Friday, March 28, 2008

80/365 - 82/365: On the Road

80/365 Ohio
You’re a liar. You say your coffee shops are 24 hour, but no they are not. Driving at night, needing joe’s boost, I believed your signs. I’m never trusting you again.

81/365 Barbara
Hall Manager, collecting her cut, nice woman. Overwhelmed her senses with the amount of music I sell, boxes and boxes, until she just agreed to do cash box count. Its easier.

82/365 Officer
My turn was cut off by a fleet of officers blocking the way, I decide to stop and take photos. He told me that someone threatened to blow up the Y.

i am a participant of x365.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

War in Iraq DICK chaney says SO

This video says much about our war.

The 4,000 soldier died today, there are vigil happening all over the country. Is there one in your community? Let me know if you attend, send pictures to me and I will post them.


Mutual Kumquat singing Baghdad Morning

Check out this song. ~GoGo

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Change? Job to Really Crappy Dating Pool

A few weeks ago I decided I had enough. I had enough with working a 40 hour job, plus a 22 hour part time job and the additional 8 hours at the farmer’s market. Though I have appreciated the extra money, I am tired all the time. If you read me, you know I don’t like feeling tired.

I am a lucky person. I have jobs. Some folks in Michigan don’t have any. I also found great places to work with good people. Technically I am at the St@te job temporarily until I find that “Other” part-time job to supplement my part-time mental health job I have with insurance. Yeah, I know I’m a lucky bastard to have a part-time job with health insurance and beni’s. That’s why I can look for a second part time job that I want to do, not have-to-do...there is a difference. I also do not have to work a 40 hour a week job either…though technically I am working over 40 right now. Confused? Me too. I am not a fan of the 8-5pm workday. It eats a chunk out of life and inevitably I have to take time off of work to see the doctor or go to fun things. Having two 20 hour jobs gives me more flexibility….trust me.

A few weeks ago, I got a name plate at the temporary job. I’ve been here so long folks need to know who I am. Ugh. I like the peeps here, I am bored as hell with the stapling, so I decided it was time to call in a favor from the universe to “get the change” happening. I believe the prayer went something like this:

“I’ve been at the St@te since November. I have a name plate. They put me on the cleaning list! I needed out now”.

Wham, bam, and this is why I heart the universe, I think I may finally have a job that I want. I don’t know yet. I even wonder if it’s taboo to talk about this until I do know for sure, but whatever, I need something to post about. I appreciate the grace of knowing things can work out as long as we do our part in “the working it out process”. In my world, I see most things like this:

Me: Conviction, plan, resources, positive outlook after brooding.
Universe: Provides exactly what I "need" once I stop brooding.

Um that's need not want.

I don’t know if I have the job. But it feels like the right job, the one I have been waiting to get. It’s certainly in the direction I am looking for, which is social advocacy at the community level working with lower income communities. It’d be hard work, but I learned a long time ago that the universe gave me the exact skills I needed to deal with hard. Trust me on this.

My patience is worn though. I really want this job. I think I’d be disappointed if I didn’t get it. More so, I think I might explode from another few months of stapling.

Whatever. Thank you universe for always giving me what I need…now please send me the right kind of gyrl (someone i'd actually date) and not women who tell me things like "I'm going to F$%K you so good, you’ll think I’m g-d.” Seriously, I prefer that kind of language after we…I don’t know go out to dinner not the first SECOND I MEET YOU! I deserve better then this, so, Universe, consider this one in writing.


Monday, March 24, 2008

digging out the rough drafts

Old draft of a prose long since changed. Thought I'd share the original. I never wrote the date on this piece, but I know its from Summer 2007. This is actually from the sketchbook and I later made into a Sastina, currently waiting to be published. :)

Sketch: Beauty's Art Gallery
She wore her lovers like an art gallery showing me each portrait she took. Her fingers rubbing the matt finish, she had only one thing to say, her voice a soft coil bouncing, “Look how pretty.” Over and over, the glistening brightness of lovers capture in a moment, her portfolio of experience. She catalogued them all under beautiful, a priceless collection of aesthetics, her two-dimensional homage to love. A tribute to how beauty finds her, I couldn’t help but want to scratch below the surface. Flecking the sheen, it was so brittle, exposing conflict without much resolution. Though her lovers were beautiful, the relationship wore an ugly tinge, and as I walked her art gallery, her master pieces became copies of the same theme – Venus could have lived among those walls and all I could see was her master piece to her insecurity.

77/365 - 79/365: Three Mikes

77/365 Mikey
Explorer of life’s stories, he sang to me on the over night job while we pined for dawn. Even wrote me my own song. Our shoes will anonymously clink together someday.

78/365 Mikel
Wrote me into a comic strip, this Mighty Mandu. He answered, “magic box,” guiding us through our trip that spring night around campus. Appreciated sentiments remembered under the sediment of time.

79/365 Michael
Created his own successful zine. His smile a left over from childhood, he seemed so innocent when happy. An archipelago nature, he had the ability to bring scattered eclectic masses together.

i am a participant of x365.

Friday, March 21, 2008


30 minutes left at work. Its the slowest 30, ever!

Thursday, March 20, 2008

74/365 - 76/365: i never realized until this day...

74/365 Grandpa B
I don’t know his first name! Irish red, beard scruffily to the touch, smelled of Old Spice and wore suits while driving a Cadillac. Died within a year after Grandma, heart-broken.

75/365 Gladis
Great Aunt. nimble fingers, blacken ash hair, grew up a Tennessee Ridge-runner. Taught me the statement “I’ll respect you if you respect me” is “a cock’s shit”. Respect intertwines with integrity.

76/365 Inese’
Punk gyrl scientist neighbor, she spent her days dividing cell nuclei and her nights partying. Her spirit like breath on the nape of the neck, she taught me my Name's Day.

i am a participant of x365.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Girls Rock! The Movie

And then the world becomes a better place.


i can't eat the strawberry, i'll get fat

I’ve boxed myself into one of those mental corners with tigers above and below. No wait…am I dangling from an edge eating my last strawberry before the inevitable end? Perhaps I’m just growing out of my skin, shedding what I have grown out of.

My insecurities don’t work for me anymore. Here I am trying to find my beauty under all that ugly heaped on me from my past. There ain’t nothing like growing up in a misogynistic society, where the construct of a woman is in how she looks, even among us women folk we’re measuring acceptance on the sliding scale of pretty. Yeah, I never measured up. That’s okay though, I’m 5’11” and too tall to fit into those social norms. So, I spent my time creating my own norms. I suppose I can do that since I am always taller and become the biggest object around, I have used my own gravitational pull to attract those I want in my revolutions.

This GoGo can be friends with the prom queen and the punk rock chick solely because I want to these days. In that caveat of searching for acceptance, I realized we are all right there dangling, forced to appreciate our last fruit plucked before the end. If you know this, then suddenly social pomp and circumstance becomes irrelevant and you are not alone as women dangle all around. Damn, those tigers are getting a good meal.

Accept I’m still trying to find acceptance from women higher up on the ledge. Mental metaphor getting twisted here, I find myself wondering if a women falls will it feed the tiger’s appetite and save me? What an ugly thought not perpetuated by an ugly past, but my own need to be vanity’s best friend, I justify the thought like Whiteman Joe who thinks its just the way it goes, if I am stuck in this system I just want to be on top. And here I am morally incontinent while hanging off the ledge.

And my stomach turns from the thought. See, I can justify my insecurity from a really fucked up past, passing into my present because of something someone once said, “You are not meant to be loved.” I spent so much of my time trying to prove the contradiction, I got caught up in the same game I’ve never been able to win – acceptance on that sliding scale of pretty. Except, what does that say about security? Doesn’t sound right for me to invest my security on the same damn thing that got me stuck on the side of a cliff in the first place, does it.

So, how do I get down? I’m not prone to accept my slot in society letting go and diving head first into the gullet of a beast. And yet, waiting for all the other women to fall while I yank on the backs of others higher then me isn’t working either. Can I just be me, as is, rotating my life around my own sense of beauty and be fine? Can I convince all of us women to come together and build a ladder for all our safety? I do wish we could.

Or perhaps it’s as simple as twisting this twisted mental metaphor again and see my insecurities dangling, my integrity their last meal, my gift to them before they simply let go and get devoured…

Just a mad mess of a rough draft.

Monday, March 17, 2008

70/365 - 73/365: character

70/365 Dorothy
Spite fire tongue loaded with righteous indignation for our government and our soldiers dying. I helped her rebuild a house, she was in her 70s, scrubbing and transforming her new home.

71/365 Tiya
She picked out her engagement ring even before knowing the guy, so she could tell him where to buy it when ready, taking a photo with her cell to show us.

72/365 M
I don’t know her. What I do know – this weekend, someone she was flirting with didn’t like the fact that she wasn’t “pretty” and planned malice intentions towards her as consequence.

73/365 Ray
Performed Jack revivals at Christian camps. Taught me palm reading. Good storyteller; his laughter cackled darkness away. Last words, “I ain’t got no more bullshit to feed ya. Love ya, Kiddo.”

i am a participant of x365.

Friday, March 14, 2008

in the self-conscious and insecure series

The day starts out sweet under a rising sun. Coffee in hand, I wait for the bus and finally feel the subtle embrace of spring warming the air around me. Hell yeah. What up spring? Welcome back.

I’m not sure, AGAIN, what I am doing with this page. If I write anymore, I have to keep it hidden away from here so that I can submit work. Though this page use to be nothing more then random scribbles about my life, there were things in those scribbles and pieces that I realized I could use for something else. Now when I write a piece, I have to pause and decide if I want to rework and submit. I do. Still I miss just writing head to finger and then posting instead of collecting every scrap of words and hording them in hopes that I can suck out the marrow in each line and apply it to publishable work. Damn ambition.

I think I still want to just jot down my life though. Why not. It keeps the fingers nimble and the mind engaged with my own story. I like you reading it too.

I’ve been trying to get comfortable writing about politics, social commentary, and the lot. Though behind this veil, I am a social justice advocate, a collective member of an anarchist info group, and actively pursuing change in our legislative system; this is a part of my life I like to just do and not bring into the writing. Guess you could say I am shy. Yeah, me. Don’t worry I hide it like I hide my social anxiety, with a twist of wrist and beautiful blue eyes. Chuckle. Seriously, I thought that if this damn public page could make it easier for me to write prose for the public view, why not try it for this area of my life. It’s not working, yet. I want to recede to just writing about daily life…and hope I bring in that part of my world too.

I like this page. I like writing. Let’s hope I can get back to feeling comfortable with it. That somehow an innocuous page among millions is a good thing for me. So excuse me if I randomly talk politics (I’ll always reference a better writer and commentator here) between random spouts about coffee drinking and living the life of a GoGo. And well, then there is the music.

Whatever. Its not like millions of us aren’t doing exactly what I am doing.


Thursday, March 13, 2008

March 20, 2003: We Sent Our Soldiers Off to War

We are coming up to our anniversary you and I.

March 20, 2003. Know the date? That was the first day we invaded Iraq, in order to "to disarm Iraq of weapons of mass destruction (WMD), to end Saddam Hussein's support for terrorism, and to free the Iraqi people."(1) How we doing with that do you think?

Five years now we’ve invested our soldiers into this invasion on Iraq. Its $720 million dollars a day to keep up this relationship, and that doesn’t include the cost of medical care for soldiers returning mamed and mentally scarred. Whatever, they should be strong enough to blow up people and not be affected in our names. What do they expect anyway. Their civic duty is to go off and do what they are told, dieing if the need arises. And why should they expect us at home citizens living the life of freedom to care that its been five years now and soldiers are still dying. Our sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, our cousins, and friends who are over there, knew what they were getting into. If Bush says it’s the right thing, who am I to quiver.

But I quiver.

We are coming up to our anniversary, people. 5 years in Iraq. Five years of sending our family members off to war. Five years of soldier’s bodies coming quitely back without flags lowered half mass. Remember the whole debate about patriotism and supporting our soldiers? Division lines were made between those who supported the war and those who supported our soldiers coming home. Ironically it was more patriotic to salute a dead man then question why my brother was going off to die anyway.

But here we are, five years later, and we’re about to quietly pass by the day when this all began. Bush promised us there were weapons remember? We send our citizens across the sea to stop the evil in this world. The USA Good Ole Boys against the devil himself until we snapped his neck and went after his minions. I know most of us didn’t agree with what was happening. Didn’t believe our president even before he could mispronounce the words mass destruction.

What gets me is we passively ate the spoon fed bull shit. It was so easy to pacify the lot of us. Divide and concor, label any kind of protest anti-patriotic, so even lowering a flag in the name of a dead soldier becomes a radical thought too volatile to claim in the name of the soldiers dying.

We are coming up to the anniversary where we asked our military to go off and fight in our name. Whether you agreed with Bush, whether I agree with Bush, these soldiers are dying in all our names. We are in a public relation mind fuck too and we passively point at our governtment and say they’re doing it, not I. But here I am writing, its been 5 years now. So many of us disagree with what is happening and yet only a few of us our speaking out about it all…and even fewer are truly honoring the soldiers across the sea in our names.

There have been 3987 American deaths since the start of our invasion, 3,848 of them since “mission accomplished” on 5/1/03.(2) The returning wounded is between 23,000 to 100,000. This doesn’t include any soldier coming back with post tramautic stress because it does affect you when you have to kill someone. This doesn’t include the over a million Iraqi citizens who have died too. Disportionate, don’t you think.

We are coming up to our anniversary. The sad thing is, I expect the motivated few of us will protest the war, taking to the streets, while our most patriotic spend their Thursday doing whatever happens on Thursdays – working and hopping I suppose. I know who will be in the streets with me. I’ve seen them every year. I just wish I had the words to motivate the rest of us, still pretty certain this war is wrong, to go out and at least honor the soliders by remembering the day they began to die in the name of Bush’s War. In our names. To do a little more then hold out like passive little puppies for our next president to make it all better.

Happy Anniversary.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Alicia Keys, Superwoman (live @ CGI)

Dedicated to all of us.


I'm listening

Capitol Address:
2300 N. Lincoln Blvd. Room 332
Oklahoma City, OK 73105
(405) 557-7348.

District Address:
2713 Sterling Ave.,
Oklahoma City, OK 73127.


Tuesday, March 11, 2008

64/365 - 69/365: iced americano & Hitler

64/365 Spe^dway Clerk
She came into the coffee shop I worked at for a sneeze. Small iced Americano with a shot of caramel and chocolate, whip cream on top. She serves me at Spe^dway.

65/365 Mandell
Still have the picture of us, heads sticking through the plywood, bulging faces over a western theme. What was the theme of senior night? Happy Trails to you. We loved it.

66/365 Charlie
Jr. High bully who loved to remind me my class. Couldn’t bear to know a redneck hick was in AT classes. My sheer presence could flush your neck red. I loved every minute.

67/365 Josh (Junior Year, High School)
He wrote an article – homosexuals were monsters. I stood up, walked his work to the trash and tossed it to a mouth gapping room and a teacher who couldn’t stop smiling.

68/365 Edward
Introduced me to civil disobedience and self-reliance. An irreverent English teacher – wore jeans and tweed jackets with elbow patches. He’d intentionally say I was a good writer in front of Charlie.

69/365 Joe (summers in high school)
Doped-up from institutionalization, he thought he was Hitler. He’d bring you a stick and say “Shoot me” until you went bang, then he’d fall down and get to be Joe again.

69/365 Joe (alternative)
He went from Hitler to TooToos between summers, standing up when the clowns came announcing he was Dorothy and began to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” We rooted for his happiness!

i am a participant of x365.

Monday, March 10, 2008

certainly not in my interest

Did you know that about 5,000 women marched in London this Saturday? Even a harder question, would you know why?

Yeah. I didn’t think so.

This past Saturday was International Women's Day. In 1908, 15,000 women marched through New York City demanding voting rights, shorter work hours and better pay. To celebrate this extraordinary event for not only women, but really all of us, International Women’s Day was created as an avenue for folks across the world to come together in the name of women’s rights. Or at least that is how I understand this date.

I’m not surprised if few of those sporadic readers even know about the date much less that this weekend approximately 5,000 women came out to march in London for the continuing struggle of women’s rights.

I knew about it. I even searched for things to do in this Midwest town to celebrate this event. Today I decided to web search to see the news on the March in London. You know what…very little media coverage. Why am I not surprised! I know London is a huge town, but come on, I only found a single snap shot on and that was it!

This reminds me how our media coverage across the world is incredibly suppressive. I sound like a conspiracy theorist don’t I? Please don’t think I am. To be quite frank, I think we as a species are lazy and easily led. Our media coverage across the globe continues to be ran and directed by a select few who decide what is best for our interest (or rather in their own interest), and I don’t know about the United Kingdom, but here in the U.S. we are easily satisfied by reality TV shows and bad SNL skits. Who needs to know that 5,000 women marched on Saturday in London or that there is even a War happening in Iraq perpetuated by the European powers that be…oh and our soldiers are coming back with PTSD and there is no media coverage on that either. One topic at a time though!

In a day and age when the public media isn’t delivering the news we need to know. I have gone in search of voices out there willing to speak out and question our system. In this sense, I appreciate blogville for exactly what it does – gives a space for people to use their voices. I have been sifting through this electronic medium trying to find the those voices speaking for the people globally. That side bar of mine touches just a few of the places where my media coverage comes from. Its imperative, even more so then ever before that we begin to turn away from main stream media, and I would dare say, turn our backs on it shunning its hypocrisy, and turn towards alternative media.

One picture, people. One picture in the BBC news representing 5,000 women who marched in the streets. That’s not okay.

Thank you Fword and Indymedia for posting something about this march in London.

Additional Marches around the world:

Muslimah Media Watch

Sunday, March 9, 2008

can i just be like 5 years old for 5 minutes

I have terrible horrible writers block. To top it off, I got a rejection letter yesterday that I just opened. Its kinda my first official one. Okay, as a catch up, I also got two acceptance letters earlier this year, so my ratio isn’t so bad. With that said, that damn letter made me feel like a looser – a terrible, horrible writer that sucks. Who knew so much could be packed into two sentences that were pleasant, but decline my piece. Who knew I had a sensitive ego. Okay, everyone knows I have a sensitive ego. I am surprised by the gut reaction to one letter though.

Don’t worry. I so know this is insecurity and let’s face it, pout-y. Kind of like the side of this self that gets pout-y every Sunday because just once I’d like someone to surprise me and bring me dinner or something, just ‘cause they knew I was working a 16 hour day. OMG, do I really need this? No. Does one rejection letter really equate failure? No. Still here I am pouting. And now I'm pouting about pouting!

Excuse me, I have to go kiss my booboo, write my work notes and go home.

Friday, March 7, 2008

miss midwest midnight checkout queen

A cold steely day, the temperature hovers above winter. I’m riding the bus to work again these days. Wrapping myself up with warmth, winter layers down to the boots, except today I risked shoes as the clods of blackened ice has shriveled to a hop over. Ears plugged into music – McKweon, Feist, Dresdon Dolls, Ellis, Bathgate, Ezra, Dercy, the list goes on – I pause at Wig in the Box, that song from that movie.*

Bus rides are funny things, at least in this town. Usually I ride internal, listening to music, watching the moving canvass outside the window. Sometimes, something interesting happens, usually every few rides, there is something to note. Like one time, this bus driver made the lot of us get off the bus and wait for the next one. Apparently in the front of the bus a gentleman came on in a wheel chair. These boys began to make fun of the guy, loud enough the bus driver heard. No one. No one, not even me, sitting in the back listening to music, did anything to stop these teenagers use their angst for malice. So, the bus driver decided the whole bus had to go. Each and every one of us filed off, except for the guy in the wheelchair. We had to wait 20 minutes for the next bus for silently participating. I remember feeling very impressed with the bus driver as the crowd callously proclaimed them selves the victim to her cruelty. I could have argued I myself did not know what was happening, conveniently disconnected by earphones, but personally I didn’t mind being booted – I was present after all, even if checked out.

Today’s ride is quiet though. I push repeat for Wig in the Box and suddenly I am Miss Beehive 1963. I’m trying to maintain consciousness until I can get my first cup of coffee at work. I’ve been pushing myself these last few months. Trying to do it all and be it all. Working out, working three jobs, plus maintaining a social life so that this single gyrl doesn’t feel so isolated in the world. Music helps. It always does.

It’s the end of the week. This means nothing to me since I work at the farmer’s market tomorrow and Sunday is the mental health job for 16 hours. I don’t feel too bad for myself. I am very aware that this tiredness is the residuals of time off for a road trip to Ohio this week, and it wasn’t like I didn’t take last Sunday off so I could wake up late and drink coffee while reading the newspaper. Poor gyrl has to work? Poor gyrl has to make the money to maintain a life style.

Still here I am riding the bus to the St@te job, the temporary gig that has extended itself another two months OR until I find that perfect social work job I am looking for OR until I get hired in London. I push repeat again and wonder which will happen first. I wonder if only I could sow the feeling this song gives me into my actions so I can get wherever the hell I am trying to go already. It’s the routine in life that freaks me out sometimes. I can get so caught up into the things that make me feel good in life that I forget I’m not happy. It isn’t until I am standing still with only me at my side when I start to get a little nervous. We want more, remember and then I list all the more’s I want.

Except today, I’m beginning to see that to really get where I want to go – physically to London, mentally to a quieter process, emotionally to a place where this internal stain can finally be clean, and always trying to get better at writing – I need to finally accept the who I am at any given point. Silly simple, right? I’ve learned from experience though that it’s never the simplest things we figure out first and don’t we just make things complicated anyway. I make things very complicated most times. And that’s the thing about right now for me. I’m enjoying life. What? Even the working too much and being a secretary. With its time and place as impermanent, this St@te gig has been a good thing for me, teaching me all about this legislation of ours. Connecting to folks with power. Learning that red tape is sticky and pointless, they really should use duct tape. So, why is it when I am alone with me, I still feel this need to run? It’s not about going to London. I’m getting there and that’s about location. I’m talking about something more here. I guess I’m finally measuring up to this standard I’ve carried about this self and here I am still freaked out.

But then it’s too early to philosophize this life spurred by a feeling that something is missing. Or whatever. How about just being me, as is, without figuring out how to change it….we will, my internal dialogue offers kindly to that part of self who could work myself into a freak out while sitting internal on a bus. Having been there and done that, this one time I just acquiesce. So, I put down these thoughts, push repeat on my shuffle and let myself suddenly be Miss Midwest Midnight Checkout Queen.

*You can click the link, to hear the song. Its from the movie Hedwig and the angry inch.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

59/365 - 63/365: cobwebs do not live here

59/365 Heather (high school)
Quieter then most, it was my goal to get you speaking. I loved sharing time with you, Bff in High School. Maid of Honor in your wedding, honored to do so.

60/365 Marie (college)
“Thank G-d, someone real” my first thought when I met you freshman year. Introduced me to Ani DeFranco, I’m still sorry Pepe’ died under my watch. He was a good fish.

61/365 Sarah u.(college)
Impulsivity led me to knock on your door ‘cause of the vague movie quote. You answered and 2 years later I’m sharing my first apartment with you. How is New York?

62/365 Bluehair Matt (college)
spinning blur, laughter cackled towards the walls echoed back again. my themed acquaintance, good musician, twas that one night that led me to head out of town. Twenties angst and drama.

63/365 Tonya (college/underage drinking ;) )
CYA me a favor one week when I left town without telling anyone. Friends called police and you made sure my dorm room was screened before they came. Oops. smart gyrl.

i am a participant of x365.

Monday, March 3, 2008

54/365 - 58/365: odd ends in life

54/365 Schuler
7th grade Algebra teacher, called my parents, he was worried for me – suspected older brother hit me – I told my parents I was fine. He was the only teacher who noticed.

55/365 Skinner
5th grade teacher. She showed us her grandfather’s grave when we toured Silverbrook. He happened to turn his tombstone toward the street so everyone would see his name when they passed.

56/365 Billy
Good-boy, a soldier at 18, you’d bring us home copies of the constitution and gas masks for toys. That civil duty instilled in us, dissipated with the idea you could’ve died.

57/365 Robin
Southern-belled Yankee. My aunt, I appreciated visiting you and the kids when I passed through Alabama. You had your friends come over and sing for me. I like your candid politeness.

58/365 Clevey
Polished your riffle while talking about killing faggots, your words the underbelly of redneck pride. I confronted the ignorance, but waited to tell Robin I was gay until you were gone.

i am a participant of x365.