Forget yourself.

scads of unresolved conflicts, including (but not limited to):

1- an ex bugging me about canine custody (yes, I am willing to give him partial)

2- finances and romances.

3- upcoming trip to south america.

4-moving a year's worth of living out of my living space and into the MINU-U on the corner of newport and ghetto.

5- leaving sampson for two weeks.

6- eh

7- quitting smoking.

8- continuing to smoke.

9-driving from here to Colorado - just me, sampson, and the pavement.

10-wanting to move to San Francisco while I am trying to make a life here (for now).

Wishing you all safe and happy weekends <3

This week I visited a psychic. This is what she told me:

You are honest, you are wise, but you are very headstrong.

Your solarplex (stomach area) is completely out of whack. You are out of balance, totally. You need to figure this out and get in balance, because you have been out of it for years. I can help you do this, for 250 dollars an hour.

Wow! You have an artistic opportunity right now that you must take. Some foreigner has come into your life, and offered you this chance. You are going to make a lot of money. But you will never be happy if you don’t get yourself in balance.

You just ended something with a person who loves you very much. You have had a hard time in love. Someone loves you deeply, no reservations and no conditions, and you can’t see it – or appreciate it – because you haven’t balanced your chakras.

You will go to a place soon with water surrounding it. You will be in this place for weeks.

Your third eye will open, and you will have a spiritual awakening!

Let's hope she's right. Have any of you tried going to a psychic? Do any of you see on regularly?

inspiration.

To quit or not to quit....

The Best Cigarette

There are many that I miss
having sent my last one out a car window
sparking along the road one night, years ago.

The heralded one, of course:
after sex, the two glowing tips
now the lights of a single ship;
at the end of a long dinner
with more wine to come
and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier;
or on a white beach,
holding one with fingers still wet from a swim.

How bittersweet these punctuations
of flame and gesture;
but the best were on those mornings
when I would have a little something going
in the typewriter,
the sun bright in the windows,
maybe some Berlioz on in the background.
I would go into the kitchen for coffee
and on the way back to the page,
curled in its roller,
I would light one up and feel
its dry rush mix with the dark taste of coffee.

Then I would be my own locomotive,
trailing behind me as I returned to work
little puffs of smoke,
indicators of progress,
signs of industry and thought,
the signal that told the nineteenth century
it was moving forward.
That was the best cigarette,
when I would steam into the study
full of vaporous hope
and stand there,
the big headlamp of my face
pointed down at all the words in parallel lines.


--Billy Collins

Cass.

I spoke with my sister tonight. Not the youngest, Jackie, who I talk to daily, but the middle sister, Cassie - the one in white on the far left. 

I am so blessed. So enveloped by love, so taken care of, so protected. 

To my dear Sister, Mrs. C. P. on her Nuptial 

by Katherine Philips

We will not like those men our offerings pay
Who crown the cup, then think they crown the day.
We make no garlands, nor an altar build,
Which help not Joy, but Ostentation yield.
Where mirth is justly grounded these wild toyes
Are but a troublesome, and empty noise.

2.
But these shall be my great Solemnities,
Orinda's wishes for Cassandra's bliss.
May her Content be as unmix'd and pure
As my Affection, and like that endure;
And that strong Happiness may she still find
Not owing to her Fortune, but her Mind.

3.
May her Content and Duty be the same,
And may she know no Grief but in the name.
May his and her Pleasure and Love be so
Involv'd and growing, that we may not know
Who most Affection or most Peace engrost;
Whose Love is strongest, or whose Bliss is most.

4.
May nothing accidental e're appear
But what shall with new bonds their Souls endear;
And may they count the hours as they pass,
By their own Joys, and not by Sun or Glass:
While every day like this may Sacred prove
To Friendship, Gratitude, and Strictest Love.

I wish you all sisters, in this life or the next.

And how are the most beautiful women in Manhattan?...

...Miranda: if we see them, I'll ask.

I went with this lady to see Sex and the City.

sublimely mediocre, as was expected.

a talent is formed in stillness.

Writing Exercise: write 6 stanza poem in under 5 minutes. this is what I came up with:

6. 

the salt 

of skin 

lemon rind. 

5.

I wink 

hello!

you're here.

4. 

faith? 

pay my 

fee. 

3.

fog: 

a cat

pounces.

2.

silk, 

night. 

1. 

one. 

Suggestions for Living a Disciplined Writing Life, from Pat Schneider's Writing Alone and with Others. 

1. Belief, not discipline.

2. Accepting yourself as an artist.

3. Meeting your needs as a writer.

4. Making your writing time a reward, not a duty.

5. Confronting the hard times head on.

6. Putting your writing first.

7. Never underestimate the power of sleep.

8. Dealing with your envy.

9. Do not judge your work.

10. Writing has its seasons.

11. When all else fails: make a deadline for yourself.

budding

::::

artist's way

So true, Ms. Cameron, so true.

When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.

An example, unedited, also my "exercise" for today:

My first year of college. Freshman year. I decided to visit my family in Florida for spring break. I had a head the size of a planet - I thought I was smarter, better, funnier, cooler, hotter than anybody or anything. This lasted for…. a minute? A prelude to alcoholism and “outside” issues.

In my self-induced orgiastic state, sustained by a rocker boyfriend and the “hipster” scene, I grabbed my little sister and took her to the beach, for a “talk” from the older and wiser.

The ocean was purplish black fringed with yellow, like a bad bruise healing from the outside in. The wind whipped our legs with sand. Typical hurricane's a'coming weather.

We were talking about something or another, and she mentioned feeling self conscious, uncomfortable in her skin, ugly compared to the girls in her grade.

I looked at her. And looked at her. Jackie is, has always been, a startling beauty. Her charm transcends the physical, and although I can’t pin it to any one quality, my gut tells me the beauty is linked to grace and kindness, tenacity and strength.

I gave her a lecture on exactly that, and followed it up with a demonstration of “fake it until you make it,” my (then) personal credo. In true Mac-girl dramatic fashion, I strutted in front of her, shoulders out, eyes bright, smiling – thinking I am beautiful, I am great, I am ridiculously-good-looking. And then I would do “ugly”: hunch my shoulders, pout, squint at the ground. I am ugly, I am shit, I am the scum on the bottom of your shoe. Then I made her do it.

I, of course, had no idea what I was talking about, and I don’t know if she still remembers the day. But somehow, so many years later, I recall that windy beach when I hear the word "affirmation." I remember realizing how important it is to build yourself up, to be loving and kind and generous with compliments. To love yourself, even if you hate yourself.

Cameron suggests countering any “blurts,” or negative thoughts, with positive affirmations, and seeing as I have signed on to do this thing, I best follow her orders.

She makes a valid point, writing, “You will be amazed at the rotten things your subconscious will blurt out. Write them down. These blurts flag your personal negative core beliefs. They hold the key to your freedom in their ugly little claws.”

So off to write my list of "blurts" and corresponding counter praise.

Do any of you use affirmations? Or have you in the past? I would love to hear about it : )

Garry Winogrand.

A supposed male chauvinist pig, but he did publish Women Are Beautiful, in his own defense.

I personally like the Morroco Series featuring a sophisticated socialite in one photo, and a vampirish animal in the next. 

Reminds me of some of the girls I grew up with! clad in 1950's attire. 

buenas

I spoke with Evan tonight. He is in Medellín, Colombia.

Evan is... well, he was my boyfriend, for a very long time… and now? he is my good friend. Good friend? He is something complicated, unable to be explained, a unique presence for which I am grateful.

So we got to talking, about his life and my life, good things and bad. And I brought up the writer’s block, and the possibility that at 18 I was better than I am now. I told him for awhile I lost hope, especially during the college dark ages… (sound the violins).

And the cheeky bastard, what did he say? he denied it. Said I never lost hope, said that I used to say no matter what, no matter what the situation, I could always pull something out.

I smiled.

thousands of miles away and he still knows me well enough to surprise myself with myself.

: )

a drop of ink and a million think.

Today I gave myself a break from writing and allowed myself to read the work of others.

303

The Soul selects her own Society—
Then—shuts the Door—
To her divine Majority—
Present no more—

Unmoved—she notes the Chariots—pausing—
At her low Gate—
Unmoved—an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat—

I've known her—from an ample nation—
Choose One—
Then—close the Valves of her attention—
Like Stone—

Emily Dickinson

I like to believe she was speaking of her art, the solitude and isolation necessary to create. And the "society" of encouraging people you must surround yourself with...

We are all born in captivity. That is no disgrace, for there is no other place in which to be born… But unlike other animals, whose original endownment is also their ultimate endowment, we can be born, as it were, in one world, and come at last to live in quite another.

Richard Mitchell

tomorrow is another day! goodnight, everyone : )

frustration. fear. fun.

needing some advice, thought I would turn to all of you lovely ladies (with the right dash of boys). I am frustrated with my artistic process. With the artistic process. I feel as though I was a better writer at 18 than I am at 23. Writing, unfortunately, does not follow a linear progression - more like chaos theory. 

What do you do when you feel as though you are slipping back, instead of charging forward?