We see things not as they are, but as we are.

What is the recipe for a perfect day?

A hike through the mountains - romping above the tree line with my Pops, Jackie, Sampson and Sophie... waiting for Jack’s adrenalized boyfriend to get in from Conneticut. No makeup, no nice clothing, my Dad's old socks. Reading and writing in the evening. Then a burger joint with the fam, my Mum included, laughing over french fries and sparkling water.

I feel at peace with my family, and I am lucky, because it wasn’t always that way. The recipe for a perfect family? Beyond me. But for a day, for a day, maybe.

a hike and franz wright.

Admission
by Franz Wright


Like much-loved music things
(when I am at my gladdest)
physical objects themselves
appear to represent
something I can't see
(not yet)—
something
I cannot recall or imagine
yet whose presence I clearly perceive
the way perhaps the born blind do
the sun.
Like words
most masterfully uttered
these concrete things stand for
invisible things, while
remaining themselves,
their dear selves, without which
I just can't imagine my life;
I believe in a higher unseeable
life, inconceivable
light
of which light is mere shadow, and yet
already, at times, and with desolation
with bereftness no words can express, miss this light
of the earth, this bright life
I yesterday only began to love, to understand.

definitions.

my last summer as an unemployed, college student bum.

I am in Colorado, and I am T I R E D. But happy to be with my parents and my sister. The drive was strange - to be alone for 16 hours on the road. Finally I am working on my relationship with myself. It took getting out of a relationship to learn how to be in one.

an evening with Muriel Rukeyser

I listened to this beautiful poem as I traversed the jade and purple mountains of Utah. Along the way I kept my eye out for polygamists and child brides, but I didn't see any... damn.

I am staying in a quaint inn on the side of I-70. The halls are littered with signs warning, "NO PETS" and "$250 FINE FOR PETS AND CIGARETTES." Thank God for boho purses! I stuffed poor Sampson in my oversized bag, and made sure to pocket my ciggs.

They're gonna run me out of town! but hopefully not before I steal a few rolls at tomorrow's complimentary breakfast : )

The Speed Of Darkness

1

Whoever despises the clitoris despises the penis
Whoever despises the penis despises the cunt
Whoever despises the cunt despises the life of the child.

Resurrection music, silence, and surf.

2

No longer skeaking
Listening with the whole body
And with every drop of blood
Overtaken by silence
But this same silence is become speech
With the speed of darkness.

3

Stillness during war, the lake.
The unmoving spruces.
Glints over the water.
Faces, voices. You are far away.
A tree that trembles and trembles.

4

After the lifting of the mist
after the heavy rains
the sky stands clear
and the cries of the city risen in day
I remember the buildings are space
walled, to let space be used for living
I mind this room is space
whose boundary of glass
lets me give you drink and space to drink
your hand, my hand being space
containing skies and constellations
your face carries the reaches of air
I know I am space
my words are the air.

5

Between between
the man : act exact
woman : in curve senses in their maze
frail orbits, green tries, games of stars
shar of the body speaking its evidence

6

I look across at the real
vulnerable involved naked
devoted to the present of all I care for
the world of history leading to this moment.

7

Life is the announcer.
I assure you
there are many ways to have a child.
I bastard mother
promise you
there are many ways to be born.
They all come forth
in their own grace.

8

Ends of the earth join tonight
with blazing stars upon thier meeting.

These sons, these sons
fall burning into Asia.

9

Time comes into it.
Say it. Say it.
The universe is made of stories,
not of atoms.


10

Lying
blazing beside me
you rear beautifully up—
your thinking face—
erotic body reaching
in all its colors and lights—
your erotic face
colored and lit—
not colored body-and-face
but now entire,
colors lights the world of thinking and reaching.


11

The river flows past the city.

Water goes down to tomorrow
making its children I hear their unborn voices
I am working out the vocabulary of my silence.


12

Big-boned man young and of my dream
Struggles to get the live brid out of his throat.
I am he am I? Dreaming?
I am the bird am I? I am the throat?

A brid with a curved beak.
It could slit anything, the throat-bird.

Drawn up slowly. The curved blades, not large.
Bird emerges wet being born
Begins to sing.


13

My night awake
staring at the broad rough jewel
the copper roof across the way
thinking of the poet
yet unborn in this dark
who will be the throat of these hours.
No. Of those hours.
Who will speak these days,
if not I,
if not you?

last night at S-307.

I once asked my Pops, What quality do you most admire in a woman? He replied: passion. I persisted, What quality do you most admire in a man? He replied: strength.

I was ten years old, and he had enough sense not to return the question.

So at age 23 I am going to ask myself, What qualities do I most admire in a man?

I admire men who are like woman. Not girly boys or effeminate males. I most admire men who contain characteristics typically attributed to females. Unconditional love. Affectionate. Caring. Considerate. Maternal.

In a woman? I admire women who take on the best qualities of a "real man": strength, honesty, morality, prudence.

... tonight is my last night in this apartment. I am sitting on my floor, Sampson at my feet, and I have no certainty or stability, no employment or residence. I have nothing and yet I have everything. lucky.

So Goodbye, apartment! May your next tenants have the same luck as I! And keep you a little bit neater : )

Farewell.

News: Valentina, one of my best friends and favorite authors, has officially caught the blogging bug. Read her paz-ful words here: http://pazispeace.blogspot.com/.

On another note, during meditation this morning I stumbled upon this:

I will be more afraid of spirit-unrest, of
soul-disturbance, of any ruffling of the mind, than of earthquake or fire. When I feel the calm of my spirit has been broken by emotional upset, then I must steal away alone with God, until my heart sings and all is strong and calm again. Uncalm times are the only times when evil can find an entrance. I will beware of unguarded spots of unrest. I will try to keep calm, no matter what turmoil surrounds me.

Lately my life is blessed with pillars and lighthouses. A pillar is someone I lean on in times of unrest and upheaval. A lighthouse is someone I trust for guidance and new perspective. Dad is a pillar, Mom is a lighthouse.

Last night I made my first eighty-plus year old friend.

June (lady): Hello, is this your first meeting?

Me: Oh, no, but my first time in this one.

June: Welcome! Here is my phone number.

she grabs my hand and scrawls her phone number across my palm.

Just press that to your forehead, missy, and you'll be fine.

June has thirty seven years of sobriety and ends every share by saying: "And I'm standing on the f-ing mountain, listening to the wind." She is the most joyful, serene person with the worst potty mouth I have ever had the sweet pleasure of meeting.

Definitely a lighthouse.

Cindy Sherman's work.

She reminds me that we are all victims of masquerading. We role play, we are actors, we are authentic copies. I am a work in progress, a lifelong project.

From Cindy Sherman:

The work is what it is and hopefully it’s seen as feminist work, or feminist-advised work, but I’m not going to go around espousing theoretical bullshit about feminist stuff.

The still must tease with the promise of a story the viewer of it itches to be told.

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.