Wednesday, December 16, 2009

I Miss My Side Kick Piles

I need to be dressed and at the bus stop in an hour, but I feel compelled to linger with my coffee and face the page.  I don’t have time to let my thoughts pull out the poetry for my prose.  I’ll leave it for the bus ride with music in my ear, I’ll let myself swim in word play.  I am remembering grad school and how much writing on a public page helped me to get through it all.  I think I miss the overwhelming structure of busy-ness.  And I miss how words became my reprieve from my side kick of piles.

I’ve struggled with my blog persona since I’ve been out of school again. It was easier to have one subject taking up my life then to express anything about the other parts. Why? Simply, I am a private person and I like that.  I’m trying to give myself permission though to share my life and the people I love. Like Driftwood and The Chief, Stonetree and Seafarer, and so many more.  I have some great stories about these beautiful women and sometimes I want the world to see how great they are.  Sometimes I just want to share my life.  I’m not a poet either. Prose writer, yes! I never professed to be a poet, it was from the mouths of others that the title was invented.  I’ve let it linger with me, mulled it over my tongue, and realize I love my poets, but I do not want to be one.  I feel more secure in the story and the story gives me space to step outside myself.  A friend of mine would probably harp at this moment about how I am way off.  But like all things labeled, its best if I decide which labels to own and not.

And that’s about all the time I have to babble on the page. Its time to smoke one last cigarette before dressing and running to the bus.

Happy Wednesday!


Monday, December 14, 2009

What's born from me

Morning swallowed my resistance and opened this self to possibility.  If ever there was a time for a good story to be told, this is the now!

I'm done with self baked poetry defining the archetype of I. I know me, my love, how I love, and what has meaning for me.  Its time to grow up and go outside this form.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

sketchbook: A Catcher in the Rye

My inflection gives my emotions away, I hear my words punctuated like an automaton voice recording, the feeling has dissipated behind them. I am exposed by my voice, unless at work where I am conscious to sound supportive and attentive, unless sometimes strict, and I never deviate from the role. Life holds no boundaries though. Before I can process the mood, my vocal chords will flux or go taught like branches against the seasons depending on the moment. I am helpless to an attentive listener. The keyword attentive, I suppose. And then I realize there is no need to worry, no one really is listening.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

sketchbook: Hibernation Free Thought

Lingering too long with warm blankets cuddling against the morning light, I rise and swagger into my day, weary eyed and dazed.  I don’t remember much. Thoughts are gauzy puffs under my eyes until the coffee pours. Hibernation. 

I love this time of year.  Hell, I’m listening.  It’s bloody cold. Frigid in fact, and I realize I live where winter happens!  Funny how that happened. Lived all my life on this Mit. Every year the same old thing. Winds so frozen, the body winces like a punched gut.  Without a car…Mother Nature insisting we chill the fuck out…Hibernate!!!! J

It’s the perfect doctor’s note:

To Whom It May Concern:

GoGo needs to wear layers of snuggly warmth and a nice cuddly hat. She can only leave the house to work or play in the snow! All other times she must be watching movies, cooking, or drinking warm brews of various distinctions. Tis the bitterly cold season and she must hibernate. 

Mother Nature

Thursday, December 10, 2009


I love the free fall.
Jumping into infinity and letting the air fold around me.

I love the experience of those who too love the free fall.

Excuse me, if I find a fool in the woman who negates a parachute is involved.

That gravity has her way, whether she admits it or not.

That height and speed says something for the jump.

And my guilty pleasure, is watching the arrogant jump as though their own wings will carry them and watch them go SPLAT!

But not on my flight. I'll pass to the next round, my dear.

You simply are too much paperwork.

There is not enough room for you, your ego, and this self.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Beyond the ego lives spirit, beyond the spirit lives self.

A Prayer
Beyond the self,

beyond this simple form,
my thoughts send whispers
of the searching soul.

Breathe in air,
what has she carried to me?
This me,
searching in everything
outside me,
feels lost in the noise
of all those hearts beating
for the same thing.


Nope. The lot of us
is simply not getting it.
This fabric breathes
a falsetto
of the beauty, grace, and form.  
The logic
bruised and misguided.
Yet, there live the
parcels and pieces
of true beauties form, she is
a stutter-less grace,
and I know her.

Exhale the stagnate norms,
neonates of understanding,
I let go of everything
known of this self.

with the next subtle breath in
I ask with humility –
the humble part of me

who simply

wants to touch providence –
help me to release everything I know?

I came here to grow.

The Gardener Grows, The Gardener Knows When to transplat.
I am solid ground,

a continent of rich soil
to plant your roots in.

But do not abuse the opportunity,
for that is when you stick
the self in a potted form,
cramped and stale. 
Loss comes with reversal's norms.    

Sunday, December 6, 2009

randomized cohorts: we begin at the end.

~Sometimes it feels like society is just another groupie for the gonzo experience. Remember Hunter S. Thompson's side kick raped a woman and he sat in the sidelines writing about it.

~Never appreciate/trust the poet who only writes about love. Two dimentional and ego bare.  For g-d sakes, even Aphrodite had a hobby.

~I love this holiday, the music, the lights! And when there's snow its like living in Rockefeller's snow globe.

~Can we move on to climbing mountains now?

~The snow teaches me to let it fall. Eventually it melts and spring arrives.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Delicious, believable, relaxing.

Played Apples to Apples tonight. Liked this game, because my green cards were 'delicious, believable, and relaxing'. Not the sum of me, but a nice start.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009