Saturday, May 19, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
My sister and I came up with a list of Indie band names. We discovered that the basic formula is to combine a weird adjective with an unrelated noun, sometimes creating a pattern of assonance.
Patchwork Rabbit
Glitter Lard
Prancing Hooves
Golden Cradle
Lumps of Ground
Lemonghost
Waterfall Spirit
Spitnoses
Reindeer Godz
Bieber Fans
Glittenkittens
The Frida Kahlos
Fat Cat
Gloomy Rubies
Lackluster
Fame Gamers
Factory Girls
Darkmeat
Sweaty Farm
Jesus of Leeds
Metal Plant
Diamond Rhyme
Diamond Rhyme
Upright Lord
Garden Card
Soft Deer
Winter Deer
Deck Deer
Justice Beaver
Stone Bird
Carrot Hunter
Steelshutter
Cotton Gruel
Blending Carrots
Milk Blanket
I see two scenes beside each other.
In one we are walking through ankle-deep snow, alone, trudging to the edge of a clearing. The air is still except for the smoke from our mouths. You stop behind me, and ask me.
The other has happened. We are sitting underneath an ad on a rumbling subway car. I see our reflection in the dark window across from us. The sign reads ‘DIVORCE’ in large block letters.
I talked to Ms. Z in the ceramics room.
“Why the hell are you worried about that now?” she asks while carefully loading the lopsided pinch pots and drooping pagodas into the kiln. She said she’s never known what being in love feels like, and she’s afraid to.
Crocodiles/Alligators
I woke up from an uncomfortable curled position on the seat beside me to step outside for a cigarette at the truck stop at three in the morning. A black man in suit pants, a light collared shirt and alligator shoes also stepped off the bus and had a cigarette next to me on the curb. He asked if I’d ever been to New York before, and I explained the context of my travel. He said he lives in Pittsburgh, but ‘really’ he was from Denver. I told him about George, and he said Denver gets 300 days of sunlight and it’s beautiful there, with the mountains and the air that’s cold in the shade and warm when you leave it. He said he was retired and wanted to see the country but would eventually return to Denver.
That bus ride was lonely and I didn’t sleep well, fortunate as I was to keep the empty seat to myself when people were ushered on and off the bus, and I thought that man was a dose I needed of the person whose absence churned an emptiness inside me.
I had a half hour to wait in Newark Penn Station until my train arrived. I hung around the front doors to have my last cigarette when a man stumbled out of the doorway, found a half-smoked stub on the street, place it in the corner of his mouth, and look around Newark like he’d found El Dorado. He looked like a homeless crocodile hunter. He had another half-smoked cigarette tucked behind his ear underneath a cargo hat with small metal spikes around it, and he was wearing sandals in the cold weather. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked up at me with a yellow, crooked-toothed smile.
“Would you be offended if I said you look beautiful?”
“I guess not. I mean, you just did, and I’m not.”
He started talking about his entire family history, his mother sick from losing a husband, his siblings, and his travels around. I asked why, of all places, he would want to go to Newark, an empty city of gang violence without any saving grace.
“People keep asking me why I go to the places I go, but then I see something like you, you know?”
He asked if I was a dancer. I said no, a painter.
“Of course. The arts. Creation. You look a deity. Goddess-like.”
I told him where I went to school and he talked about creation/destruction, scientology and the theories of morality around it. I said I had to catch my train.
“Good luck at school. I’m sure you’ll earn full marks.”
The Running Dream
I was sitting in a friend's dorm and asked where George was. Someone told me he was doing a performance piece, and the frame flashed to a parade where he was dressed as a Naruto character. A moment later I was searching for him in the grocery store I work at, and I found him and Hunter sitting in a couch at the back of aisle nine where the canned fruit is shelved. Hunter was in the middle of a story. I inched closer to them and she disappeared. George said he liked my cape coat. I sat beside him. We parted the sea of people moving around us.
George and my little sister Isabelle were in a deserted parking lot lit by a few flickering streetlamps. I pointed to a restaurant to suggest we get dinner there; I told them I eat there all the time. We walked inside and stood on astro-turf carpet. A few men were sweeping and laughing. The restaurant was only open one hour a day, they said. Isabelle disappeared. George and I ducked into our cars outside and agreed to meet at another restaurant in town. He left first. I stayed in the parking lot for a few minutes and thought about some things, but realized hours had gone by, so I raced down the highway. I took a wrong turn into the parking lot of a large grocery store, and then another, in which I was hurrying on foot because my car was gone. A boy was cleaning the automatic doors and asked me something, but I kept running. I found my car and continued down the highway, which had turned into a dangerous ten-lane road, and it started to rain and the speeding headlights of the cars frightened me as I crossed the lanes, and I realized George wouldn't have waited this long for me.
I was sitting in a friend's dorm and asked where George was. Someone told me he was doing a performance piece, and the frame flashed to a parade where he was dressed as a Naruto character. A moment later I was searching for him in the grocery store I work at, and I found him and Hunter sitting in a couch at the back of aisle nine where the canned fruit is shelved. Hunter was in the middle of a story. I inched closer to them and she disappeared. George said he liked my cape coat. I sat beside him. We parted the sea of people moving around us.
George and my little sister Isabelle were in a deserted parking lot lit by a few flickering streetlamps. I pointed to a restaurant to suggest we get dinner there; I told them I eat there all the time. We walked inside and stood on astro-turf carpet. A few men were sweeping and laughing. The restaurant was only open one hour a day, they said. Isabelle disappeared. George and I ducked into our cars outside and agreed to meet at another restaurant in town. He left first. I stayed in the parking lot for a few minutes and thought about some things, but realized hours had gone by, so I raced down the highway. I took a wrong turn into the parking lot of a large grocery store, and then another, in which I was hurrying on foot because my car was gone. A boy was cleaning the automatic doors and asked me something, but I kept running. I found my car and continued down the highway, which had turned into a dangerous ten-lane road, and it started to rain and the speeding headlights of the cars frightened me as I crossed the lanes, and I realized George wouldn't have waited this long for me.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Last night I dreamt about ordering Chinese food in a dark room with people I couldn't tell if I knew or not, except I saw Richard climb towards me on a bed in the dim glow, and I pushed him away. Someone handed me what I had bought; it was a live white dove that was hopping around on the folds of the blanket and squirming restlessly in my cupped hands.
I helped Isabelle cross the road through large crowds of people. She was going to MICA, but the buildings were different and she was still ten years old.
After Richard another boy tried to come near me, and I said something about George. I went to go find him. He was in an empty warehouse that was painted completely white, lit by the glare of artificial overhead bulbs, and he was walking in between giant wooden crates of the brightest blueberries I've ever seen. They were spilling over the sides and he was nailing grey pigeons to the wall. He said it was for me, and I thought they were more beautiful than the dove. Each had gold flecks in their matte colored wings of lavender and blue.
I helped Isabelle cross the road through large crowds of people. She was going to MICA, but the buildings were different and she was still ten years old.
After Richard another boy tried to come near me, and I said something about George. I went to go find him. He was in an empty warehouse that was painted completely white, lit by the glare of artificial overhead bulbs, and he was walking in between giant wooden crates of the brightest blueberries I've ever seen. They were spilling over the sides and he was nailing grey pigeons to the wall. He said it was for me, and I thought they were more beautiful than the dove. Each had gold flecks in their matte colored wings of lavender and blue.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
In nineteen years I have plucked, at the very least
10 silver gray hairs from the crown of my head.
Wisdom is working its way backwards
and my hair is turning old too quickly
for my experience to catch up.
I tried to rise from his arms
but my hair caught under his weight
and it tore out in a clump.
I cut my bangs bi-weekly
and the short wisps have become embedded
into my blue filigree-patterned rug.
I find long strands in my bedsheets.
The chunk I cut off from the ends
I saved in plastic dime bag
to give to someone, but then again
who would want that relic of me?
I remember that my sister’s hair
is hung up on the refrigerator
at home in New Jersey;
it’s neatly braided and invites you to hold it,
and I know it’s still waiting
to be donated, though I’ve asked
to have that piece of Isabelle’s hair,
that rubber-band held chunk
that seems to still be growing,
just to keep.
A ladybug flew in front of me and landed on the metal table I sat behind. I let it crawl along my arm.
I hung my coat on the corner of a tall grave marker at the cemetery. When I took it down a whole mess of ladybugs were swarming on the stone where my coat had been. The red dots were so vibrant against the wash of gray that clung to every headstone.
I hung my coat on the corner of a tall grave marker at the cemetery. When I took it down a whole mess of ladybugs were swarming on the stone where my coat had been. The red dots were so vibrant against the wash of gray that clung to every headstone.
I feel like I'm in Waking Life.
Magnolia and I talked for an hour about my paintings and how she prefers to gesso a canvas, but mostly we spoke about the great balancing act. I told her I've been feeling overwhelmed. She said sophomore means 'wise fool'; I know more of what I don't know. She said there's an ebb and flow to painting. Sometimes you just have to walk away and go to the movies. Sometimes you lie in bed and think and you won't want to leave that nest of comfort in blankets and sheets. Other times you have to lock yourself in your studio and paint. Intermittently you move ahead with full confidence and become distressed, asking yourself "What am I doing?" How you paint and the way you work is the same manner you base your life in. Magnolia said "I have to be invested in my studio work, make a career, be a teacher, love someone and be inside of my own head to find what makes me happy." She said it was good for me now that I'm getting a mild dose of it. "One week I'll paint, and maybe the next I'll say, okay, I have to love this person now."
I guess I took my dried rose home from Hunter's house because it wasn't on her table anymore. We drank and chain-smoked outside, slightly shivering in the light of the candles and talking about everything.
"A rule to live by," she said "is to always go somewhere you're invited to, even if you're apprehensive about it." It's about getting over anxieties, breaking those barriers and finding good in people that is good for you.
The wind snuffed the candles and it was still and silent for a moment. "Maybe Jezebel is saying hi," I offered. Hunter's lighter wouldn't keep a flame to the candle. "Spooky."
We talked about Occupy Wallstreet. It's a grassroots movement that wants to start a conversation about the standards of living and the distribution of wealth. Not against capitalism- against those corporations that exchange money to make money and don't benefit anyone but themselves. Kids want to go there without a reason but to be part of something bigger than themselves, which is important, but a shame because the ones who are aired on the news are fuel for mockery by the media. How can you physically dismantle an empire like that, especially now? These corporations run the country. It's time to go home. The world has taken notice, but the factions they want to listen turn away.
There were less laws two centuries ago. An average American today unknowingly breaks at least three every day. Should there be less government influence? Yes, we have a ballot to vote, but no one listens to the candidates. My parents vote for the same party despite who its members are. It never made sense to me. They were worried about taxes. Do the votes matter? Once someone has taken office, what can we do about decisions made about the country? Nothing. What happened to the idea of the Sovereign? My freedom to help decide what is in the best interest for me, and for my neighbor? We can do nothing but protest and gather by the hundreds in the streets of New York, holding cardboard signs and asking for someone to listen. It's argued that the movement has no demands and is a waste of time, but is there really a solution to the increasing division in class?
The world turns and stomachs churn with hunger, but days amass into nothing and what is done at the end of every one is maintaining life now stuck in a mill wheel motion. What really can be done?
On a relationship, up until this point-
"Sometimes days will be just, 'this is what you're making, this is what I'm making, okay let's go to sleep'."
"Painting doesn't look as professional as photo."
"Yeah, but now everyone can take a 'nice' photo if they have a good enough camera. It's hard to find your place, and be recognized for it."
We spoke about the Israeli-Palestinian War. Is anyone entitled to that land, and why should someone have the power to decide that? Who are we to judge, here in America where we have opportunities in the palms of our hands and we never have to worry about crossing a checkpoint guarded by soldiers to get to school or a job to feed or families. Hunter said she's pro-Israeli. "I was raised like that." I told her to read Palestine. "I don't agree with what is happening to the Palestinians by Israeli hands, but I believe after the Diaspora the Jews should have a home there. Coexist."
Coexistence would be ideal. That postage stamp of land on the map of the world has been bloodied over since the beginning of history. It will never happen. Palestine will fall under the weight of oppression and Israel will thrive and have a business for tourism, in part thanks to the enormous amount of money America is pumping into their military. What do the Palestinians have? Rocks and homemade rockets. They're living in shantytowns piled on top of one another. They can't move.
Our lungs hurt and the candles were dying, so we went inside.
Taylor said she needed a soul awakening. "I was putting together the pieces again, and now I've been smashed to bits."
"I found a four-leaf clover the other day. A few minutes later I checked the status of my India application, and I was accepted. I'm going there at the end of December.
Let's meet each other in our dreams tonight. Where should we go?"
"Ireland. County Cork. That's where my family is from."
My dream was of me waking up from a dreamless sleep and thinking about not being able to find Taylor. There was just blackness.
I talked to the teacher aid at Mt. Royal while some of the students were working on their projects with me at the back table. Her eyes were caked with metallic eyeshadow. She's taking an online course to become a dean at a university, which seemed odd to me because I figured to be high in university ranks, you should be a professor, or you should have done something great. Now she's being a specials needs type of aid for a few students.
"I'm like their mother here," she said.
I was dragged into a long, superfluous conversation about religion with her. It started when I asked the three students, Neisha, Amari and Jayda what they were going to be for Halloween. Neisha said she doesn't celebrate, but if she did she would be Snooki. The aid asked why.
"My religion."
"What are you?"
"I don't like to talk about it."
I immediately said that's okay and tried to change the subject, but the aid was put off by it. Jayda wears a head covering. I think she's Muslim. She also said she doesn't celebrate. Amari said he would probably be a vampire. Jayda was silent when the aid asked what she is.
The aid said she doesn't celebrate Halloween either, being a true Christian. "It's demonic."
"What about Day of the Dead?" I asked. "It's in the same vein and celebrated around the same time in Mexico. And Halloween is also, in a way, to celebrate those who've passed on."
"Nope, it's demonic."
"It's about celebrating your ancestors and paying homage to them, having a festival in the honor of their lives."
"No. They're dead and gone. That's it. They shouldn't be celebrated."
"What about the saints? They're gone but venerated."
She looked like she wanted to kill me. I started nodding my head and agreeing with everything she said and stopped being antagonizing.
"I don't believe in the saints. I'm Christian, not Catholic."
I told her I used to be Catholic. She then lectured me on the basic differences between Judaism and Christianity. Christ followers, the ones who are still waiting for the Messiah- the Jews- they missed the boat.
"What about John the Baptist? He baptized Jesus and is a saint. He didn't just live ascetically in Christ's ways, he was directly involved and made holy."
She talked more about following Christ. With a reproving look of disdain she said, "But you can believe whatever you want."
She went on about the awesomeness of God and Noah's children, how each one was of a different race or ethnicity, and the Tower of Babel, how different language was born. She said after the fall of Adam and Eve, and once Jesus was given to us, it restored the human relationship with God and we no longer have to confess our sins to a priest. We already cut out the middle man. Some Christians don't realize that. There is one God- the Creator. We are the creatures. All that saint stuff doesn't matter- it's about Jesus! Not everything around him.
She pulled me aside and spoke in a low whisper. "Jayda, her father tells her what to believe. She's so young."
I wanted to remind her that she was probably told, or raised to be Christian.
"If she wants to celebrate Halloween she should be able to." The aid was curious about what Neisha was. I said she could be a Jehovah's Witness.
"Nah. She's got to be a Muslim, or some other non(?)-militant religion. She doesn't say the pledge. It's her father's fault. She's a religion that doesn't honor the United States.
"Yeah, I guess so."
I kept it in. I almost told her why I don't say the pledge, but thought better of it.
"I think it depends on the person," I said. "It should be up to the student to choose to say the pledge or not."
We walked downstairs. She said "It was nice talking to you. You always dress well for school. You've just got to be careful-"
"About the shortness of my dresses," I finished.
"Yeah. The boys are at that age, and you're very attractive."
Elisabeth said I've been eating too much dry cereal and that she would let me use one of her meals.
"I have an overabundance. I'll never eat that much Myerhoff."
She walked far ahead of me, almost running to the dining hall, but spoke over her shoulder to talk to me. At dinner she spilled her water over at me from across the table. We talked about classes, DCAD, MICA things, and religion.. She said as a Christian she's pro-Israeli. I'm not sure how the threads of our conversation were pulled together at the topic of the conflict, but they did. She spoke for awhile on that. She was wearing a lanyard that said "I love Jesus" (or was it "Jesus loves me"?)
"Everyone in class knows that I'm really conservative. People give me looks. I don't impose my opinions on others. People think I'm a bigot. I don't judge people to their faces or treat them badly because I have to have unconditional love for everyone. I may not agree with things about them, but they're still a person."
She talked about a group of kids running into her church and dancing on the altar, acting out debauchery. "We were all like, okay mass is over. And then we just went home."
We painted together in the living room at home and listened to her Christian radio program, and both agreed that the speaker was making general, biased and unfair comments about Islam in the Middle East.
Magnolia and I talked for an hour about my paintings and how she prefers to gesso a canvas, but mostly we spoke about the great balancing act. I told her I've been feeling overwhelmed. She said sophomore means 'wise fool'; I know more of what I don't know. She said there's an ebb and flow to painting. Sometimes you just have to walk away and go to the movies. Sometimes you lie in bed and think and you won't want to leave that nest of comfort in blankets and sheets. Other times you have to lock yourself in your studio and paint. Intermittently you move ahead with full confidence and become distressed, asking yourself "What am I doing?" How you paint and the way you work is the same manner you base your life in. Magnolia said "I have to be invested in my studio work, make a career, be a teacher, love someone and be inside of my own head to find what makes me happy." She said it was good for me now that I'm getting a mild dose of it. "One week I'll paint, and maybe the next I'll say, okay, I have to love this person now."
I guess I took my dried rose home from Hunter's house because it wasn't on her table anymore. We drank and chain-smoked outside, slightly shivering in the light of the candles and talking about everything.
"A rule to live by," she said "is to always go somewhere you're invited to, even if you're apprehensive about it." It's about getting over anxieties, breaking those barriers and finding good in people that is good for you.
The wind snuffed the candles and it was still and silent for a moment. "Maybe Jezebel is saying hi," I offered. Hunter's lighter wouldn't keep a flame to the candle. "Spooky."
We talked about Occupy Wallstreet. It's a grassroots movement that wants to start a conversation about the standards of living and the distribution of wealth. Not against capitalism- against those corporations that exchange money to make money and don't benefit anyone but themselves. Kids want to go there without a reason but to be part of something bigger than themselves, which is important, but a shame because the ones who are aired on the news are fuel for mockery by the media. How can you physically dismantle an empire like that, especially now? These corporations run the country. It's time to go home. The world has taken notice, but the factions they want to listen turn away.
There were less laws two centuries ago. An average American today unknowingly breaks at least three every day. Should there be less government influence? Yes, we have a ballot to vote, but no one listens to the candidates. My parents vote for the same party despite who its members are. It never made sense to me. They were worried about taxes. Do the votes matter? Once someone has taken office, what can we do about decisions made about the country? Nothing. What happened to the idea of the Sovereign? My freedom to help decide what is in the best interest for me, and for my neighbor? We can do nothing but protest and gather by the hundreds in the streets of New York, holding cardboard signs and asking for someone to listen. It's argued that the movement has no demands and is a waste of time, but is there really a solution to the increasing division in class?
The world turns and stomachs churn with hunger, but days amass into nothing and what is done at the end of every one is maintaining life now stuck in a mill wheel motion. What really can be done?
On a relationship, up until this point-
"Sometimes days will be just, 'this is what you're making, this is what I'm making, okay let's go to sleep'."
"Painting doesn't look as professional as photo."
"Yeah, but now everyone can take a 'nice' photo if they have a good enough camera. It's hard to find your place, and be recognized for it."
We spoke about the Israeli-Palestinian War. Is anyone entitled to that land, and why should someone have the power to decide that? Who are we to judge, here in America where we have opportunities in the palms of our hands and we never have to worry about crossing a checkpoint guarded by soldiers to get to school or a job to feed or families. Hunter said she's pro-Israeli. "I was raised like that." I told her to read Palestine. "I don't agree with what is happening to the Palestinians by Israeli hands, but I believe after the Diaspora the Jews should have a home there. Coexist."
Coexistence would be ideal. That postage stamp of land on the map of the world has been bloodied over since the beginning of history. It will never happen. Palestine will fall under the weight of oppression and Israel will thrive and have a business for tourism, in part thanks to the enormous amount of money America is pumping into their military. What do the Palestinians have? Rocks and homemade rockets. They're living in shantytowns piled on top of one another. They can't move.
Our lungs hurt and the candles were dying, so we went inside.
Taylor said she needed a soul awakening. "I was putting together the pieces again, and now I've been smashed to bits."
"I found a four-leaf clover the other day. A few minutes later I checked the status of my India application, and I was accepted. I'm going there at the end of December.
Let's meet each other in our dreams tonight. Where should we go?"
"Ireland. County Cork. That's where my family is from."
My dream was of me waking up from a dreamless sleep and thinking about not being able to find Taylor. There was just blackness.
I talked to the teacher aid at Mt. Royal while some of the students were working on their projects with me at the back table. Her eyes were caked with metallic eyeshadow. She's taking an online course to become a dean at a university, which seemed odd to me because I figured to be high in university ranks, you should be a professor, or you should have done something great. Now she's being a specials needs type of aid for a few students.
"I'm like their mother here," she said.
I was dragged into a long, superfluous conversation about religion with her. It started when I asked the three students, Neisha, Amari and Jayda what they were going to be for Halloween. Neisha said she doesn't celebrate, but if she did she would be Snooki. The aid asked why.
"My religion."
"What are you?"
"I don't like to talk about it."
I immediately said that's okay and tried to change the subject, but the aid was put off by it. Jayda wears a head covering. I think she's Muslim. She also said she doesn't celebrate. Amari said he would probably be a vampire. Jayda was silent when the aid asked what she is.
The aid said she doesn't celebrate Halloween either, being a true Christian. "It's demonic."
"What about Day of the Dead?" I asked. "It's in the same vein and celebrated around the same time in Mexico. And Halloween is also, in a way, to celebrate those who've passed on."
"Nope, it's demonic."
"It's about celebrating your ancestors and paying homage to them, having a festival in the honor of their lives."
"No. They're dead and gone. That's it. They shouldn't be celebrated."
"What about the saints? They're gone but venerated."
She looked like she wanted to kill me. I started nodding my head and agreeing with everything she said and stopped being antagonizing.
"I don't believe in the saints. I'm Christian, not Catholic."
I told her I used to be Catholic. She then lectured me on the basic differences between Judaism and Christianity. Christ followers, the ones who are still waiting for the Messiah- the Jews- they missed the boat.
"What about John the Baptist? He baptized Jesus and is a saint. He didn't just live ascetically in Christ's ways, he was directly involved and made holy."
She talked more about following Christ. With a reproving look of disdain she said, "But you can believe whatever you want."
She went on about the awesomeness of God and Noah's children, how each one was of a different race or ethnicity, and the Tower of Babel, how different language was born. She said after the fall of Adam and Eve, and once Jesus was given to us, it restored the human relationship with God and we no longer have to confess our sins to a priest. We already cut out the middle man. Some Christians don't realize that. There is one God- the Creator. We are the creatures. All that saint stuff doesn't matter- it's about Jesus! Not everything around him.
She pulled me aside and spoke in a low whisper. "Jayda, her father tells her what to believe. She's so young."
I wanted to remind her that she was probably told, or raised to be Christian.
"If she wants to celebrate Halloween she should be able to." The aid was curious about what Neisha was. I said she could be a Jehovah's Witness.
"Nah. She's got to be a Muslim, or some other non(?)-militant religion. She doesn't say the pledge. It's her father's fault. She's a religion that doesn't honor the United States.
"Yeah, I guess so."
I kept it in. I almost told her why I don't say the pledge, but thought better of it.
"I think it depends on the person," I said. "It should be up to the student to choose to say the pledge or not."
We walked downstairs. She said "It was nice talking to you. You always dress well for school. You've just got to be careful-"
"About the shortness of my dresses," I finished.
"Yeah. The boys are at that age, and you're very attractive."
Elisabeth said I've been eating too much dry cereal and that she would let me use one of her meals.
"I have an overabundance. I'll never eat that much Myerhoff."
She walked far ahead of me, almost running to the dining hall, but spoke over her shoulder to talk to me. At dinner she spilled her water over at me from across the table. We talked about classes, DCAD, MICA things, and religion.. She said as a Christian she's pro-Israeli. I'm not sure how the threads of our conversation were pulled together at the topic of the conflict, but they did. She spoke for awhile on that. She was wearing a lanyard that said "I love Jesus" (or was it "Jesus loves me"?)
"Everyone in class knows that I'm really conservative. People give me looks. I don't impose my opinions on others. People think I'm a bigot. I don't judge people to their faces or treat them badly because I have to have unconditional love for everyone. I may not agree with things about them, but they're still a person."
She talked about a group of kids running into her church and dancing on the altar, acting out debauchery. "We were all like, okay mass is over. And then we just went home."
We painted together in the living room at home and listened to her Christian radio program, and both agreed that the speaker was making general, biased and unfair comments about Islam in the Middle East.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Dreams lately
I was in a run-down amusement park where most of the rides had collapsed and were piled on top of each other. I walked over to one to get Isabelle from the exit, but instead I saw my father princess-carrying Elena down the steep metal stairs. Isabelle followed. I snatched her by the hand and we walked off, but not before I met Elena’s eyes. My dream self knew she had been babysitting Isabelle. My sister and I walked across pits of garbage and debris of broken wood and metal. I remember thinking how dangerous it was but I helped her through and told her I didn’t want to meet Elena that way.
I looked through a large volume of Gibson Girl illustrations of all the girls lined up for George after I’m gone.
I had to transfer to Rutgers. The last task I had to do at MICA was to find a baby cradle. I was on a ship, and as we sailed the approaching ocean was filled with floating baby cradles. We took one from the water.
I lived with Taylor and her roommates. It was okay at first; the beginning of the dream was full of little things that were happy, but then on the first day of class I couldn’t find my schedule. I had to open this secret binder to the dead center to find a pink slip, which I then had to put in a compartment in my computer for my classes to show up. Everyone left and I didn’t know the bus schedule. I was painting something. There was a boy in my room. “You know, I do a little painting myself.” I laughed. I was in class, somehow. Everyone was speaking jibberish. I called my mother to tell her about how miserable I was and about the baby cradles. I left the dream knowing that I would return to MICA.
A group of people was playing volleyball. I took the small children from the group. I had a little boy with dark skin on my lap. We watched the game. My family lived on a boat.
I was walking through the forest with a friend who lived there. I can’t see their face. It was fall and the forest was alive with yellow and gold. Over a hill I saw a dilapidated dark wooden house that was falling over. I asked my friend “what is that doing there?” They answered that it had been there as long as they could remember. I took another look down in the ravine. Through the glass windows I saw a few porcelain dolls. Their heads turned around to look at me. We ran through the woods, the yellow was a blur. We found another house. I don’t think my friend had seen this one before. We went inside. It had been abandoned and there was a thick film of dust on every piece of peeling and broken wood. There were toys on shelves and on a table. The dolls moved again, but this time I was not afraid. I looked in a broken mirror and saw and old man moving the toys. He only existed in the mirror. The ghost was wearing a brown shirt and pants. I thought he was toymaker. He was just lonely.
I knew the other house had no such ghost. I would never have approached it.
I was swimming with thousands of pigeons. I felt their wet feathers against my shoulders. We moved as one entity in the grey ocean. I thought they might turn on me, peck me to death, but I couldn't stop swimming. It was raining and the water felt like silk.
A girl in the elevator- her mother wasn’t paying attention. The little girl ran through the open door and I knew she would be gone forever had I not picked her up and brought her back in the waiting room. I kissed her on the cheek. She was wearing a plaid coat and had curly hair. I realized she was my daughter.
My mother had another 5 children at one time. She was the talk of the town. I couldn’t keep track of all the newborns. She was famous around here for awhile. She looked happy.
There was a mall world that I was in. It was full of escalators and art pieces of tv screens. It all fit into a piece of aluminum foil, which was dropped into my hand at the end of the dream. I crushed it like a leftover crust in the foil.
We talked about opinions in a group. I raised my hand to answer a question.
“I would not be so set in my ways now. I could indulge other opinions and perhaps alter my own- admit I was wrong in my own head.”
Kelsey Warren was sitting next to me. “Do you like Coldplay?”
“Coldplay sucks.”
“No they don’t!”
Who was right?
“Okay, but Viva La Vida was awful.”
I was driving past the field by my house, only now it was covered in corn and cows. Mr. Luigi, my old bus driver, was driving the MICA shuttle. When we were a street away from my house he got out and started walking back from where we came. I lit a cigarette and started driving the shuttle forward.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
A collection |
I don’t miss it, but I miss the art rooms and closets | Me hut im sorry fro besio I hygu | Lonel wkyti why dulyo wont | It’s a beautiful day here. Drinking coffee at pretty park. Miss you | I’m asleep, dreaming of ya | What happens when a man cant sleep in his own bed. It’s gonna be a long weekend | Don’t go breaking any hearts. Baltimore’s lonely without you | shes a Minnie you | were burying jezebel at seven don’t forget | this is my wildflower | the trees are so pretty here at camp | (why I always dream the sensation and feeling of being shot)… what do we do with this information? | Epiphany, in a past life you died in a tyrannical government operation. (maybe why you always dream about genocides) and in a past life | He just floated up out of nowhere. A really cool dog in a boat making everyone’s life a little better. | praying mantis for good luck! | n’t talking to each other because we were so nervous, but he kept looking at me, and I asked him to play that game where you go underwater and say something outloud, and I said something generic, I don’t remember, nothing important, but I couldn’t hear what he said so I asked him and he said “let’s fall in love on the moon” | listening to connie smith record thinking of you | I saw Jack for the last time yesterday. My parents have to go put him down. Poor dog just got too old. | Its so pretty here wish you were with me | don’t worry theres only room for one beach babe in my life | miss you too much on this lonely megabus | Happy full moon. | hands down worst week ever. I’m living like a depressed middle aged woman | Im proud of you for sticking with your job even though I wish you could just quit and stay here with me. I’ll see you soon. | well I cant sleep at all anymore I don’t think | yer too beauieul | But i. Wokent I love you | I promised myself I wouldn’t spend any more money but I bought us a patsy cline record at the store today | THIS IS THE SUMMER OF HEARTACHES AND HEART FLUTTERS | I would kill someone for you to be here right now I think im dying | My mom thinks you can see Jesus in our tree | I’ll see you in a month. It ll go by quick. I cant speak. I miss you so much | yeah. Also I can’t smoke during recovery so I actually might die | I miss you so much. I was just thinking about when you had the flu and I made you burnt soup and even though you were so sick and sweaty you looked so beautiful | I need you to come over and take care of me. This is awful painful. | You’ll forget all about me by next week. | Ill watch any movie with you any time. But specially that one. Get some sleep ill talk to ya tomorrow. | yer killin me. Im lonesome as a stray rat. | I got a new phone. It sucks. Lets buy those tickets soon. Lets run away already. | Cant sleep. Just found a small rat in my bed. Miss you too. | ye shouldve come with me. | Nope. I’m glad thoings wrong with you though. Your cough was worrying me. | I think I slept an hour last night I feel terrible. | But I just bought us an apartment in new york. | Ive already managed to spill coffee everywhere. | Ms. Jacobsen came to my dream last night, in a deep blue ball gown, and hugged me. We didn’t exchange words, I don’t know where I was besides a | Well make it. In it to win it. | no not great. Every time im around other girls all I can think is how much more amazing you are and I left the show early I don’t want to come back to Pittsburgh ever again and I cant sleep I want to draw things on your back and listen to inkspots I want to live with you | Im sorry im not there. It sounds like a beautiful closet. I miss drinking with you. | I miss you more than all the forties in Baltimore. | This song is making me and Jezebel cry | Your gift is beautiful and I promise ill keep it safe. Jezebel and I both miss you too much and I don’t really know how ill survive the next few weeks | I miss you so much allie I’m so sad we didn’t hang out more. I’ve been crying so much ! Wish you were here. Love always isa | driving around south beach in a bright red car with bily joel playing on the radio. | .ph I wais with yuk sighit now | Allie, I went into this year with thick skin and distant attitude. I never expected to make a true friend. Thank you for it all. I’ll be writing. I love you. | Damn it. I just listened to passing afternoon which I knew was the worst idea and now I’m sitting here crying for all the things I miss. I miss misty. More than I’m realizing. I miss my old house. I miss my old tree and swing and fort. I miss my brother when he was in high school. I miss doing nothing, and I miss when doing nothing was everything and it meant much more than just something. I miss you and your red car, and your coffee and fragile cigarettes. I miss your sisters and your mom and the way your house always looks perfectly put together. I miss my car and Flemington and listening to the replacements and the cranberries cassettes on the way to school. I miss working for Christine after sch | Also no smooches = worst part of strep. | You could just come back if you want. | I cant sleep without you here. | Ah, that’s great. I’m glad you celebrated. There wasn’t much but a small table at my dining hall serving matzo ball soup. I missya. |
Saturday, October 22, 2011
I dreamt this morning of running through landscapes and dodging murderers. In my dream I woke up and sat in a chair to look at George sleeping. I tapped him on the shoulder. He said 'Fuck off, I was comfortable before you were here." I hurried out of the room and tried to slam the door, but it was caught in a pocket of air and closed in slow motion with a quiet click.
I woke and kissed him on the cheek and left.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
What the Psychic said-
I have it all written down on the back of a crumpled receipt. My hair was wild and frizzy that day at the beach with Taylor and Bailey while we walked the Seaside boardwalk, the wooden edge of the coast infamous for housing the Jersey Shore cast and is now growing evermore filthy and packed with awful people.
We saw a psychic and each asked for a $5 palm reading. She took the money and told us things plainly with a look of disinterest. Bailey has never been in love, but she will be in the Winter; Taylor is seeking something that won't work out in the long run but she will marry someone blonde-haired and blue-eyed.
The psychic told me that 5 and 11 are my lucky numbers, saturday is my best day, I'm going to have a long life, I'll have all of my senses at the time of my death- eyesight, hearing and memory, I'll have one husband, a boy and a girl, my anger will come and go but I'll never hold a grudge, and I've had a lot of men be attracted to me.
She said the man you're seeing now is the man you're going to be married to. She didn't ask if I was seeing someone until after she said that, probably because my eyes were wide as dinner plates. Yes, she continued, you're almost 20. Between the age of 20 and 26 you'll be engaged and married. You'll be with him for the rest of your life.
I thanked her, walked back across the boardwalk to Bailey and Taylor in a trance, and they told me she was a load of bullshit.
Still, Bailey had never had a boyfriend, and now, as winter approaches, she found someone, an Adam, and I hear she's happy. Taylor's love with this boy might be too ethereal to ever be realized.
I have it all written down on the back of a crumpled receipt. My hair was wild and frizzy that day at the beach with Taylor and Bailey while we walked the Seaside boardwalk, the wooden edge of the coast infamous for housing the Jersey Shore cast and is now growing evermore filthy and packed with awful people.
We saw a psychic and each asked for a $5 palm reading. She took the money and told us things plainly with a look of disinterest. Bailey has never been in love, but she will be in the Winter; Taylor is seeking something that won't work out in the long run but she will marry someone blonde-haired and blue-eyed.
The psychic told me that 5 and 11 are my lucky numbers, saturday is my best day, I'm going to have a long life, I'll have all of my senses at the time of my death- eyesight, hearing and memory, I'll have one husband, a boy and a girl, my anger will come and go but I'll never hold a grudge, and I've had a lot of men be attracted to me.
She said the man you're seeing now is the man you're going to be married to. She didn't ask if I was seeing someone until after she said that, probably because my eyes were wide as dinner plates. Yes, she continued, you're almost 20. Between the age of 20 and 26 you'll be engaged and married. You'll be with him for the rest of your life.
I thanked her, walked back across the boardwalk to Bailey and Taylor in a trance, and they told me she was a load of bullshit.
Still, Bailey had never had a boyfriend, and now, as winter approaches, she found someone, an Adam, and I hear she's happy. Taylor's love with this boy might be too ethereal to ever be realized.
something I found I had written-
an albatross around my neck, Alice Neel, it didn't work out that way when we were children
My neck hurts when I think about it, when I look over my shoulder at my reflection in the front door and I wonder who those people were in the photographs I bought at the flea market and if rambling is some shade of purity, or if that cotton ball lodged in the back of my throat isn't there, that I've just made this sickbed out of nothing, not books of paper towns or Egyptian cotton blankets, nor my hair creased from an all-day ponytail or the dress I last wore when I was in your room.
an albatross around my neck, Alice Neel, it didn't work out that way when we were children
My neck hurts when I think about it, when I look over my shoulder at my reflection in the front door and I wonder who those people were in the photographs I bought at the flea market and if rambling is some shade of purity, or if that cotton ball lodged in the back of my throat isn't there, that I've just made this sickbed out of nothing, not books of paper towns or Egyptian cotton blankets, nor my hair creased from an all-day ponytail or the dress I last wore when I was in your room.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
That house isn't much of a home any longer and I hate being there. I can feel all of the memory shards of grade school and the later years of high school swarming like a cloud of hornets.
The movie theater was torn down. I drove by and the construction cranes and bulldozers were playing in the dirt of its foundation. I remember my feet sticking to the brown linoleum floor inside, and passing drawings to Adam underneath the glass of the ticket booth. All of the walls were carpeted with tiny flecks of burgundy and grey and the air was suffocating and smelled like burnt butter. It was a dump, even compared to a one-room theater I went to in Martha's Vineyard that showed only one film, and the projector broke halfway through The Happening. There were never enough tiles to spell out the movies' names on the marquee board, so most of them were abbreviated or spelled with numbers. Next to the theater was a rug store that was always having a clearance sale and was infamous for being a hub of prostitution.
There was a dance studio next to the movies that used to be a photography place where a lot of couples got their wedding albums done at. During the theater's last days some of the employees found a crawlspace in the common wall with a typewriter and boxes of old wedding negatives inside. Adam took a few boxes, but because he was at a loss for what to use them for, I took most of them. I sifted through the names on the envelopes and became determined to return them to their owners. I thought it would be nice to have the negatives back, since the photo places hoard them to ensure that their customers can't get re-prints unless it's through their business. I only returned one envelope anonymously, by accident because I had forgotten to sign my name to the note, but they figured out it was me and thanked me. Some of the negatives are taped to my window, other are spilled in the trunk of my car, but most of the them are still sitting in their envelopes.
I walked along the Delaware River on the toe path, but there was construction going on by the canal. The men were moving dirt. They seemed annoyed with me trying to take a morning nature walk because one of them halted the machine mid-move and gave me a look. The wing dam was poured over with the river, which was moving too fast to let me walk through it. I sat on a ledge of stone and watched the water ripple like braided hair over the dam and froth at the bottom like the corners of a mouth.
The small tag I put in the abandoned train car was glazed over with mud. There was more construction by the other cars further down the track, so I couldn't get on the path to access them. I drove up and down the streets looking for a hole in the fence. Everything had closed up to me. I wanted to see the drawings of the Gibson Girls I put up in the summer again, but it would probably disappoint me to see them dirty and peeling. Everywhere I turned to was controlled by a team of construction workers. What for? Everything was gone there, and nothing has been built up again properly. I felt so empty.
Eric sold his car. He sold his things, and his parents are replacing the carpet so, officially, the house can be sold. No one is home.
I took a drive to the cemetery and wandered around for awhile. I even approached the dilapidated house at the edge of the street and the stone wall for the first time, unafraid. It's usually covered in lilac. I found a double tomb in the ground, split in the middle by the forceful emergence of a red thorny tree with blackberries. The tree uprooted the tomb covers enough to see a black hole in the ground. I walked to the opposite side of the yard and looked over the wall at the wheat field that was golden and recently plowed. A little ways away were two small bouquets of bright plastic flowers. I hopped over the wall to collect them, and placed them in front of an old, lonely looking gravestone whose inscription had disappeared.
The movie theater was torn down. I drove by and the construction cranes and bulldozers were playing in the dirt of its foundation. I remember my feet sticking to the brown linoleum floor inside, and passing drawings to Adam underneath the glass of the ticket booth. All of the walls were carpeted with tiny flecks of burgundy and grey and the air was suffocating and smelled like burnt butter. It was a dump, even compared to a one-room theater I went to in Martha's Vineyard that showed only one film, and the projector broke halfway through The Happening. There were never enough tiles to spell out the movies' names on the marquee board, so most of them were abbreviated or spelled with numbers. Next to the theater was a rug store that was always having a clearance sale and was infamous for being a hub of prostitution.
There was a dance studio next to the movies that used to be a photography place where a lot of couples got their wedding albums done at. During the theater's last days some of the employees found a crawlspace in the common wall with a typewriter and boxes of old wedding negatives inside. Adam took a few boxes, but because he was at a loss for what to use them for, I took most of them. I sifted through the names on the envelopes and became determined to return them to their owners. I thought it would be nice to have the negatives back, since the photo places hoard them to ensure that their customers can't get re-prints unless it's through their business. I only returned one envelope anonymously, by accident because I had forgotten to sign my name to the note, but they figured out it was me and thanked me. Some of the negatives are taped to my window, other are spilled in the trunk of my car, but most of the them are still sitting in their envelopes.
I walked along the Delaware River on the toe path, but there was construction going on by the canal. The men were moving dirt. They seemed annoyed with me trying to take a morning nature walk because one of them halted the machine mid-move and gave me a look. The wing dam was poured over with the river, which was moving too fast to let me walk through it. I sat on a ledge of stone and watched the water ripple like braided hair over the dam and froth at the bottom like the corners of a mouth.
The small tag I put in the abandoned train car was glazed over with mud. There was more construction by the other cars further down the track, so I couldn't get on the path to access them. I drove up and down the streets looking for a hole in the fence. Everything had closed up to me. I wanted to see the drawings of the Gibson Girls I put up in the summer again, but it would probably disappoint me to see them dirty and peeling. Everywhere I turned to was controlled by a team of construction workers. What for? Everything was gone there, and nothing has been built up again properly. I felt so empty.
Eric sold his car. He sold his things, and his parents are replacing the carpet so, officially, the house can be sold. No one is home.
I took a drive to the cemetery and wandered around for awhile. I even approached the dilapidated house at the edge of the street and the stone wall for the first time, unafraid. It's usually covered in lilac. I found a double tomb in the ground, split in the middle by the forceful emergence of a red thorny tree with blackberries. The tree uprooted the tomb covers enough to see a black hole in the ground. I walked to the opposite side of the yard and looked over the wall at the wheat field that was golden and recently plowed. A little ways away were two small bouquets of bright plastic flowers. I hopped over the wall to collect them, and placed them in front of an old, lonely looking gravestone whose inscription had disappeared.
one day I won't be able to run
but there's a
Styrofoam volcano
in the street and a
man in a kilt outside of the deli
conjuring up shadow demons
bugs crawling
in the corners of my eyes
when I'm tired
praying mantis
on a Bridgestone tire
otherwise unmoving
nods its head
towards me as
my mother pulls
out of the lot
but there's a
Styrofoam volcano
in the street and a
man in a kilt outside of the deli
conjuring up shadow demons
bugs crawling
in the corners of my eyes
when I'm tired
praying mantis
on a Bridgestone tire
otherwise unmoving
nods its head
towards me as
my mother pulls
out of the lot
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