getting spoiled by the universe!

I have an awesome new mirror like this but with a mirrored edge of tiles instead of painted ones. It is next to my closet. I finally have a mirror in my room!! I'm so excited.

On Sat. night we went clubbing, it was fun, but not as much fun as it would have been with my friends. Oh well, have to go some other time!

Preparing for D.C. on Friday - Saturday, can't wait to see the concerts. All the same, I'm not a big fan of crowds, they get so pushy and out of control, it's crazy.
Well, at least it ought to be a great road trip with my girls!

My clothes are happy and they are ORGANIZED by warmth in my overflowing closet. I couldn't stand the mess yesterday, so I spent an hour or so hanging things up and making sense of the chaos. Now I just need to clean out my closet shelves (there are some weird things up there, like old games and colorforms and a viewmaster, as well as some things I'd rather not have in my closet...but the etch-a-sketch can't be beat! Also, need to organize my under-the-bed space. Then, I'm done! (Angels sing in choirs in the background!)

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Fields

crisp strands yield
below aching restless feet
groves of infant trees
bend them so easily
surveyors' ghosts measure topography
or our swiftly moving bodies
wildflower crowns cling, forgotten
we are stalks among the rest.

clouds are fake snow fantasies
above vivid kites with
hearts tied to tails for stability.
raspberry thorns mix blood and earth
old magicthat has no owners
sacrifice on the waiting stone tables
no secrets for you today.

never domesticated
yet sweet smell invades
so bitterness stays.
silicone spider webs whisper
man-made shadows over crisp hay
not yet baled in sunrise
to the pounding of earth
dried with my blood.
~~AEW~~

Jumbled

Memory wiped,
I writhe in dreams.
Flashes of fear
Sting me while awake.

It's not a fog,
It's a carousel image
Gone sane:
Jumbled and reformed.

Not a pretty
Puzzle am I.
Half-moon scars
Shown to an uncaring world.

Fall apart, me?
Impossibility wears at
My missing past,
Revealing lurid tidbits.

Logic no longer
Reigns when disoriented.
Shattered memories form
A vast twisted museum.

Faith lies to me
Soft feathers in my ears.
I can no longer hear
My own weak sounds.

Doust thou protest too little
to have that much anger?
Vengeance has no bite:
I have heard a million variations.

Wrong, skin was supposed
To be kept safe.
Make room for invisible bruises
I hope it was broken at birth.

Let's hope it was broken at birth.
The door has no lock, no key,
safe from you, or safe for me?

~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~

Traduccion

Here's the translation to the following poem, from the Sep. 14th poem, as quoted below:

Quiero confundirme
entre tu piel
y la mia.

Quiero confundirme
entre el sabor de tus labios
y el sabor de los mios.

Quiero confundirme
entre los latidos de tu corazon
y los latidos de lo mio.

Pero más que nada
quiero confundirme
entre tu ser y mi ser
hasta que mi alma
se confunde
con la tuya.


I want to confuse myself
between your skin
and mine.

I want to confuse myself
between the taste of your lips
and the taste of mine.

I want to confuse myself
between your heartbeats
and mine.

But more than anything
I want to confuse myself
between yourself and mine
until my soul loses itself
in yours.

That's a rough translation, it's not quite a word-for-word translation.

And here's the translation to Riesgo de Piel (Skin Risk), from the Aug 29 post.

I have powerful skin.
No more do I paint myself with colored powders.
I paint myself with blood.

I wonder: If I dressed like this,
if I dyed my hair like that, if I tanned my skin,
would you also name me with these words of ink?
Or, after so many words had run all over me,
would your drops of desperation and fear
tint my skin?

No more do I scream or cry. Now I laugh; I bury myself
in the laughter of those that survived so many years
with ironic laughter, without pure laughter.

How can they call me white? When I was a girl, I knew
that I had skin like wheat, like a peach.
Can so many lies and prejudices bleach
the tan from my body, leaving me
in whiteness?

No more do I feed forgetfulness, hypnotized,
blinded by the light that reflects
on my skin.

Why do you call me white? White are the papers
that they make from the flesh of trees.
Their inner wood, so vulnerable, has the same color
that my skin does.

White is the marble, cold, that does not bleed.
Do I have blood?
White is the freshly fallen snow.
My color is that of snow dirtied by the soil.

If this is white, will they make from my skin
papers on which they can note my "race"?
Perhaps I am the brown that disappears
when out of the sun, or the fabric that loses its color
after so many years of living without shade.

Or am I dirty snow?

I told you I had powerful skin.
~~AEW~~
It was given this title (I first chose a number of titles, such as "Painted" and "Ink") because it was a risky poem for me to write, in some ways. Oh, and I also ended up reading it at a poetry reading. It started out as an angry poem, with some curiosity and sadness mixed in. I hope that comes across in the translation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And here's a "reprise" if you will.

~~~~Fields~~~~
crisp strands yield
below aching restless feet
groves of infant trees
bend them so easily
surveyors' ghosts measure topography
or our swiftly moving bodies
wildflower crowns cling, forgotten
we are stalks among the rest.

clouds are fake snow fantasies
above vivid kites with
hearts tied to tails for stability.
raspberry thorns mix blood and earth
old magicthat has no owners
sacrifice on the waiting stone tables
no secrets for you today.

never domesticated
yet sweet smell invades
so bitterness stays.
silicone spider webs whisper
man-made shadows over crisp hay
not yet baled in sunrise
to the pounding of earth
dried with my blood.
~~AEW~~
I don't really like this poem, I just felt like I needed to get the memories down.

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On the agenda for this post:
New pants: love them, they have zippers in odd places, yay!
Booking my trip to Chile: excited and nervous at once. I want to see H. again!
Worried about some of my friends: nothing much I can do.
Don't know whether or not to contact someone: again, working it out.
New movies seen: 8 Femmes/8 Women was a head trip, nice soundtrack, bizarre plot and characters, definitely unexpected cinematography. Holes: I want that soundtrack! Great story, I figured it out eventually, it is a beautiful story in all, and the actors are so awesome! I love Kissin' Kate's story. I figure I was a vigilante in a past life.

I did a Tarot reading on myself (I know, but there are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio...besides, it makes you think and take stock of your life) and it was surprisingly accurate and eerily important (like I got all major arcane cards, no suits, weird, huh?).

Other new stuff: Happy Birthday Lara! I normally forget everyone's birthday, including my own, but since I went to a party for Lara today, I remembered to say it.

What else have I seen or done lately? Oh, talked to SA, my recently married and pregnant friend in L.A. That is so weird, I hope her husband treats her right. It's just weird to talk to an estranged ex-best friend who you're not sure why she stopped talking to you in the first place, and suddenly started talking to you again, and wants you to visit, ASAP.
Looking back over my life over the past four or five years, I suddenly realized (esp. in my love life) what a mad, mad, mad world I lived in. I never dreamed any of these things would happen. If you'd told me five years ago even the smallest bit of what I was about to go through, I wouldn't have believed any of it. It's just so, not how you expect your life to turn out. I mean, it was all unexpected and me falling into things. I guess that's what a lot of life is like. You fall into your friends and your lovers, and some you cling to, and some cling to you, and some you let go when they bring you down or you bring them down. And sometimes, just maybe, some great soul helps you find your wings.

It occurs to me that I feel like this being, this thing that sees things from above, like an angel or a guardian, that I want to protect people, to show them what's to come. But that's so ridiculous, it's just me being odd. Scratch that from the record.

At any rate, I've been reading mysteries lately, as well as drawing some and planning on decorating some more. First I need to start buying presents for the holidays. Augghhh! I have two sets to buy for (almost three)! I've got some idea about a few people, but, don't get me started.
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Unhelpful quote: "Mandala backwards is Aladnam. Maybe I'm Aladdin's evil twin."

Riesgo de Piel - Translation

Skin Risk

I have powerful skin.
No more do I paint myself with colored powders.
I paint myself with blood.

I wonder: If I dressed like this,
if I dyed my hair like that, if I tanned my skin,
would you also name me with these words of ink?
Or, after so many words had run all over me,
would your drops of desperation and fear
tint my skin?

No more do I scream or cry. Now I laugh; I bury myself
in the laughter of those that survived so many years
with ironic laughter, without pure laughter.

How can they call me white? When I was a girl, I knew
that I had skin like wheat, like a peach.
Can so many lies and prejudices bleach
the tan from my body, leaving me
in whiteness?

No more do I feed forgetfulness, hypnotized,
blinded by the light that reflects
on my skin.

Why do you call me white? White are the papers
that they make from the flesh of trees.
Their inner wood, so vulnerable, has the same color
that my skin does.

White is the marble, cold, that does not bleed.
Do I have blood?
White is the freshly fallen snow.
My color is that of snow dirtied by the soil.

If this is white, will they make from my skin
papers on which they can note my "race"?
Perhaps I am the brown that disappears
when out of the sun, or the fabric that loses its color
after so many years of living without shade.

Or am I dirty snow?

~~~~AEW~~~~

Oceans of Consciousness

Twisting, candid brooks and oceans of consciousness:

I'm getting so tired of feeling empathy without the weight. I read about someone else's troubles and I immediately want to help them out, to take away their pain, to solve the problem. Was there a void that was filled before? Did I used to do this? If so, for whom? And why do I feel everything so damn deeply for everyone else's lives but not for my own? You know that little part of your nerve endings, of your emotional baggage carrier, that connects to the part that lets you feel, that lets you know how you feel about something that happens to you? I think I was born without one. I swear, I get mad for other people, I feel sad, I feel that they should do x or y, I want to help them, but for me, I don't feel anything. Not even tired, or upset, or happy, or mildly annoyed. I just feel slightly full, kind of spacy, and like I want to do something else. I just want this indignation, this desire to help, this feeling that if I don't fix the world I'll never be right in it, to stop. What if someone cursed me and said "she will never know happiness as long as there are problems in the world." Why would they do that? Anger, jealousy, feeling that I did wrong somehow? Who have I annoyed lately? Maybe it's karma. I don't know what's going on. Maybe when I started to care about people, I lost my edge. I lost my anger and I stopped lugging around my portable gaping hole of despair. Or maybe I was meant to be this other person, this one who wants to change things and make amends and stop the pain of others. I don't want to hurt people right now. It's not as if that was my end goal in the past, but I often used to be an observer, one who could do experiments with the ants around me and see how much pressure it took to make them squirm. I guess I missed my calling as an actress. But it doesn't matter now. I just wonder which is the real me. This feels like I've been given a lobotamy, like I've been reformed, like I could no longer destroy, like I've been dulled. Is my knife edge dull with misuse or with happiness? Is this what happiness feels like? I think it's more contentment in general than anything else. But am I truly content?

No. There's something always pushing, always digging, always hoping, reaching. I want to know what this is. Is this the bottled-genie me? Or is it the Pandora's Box me? The container of infectious disease me? Or is it the real me struggling to get out. Is it right to be someone else, or is it worth it to spare the world and hide me? What if what's inside is the magic antidote to the world's problems?
Can you say, metaphysical?

There's something there, that says that you are not like this. Where is your wit, your sarcasm, your carefully orchestrated dance? Where have you hidden your claws this time? Did you try to file them down? How long do you think it'll take before they grow back? How to let this out on paper, safe, contained. Is that taking away the true essence of it? Because what if it could inspire to do good? Is that not how good counteracts evil, studying it in its natural habitat? So who's studying me? Why study something so confused?

Is it atonement? Am I trying to make up for things that I think I have to make up for? healthy slabs of guilt on my plate, I'm sure, but where I'm headed won't make up for anything. Besides, it needs to let go. I think it's to make happiness, more flies with sugar, to fix and not to destroy. Where did this inspiration come from? From love, or the chemicals associated with it? From the realization that my struggles were not valiant, not epic, but misguided?

There's a tugging, a pulling at my memory. That's different. I'm pretty sure I know why that's there (it's the only thing that makes sense), but I can't let that out. I don't need to, I've been practicing, and it's been analyzed, contained, quarantined, if you will. That is not worth the time it would take to let it escape. Because it never will.

So what is this other thing, this unsettling feeling. That time is running out. What does my body know that my ignorant mind does not? What is going to be lost? A life, a person, a feeling, a stage, a chance? Or will I simply poof into nothingness? Why is it telling me to fight against the water, that the canoe is by my side, you can see it red, among the green shafts of sunlight. Will my brain listen this time, as it did then? Will my body fight, or will my mind wear the gloves?

The fire cools as distance and time take their toll. What becomes of a fire the day after it is set? No forest fire, but a tame, expected flame. Will kerosene-man get there in time to save the blaze? Too bad, he doesn't exist? Who would fake it this time? Can it be done? When fear starts to replace love, anything goes. But will it come back before time runs out, and the journey begins? Can you picture it, and every picture seems more and more off? Then you might need to let it go. But it's so sweet, and it seems to like you so much. What's the difference between love and obliging contenment, anyway?

Like I said, Time can be bought, but time is running out. There's no way to decide and no way to know when the deadline has been drawn in the sand. My mini merry-go-round is spinning in circles. The foci must be offset. The horses and seahorses and giraffes and lions and tigers and dragons run away. But the leopard is my friend, maybe he'll stay. Then I can learn how to be back again, in that jungle I fled for the first time to get to the cities. Maybe we'll take on the strip malls and make them cry.

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My archives for August have run away! And they screwed up my sidebar on the way out! Grrrr. Oh well, such is life.

On the plus side, I think the course of a life hangs in the balance. My hand could push someone's sanity over the edge or help it get a grip on the side of the spiky building.
"Callous and strange..."

It might be evil again. Nah, I should be so lucky. Like I said, I need the karma on my side. Besides, my conscience beat up my little devil, who's in the hospital. So it holds sway.
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Maybe I've lost my fears. All of them. I'm not saying I can face anything, but the emotional fears, maybe they've gone on holiday. Perhaps now is the time to try and start something new. Or maybe the fears have forced me into complacency. Soft, feathery handcuffs of contenment make me queasy. The grease on them belies their angelic features.

I think I was wrong. I think the fire is still there. It's different, now. It knows how to twist and turn. It knows where to find fuel and how to burn what it needs to burn. And so do I. It always works that way. The memories you want to lose are the ones most burned onto your hard drive brain, and the ones you reach for are the ones that live in ghost arhives.

I don't want to plea bargain life like this. It's like trying to drink really thick milkshakes through a thin straw. No substance, no access. Just use a spoon and add some whipped cream. It was seize the day but now it's seize the years.
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I don't mean to write in riddles. It's just easier to get down the feelings than it is to speak the events. Because there are no clear-cut events, so to speak, it's just there, and I don't remember how it crept in and took over. But that's the way it is. Good or bad, it's got to give a little and take half only. Life is compromise. At least it's not a fight but a council of peace.
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Unhelpful imagination of the day: Anaconda am I!

Riesgo de Piel

Tengo la piel poderosa.
Ya no me pinto más con pólvoro de colores.
Me pinto con la sangre.

Me pregunto: ¿Si me vistiera así,
y me tintara el pelo así, si me bronceara,
también me llamarías con estas palabras de tinta?
¿O, después de correrse encima de mí tantas
palabras, me tintarían la piel
tus gotitas de desesperación y miedo?

Ya no grito ni lloro. Ya me rio; me entierro
en la risa de los que sobrevivieron tantos años
con la risa irónica y sin la risa pura.

¿Cómo me llaman blanca? Cuando yo era niña, sabía
que tenía la piel como tel trigo, como el durazno.
¿Pueden tantas mentiras y prejuicios limpiar
el bronceo de mi cuerpo, dejándome en la
blancura?

Ya no alimento al olvido, hypnotizado,
ciega por culpa de la luz que refleja
en mi piel.

¿Por qué me llamas blanca? Blancos son los papeles
que se hacen de la carne de árboles.
Su madera interna, vulnerable, tiene este
mismo color que tiene mi piel.

Blanco es el marmol, frío, que no sangra.
¿Tengo yo sangre?
Blanca es la nieve que se cayó recién.
Mi color es lo de la nieve ensuciada por el suelo.

Si esto sea blanco, ¿harían de mi piel los
papeles en los cual puedo marcar mi "raza"?
Tal vez soy el pardo que desaparece por falta
de sol, o la tela que pierde su color
después de tantos años de vivir sin la sombra.
¿O soy yo la nieve sucia?
Te dijé que tenía yo la piel poderosa.

~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~

Kismet's Kick in the Butt

Every once in a while, you stop believing in fate, in kismet, in the idea that there is a purpose for everything. And then fate trips you and you land in a huge puddle and ruin all of your clothes. But it saves you from being flattened by a semi. Or, you could say that fate snatches you from the jaws of danger and puts you on the sideline. Or maybe it just backhands you one to wake you up and say: "you imbecile, of course there is a purpose! How dare you question my existence!"

Yes, today, that once in a while became a now.

Yesterday I went out to a local hot spot with one of my best N.Y. friends, LB. My mom had been reminding me to invite her to brunch after church today, Sunday, and so we decided to meet at our fave restaurant at noon. Mom & I got there early, coming directly from choir & church. So LB shows up around 12:15 or so, and we tuck in. As the waitress came to take our plates away, we saw a police car go screaming down 59, headed towards downtown. We saw an SUV go by with lights and siren, and wondered what kind of service that was. As it happened, our waitress was part of the RV Ambulance Corps, and explained the lights system to us. So, mom went home and LB and I decided to head to a crafts store. We headed for home around 2:50 - 3:00 or so, and she forgot to turn the right way to drop me off, and I asked her where we were going, and she said: "to my house, I guess." So we drove up to the entrance to her street and saw cars. POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape, plain cars, police cars, all around her house and the house across the street. Her parents had just left for a week-long joyride, so it was just her and her cat. And she starts (rightly) freaking out. We ask a woman standing outside the tape what was going on (a reporter, no doubt), and she told us that they were investigating a shooting.

Long story short: Her next-door neighbor had been shot sometime about when the police cars we were wondering about went screaming down 59 to save him and take him to the hospital and find the perpetrator. And just after LB had left her house to go with us. We checked on her cat, she called her parents, her grandma called her three or four times, our other friend and I are going to stay with her tonight, and she's o.k. now. But we don't know anything about the shooting, if the guy is all right, just that the police took her name and DOB, address, and phone number, and mine (I must look suspicious) (funny side story, he asked her for my name and I gave my address and number, then asked us if we had my DOB, was he on crack?). So, we distracted ourselves, and I eventually went home (still no call from H., you're in the casa de perros, my boy). Like I said, going back tonight (probably).

So, ultimately, fate looked out for her on two accounts: I invited her out on a Sunday morning (not a usual time for people to go anywhere but to religious services), and I was with her so she wasn't alone when she got to her house. It creeps me out to think that maybe someone premeditated this and watched her house to see when she left. Because the way the police were talking, the shooter got away. No warning from the men in blue, either. Thanks, policia. We must be suspects. I can vouch for her from 12:15 onward, officer (woh, weird deja-vu experience just now...).

I guess you could say it was an unusual day. I'm still floating in that unreal state where you know you've somehow escaped danger, but haven't really understood tha full possibilites still.

Gotta dash - - - - ok, I feel better now ;-)
Un beso por la paz.
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Just....think. That's all.

Human Trafficking

While doing research for my internship, I had to look at a number of web sites devoted to helping victims of human trafficking, the illegal slave and forced labor trade that is flourishing in the 21st century. They made me cry, especially the PSAs some of these sites produce. It's so unbelievably horrifying, the worst nightmare of a free person. Some experts say that almost 4 million people a year (only a year) are sold into slavery. I mean, real slavery, where you work and work and never make enough money to pay off the thousands of dollars of debt you make getting out of your poverty-stricken town. You hope for a new life, and are forced (women and children) into prostitution, agriculture camps, and sweatshops. I'll post some of the URLs later on, but check out IRC and IOM International. The department of state also has some good resources. It's amazing how many people are sold into forced labor here in the U.S.

It makes you sick to think that you are here, and comfortable, and safe, and your only worries are relationships, and making enough money to buy a car or pay the rent, or what to eat for dinner, if you can afford that new thing you want, etc. And these people send their children, themselves away to what they think will be a better life, and they are betrayed by their family members, their parents, their siblings, thier friends, their spouses, believing the lies of those who would prey upon the desperate and the destitute. It makes you want to leap up and protect these people, every single one of them. It hurts me so much to see people suffering.

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Every day, a battle rages within me. I want to help everyone, because I can't stand to feel their suffering. I really do, it hurts me to watch those who have no shelter, no basic needs, who face injustice and pain in their lives. But I get so bogged down by the hopelessness of it all that I want to run away. I want to lead the comfortable life. I feel as though I have been struggling for years, but I don't know who or what my demons are, what I am trying to escape from. At times, I just want to let the world fend for itself, to say that I can't do it, I don't want to. The drive for me to succeed is strong, but my need to help people runs deep. I don't know why I feel things so much, when sometimes I can be so cruel to the people around me and not care at all. But always I have a sense of empathy. I don't like to see people struggling needlessly, to watch someone's heart be broken, to see embarassment and shame on another's face. I always want to break through to the tough cases, to reach out.

But I don't like to fail. So I keep at things that are hopeless, sometimes, just because they have become symbols of winning or losing to me. And I hate it so much. That's one of the things that I have been changing about myself: my definition of success, my striving towards empty goals that don't bring me happiness. And with the realization that failure was my biggest fear, suddenly a lot of my past behavior oddities and relationship problems made sense. I would fight to hold on to things or to people that I wasn't happy with, and so would be depressed, feel that I had no future even if my partner was planning it with me. I would say, so, you won, you won an argument, you got the grade, now what do you want? And it would always be some inconsequential thing, that I hated doing, wanting to be accepted or loved, or hoping to win accolades and be the center of attention. At the same time, I needed my space, my distance, my walls. Before I had anger and coldness, then, I couldn't find them, so I used arguments and goals, tests and declarations. I used shyness as a curtain until I outgrew it. And then I used calculations. Always calculations.

Maybe that's why I liked math and astrophysics so much. I was always so calculating.
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I went through life as an actress, and a chameleon, not looking for acceptance but for applause for a part well played. It got to the point when, in college, I realized what I was, and I hated it. I'd wish I could tear open my skin and see if I had a heart. And I could never find that part of your brain that tells me what I felt, if I were in love, if I liked this or that. I was always ambivalent about a lot of things. Friends and significant others were a matter of convenience, or inconvenience, or of me simply accepting a date as an equal-opportunity dater. And so I gave people what I thought they wanted and waited for them to go away. I was surprised when they didn't. And I confused life with drama, so I would say things just to see their affect on people, and to get the reassurances we all need. But, here's the thing: I didn't even want those reassurances of love or friendship in most cases. I just thought it was better to have a full, worry-filled life than it was to be content and bored. Not to say that I hurt people out of boredom. It was like getting revenge against people who had never done anything for me to react to, but I could, so I would. Only to a few people. And no one is a saint.
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So I took a break, went abroad, and took a new attitude. I re-examined my life after a trip my junior year to Central America, and I didn't like what I saw. But when I went to study abroad the next year, I went with no expectations, especially of myself, except that I would pass my courses and travel. I didn't seek to make friends, to cultivate a new family, to find love. I decided that I would play a new character: myself. And it wasn't hard, because I stopped needing to find me. At some point, I had stopped being an imposter in my own skin. I don't know exactly how or when, but I know I did it. And I didn't realize what had driven me before I found me until the winter after I returned to my home. But, anyway, I just took things as they came, worried only about speaking in grammatically correct sentences and learning a new culture. Maybe the fact that it was harder to express myself in another language made me stop concentrating on getting results and let my feelings show.

I made mistakes still, huge ones, that I do regret, but they ended up for the best, and I don't mind having guilt on my conscience. I'm used to it, have been for years. I just don't let it overrun me. And it helps that I know that no one is perfect, almost everyone lives in a fragile house made of reservations, preconceptions, and fear. And when people like me come along, who shatter those houses accidentally, devastation can follow. That's why I like to build, not destroy (haha, I only use my power for good, not evil!). But I am off topic. The point is, I came back changed, better, a more solidified person, but more forgiving and adaptable. I adopted a philosophy I learned in training and from my friends, and from my own spirit: to take people as they come. They are people, they change, their interests and feelings change, their hatred, love, and apathy change. People are surprising. I always try to give people as many chances as they need to have with me (in general, I don't mean relationship-wise, that is difficult to do when you're in a relationship and someone comes back to you and asks for another chance, not a good idea to say yes then). They come back, they hurt too, they need a friend, and eventually they understand that while you are not too accepting, a pushover, a doormat, you are forgiving. And forgiveness is a huge gift to give.

Hee hee! Way over the top, Mandala!

No point, just happy! Got my head facing forward again, able to look in all directions, feeling kind of like I can do whatever I put my mind to.
So I'm not going to pick any one thing yet. Just some insurance.
Here's a little something to pick you up: I love this show!
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Unhelpful event of the day: Mirror, mirror, soon to be on my wall? Ikea, you're the oddest of them all!

Consumer Culture

A few days ago I got an amusing solicitation in my snail mail. It was from this Grapefruit Orchard place in Texas, and promised me orgasmic experiences with the so sour so good fruit. I mention it because it had an amusing paragraph on the part where you sign your sanity away for twenty bucks plus shipping & handling. It reads as follows:

"Of course, Harry. I'm willing to test a box of Orchard Rio Red grapefruit at your risk. Send me a box of 12 sun-sweetened Orchard Rio Reds {not just any of your underground-grown, unsweetened Rio Reds, Harry, so you'd better bite into them first and test them out}. If I absolutely love them, I'll send you $18.88 plus $5.97 shipping. If not, I'll just write "No, thanks" on the invoice and mail the invoice back to you. We'll still be friends."

Still? I was never friends with anyone who owned an orchard. I might be, in the future. Heck, I might even own an orchard some day. But I don't know that I'd call someone who tells me that my grapefruit supply is the most essential secret to my happiness is not one of my most clued-in buds, if you know what I mean.

This culture of consumerism is frightening. I was reading Bill Bryson's 1989 venture through small town America, THE LOST CONTINENT, and I realized exactly how much our culture drives us to create unique individuality that forces us all to keep up with one another. I mean, how we as advertisers try to convince every single resident of the world that their entire future happiness depends on getting a Triple Chocolate Fruity Blast smoothie, a Scrubbly Bubbly Cleaner Pad, a Lot-O-Meat Burnt Burger, any odd thing we would never otherwise associate with financial security or future bliss. And it's all in capitals. The branding of molecules has begun! Everything Must Have Capitals. I feel like I'm reading old time books where they capitalized odd nouns. A holdover from the German days of English perhaps. It has me checking my behind every time I take a shower to see if I've been stamped like a Cabbage Patch kid or a Huggly-Snuggly-Wuggly bear. Or like a chicken. Oh, excuse me, Chickette.

All in all, it makes me sick. Same with this attitude of bewilderment that a lot of people in the U.S. have in the face of political situations, understanding other countries, realizing the consequences of their actions, in other words. Because it's not in front of us, we don't care about it. We are the ultimate short-memory nation. Let's drop atomic bombs. It will be so far away that we'll never feel the effect. What do you mean that country can't be obliterated? It supports us? Hah! Forget them. So there are poor people here? Why do they have to complain? Why can't they just go home. Like this lettering I saw on a truck: "God Bless America Love It or Leave It." I just might. It hurts to know that we have allowed ourselves to be blindsided by our own needs, by our own desires, our own petty concerns that we can't extend a hand, let alone a nation's hand, to help anyone, even our own. Everyone just prays that good things will come to them, and mostly they do, but the rest of us are stuck and sinking fast in the quicksand of modern life. It makes my desert island idea seem pretty appealing.

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I wrote another one for H.:

Quiero confundirme
entre tu piel
y la mia.

Quiero confundirme
entre el sabor de tus labios
y el sabor de los mios.

Quiero confundirme
entre los latidos de tu corazon
y los latidos de lo mio.

Pero más que nada
quiero confundirme
entre tu ser y mi ser

hasta que mi alma
se confunda
con la tuya.


~~AEW~~
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Actual conversation (in Spanish): RJ (Random Jerk): "Hey, don't I know you from my dreams?"
Reply: "Well, if you do, then you should know my boyfriend from your nightmares."
I love comebacks!

Fever Dreams

So, I've been sick lately, on and off for the past few months, and every time I go to the clinic, they tell me it's a cold or a virus or strep throat even though I always test negative. So anyway after a bout of insomnia early this morning, I had some crazy feveresque dreams that make acid trips seem sane, and I don't know if it was just sickness-induced or fever-caused (cuz I'm usually fever free, and my temp yesterday was exactly 98.6, but then again I sometimes come up as 97 degrees, so who knows), but I thought someone might as well get a kick out of them besides me.

Please suspend all disbelief while crossing this line. At least you didn't believe this was REAL the way I did this morning.

I was in this gigantic house where I knew my boss lived with all of these cats, and I was simultaneously this woman and her daughter, and we were looking for something, surrounded by cats in this crazy mansion and with other kids, and eventually I left and a cat got attached to me by way of a chair. I mean to say, this fold-up chair got stuck with a stick up my sleeve and the cat sat on it and made me unstick the chair and the cat was just chilling and it was beautiful, I wanted to keep it.

Next, I'm somehow a young girl and I have dark hair and I'm swimming in some sort of aqueduct or river or pondish thing with a small bridge overhead, my blonde friend and I can touch the bottom with our feet and there are boats lined up on their sterns against the wall, covered in algae below the water line. I have swum here many times before, my dream-self knows. The girl stops me at the opposite side of the bridge underwater, so I am stuck under the bridge, swimming, and she plays with this light attached to the bridge and gleefully shouts: "Look, it's like the police!" and flashes a very bright light. I know she will attract too much attention, and sure enough a kid with his bedroom on the bridge wakes up, looks at us, and says: "Playing police, huh? Cool."

I am suddenly watching myself a seven year old girl named Kristy (not my name, but I am watching and it is me at once, as often happens in my dreams) who has got a major crush on the kid from the bridge (Older, teenaged, kind of Asian-punk looking), and she is debating whether or not to make him an engagement ring from plastic when her friends come in and convince her she will only get her heart broken.

Jump to older Me/Not me with a group of three teenagish girls going from a house opening a door stepping into some sort of truck show, western stage show, not important, but people tell us, "I don't think people dress like that to go here. You must be looking for the concert." And so we are. We are dressed sort of like Elvis, I am wearing a white jumpsuit with a halter top that has starry stuff like one of his most famous outfits (odd, I am not a big Elvis fan), and we are looking for some concert, not an Elvis one. That is located in some room that goes off of Salvo's basement but yet not his basement, with pine-covered walls that have two doors, and suddenly, hiding there, is a huge auditorium. Two thirteen-year-olds are kissing and the boy says, "I hope you kept your teeth hard to kiss me with" and we walk on. A little kid tries to injure me for stepping on his toy, but I calmly explain to him why it was his fault in the first place.

Jump again to me "waking up" in my dream and seeing that my clock says 9:15 and knowing I am late for my first day visiting clients and I run out to yell at my parents for not waking me up, and all of the clocks say it's after 11, but different times, and I yell at mom because she doesn't care or realize or agree that the clocks are out. Dad finally notices and says it must be the workman's fault. They have hired a maid and a fix-it guy (yeah right, a maid? Never happen!) and they are cleaning up the kitchen but tearing apart the walls. Dad & Mom sit on the couch and a thing that looks like a giant cake-decorating plastic tip drips cleaning sludge on my dad's shirt and he doesn't believe us until he sees for himself. There was more cleaning dripping, but I don't remember who got it or why.

Jump to me telling Emblem & Salvo, who are in a room that's not mine but yet is (the pine walls again) about my strange dream, how I dreamed Salvo's dad (who is in this fake awake part my boss) was there, and about the concert in his house, and he says that was weird. Then he says: "Look what I got" and pulls up his shirt to show us a gigantic tatoo of this bizarre scene of the Buddha all done in indo-chinese style that's half done and appears to cover most of his torso and back, half in white (unfinished) and half undone. Mom walks in and he has to tell her what's' up and she says: "That's a nice tattoo" and tells us something unrelated like "Dinner is ready." And I know in my dream that one of my friends is going to get a tattoo and I almost say it but don't. And the tattoo is just so big, and so undone, that it looks just odd, kind of achingly well done,but not beautiful yet. Then I wrenched myself out of fever and sickness and really woke up, and I could have cried, I was so happy none of it was true.

So shrink me. Unthink me. Blink me out of existence. Wink me your inner eye.
It's too bizarre for words. At least it had no premonition elements or deja-vu elements in it.

I submitted poems to a web site contest. I expect nothing to come of it, because it's pure chance that my poem would even be read. But I did it. So :-p

I made some more quick ones using the poetry in motion thing on poetry.com, it's fun because it limits you to 20 elements and to their list. Then you can make your poems in this style and rearrange the words.

Till later,
See you in my dreams.

Poem Submission

Ok, I'm submitting a poem. Or not. Or am. I can't decide.
I updated the Aug 29th poem, but it needs a title. I like titles.
No, I am not drugged out, I am slightly catatonic...better than catapulted anyday, I say.
Un beso.
Chau

List_serv: UNREADY

~~~~List_serv: UNREADY~~~~

She stares:
Ocean eyes: no sharks, webbed pupils, glossy black.
Impish lips: kissy face, sullen shine, surpise: not red!
Raincloud hair: unsafe frame, earth matted, so curlable.

My lists
are not
like yours

She moves:
Elfin feet: palm tree heels, family birthmark, pale fish.
Ballet arms: imperfect curves, careless tans, fluid flesh.
Smiling hips: rhythm=regained, playful shake, time hungry.

I hope
you don't
mind my asking

He sleeps:
Shadow skin: peaked crevices, no tourists, summer dark.
Moon eyes: model lashes, slow eyelids, spark iris.
Lake body: tight grip, smooth skin, warrior scars.

You took
the very first
one

He speaks:
Cello notes: hiding symphonies, crowded thoughts, swift release.
Soldier's triumph: unadorned words, gypsy prayers, seeking peace.
Child laugh: high tones, no demons, love pushes.

Can I
keep all
of yours?

~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~

Otra Vez

Besarte                         To kiss you
es respirar                   is to breathe
otra vez.                             again.

Abrazarte                   To hold you
es latir                        is for my heart
mi corazón                       to beat
otra vez.                             again.

Allí,                                     There,
a tu lado,                    by your side,
viviré                                I will live
otra vez.                              again.

~~~~Al Rey~~~~
~~AEW~~ For H., by me.

In a rare moment of peace, I dreamed these words. Or maybe I was in the shower...or was it driving...maybe I was just astral projecting...

Two Great Flicks

Just seen two great flicks, BOWLING FOR COLUMBINE and ALL ABOUT EVE. Both of them made me think about very different aspects of modern life.

BFC made me want to get out of this country while I still can. It made me incredibly sad, even as I sat shaking my head in wonder and bemusement at the stupidity that the U.S has at its core. Bush must not be re-elected. Environmentally, politically, economically, he couldn't give a fig about the people of this county -- except to take their money and to keep them in the dark -- and he has proved this time and again. His environmental record is apalling. Terrorists (as S. said) want him in office, he's a convenient figure for them to present as the evil corporate oppressor. His bombing program (a continuation and expansion of Clinton's, I realize) gives them reason to attack us and to keep the people united in a common enemy, and so busy with their program against us that they don't notice that none of these leaders risk their own lives for the country. Is Sadaam helping the Iraqi people? He fled. Threw them to the wolves and left.
Is Bush helping the U.S.? Have you been helped? The tax cut helped the wealthiest only. The work for welfare program brings tragedy. But I digress.

Is the purpose of a president to reflect the will of the people or to do the best thing for this country? It is a philosophical dilemna, one that has human life as its ticket price. Don't believe me? Watch BFC, read between the lines of the corporate and government sponsored newscast, read the articles from Green groups, check out the government's proclamations and boil them down. We are kept in a culture of stupidity and ignorance because it would blow our minds, we couldn't handle the truth? We let our access to information on our own lives be controlled by a faceless bureaucracy, hiding its tracks and denying anything and everything that puts its employees' jobs in jeopardy. How long will we give these rulers, these monarchs, the opportunity to say, you can't handle the truth, you're not mature enough, you don't know enough, that you're happier stupid, that ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is an iron wall that crushes you when you turn your back on it. It is the single united state of America. How long will we let those whose fates are not dependent on law rule ours, make the laws that determine our lives.

We are too busy, we are just surviving, we have worked long and hard for our rest, we deserve respite. What about the billions of other people who worked just as hard, and never got anywhere? What about those who pulled themselves up and then turned around and gave back to the community, to the nation, to the world? What rest do they get? What is their reward? We love them, until we have to be like them. They are not saints. They have no special powers. They just opened their eyes and saw, and realized that to close their eyes again would be ignorant bliss, but a bliss tempered with guilt. WIth memories of wrongs unrighted, of justice usurped by power. With thousands, no, millions of voices crying out in need, day and night, fretful, restless, plaintive, hopeful. And the hope undoes you every time. There should be no false hope. There will be a brighter day, if you have to do it yourself. It hurts to give yourself up, to want to help, to help and to put your own happiness on hold. But there is a peace, a final sense of something is right with the world, a belonging, that comes with helping others. With taking a stand. With saying, I don't believe your culture of stupidity, I don't believe your stereotypes, your way of making us hate one another, of silence and rape, of torture and apathy. I am just a human. Just a mass of flesh and bones, of tendons and muscles, organs and blood, always blood. My veins are open and you are bleeding me dry, bleeding us all dry, you cut open our veins at birth and catch our blood to make soup you sell back to us, tempered with water, misinformation, a veil that helps us take our medicine without question. We are all just humans, the same ratios, the same parts, the same species. None of us is born better or worse than any of the others. But we do not all have the same chances to live, to flourish, to love, to die and live happily. And until we do, we can not call ourselves a wealthy society, a civilization, or even a people.

I have been to two of the places listed in BFC as sites of U.S.-sponsored overthrows of democratically elected presidents. These leaders were not overthrown because their policies were hurting the people, but because the U.S. wanted stronger economies, better friends, because the dictators that the U.S. put in their place smiled at our country and promised huge deals at the cost of thousands of lives. The statistics are startling, but so are the actual places, faces, and even one person who experienced either event. I've been to Santiago, Chile, I've lived there. I've walked down Avda. 11 de Septiembre, the date of Pinochet's 1973 coup. I've heard the stories of those whose family members disappeared. I've seen the footage of executions. I've learned that everything that has been since is a reflected shock, a rebuilding, a deal with Pinochet the lifetime senator, a deal with themselves. I've been to a town in El Salvador where government-sponsored soldiers raped and murdered thousands of women, where people were lined up outside of a church wall and shot with no mercy, no questions asked, all civilians, basically for the fun of it. Where the crater left by an exploded bomb is bigger than some of the refugees' tin or cardboard houses. Where they dropped babies down a well to crack their heads open on the rocks below. Where children wander still, with fleas and bare feet, giving you a tour of the burned-out shell of a house (to earn any small price) and repeating a story that no 8, or 10, or 11 year old should know, should have to know that it was true. These events occurred in the 70s, in the 80s, in the 90s. These are not tales from long ago. There are people, there are children who lived through these U.S. government-sponsored annihilations, the survivors, those who lived and promised to tell their stories.

What would happen if we all left this country in protest? If we fled to Canada, to Africa, to Europe, to Latin America, to Antarctica even? What if we created a gigantic brain drain, labor drain, people drain? What if we just refused to work for money, if we only did charity, or community service, if we all said, we don't believe that paper can make us happy? What if we reinstated a barter system? What if we all laughed at the government and said, we believe in equality, we are going to perform our own marriages, or no marriages at all, no one will be married, you can not track us. We will not report our race, we will not record our sex, our income. We will disappear off of your radar. What if we camped out en masse on the White House lawn? If we stopped working altogether, made it difficult for others to work, to concentrate, to do their useless paperwork until our cries were heard? If we called for impeachment, for full release of their policies, all documents passed by the government, translated by a liberal, unknown lawyer, unbribed and untouchable? What if we took our country back? Because we need to take it back, out of the hands of those who would wish us ill, who would laugh at our funerals and would rather fake a bow to the ignorant masses then help those who need it most.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unhelpful song quote of the day: "Let's all take showers in Windex. We all look the same inside, what have we got to hide..." RLS

Lights

The sanctity
of society
depends
so much
on the color of
one light
shining through the
hardest rain.

Lighthouse
Stoplight
Beacon
Outright
Downright crazy
Toy's got you hazy
On the details
but you know.

Green for leaves
Red for my fire
Yellow for a sun
Blue for my eyes
My, how time
does seem to fly
when you're waiting
for the sun to die.

~~~~AEW~~~~

Three Poems and a Flush

You with your shoes of spiderwebs
and your castiron clothes
You get your feet wet but
are so afraid to swim

You choke down pretty wasps
with a smile and swear
The stings make your lips
look not so very thin

You with your woodcut eyes
and your waterlogged ears
You're dying to hear voices
but can't stand the radio signal

You save babies every day
with careless brush strokes
You upset your glass heart
and pretend it was intentional

~~AEW~~ WIP

I'm working on it! It's not done. (WIP = Work in Progress, even more so than the rest of them).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ugh, just got majorly sick with a guatita problem, yuck, how unhappy! Oh well, I'll go to bed after this last one or two.
This one was published in Plume, my university's foreign language literary magazine, in the Spring of 2003. Umm, maybe I'll put the translation up some day.

~~~~~~~~Riesgo de Piel~~~~~~~~
Tengo la piel poderosa.
Ya no me pinto más con pólvoro de colores.
Me pinto con la sangre.

Me pregunto: ¿Si me vistiera así,
y me tintara el pelo así, si me bronceara,
también me llamarías con estas palabras de tinta?
¿O, después de correrse encima de mí tantas
palabras, me tintarían la piel
tus gotitas de desesperación y miedo?

Ya no grito ni lloro. Ya me rio; me entierro
en la risa de los que sobrevivieron tantos años
con la risa irónica y sin la risa pura.

¿Cómo me llaman blanca? Cuando yo era niña, sabía
que tenía la piel como tel trigo, como el durazno.
¿Pueden tantas mentiras y prejuicios limpiar
el bronceo de mi cuerpo, dejándome en la
blancura?

Ya no alimento al olvido, hypnotizado,
ciega por culpa de la luz que refleja
en mi piel.

¿Por qué me llamas blanca? Blancos son los papeles
que se hacen de la carne de árboles.
Su madera interna, vulnerable, tiene este
mismo color que tiene mi piel.

Blanco es el marmol, frío, que no sangra.
¿Tengo yo sangre?
Blanca es la nieve que se cayó recién.
Mi color es lo de la nieve ensuciada por el suelo.

Si esto sea blanco, ¿harían de mi piel los
papeles en los cual puedo marcar mi "raza"?
Tal vez soy el pardo que desaparece por falta
de sol, o la tela que pierde su color
después de tantos años de vivir sin la sombra.
¿O soy yo la nieve sucia?
Te dijé que tenía yo la piel poderosa.
~~AEW~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~Charcoal~~~~~~~~
Hair blackened with charcoal.
Eyes rimmed with kohl.
Skin smeared with bronze paint.
Voice practiced to give no hint.
Would you make of me a native?
Or would you raise me up to live
Your shining goddess, glistening
with sweat, my moonskin denting.

If I understood all about love
I could unpin this specimen dove
To awaken my corrections.
And so with mental convections
Black out, white out, mix us,
Animate the too-quiet masses.
Unfurl a flag of perfection
Instead of dirty reflection.
No riddles, doubts, or empire fears
Would slip into my pregnant ears.

What shade of pedestal goddess
Will you want me to address?
Sculpt me in marble cold
Or meld me in bronze bold
And color me exotic,
Or write me quixotic.
I did say I was a queen,
But I see this is your dream.
~~AEW~~
Wow, it actually rhymes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unhelpfully yours.

Cheapverses

So tired that I'm seeing weird flashes while I'm coming up from the basement into the darkened kitchen in a nearly empty house. You know those flashes and bizarre traces you see when you've been staring at a computer or movie screen too long (both of which I did today, thanks L., A., and E. for an awesome hysterical time -- the cow was freed by the claw, gotta be a first!). But I promised myself I would put up some of my cheapverses (though they cost me a bit emotionally) to have a record of them other than that on my clogged and tired Mac.

Back to work in the city tomorrow, on M.A. and Nature (hippos). Then we'll have a Buffyfest (hopefully), and I will be able to rest my weary eyes and overthink and overanalyze as usual, or maybe I can sleep. Get to talk to H. tomorrow too, got in too late and couldn't hear him on that darn cell -- stupid overseas connections -- and I told him to visit me in my dreams. He's asking me to come every time I talk to him, now, it hurts not to be able to just fly to him, to be at his side, but I know we are both strong and that it will be worth the wait. I hope, sometimes I think this is an insane romance, and that it will all be so different when I see him again that it will be a huge waste of my money and time and his...but then other times I remember how only he can make me laugh when I am mad at him, when I don't want to laugh. Only he can pick me up after a long day of being sick or upset or annoyed. I remember how everything we did seemed magical, whether we just talked and walked around Vina or whether we traveled for hours to see beautiful beaches. I wonder how he would like it where I live. I wonder if he would want to leave his country for me, or whether he will ever have to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~Faster~~~~~~~~
Run fast move free through the fields
model rockets eaten by the forever trees
hay; strong, sweet smell before cut & bale,
crisp strands below the aching restless feet.
Smooth surface hides depressions of dark earth,
where wilderness lives, winds change toward
groves of infant trees. Could bend them easily,
dented tough skin moving over deep land.
Forest conceals eons of imaginings,
surveyors' ghosts measure topography or moving bodies.
Dreams of wildflower crowns kept at bay by
realities of house fules and ground of cement.

Run faster move freer stop to leap or no.
Deer charge forward from red house goal,
clouds: fake snow cloth, see-through fantasies.
no lying down! Pass-over winds move bright
Vivid kites hearts tied to tails for stability.
Soar through cartwheels and collapsed dances,
moments stolen in early morning worship life.
Spirits so liberated, confines, never to touch skin.
Reconcile expected and wild nature. Thorns
mix blood and earth: old magic, no owners
belong to universal forces uncontrolled,
unlayer simple freedom over earth to fly.

Run fastest, move freer than ever to escape
memory of time almost tamed as much as can.
Touch outer insides no emotion hatred not
stong enough to describe disgust at control.
Could never domesticate indomitable but
every sweet smell invades, bitterness stays.
Increased bonds: silicon spider webs whisper
man-made shadows over path of sun all over.
One refuge: free spirits roam green true eyes,
races over crisp hay not yet baled in sunrise
pounding of earth dried with blood sky fed
to wild outrunning spirit, pure vibrant life.
~~AEW~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Too rough
too bold
too sexy for my own damn goods
To barter, so sell me
to yourself and forget that I mind
If you're late coming out

Too sweet
too smart
too stifled to swat mosquitoes of
velvet words covering my skin.
Nobody likes an introspective woman
And Shakespeare doesn't give
good enough head to make it
worth the effort.

Too talkative
too daring
too cold when it is time to curl
me around your fingers that
puncture my callouses, little missiles
seeking your idea of the truth.
Off the vine that I cut to escape
from you, the better to hate the
roots by disassociation.

Too black
too white
too red for this flourescent hospital
light of ages that I power
with flailing veins.
I would inspire you where it hurts but
there's not enough space to hate
and you'd think I was playing along.
You like the hard chase, the fast win
and the easy sandbox where your
plastic dinosaurs never go hungry.
Nobody likes the herbivores, they
remind us that we take the easy way out,
that extinction is self-inflicted
battery drainage.

Too alive
too inspired
too blunt to be a murder weapon of the
stars; preservation is no consolation
for lemons and their sweetest seeds.
Bring me a double take and you can
take my appetite with images loved and lost long.

Too perfect
too excited
too strange to change my mind about
a voyage that destroys your blow-up
motorboats and makes my paper sails
bow and smile.
Too much.

~~AEW~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unhelpful As Always

~~~~Little Pink Heart~~~
This patch on my skin
I don't quite know what it means.
I'm the girl who wakes up with scars in odd places
But I affixed this patch to my ribs.
Does it mean I'm sick?
Will it bring illness to me?
Does it mean I fight the unseen,
Or rather the seen-through-society's-filter way I see?

What is it doing to me, that I can't do myself?
I should do this without help.
Is it cheating death? Or is it worth it
To cheat death to win back life?
Who do I hope to win over with this bit of plastic?
Am I a child, presenting the bright pink sticker
To my friend, to the teacher, to show everyone
That I am the place to be, the one to be inside?

No one ever could get inside me
I tried so very hard to push away, to open up
But I run too slow to catch up to
My mind spins and pulls little fractals of emotion
And none of them add up to make sense
On a daily basis. It's too thick, my membrane
I can't even steal through it.
How can you hope to? Do you hope to?

So why this attempt? Will it prove
That I am stronger, better, more alive?
Will it hurt me? Am I afraid I will do more damage
To my should-be-greatful body or to my
Ineffectual, wavering mind? I don't feel it working.
I hate that word, placebo. My mind is too wary to fall
Into traps of the heart. I hate you, mirror heart.
Are you pink, too? Open me up, boys, see my sticker throb.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~Jumbled~~~~~

Memory wiped
I writhe in dreams
Flashes of fear
Sting me while awake.

It's not a fog,
It's a carousel image
Gone sane;
Jumbled and reformed.

Not a pretty
Puzzle am I.
Half-moon marks
Would show a caring world.

Fall apart, me?
Impossibility wears
The corners of
Visions of oddly soothing filters.

Logic no longer
Reigns when disoriented.
Shattered memories form
A vast twisted museum.

Faith lies to me
Soft feathers in my ears
I can no longer hear
My own weak sounds.

Protest too little
For anger tidal waves
Vengeance has no bite:
I can read a million variations.

Wrong, skin was
To be kept safe
Make room for invisible bruises
I hope it was broken at birth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All I ask is that you don't try to pass my poetry off as someone else's or your own, or in some bizarre crime-fighting superhero scenario. If you want to use any of my blog, let me know! I learned to share years ago...I'm pretty good at it...I think...Hey, give me that!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unhelpful laugh of the day: "Holy soothing feathers, Batman!" Muahahaha!

Lightning-Inflected Ruminations

I am so very tired of not knowing what I want to do with my life. It seems a very silly quandary to me, that I should need a purpose and should strive for it for years. I know people can change their ambitions, their lives, their careers, but I struggle with wanting to make a difference and wanting to be happy and unbothered.

Part of my problem stems from my perfectionist tendencies and my habit of reducing things to either-or situations, where I need to make some sort of committed decision before I get unstuck in a loop of living life without a goal or plan. I'd like to get a good job, but what is a good job? One that lets me save money, makes me happy, lets me express myself, one that I'm good at or something else, much more intangible and still unidentified? Is it a perfect combination of all of the above? People always say pick what you are passionate about, but very few things rifle my feathers anymore, and the ones that do don't have "career" attached to them in even the most unconvential uses of the word.

So, a dream job, let's brainstorm. Help me out, here. I'd like to...
Perhaps I could be an artist who sells her work for graphic designs, like those who make posters and images that are often reprinted. A graphic artist then. What would I need for that? Grad school, night classes, etc. That would be a long haul until acceptance struck.

How about an interpreter? Work in the government or abroad, or how about for the FBI? I would need civil service test, FBI training, perhaps night classes. Then, would I be able to travel? What is the pay like? What is the end goal, a desk job in the FBI or at a consulate? Or is this a semi-permanent thing? I don't know if I could follow without conscience.

Ok, I could, for the short run, take interpreting classes at a summer school or night school and teach English or Spanish in another country or this one. That would conceivably allow me to travel, but that's a low-pay, temporary type of position. That would be a tough post to get, but would not take a lot of training.

Oh well, I just can't reconcile my need to help people, my desire to travel, and my want to make enough money that I don't spend years working when I should be retired. What I really want is a job I love that I get paid for that lets me travel. And perhaps leaves me time to make a difference in the world. Everyone wants the world, only those who persevere get their corner of it. Or something. What could I make a difference in? Mistreatment of children, of women, how society portrays women and girls, racism, homophobia, poverty, world hunger, war, what would I do if I had a million years and tons of money? It doesn't matter, I don't. That's not me being pessimistic. Maybe instead I have to think, what would I do if I had ten minutes every day and $5 to spare? What would you do?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is such a big deal right now because I need to decide whether or not I want to move heaven and earth to be with someone I love, or if I should stick it out in a several thousand mile commuter romance, or give up the ghost. I know it's not the end of the world if my relationship dies after I base some decisions around it, but I can't help worrying that I'll be stranded without even a plan Z to fall back on. My strength is making plans, not thinking them through in detail, and then being resourceful if they fail.

Anyway, my dream job, dear emotional part of my brain, what is your deepest desire jobwise?
An artist. A game designer (content and character end). A writer/illustrator. A teacher to underprivileged kids. A supporter of women's shelters. A travel writer. A criminologist. A language teacher. An astronomer: study interspecies communication (Sign Language, symbols, etc.) A graphic designer/logo designer. An astronaut. A linguist who works to preserve, protect, and revitalize indigenous languages.

Wow, too many to choose from. It's hard not being passionate about one field alone. It's difficult not being so excellent at one thing that it's obvious that X or Y will be your career path. It's hard not knowing if you should try to make love or a career or charity the foundation of your life's or years' work. I wish I could push on and get a masters' degree, but what would I get it in? That's the eternal question: what do I focus on? Focus, focus, focus. That's always my problem.

All I know for sure is that I want to travel, and that right now I miss H. and I want to see him soon. It will have been a year since I last saw him by the time I get there in January (or so my plan is right now). That's such a long time, but we are strong people and we can make it through without constant physical proximity. I wonder if I will have changed or if he will have, and if we still get along.

I have felt so much happier since I studied abroad. It was like something inside me decided to let go in 2002. Something snapped open or fell back into place, in a good way. It was as if I decided to just be happy, no matter what, or that I let myself be happy, relax, live the way I wanted to and not the way others wanted me to. I finally threw away my acts and poses and stepped into the shell where I had kept my robot self, my actress self, my expectations and everyone elses' expectations of me. And I know I'll never be the same.

At the same time, I lost a little of my drive while in college, of my ambition and my need to succeed, to be in a hurry to get nowhere, my striving for empty goals. It is a marvellous thing to be able to spend time playing with kids, to write poems and play games, to talk into the night with your friends about politics, about life, to tell jokes and to laugh at them. It is a wonderful feeling to sit in the sun and read your favorite book or a new soon-to-be-favorite book. And it is especially sweet to just spend time with the ones you love, to hug someone, to be hugged, and to learn everything about someone that you can.

Still I struggle with this never-ceasing desire to climb, to be someone, to do important things and to be work now so I can play later. I try to remind myself that I will regret it later if I spend all of my time building a future and no time enjoying my present, but one never listens to one's own advice, no? Some would love that kind of drive, I have lived with it for too long. I want to have memories that make me so happy that I smile until it hurts. That make me laugh. That make me know that I have lived.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unhelpful quote of the day: "You can go through the broken looking glass, but you can't help leaving a few scars behind."