Soooo, my mom has gotten remarried.
Here's a woman who has been divorced all of a year and change (and has re assumed her maiden name). And now, as a convenient means to keep her beau on some sort of insurance package, she's hooking it up again.
This is hard for her, because she's a debutante. She still comes from a place where the act of marriage was filled with lavish pomp and circumstance and societal presentation and that means something.
Not like she would need all that racket again, but these are not the most ideal terms under which she would choose to do this thing, and when she told me on the phone she was in tears. Now her beau is pretty cool and supportive of all her interests while having a lot going for himself. And there is plenty of financial glue keeping these two together- in other words, he wouldn't break up with her even if she had said no. Granted, its her choice, and since I'm a privacy whore (which says nothing of my blogging this), I realize it is also none of my business. She wanted me to know, and I appreciate that. This is after all, the woman who's done the most for me in my life.
If you'll indulge me for a moment: my mom is a Virgo, I'm a Pisces. We agree on practically nothing, but perhaps we subconsciously agreed that there would have to be a completion of the break from my father at some point. I'm not sure exactly how far along she was/is on the healing process from ending a 26yr relationship, but this new marriage has the potential to be cathartic and obstacle-clearing as much as it is a screw in the works.
So, how do I validate these essentially feminist feelings of frustration and longing, and still empower her without the usual lame-o "I'm here for ya, Ma." sentiments?
I've been thinking for a long time, and in several different contexts, about how to do just this for my mother. She gets along with women, but she was a boys-club kinda gal in her younger youth and I don't think she has any interest in "waves" or other mostly nonsensical academic feminist jargon. She's a go-getter. Ultra-practical but creative. Into control, but knows when she's got too much info on her hands. Like I said: a flippin' Virgo.
And my school takes a page from hers- my classic argument is "Do you believe women should be allowed to wear pants? Then yr a feminist." And regardless of whether you believe they should or should not be allowed to, they are. Change happens and the future is coming: All modern women are feminists, period.
Even here as I consider how my own blanket statement might fail me, my thinking is clear. I am a writer, but my writing is inseparable from and influenced heavily by my womanhood and my feminine experience.
On top of that, here's what's getting strange with all that pants-wearing (and this won't be the first time I've said this, and generally it isn't a new thought either): girls are becoming the new boys. The reversal of struggle in gendered culture fascinates me. Women now have the struggles that men have/had, in addition to their mostly traditional responsibilities when raising a family. Whether men (and gay couples) are more readily embracing the family structure and finding a balance being stay-at-home dads and the like... well, I haven't done the research there to say, altho' it seems likely. That's a whole other discussion- I do however absolutely support the rights of gay couples to adopt.
Yet, here's where mom failed not just me growing up. There was a lot in that big brain of hers, and she knew she could get what she wanted and still have a family- she's told me before she always wanted to be a mom. She had a lot to say, tho', that never got said for fear of my tempermental father. Clear patriarchal power grab at work, this guy. Her's was the bottom line, however, and her passive-aggressive way of communicating, and reacting poorly to my father's asinine behaviors (saying "Tell your daughter to fix her hair.", or having a fucking outright cow over where the TV remote is) didn't correct either of us. Now he's left with backhanded regret and I've got a few twinges of resentment.
One lesson that did go in pretty well was to let what has passed pass, and to hold no grudge, and I really do love my mom AND my dad.
She's made some choices and is older and wiser now. Her communication is better. And not just because I demand for it to be. Maybe that's the best way I can continue to empower her- to trust her enough to know she'll speak up with questions to address her own lack when it comes to communication or anything else. I too need help being not just a feminist, not just a writer, not just myself.
Wrote a post-card to mom a week or so back, A very sassy Adrian Tomine drawing of a girl lounging on a couch, talking on the phone with the caption: "But my problems are more interesting than yours!" On the back I wrote something to the effect of "Your mother looks to you and clings to your spirit for the same reason you do to mine: You say and do the things she feels she cannot." Feminism, what it will grow and change into next, finds its deepest roots in the binds of one generation of women to the next. I guess just being there and living and working as evidence for the future of feminism really is enough.
On a random note, "modern young feminist" publication Venus Magazine apparently went thru a corporate revamp recently, much like Sassy back in the day. There was an article about it in the Chicago Reader hinting that it was moving away from its "Feminist" with a capital-F roots. Can we afford to forget that we are standing on the shoulders of giants? No, but I'm not sure its worth looking down all the time and getting vertigo either. Chernobyl got on me to "submit" (ha ha) to the idea potentially writing for a magazine @ a SWOP meeting, and with good reason- "You should write about feminist issues, I know you have something to say." And I guess I do.
The best place to start learning about the feminist outlook has always been in our own backyards.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Return of Ms. Regina St. DeMonde!!
...coming soon (again) to a dirty magazine near you sometime this fall.
And speaking of jobs, many of you have been asking, so here's a little rundown on the interesting work I'll be getting up to a lot this April: The Standardized Patient.
Let's see, what else can I tell you guys... OH!
And speaking of jobs, many of you have been asking, so here's a little rundown on the interesting work I'll be getting up to a lot this April: The Standardized Patient.
A glorified acting job for a med school based out in the Illinois suburbs. The gigs pay about as well as a modeling gig would ($16 hr), and last all day (8-3). Travel and food compensation as well.
A typical day looks like this- Come in, sign in, pick up a schedule with students names, have a snack or some coffee, and go set up your room which is a perfect typical clinical exam room. Climb into my comfy hospital gown and wait.
I can't talk too much about the case that I'm portraying, or the students, due to contractual confidentiality, but the "encounters" are timed, 15 minutes. Student comes in and engages with questions and a sickness-specific physical. Then, when they leave the room, I take a computerized survey evaluating their communication skills. Sometimes the students come back in and I give verbal feedback. Most of them do pretty well.
Standardized Patients are also employed at UIC med school, and the cases that they use are apparently much more intense. People playing epileptics and schizophrenics and the like. I have yet to investigate the situation there so far as new hires goes.
One of the things the SP Coordinator said to me during training, which is already ringing true: "You will have renewed confidence in your line of questioning at your own doctor's visits, and a renewed sense of responsibility and entitlement to the best health care you can get."
One of the things the SP Coordinator said to me during training, which is already ringing true: "You will have renewed confidence in your line of questioning at your own doctor's visits, and a renewed sense of responsibility and entitlement to the best health care you can get."
And since everybody else I work with are actors/singers/performers, they don't edit and love to goof off. Very fun, I feel pretty lucky about the whole thing.
Let's see, what else can I tell you guys... OH!
As the weather improves I'm happy to invite you out to the "May Day" party at the X-Lab. It's a small place, but I'm sincerely surprised that mister-photographer-producer Mike Scheitler has never thrown a party there. Music, photos, booze, talented people, more music...
Saturday, May 1. (Probably)
Chicago, IL.
Email for details.
xo-
Dmj
Chicago, IL.
Email for details.
xo-
Dmj
Friday, February 19, 2010
Belated Valentine for Stephan
One of Chicago's finest of the fine art crowd is away on a 4 mo+ excursion to Laos, Thailand and Indochina. We hope he travels safe and has many intense adventures.
A man with dual citizenship in the US and Italy, Stephan is constantly pushing himself and transcending boundaries with his art. It's been my privilege as a model to work with him.
He is also looking for love. We can only hope he finds it in the most unexpected and most rewarding of places.
If you've got a minute, show him some support with words. Or just check out the art:
stephangiannini.com
chicagopainter.wordpress.com
Here's to those of you who encourage the freedom in others to live fully, which is identical to encouraging art.
A man with dual citizenship in the US and Italy, Stephan is constantly pushing himself and transcending boundaries with his art. It's been my privilege as a model to work with him.
He is also looking for love. We can only hope he finds it in the most unexpected and most rewarding of places.
If you've got a minute, show him some support with words. Or just check out the art:
stephangiannini.com
chicagopainter.wordpress.com
Here's to those of you who encourage the freedom in others to live fully, which is identical to encouraging art.
Lost Notes! In Memoriam...
The "process" of writing seems to be breaking down to a point where the documentation (where and how the writing is put down) IS the process. Yet the thoughts about the work always seem to exist separate from it. Alienating? Yes. Attempting to fully integrate the analog to digital is daunting, and perhaps not worth so much of the effort unless one started here in the first place.
I've always loved taking notes, but recently I've begun to realize something.. I'm a bit chained to them. I can't let the ideas go, and once they're on paper, they're like little links in a chain all wrapped around me Jacob Marley style. I recognize the kind of crazy that leads me to write a poem behind a restaurant overlooking a swatch of train track and a parking lot- the same place where a homeless woman has lately set up sleeping quarters. Or the wizened Confuscious in the Sulzer branch of the public library- always there at the same desk and chair, always compulsively writing and copying from one notebook to the next. I recently read "Outliers" by Malcom Gladwell. He quotes Ken Gould: "Education lays the foundation for a large number of the causes for metal disorder."
But the true nature of this kind of work dictates that I must keep doing whatever I'm doing in order to become literate in my own metaphor by conceptualizing (or re-conceptualizing, here, among the notes) my environment within the realms of all of my chosen activities. The redemptive cohesion of all of this being autodidactism: the world is my classroom and I am its best student.
The collected experience and memories coupled with my imagination allow me to construct an "alternate history", which is, which will be, in the greatest sense, my life's work.
But back to the practical applications: I'm typing up a lot of these notes, mostly from a scribbled-in notebook, which are ideas for stories and images and titles and research subjects and just about anything. I've typed them all up before, and with mixed feelings on the result. I ended up printing out the document, which then just became another piece of paper to carry around and scribble on. Used to carry a list of music and movies I wanted to find in my wallet in a similar manner. Gets pretty messy and you feel messy using it. Using my phone for notes and recordings is only slightly unwieldy, but moreso untrustworthy. There's really no way for me to back that information up other than to make an attempt to immediately transfer to the computer or to paper.
Does this dilemma continue ad infinitum? HA! Probably. But people ask a lot, so here's a rundown what I'm up to at the moment, and how things are going, writing-wise.
Considering the following projects:
-Reading work on video, posting to youTube.
-Typing up and editing my collected erotic fictions
-Pulling some pre-existing poems written independently of one another into a cycle.
-Reverse engineering some stories and short cell phone films I've taken by storyboarding them.
Engaging currently the following projects:
-"Artifact" series: learning vocab by writing a small poem on an envelope which includes said word, and placing the word in the envelope and placing the envelope in between book pages at the library, or taping the envelope up outside somewhere.
-"Youth in 23": one poem for each of the chapter titles of a DVD. In this case, there are 23 titles/chapters on the DVD for Francois Truffault's "400 Blows".
-Finishing up a response to Gertrude Stein's "Tender Buttons", started back in college and titled "OBJECTIVES".
- "Rock Star" Poetry/Short Fiction Series: This took off all the sudden. I wrote one about John Lennon in a hotel and Tom Verlaine on a rooftop and now I've got about 10 of these.. so they are taking on a life of their own at this point. Fun to write and good practice.
- And, of course, Editing!!- 5 short stories left of a cashe of typed work to complete.
AND HEY,
I turned 30 today. I swear I got cuter...
I've always loved taking notes, but recently I've begun to realize something.. I'm a bit chained to them. I can't let the ideas go, and once they're on paper, they're like little links in a chain all wrapped around me Jacob Marley style. I recognize the kind of crazy that leads me to write a poem behind a restaurant overlooking a swatch of train track and a parking lot- the same place where a homeless woman has lately set up sleeping quarters. Or the wizened Confuscious in the Sulzer branch of the public library- always there at the same desk and chair, always compulsively writing and copying from one notebook to the next. I recently read "Outliers" by Malcom Gladwell. He quotes Ken Gould: "Education lays the foundation for a large number of the causes for metal disorder."
But the true nature of this kind of work dictates that I must keep doing whatever I'm doing in order to become literate in my own metaphor by conceptualizing (or re-conceptualizing, here, among the notes) my environment within the realms of all of my chosen activities. The redemptive cohesion of all of this being autodidactism: the world is my classroom and I am its best student.
The collected experience and memories coupled with my imagination allow me to construct an "alternate history", which is, which will be, in the greatest sense, my life's work.
But back to the practical applications: I'm typing up a lot of these notes, mostly from a scribbled-in notebook, which are ideas for stories and images and titles and research subjects and just about anything. I've typed them all up before, and with mixed feelings on the result. I ended up printing out the document, which then just became another piece of paper to carry around and scribble on. Used to carry a list of music and movies I wanted to find in my wallet in a similar manner. Gets pretty messy and you feel messy using it. Using my phone for notes and recordings is only slightly unwieldy, but moreso untrustworthy. There's really no way for me to back that information up other than to make an attempt to immediately transfer to the computer or to paper.
Does this dilemma continue ad infinitum? HA! Probably. But people ask a lot, so here's a rundown what I'm up to at the moment, and how things are going, writing-wise.
Considering the following projects:
-Reading work on video, posting to youTube.
-Typing up and editing my collected erotic fictions
-Pulling some pre-existing poems written independently of one another into a cycle.
-Reverse engineering some stories and short cell phone films I've taken by storyboarding them.
Engaging currently the following projects:
-"Artifact" series: learning vocab by writing a small poem on an envelope which includes said word, and placing the word in the envelope and placing the envelope in between book pages at the library, or taping the envelope up outside somewhere.
-"Youth in 23": one poem for each of the chapter titles of a DVD. In this case, there are 23 titles/chapters on the DVD for Francois Truffault's "400 Blows".
-Finishing up a response to Gertrude Stein's "Tender Buttons", started back in college and titled "OBJECTIVES".
- "Rock Star" Poetry/Short Fiction Series: This took off all the sudden. I wrote one about John Lennon in a hotel and Tom Verlaine on a rooftop and now I've got about 10 of these.. so they are taking on a life of their own at this point. Fun to write and good practice.
- And, of course, Editing!!- 5 short stories left of a cashe of typed work to complete.
AND HEY,
I turned 30 today. I swear I got cuter...
Friday, January 8, 2010
Today- more cool shit happened...
Modeled for a portrait by Lawrence "Larry" Paulsen:
http://thisoldpalette.blogspot.com/2009/09/exhibit-james-f-hajicek-and-lawrence.html
Talked to my boyfriend on the telephone. He told me about a fantasy he had of my dusty bare feet over warm wooden floors.
Watched a documentary on Miles Davis and his transition to electric instruments. "A Different Kind of Blue".
Dressed warmly and went out into the weather despite sneezes and coughs. Watching snow materialize and make its descent is still an incredible, whimsical thing.
I got a new second cousin, and he's half-japanese! Oliver Ryuu Tsumori-Rinzler. 6lbs. 9oz. Born on his great-grandfather's birthday- Jan 8.
Tomorrow's forecast: more cool shit happening...
http://thisoldpalette.blogspot.com/2009/09/exhibit-james-f-hajicek-and-lawrence.html
Talked to my boyfriend on the telephone. He told me about a fantasy he had of my dusty bare feet over warm wooden floors.
Watched a documentary on Miles Davis and his transition to electric instruments. "A Different Kind of Blue".
Dressed warmly and went out into the weather despite sneezes and coughs. Watching snow materialize and make its descent is still an incredible, whimsical thing.
I got a new second cousin, and he's half-japanese! Oliver Ryuu Tsumori-Rinzler. 6lbs. 9oz. Born on his great-grandfather's birthday- Jan 8.
Tomorrow's forecast: more cool shit happening...
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Illumi-naughty!
Just came up with a gang sign for the masons.
maybe they've already thought of this one.. sweet tho.
So!
Totally unrelated-
A few notes on the art of Figure Modeling!
In Chicago, IL, the going base rate for a FM is $15-20/hr. Sometimes with tips, as people may take photographs in order to reference the pose and finish the painting/drawing later. Again, this rate varies. Lots of models out there are working to raise it, and to see to better working conditions.
Visually, artists seem to prefer few tattoos & piercings and if you can SIT STILL, that's a big plus. Believe it or not, people are getting into this gig w/o much discipline so far as holding a pose goes. As well as staying awake! In addition, flexibility is helpful, altho' most artists don't necessarily want to draw you going thru your yoga routine. A no-brainer perhaps, based on the above stated- but get enough rest and an average amount of stretching and exercise.
Further points:
Hydration- Take a water bottle. Most places provide a heater/fan, but clean water may be hard to procure. Esp. if you have to use the bathroom on that precious 5-min break instead of searching for a cup. Pre-hydration is key for almost anything physical one could be doing.
Light snack- Recommendations include: nuts and raisins, fruit (dried or whole) and other granola/trail mix concoctions like energy bars and other not-so-messy hand-held foods that require little reheating or clean up.
Other- Take a robe for comfort (it can get pretty cold in some of these classrooms) as well as modesty, and reading material.
Having trouble with feeling faint or tired even though you've taken care of these things?-
Ask for a break: If you need it, the rest is well deserved and the artists will be accommodating. The hardest time to re-assume the pose is the 1st time getting back into it. So while you're sitting, memorize how your body feels against itself, and against the furniture. Try to steady your gaze at something. And you don't want to stare down the artists while they're studying you.
If you're holding a longer pose, most artists will "tape" you (altho' potentially not very carefully) in order to help you get back into the pose. The hardest time to do this seems to be when you must resume the pose after the first 25-30 minutes. Here's a hint- your head will go where your eyes do, so you can also re-assume a head position, difficult or easy, by closing one eye, then the other while looking down at the end of your nose and remembering what it falls against.
Also: Always anticipate the next pose: Even if you're holding one for the entire "session" (a word which can be used interchangeably to describe all or a portion of a sitting). This keeps you engaged and you can help yourself do this by looking at art both modern and classic. By increasing your exposure to and vocabulary for poses you simultaneously increase your own creative capacities.
Enjoy!
F a n t a s y F e s t i v a l
In a perfect world, this bill is go-
Peter Gabriel & Tom Waits (and a 22 piece orchestra)
Sonic Youth
Huey Lewis & The News
Daft Punk (feat. Bjork)
Jon Spencer Blues Explosion
Fulflej
Astor Piazzolla
Lee Hazlewood and the Raveonettes (all acoustic set)
Sunny Day Real Estate (playing Failure/Jeremy Enigk solo covers)
John Zorn (feat. Herbie Hancock)
Hot Chip & Boards of Canada present "The Official Seance For Frank Zappa"
Diamanda Galas and Fiona Apple (dualing pianos on fire!!)
Prince B (of P.M. Dawn) with TV on the Radio
Cornelius (maybe with Rob Halford)
Six Finger Satellite
PJ Harvey & M. Ward with Jonny Greenwood
Further suggestions?
And what would I call this damn thing?
Peter Gabriel & Tom Waits (and a 22 piece orchestra)
Sonic Youth
Huey Lewis & The News
Daft Punk (feat. Bjork)
Jon Spencer Blues Explosion
Fulflej
Astor Piazzolla
Lee Hazlewood and the Raveonettes (all acoustic set)
Sunny Day Real Estate (playing Failure/Jeremy Enigk solo covers)
John Zorn (feat. Herbie Hancock)
Hot Chip & Boards of Canada present "The Official Seance For Frank Zappa"
Diamanda Galas and Fiona Apple (dualing pianos on fire!!)
Prince B (of P.M. Dawn) with TV on the Radio
Cornelius (maybe with Rob Halford)
Six Finger Satellite
PJ Harvey & M. Ward with Jonny Greenwood
Further suggestions?
And what would I call this damn thing?
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Goals (?)
For 2010 and beyond, in no particular order:
- travel
- save $/light more $ on fire
- don't get pregnant or get std
- write more letters/postcards
- finish a journal
- take a class
- get published
- read more
- make my 30th b-day memorable
- go hot-air ballooning
- make more friends
- travel
- save $/light more $ on fire
- don't get pregnant or get std
- write more letters/postcards
- finish a journal
- take a class
- get published
- read more
- make my 30th b-day memorable
- go hot-air ballooning
- make more friends
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Haikuxistential
I need to find
a bartender
who is willing
to trade beer
for poems.
-
Pulling
pulled like a magnet
to nowhere like home
so where am I?
-
Thinness promoted in women
becomes a symbolic surrender
of creative power
to men.
a bartender
who is willing
to trade beer
for poems.
-
Pulling
pulled like a magnet
to nowhere like home
so where am I?
-
Thinness promoted in women
becomes a symbolic surrender
of creative power
to men.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
HAPPINESS/WISH
At the artists colony there are some rainy days and many bright days. I see them often from the one long tall window in my quarters.
I wear black slip-on shoes with thin soles.
I take long walks in the shoes and wash them once during my two month stay.
By the end they are paint splattered, dirty and torn and I cut a piece of them to keep before putting them in the incinerator with the set of clothes I have worn all month long.
I stand naked under the late September stars watching the other fire we have built on the hill near the field. Into it also goes the detritus from my cleaned studio. Most of the work produced now hangs in a hall, or given away to accompanying artists.
I had loosely packed one suitcase. A large canvas carry trunk with things that I planned on using up completely or re-purpousing- either with an established method, or a new one.
My computer and classical music.
A small plant. Paper. Colors.
There are brief meetings and some stretch into long meetings with the flavor of our company. I learn new framing skills and watch live dance performances.
I memorize a few of my own poems and subsist on tea and light evening meals.
There is a library. Vast, and in its vastness I resist the urge to consume it all.
I complete my sketchbook and model a few times for the resident sculptress.
The hottest day comes and I exhaust myself with swimming. Staying up all hours with the typewriter and an oil lamp that night. Typing into the frozen dawn.
On other nights the wine is white and glitters in my stomach as it does in my glass against the single work lamp that burns a same quiet, consistent burn.
I have eliminated more writing from a stock of old poems and stories. Recycled some ideas and forgotten others. Ready again to return to the arms of the outside world.
From a new list of all the art projects I'm interested in, I've already accomplished 4 or 5 of them. Some repeatedly, and into a series.
I light a candle, and my body feels the light from the candle.
I am as light as the candle.
I wear black slip-on shoes with thin soles.
I take long walks in the shoes and wash them once during my two month stay.
By the end they are paint splattered, dirty and torn and I cut a piece of them to keep before putting them in the incinerator with the set of clothes I have worn all month long.
I stand naked under the late September stars watching the other fire we have built on the hill near the field. Into it also goes the detritus from my cleaned studio. Most of the work produced now hangs in a hall, or given away to accompanying artists.
I had loosely packed one suitcase. A large canvas carry trunk with things that I planned on using up completely or re-purpousing- either with an established method, or a new one.
My computer and classical music.
A small plant. Paper. Colors.
There are brief meetings and some stretch into long meetings with the flavor of our company. I learn new framing skills and watch live dance performances.
I memorize a few of my own poems and subsist on tea and light evening meals.
There is a library. Vast, and in its vastness I resist the urge to consume it all.
I complete my sketchbook and model a few times for the resident sculptress.
The hottest day comes and I exhaust myself with swimming. Staying up all hours with the typewriter and an oil lamp that night. Typing into the frozen dawn.
On other nights the wine is white and glitters in my stomach as it does in my glass against the single work lamp that burns a same quiet, consistent burn.
I have eliminated more writing from a stock of old poems and stories. Recycled some ideas and forgotten others. Ready again to return to the arms of the outside world.
From a new list of all the art projects I'm interested in, I've already accomplished 4 or 5 of them. Some repeatedly, and into a series.
I light a candle, and my body feels the light from the candle.
I am as light as the candle.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
"As many yellow trumpyts as I want!" - Notes
1. http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/2720488
Goodreads. Getting into this website because its better than keeping a reading log anymore.. I guess I'm over it on paper, but not over it enough to not do it on the internet. That trend has been happening with a lot of things, and I can't say I haven't been warned.
"Love's gone paperless!"
2. "H" (fictionsandthelike.blogspot) and I go to a soul-food place on the south side last night with some of her writing student pals. I stay over and this morning on the train we talk about "genius". I tell her the word needs to take a bath. So loaded, perhaps to the point of taking the lilt and the humor out of the thing or the person to which it's applied. Nevertheless, "genius" exists in unlikely places for a reason...
What are the characteristics of the "genius/es" in your life?
3. Writing- people ask me how it's going and I've got nothing but positive things to say. More editing than writing, lately. The whole process is becoming more alive, more connected.
Put a book together for H also, using blurb.com. Expensive, but its something to show for her grad school efforts. With her novella it comes to almost 200pgs. Not bad.
Today, Little Edie Beale (of Grey Gardens fame) would have been 92. She died at 84 in '92.
So, in the name of genius-requiring-bath, this one's for her:
The Libra Man-
I
just got to find!
This green,
in this grey.
Legs fold-
push, pull, hide at clothes
reveal mother!
Maybe she, won't.
Today, I'm not ready
but it's special!
So a birthday dance
around the mansion
for him, me
you.
Hello! No, I'm not coming in!
I've just got to find!
Sunshine
today and what
I'm wearing is
just
right.
Goodreads. Getting into this website because its better than keeping a reading log anymore.. I guess I'm over it on paper, but not over it enough to not do it on the internet. That trend has been happening with a lot of things, and I can't say I haven't been warned.
"Love's gone paperless!"
2. "H" (fictionsandthelike.blogspot) and I go to a soul-food place on the south side last night with some of her writing student pals. I stay over and this morning on the train we talk about "genius". I tell her the word needs to take a bath. So loaded, perhaps to the point of taking the lilt and the humor out of the thing or the person to which it's applied. Nevertheless, "genius" exists in unlikely places for a reason...
What are the characteristics of the "genius/es" in your life?
3. Writing- people ask me how it's going and I've got nothing but positive things to say. More editing than writing, lately. The whole process is becoming more alive, more connected.
Put a book together for H also, using blurb.com. Expensive, but its something to show for her grad school efforts. With her novella it comes to almost 200pgs. Not bad.
Today, Little Edie Beale (of Grey Gardens fame) would have been 92. She died at 84 in '92.
So, in the name of genius-requiring-bath, this one's for her:
The Libra Man-
I
just got to find!
This green,
in this grey.
Legs fold-
push, pull, hide at clothes
reveal mother!
Maybe she, won't.
Today, I'm not ready
but it's special!
So a birthday dance
around the mansion
for him, me
you.
Hello! No, I'm not coming in!
I've just got to find!
Sunshine
today and what
I'm wearing is
just
right.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The cusps of words are not boundaries, but silences which make their own stories.
The greatest part of any love I have ever had was the deafening stare exchanged between my eyes and those of the man sitting next to me – the man with me in the booth across from the bar, any bar, any place at all. He faces me, the window. I face him, the crowd- we practically watch time make us older and wiser.
I find him again in a coffee shop, years later when we are different, but the stare is the same. Not the same as the gaze afforded to and from the man with whom I have just made love. In my bed, in his bed- that man, that stare is different. (All other beds are “ours".)
Beside him at the dinner table or after a game- a pause. On the roof of a building, passing a smoke back and forth between us like the few and familiar, slight but delicious, words of one poem spoken over and over. It lights our faces from the bottom with rich pre-autumn glow in the windy city night. Our silhouettes facing each other are their own brand of stare.
Then the stare of the potential lover- the man I am meeting. The briefest stop in our handshake- a break, a touch, a stare. The burning stare of a man whose look I refuse to return. The whimpering stare of a man with whom I am ending a relationship.
These stoned silences stored up in a place that memories and pictures own before words. The stare- thru a wall, from down a hallway, from a car- driving away, looking back. A final curious stare after the person you just left telling you you will never see them again.
And you are a different person for acknowledging what kind of time-mad reverence this brand of stare offers you. Stares speak. They touch on living tissue and become parasite memory. Our eyes and brain the perceiving host accosted by unrelenting heartbeats sound of blood bringing love, love, love. No stare without the lasting speech of love’s dynamic voice. The final verbal look transcending syllabic function. The deep smile in a man’s stare- revealed or hidden. The tears he finds, unwarranted in his still-dry expression. These are the shaman. These are the teachings and the practice.
I find him again in a coffee shop, years later when we are different, but the stare is the same. Not the same as the gaze afforded to and from the man with whom I have just made love. In my bed, in his bed- that man, that stare is different. (All other beds are “ours".)
Beside him at the dinner table or after a game- a pause. On the roof of a building, passing a smoke back and forth between us like the few and familiar, slight but delicious, words of one poem spoken over and over. It lights our faces from the bottom with rich pre-autumn glow in the windy city night. Our silhouettes facing each other are their own brand of stare.
Then the stare of the potential lover- the man I am meeting. The briefest stop in our handshake- a break, a touch, a stare. The burning stare of a man whose look I refuse to return. The whimpering stare of a man with whom I am ending a relationship.
These stoned silences stored up in a place that memories and pictures own before words. The stare- thru a wall, from down a hallway, from a car- driving away, looking back. A final curious stare after the person you just left telling you you will never see them again.
And you are a different person for acknowledging what kind of time-mad reverence this brand of stare offers you. Stares speak. They touch on living tissue and become parasite memory. Our eyes and brain the perceiving host accosted by unrelenting heartbeats sound of blood bringing love, love, love. No stare without the lasting speech of love’s dynamic voice. The final verbal look transcending syllabic function. The deep smile in a man’s stare- revealed or hidden. The tears he finds, unwarranted in his still-dry expression. These are the shaman. These are the teachings and the practice.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
F Y I R L
You.
You- thing with secrets.
I've never wanted any one's secrets so bad before. Do you want them?
What do you rally against now? What hurts you? Does it/do they really?
Don't you know: Every day your magic works.
I'm your best opponent; arrived at just the right moment.
Then I say goodbye when I sleep and I woke and said goodbye but I didn't know how not to. The pattern is as sharp as it is lovely.
Nights afterward I came to you remembering where to touch you and touch you to please not only me. Smashing wet kiss against your mouths having never forgotten also the taste of your hair and hands. How your feet smell pointing their flavorful toes toward me.
From epochs ago the tears I cried into the carpet, and the poems hidden in the walls nourished ivy out from the mirrors, inviting green blades of new proud grass into the toilet tank. Roots arrived from behind the refrigerator, and pushed and propped at the ends of the couch.
Home was never just this tin can, but the can and the world- every heartbeat that built it back apart and tore it back together.
All this means is-
I've been grateful to know you and love you in this world,
and I will be grateful, happy, to know and love you in the next.
You know who you are.
You- thing with secrets.
I've never wanted any one's secrets so bad before. Do you want them?
What do you rally against now? What hurts you? Does it/do they really?
Don't you know: Every day your magic works.
I'm your best opponent; arrived at just the right moment.
Then I say goodbye when I sleep and I woke and said goodbye but I didn't know how not to. The pattern is as sharp as it is lovely.
Nights afterward I came to you remembering where to touch you and touch you to please not only me. Smashing wet kiss against your mouths having never forgotten also the taste of your hair and hands. How your feet smell pointing their flavorful toes toward me.
From epochs ago the tears I cried into the carpet, and the poems hidden in the walls nourished ivy out from the mirrors, inviting green blades of new proud grass into the toilet tank. Roots arrived from behind the refrigerator, and pushed and propped at the ends of the couch.
Home was never just this tin can, but the can and the world- every heartbeat that built it back apart and tore it back together.
All this means is-
I've been grateful to know you and love you in this world,
and I will be grateful, happy, to know and love you in the next.
You know who you are.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Busier than a black hole in a galactic whorehouse
Ok-
I'm about to get all new-age and super-psychic on you, but bear with me, as some important questions are involved.
I've been casting or "pulling" runes. Runes- the ancient Nordic set of 24 symbols embodying all the world and the cycles of creation/destruction. (sometimes 25 if you count the symbol of no symbol.) Each with its own relatively hard-to-pronounce name and numeric value.
I've made my own deck of cards with a symbol on each, and have been using a small guidebook to do readings. Each reading pertaining to a specific issue or question. I've asked about relationships, friends, and most recently- work. This time pulling six runes in a specific order, and reading them according to a past-present-future outlook.
I have to say, one only invests power and respect in these things if they believe in the ability of a divination tool (tarot, palm reading, crystal balls, whatever.) to sincerely have insight into how one can CHOOSE to live; to change after connections are made based on the readings.
And...wow, guys. The runes are really working for me.
I've been wondering: are there specific archetypal "keys" that one uses to access the collective unconscious?
My work so far suggests that yes, if there were a set of keys, they are runes.
My "magic" has brought me to a certain point here. Meditation is important, as is writing. With runes I've also been doing some "dreamwork". I will usually relax and light a candle, shuffle the cards, choose one, meditate on it, attempt to respect it ceremoniously by touching it to my forehead and pillow. Then it is tucked it into my journal between the pages where I will write the next morning and compare the image and the meanings associated with it, with the download of images or dream happenings from the "collective unconscious" aka the internet of the mind. Of every mind. That's right, Jung was cooler than Freud.
Guys, I have wanted to find a way to do this for so long, and now here it is- right in front of me. I am giddy with good fortune- this is a gift, an awareness, that everyone can have. Somehow I think its foolish to assume it stops with humans.
But here's the flip: No keys needed necessarily- every idea is a doorway to what some describe as the "transcendental" state.
I'll say that again: Every Idea Is A Doorway.
Perhaps the "keys" are really only helpful at discovering and interpreting patterns after one enters a door.
But it's a relief to find that to access it, all one has to do is surrender effort. Simply breathe, and fall asleep.
PS-
On a media related note, I've been catching up on episodes of "Xavier: Renegade Angel" - Adult Swim's computer animated spastic shaman and his multi-dimentional adventures. Really an amazing comedy series that lampoons the shit out of vision quests and other ethereal hippy noise (as illustrated above!) in the name of a little bit of potty humor and triple entandres (sp?).
In a world full of decaf radio and television, I find myself turning more and more to animation for challenging content.
Let me know if you've stumbled on anything lately that's blown your mind.
XO!
I'm about to get all new-age and super-psychic on you, but bear with me, as some important questions are involved.
I've been casting or "pulling" runes. Runes- the ancient Nordic set of 24 symbols embodying all the world and the cycles of creation/destruction. (sometimes 25 if you count the symbol of no symbol.) Each with its own relatively hard-to-pronounce name and numeric value.
I've made my own deck of cards with a symbol on each, and have been using a small guidebook to do readings. Each reading pertaining to a specific issue or question. I've asked about relationships, friends, and most recently- work. This time pulling six runes in a specific order, and reading them according to a past-present-future outlook.
I have to say, one only invests power and respect in these things if they believe in the ability of a divination tool (tarot, palm reading, crystal balls, whatever.) to sincerely have insight into how one can CHOOSE to live; to change after connections are made based on the readings.
And...wow, guys. The runes are really working for me.
I've been wondering: are there specific archetypal "keys" that one uses to access the collective unconscious?
My work so far suggests that yes, if there were a set of keys, they are runes.
My "magic" has brought me to a certain point here. Meditation is important, as is writing. With runes I've also been doing some "dreamwork". I will usually relax and light a candle, shuffle the cards, choose one, meditate on it, attempt to respect it ceremoniously by touching it to my forehead and pillow. Then it is tucked it into my journal between the pages where I will write the next morning and compare the image and the meanings associated with it, with the download of images or dream happenings from the "collective unconscious" aka the internet of the mind. Of every mind. That's right, Jung was cooler than Freud.
Guys, I have wanted to find a way to do this for so long, and now here it is- right in front of me. I am giddy with good fortune- this is a gift, an awareness, that everyone can have. Somehow I think its foolish to assume it stops with humans.
But here's the flip: No keys needed necessarily- every idea is a doorway to what some describe as the "transcendental" state.
I'll say that again: Every Idea Is A Doorway.
Perhaps the "keys" are really only helpful at discovering and interpreting patterns after one enters a door.
But it's a relief to find that to access it, all one has to do is surrender effort. Simply breathe, and fall asleep.
PS-
On a media related note, I've been catching up on episodes of "Xavier: Renegade Angel" - Adult Swim's computer animated spastic shaman and his multi-dimentional adventures. Really an amazing comedy series that lampoons the shit out of vision quests and other ethereal hippy noise (as illustrated above!) in the name of a little bit of potty humor and triple entandres (sp?).
In a world full of decaf radio and television, I find myself turning more and more to animation for challenging content.
Let me know if you've stumbled on anything lately that's blown your mind.
XO!
"Four Letter World"?
Why that title?
Well, it's amazing what can happen when you realize you're sexy.
When you realize.. EVERYTHING is sexy. Sex is all over everywhere, and there's no denying our sweeter, baser nature.
"Yes, it too can happen to you!"
The dirty possibilities challenge you to explore while maintaining your innocence. Finding the courage to try new things, and still admit some ignorance to life. Step to the line and accept the calling, as it were. (A whole note on bondage/BDSM fits in here, but Ill save that.)
With that, life and love are one magnificent process- This is precisely the instruction I received upon moving to Chicago for the first time, and it's part of why I'm going back..
But getting back to the title: writing fiction has been tough for me. Its been hard to accept that brevity is my strong point when it comes to writing anything, really. I'd like to think that I have more to say, and that I can go deeper on a subject.
This is why writing erotica has been extraordinarily helpful.
When all you have to do is get 2 or more characters to get together and physically engage in some form, that single criteria frees you up to work any set of circumstances. Maybe this is a no-brainer for some, but I had to work it out.
That said, my current efforts involve putting together a short story collection that will be erotica-based, but not exclusively. The general theme will just be short fictions with a lusty underbelly;
I've decided to call it "Four Letter World".
No doubt, it will contain some four-letter words, and some 50c words. The images/product of course, will be a little more expensive. ;)
Most of the writing is complete, the editing process just begun. But I'm still very interested in fielding ideas for further writing. Got a plot line or some image or story element that you've thought about, but never thought you would write out? Let me know.
The first poem in my introductory collection Briefly, The Heart has an ending line:
"Without words they tell me: having sex is the one best way to take over the world."
And so, in the best way I know how, I will attempt to do just that. Wish me luck!
Don't worry- its going to take me awhile to find a press and get somebody to back me and market this thing, but you'll be the first to know when it hits the shelf.
Thanx, Team-
Dana
PS- (a journal entry from 6/08)
"Quick argument for the sexual revolutions' potential contributions to human longevity"
It all comes down to this: illuminating the taboo...
Anal bleaching gets us talking about our asses. Breast implants get us talking about... BOOBS! And there seems to be no end to the things we don't know about ourselves, just as there is no end to the pleasure one can receive in relaxing into the exploration of one's sexual faculties.
A stress reliever + physical equalizer, the erotic act, and the extent to which it can be discussed/shared + generally fessed-up to, is a powerful tool for life-long education. By doing so, we expand the possibilities of our nature and quite possibly the lifespan of our species.
Well, it's amazing what can happen when you realize you're sexy.
When you realize.. EVERYTHING is sexy. Sex is all over everywhere, and there's no denying our sweeter, baser nature.
"Yes, it too can happen to you!"
The dirty possibilities challenge you to explore while maintaining your innocence. Finding the courage to try new things, and still admit some ignorance to life. Step to the line and accept the calling, as it were. (A whole note on bondage/BDSM fits in here, but Ill save that.)
With that, life and love are one magnificent process- This is precisely the instruction I received upon moving to Chicago for the first time, and it's part of why I'm going back..
But getting back to the title: writing fiction has been tough for me. Its been hard to accept that brevity is my strong point when it comes to writing anything, really. I'd like to think that I have more to say, and that I can go deeper on a subject.
This is why writing erotica has been extraordinarily helpful.
When all you have to do is get 2 or more characters to get together and physically engage in some form, that single criteria frees you up to work any set of circumstances. Maybe this is a no-brainer for some, but I had to work it out.
That said, my current efforts involve putting together a short story collection that will be erotica-based, but not exclusively. The general theme will just be short fictions with a lusty underbelly;
I've decided to call it "Four Letter World".
No doubt, it will contain some four-letter words, and some 50c words. The images/product of course, will be a little more expensive. ;)
Most of the writing is complete, the editing process just begun. But I'm still very interested in fielding ideas for further writing. Got a plot line or some image or story element that you've thought about, but never thought you would write out? Let me know.
The first poem in my introductory collection Briefly, The Heart has an ending line:
"Without words they tell me: having sex is the one best way to take over the world."
And so, in the best way I know how, I will attempt to do just that. Wish me luck!
Don't worry- its going to take me awhile to find a press and get somebody to back me and market this thing, but you'll be the first to know when it hits the shelf.
Thanx, Team-
Dana
PS- (a journal entry from 6/08)
"Quick argument for the sexual revolutions' potential contributions to human longevity"
It all comes down to this: illuminating the taboo...
Anal bleaching gets us talking about our asses. Breast implants get us talking about... BOOBS! And there seems to be no end to the things we don't know about ourselves, just as there is no end to the pleasure one can receive in relaxing into the exploration of one's sexual faculties.
A stress reliever + physical equalizer, the erotic act, and the extent to which it can be discussed/shared + generally fessed-up to, is a powerful tool for life-long education. By doing so, we expand the possibilities of our nature and quite possibly the lifespan of our species.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Book of Matches
Folks-
First Post! I'm finding that I could use a new outlet on the web and I enjoy this particular blog format, so here goes. Hope to satisfy with a poem and pix of some tasty graf from a recent trip to New Orleans. Stay awesome.
- -
Book of Matches-
Window
white wash cement
Past park
embankments captured
by sculptures of men
City tide
thickened in brick
made mad to siren
and falling children.
Cigarettes, pizza.
almost cheap as free.
Stopped to read
sidewalk covenant
bristling by
excuseme
and
thankyou
The polite sneer
pressure stop
over gates to guiderails
Instant
summer
disappearances.
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