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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.

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~~~~~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.
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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!
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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?

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

A Relative Rant

Did you ever meet anyone whose practices in general just boggled your mind and made you wonder: "How could they possibly think that X or Y is an appropriate thing to do?" Well, the few that have me spinning my spiky wheels are relatives and friends.

I severely dislike not receiving information that concerns my immediate or distant future, especially when money and time are involved. Take, for example, the issues of my cousins. We had heard from our aunt that one of them (a teenager) was spouting a bit of racist nonsense. So we decided to hang out with said cousin and said cousin's younger sibling. Thinking our enthralling conversation would bore them to tears, we decided on a trip to Great Adventure, and invited them along. They never called us with a date, so I eventually called them. We decided on this coming Saturday (I know, GA on a Sat. -- NOT a good idea, but what could we do) and to buy the tickets online. That was over two weeks ago. So, yesterday I give their mom a call and she starts in about how she doesn't think it's a good idea, and that she won't pay for them to stand in line, and how the older cousin went with his friends on Monday and they waited forever, and that this weekend is bad for her, that the younger one can go with another cousin.

Let's review. Not only did she not tell me this when we first discussed the date (and checked with her), neither she nor her son thought it wise to call us and inform us that he had already gone and that she wasn't planning on letting them go. I had to call her and find this out. It's a damn good thing that I hadn't already bought the tickets, because then it would have been relative snafu! And she complains about how irresponsible her kids are, how they don't tell her things, etc. Hmmm...I wonder where they get it from.

So we wash our hands of them and pretend they're not relations. Too bad, they were so sweet when they were young. I guess I can join the CIA after all, now that I've shunned my parientes.

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Today, I go with D. to drop of M.'s car and while I am stopped at a light, some woman rolls into D.'s car. I was turning left, so was she, and I looked back at her, ready to get out. Then the light changes, so I figure I'll pull into the car place down the road and she'll follow. She went blasting by on the outside lane. I got her number though -- her license plate number, that is. She didn't do any visible damage, but I was so mad I cuold have spit llamas. Trying to get away with hitting someone is worse than an accidental tap. The bad part is that, the last time that car was hit, D. didn't get the insurance info from the woman-putting-on-lipstick-while driving who hit him, and when next he took the car in for repair, the styrofoam in the bumper had to be replaced because of that innocent-seeming tap.

Talk about irresponsible! Ten to one she tells the husband or wife and kids and they pick it up.

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This is my playground theory.

When we were small, the playgrounds at schools, parks, etc., were made of metal. They were maximum-fun, maximum height and scare factor, creating endless situations of mayhem and spurring the imagination on to new heights.

I understand that plastic is safer, that metal rusts (and lead paint is obviously horrific), that metal chainlink climbing apparatus and huge fifteen-feet-high wooden totem poles for climbing and sitting on were a wee bit dangerous (though it was great fun for older kids). But never did I hear of anyone dying, falling and injuring themselves, flipping over in the swings, getting caught in the climbers, or any such trauma.

The totem poles were occuppied mostly by older kids, especially the very high one. If a kid was scared, he played on the myriad of other equipment around. If a child fell, it was his carelessness, not the playground equipment's fault (Zachary, I told you not to climb so high and then let go with one hand. Kimmy, do NOT go down the slide face first. If you fall on the ground, no more playing for you.)

Now, with a lack of self-governed safety (meaning children themselves decide (hey, it's not a good idea to leap off of a ten-foot-high beam) and parents actually WATCH their children (a beautiful experience, kids are so great to see playing, they make you feel energetic), a novel concept, I know) comes an inclination to sue the town, the school, and the playground equipment manufacturer, thus ensuring that no one can pay for children to enjoy themselves in the future. More to the point, the child learns that it's NEVER his fault. He fell, and even though the swing is still attached and no other kids have fallen out of it (because none lean back and try to), it must be shoddy workmanship. The kid smacks on the plastic wall with a stick, what does she think is going to happen? Well, the parents think the park should be cleared of sticks and dangerous apparata. They were just telling Betty, who's also not watching her little dear ones (that have bullied a preschooler out of his swing), that they might file a complaint. It could have lasting damage to scrape your knee!

I am, of course, exaggerating. The playground replacement system is not the root of selfishness or the cause of a decline in social responsibility. It is just a minor, semi-example of how we'd rather be right than truthful, rich than just, and manic than happy.

I'm not talking about preschoolers, who will eat bugs and paste and think they can fly backwards when they can't yet do a cartwheel. These have plastic toys for a reason, have lower-sized equipment, etc. I can remember, when a little kid tried to go up the stairs, it ws difficult for him/her. When he got to the top, he stood, looked around, proud, and went down the slide. Once. Then he played on those bouncy toys shaped like animals and on the special toddler swings (because they WILL jump out). Then he probably fell asleep. The older kids made of those inventive designs huge castles, spaceships, and underwater caverns. The new toys are plastic, reproduced, and seem to focus on making kids bounce around in brightly colored play areas with shaky walls and boring tic-tac-toe games. Children's centers have to do this. But parks, parks are where older kids should be able to play. I'd like to build an adult-sized playground. Amusement parks don't count, because they require only the physical exertion of walking and squeezing between people in crowds. How much more fun would exercise be if we used monkey bars for arms and swings for our abs! Hmmm...I'm getting a patent, so don't even try it! I mean, a place where the swings are adult-sized and not brightly colored plastic jobs, where the equipment is elegant and fun, with great, neat curves of metal and wood that make a maze to play tag or hide-and-seek in, where you can dare your friends to jump off of the beam, slide down sideways, or to swing higher.
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Today's unhelpful thought from my dreams: The military should use jingles and epic poems set to music to help them identify and remember the facts on the targets for their snipers, while teaching salsa in a bathtub the size of a barrel on the edge of a road. Yes, I have odd dreams. If you think they're disquieting to read, you should try having them.

Wish List!

Oh great muses, thwacketh me on the head with divine inspiration...OUCH! Hey, I didn't mean literally.
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For lack of better topics, I've decided to compose on my captive html blog the following:
My wish list! Ok, so world peace and no more children dying and cures to diseases and world hunger are givens. But besides those things, this is my personal wish list.

~~~~~~~~~~I wish...~~~~~~~~~~~~
*That people came with neckaces around their necks that glowed when you were near the person (of any gender) that you were supposed to be with. It would save all of this running around and mucking up and knowing that if you chose to throw away the necklace, it would not be that you hadn't found the right one, that you'd decided to forego mystic forces and find your own way.

*That you could easily determine what you wanted to do in life, to pick up cards like in the new Game of Life and say: 'all right, I could do a doctor' (or an environmental lawyer or a paleoanthropologist or an art therapist). Then you would know when it was time to change your focus, to turn it around.

*For a truly excellent pair of slippers. Fuzzy, understated, and warm yet not too winter-driven. NO marabou trim, please.

*That honesty were always the best policy, and that trust would not be broken easily.

*That children were not cruel to one another. For that matter, that people would not need to hurt to be amusing, to be amused, to get revenge, or to feel better about oneself.

*That we could see each person as not part of a group, of an ethnicity, as a stereotyped knicknack to fit a little, but as a single, unique unit, connected eternally to background, family, and friends, born of experience and environment, but as a unique, handblown glass ornament, a snowflake, a self-painted canvas that has its merits and its drawbacks, but always as a person with something to offer the world.

*For pillows. Decorative pillows, floofy pillows, pillows with stripes and patterns and silk flowers all over them and ethnic prints and wonderful, lush or delicate colors and fabrics. Ok, I love bedding. I admit it, I am not ashamed, I love sheets and comforters and most quilts and shams.

*For my favorite artists to come out with new albums.

*That I could reconcile political moves with national and international needs, that I could see a solution and find an answering alternative to war, to commerce, to a system that creates classes and creates needs.

*That I could remember everything I've ever seen, heard, or read, and to be able to recall the appropriate knowledge in an orderly manner when needed, and for it to take no more than 20 seconds to remember.

*For a $500 gift certificate to buy new work (& play) clothes.

*That our climbing tree where healthy again.

*For a great job that lets me get in on the ground floor and gain experience in the industry of my choice. Anyone in the computer games industry? How about graphic design? Indigenous language preservation? Using graphics to communicate interlinguistically? All right, I can't have everything, probably I'll only get the slippers.

But it was fun to create a short list now, and it will be interesting to look back on it later....for me at least.
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Today's unhelpful event: I've decided to switch my birthday to June 30th. You all owe me back presents.

A Little Less Sick to Our Stomachs

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/law/july-dec03/gay_7-31.html

Ok, so be prepared to be offended, and remember i'm just blowing off steam...

Ok, so here's my thing. Our population is exploding, disease is rampant, orphanags are full to busting, children are dying of hunger, being sold as sex slaves, and working in terrible conditions without receiving an education or wages. Meanwhile, people keep having babies. Ok, I understand that you want to create something, a lasting token of your union, but a dog or a cat would work, wouldn't it? (I know, I know). There really should be requirements for becoming a parent.

And so, what does the Catholic church do? Say that marriage must be defended. In the past there was at least a logical reason for this (or logical as the church gets, anyway, I should say mercenary): to increase the Catholic population and thus provide more money and profit for the church, as well as driving dissenters down and non-Catholics out of the country. Then, you could use fear tactics to get the people to give you their full and undivided devotion (the protestants did this too, only they couldn't buy their way out of sin, so they just knew they were going to hell anyway.), and rake in a little profit from those seeking redemption. Also, there was the possibility that one kid might become a priest and go missionizing, colonizing 'heathen devils' and making for more Catholic influence internationally.

Now, so many children live in the streets, are sold into slavery, to pay off debts or sent to become prostitutes or victims of sexual abuse. More still lie in hospitals and orphanages. We are destroying our resources with the sheer need of human consumption, from animals to water to fields to workers, we just don't have enough. And it doesn't have to be this way. It will take too long for us to see, but it could turn around. Something has to give, and it will most likely be the human population, which will die out eventually, a faint spark and a shell of a convenience store packed with glossy magazines and Coke will be the only evidence.

Same sex marriages seem a rather trite deal next to all of this. You can still have kids. The Catholics, in fact, should welcome them in with open arms, because, since the church no longer officially accepts payment for sin, it would leave the priests more free time. Instead of spending hours of confession time listening to purportedly straight people confessing same-sex acts, they could have potlucks and do some more missionizing. It could get in on the ground floor with this same-sex thing. Change its tune, freshen up its image, help some starving kids. There ya go, set out a newspaper ad, or a web site: "SAVEYOURCHILD.ORG: We find homes for your kids, good, Catholic homes, with those who choose adoption over insemination...in that Mecca of all mekkahs, the U.S." Good PR to counteract the recent scandals. Plus, now there's twice the income: from those politicians who accept same-sex marriages and support it, and from those who must tolerate it as law-abiding lawmakers. Yeah, right. Not gonna happen. Check out Chile's reaction to the church abuse scandal: to say that gay priests should not be allowed in the church. So gay=pedophile=gay. Well, if they had their way, homosexuals would be kicked out of the country. Oh, except for the performers. They can be gay. Nice touch.

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Maybe we'd all feel a little less sick to our stomachs and more able to appreciate things if we knew someone were taking care of the needy, the sick, the unhappy, the poor. I hope not. Complacency is a dead oyster, an apple that rots when it likes the tree too much to let go. Your roots are showing, time to dye your skin.
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Fear is a basic animal instinct, it's what makes us tick. Fear of being alone, of losing one's job, of pain all stem from the fear of dying, the self-preservation instinct that make us insanimals. Insanimals because we are animals that try to distance ourselves from animals and from life, as far as possible inside boxes and wires and magnificent machines that make us ever more lonely every day.
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You got your quote already.

Shiny New Obsession

Oh yay!, a shiny new obsession...Just what I always wanted. Oh well, imsomniacs of the world, unite! I blog, therefore I rave...better than sleep anyway.
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Right, so what's spinning my mental wheels so much tonight? Besides the usual, a bunch of stuff.
Went to the concert in the park yesterday, and while there, saw a great group, but there was this family I guess with these two teenage boys.

I knew this would be trouble. Not as bad as I expected, but still, it's like, I'd like to breathe without being watched with creepy crawly pubescent eyes. Anyway, how do I know I was being watched? Well, walking over to get the bug spray, They came up and said "beautiful" in passing, and I don't think they meant the boy camp counselors or the old guy helping them.

So, then I was self-conscious which is stupid I should just let it roll of my shoulders, but it still bugs me and I bolted after a while to the bocce courts to be able to breathe, drew some while there, and slipped back onto the blanket with the rents. Then my mom wanted me to take her up & dance, and I did, ignoring the disgusting sensation of being undressed with some freak's eyes.

Well, mostly ignoring, it's hard to do. Some day I'll publish a long rant on misogynism and female-shaping and slavery, but not right now, I'm not angry right now.
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Who do I have to thank for that? Mostly, my pololo, H. I really miss him right now and I feel horrible that I can' t be there when he needs me the most, and I just wish I could hold him and tell him it's ok and let him be tired and not so brave. I could just thwack him one for getting out of the car to check without driving the freak far away, but he's too brave for his own good. I wish I could just take away his pain just by thinking hard enough and putting it on myself, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Mostly I just want to be near him. My skin aches to be by his side, and I've got the shakes sometimes, and it was SO hard not to cry when he told me what happened, but I didn't want to upset him. If wishes were horses, then I'd trade em in for a plane ticket (well, I'd keep two).
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It's so bizarre reading your old high school and junior high work when you're done with college. It seems so juvenile. Plus, I can't remember half of what I was talking about since I haven't studied history in forever, and my short stories see, so trite and cute now.
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I realize I'm switching subjects. I make no apologies. I am human (mostly).
So occasionally, I'll post poetry and stories and stuff. I probably won't want to talk about them face to face, but e-mail is ok, I guess. But remember, if I get snippy, well, I won't get snippy. Just don't take a crack at my writing. It's not supposed to be profound. But it sure feels good.
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Another day, another unhelpful quote: 'You're not outdoorsy enough to be pond scum. You must be bathroom tile scum...yes, you may even be toilet scum.'