Tuesday, February 16, 2010

sketchbook: winter commute

I trudge through snow with my ducklings on. The wind giggles against the flap of my hat. Rosey cheeks blush a pretty pink grinning with the wind’s sentiment. Sunshine in the tundra breaks through the chasm of clouds hunkering above us for days now. I admit it makes it easier, that snow glow winter light. Winter in Capitol Mit, a commuter nonetheless, I’m taking a hike every time I go outside. Mr. So-So & Grad Students What Not, don’t shovel; add onto that piles of snow plowed from the road, by the time I take a right to the Bodego, I’ve climbed a few crest or two of snow heaps.  It’s actually quiet exciting. Patches of ice rinks cross the path & I’m sliding through my day.  I try not to protest against winter and remember to play.



I trudge through snow
with
my ducklings on.
The wind giggles    against
the flap of my hat.
Rosey cheeks
blush a pretty pink
grinning with the         wind’s sentiment.
Sunshine in the tundra       breaks
through the chasm of clouds
hunkering for days now.      I admit
it makes it easier,
that snow glow winter light.
Winter in Capitol Mit,
a commuter nonetheless,
I’m taking a hike          every time
I go outside.
Mr. So-So & Grad Students What Not,
don’t shovel;
add onto that piles of
snow plowed from the road,
 by the time
        I take a right to the Bodego,
I’ve climbed a few crest or two of snow heaps. 
It’s actually quiet exciting.
Patches of ice rinks
cross the path
& I’m sliding       through      my day. 
I try not to protest            winter
and remember to play.  

Monday, February 15, 2010

sleepy drained brain

Late night blurs the thoughts and I struggle with the needle to thread these words together. The eye to eye depth lost the perception in this minute hole of opportunity. Misgauging the heft of this string, I snag the tip of thought, unraveling its intricate weave. I suck this tip against tongue hoping it will come, but am left with the threadless needle insisting it just needs to be put back in the treen.

Friday, February 12, 2010

My Ancestors Walk With Me

Winter returns with her beautiful grace.  It’s the interim between her and spring.  The birds begin to sing the morning rise again and the geese have already returned.  I like to watch the season roll in and out, particularly when they entwine like a lover in the nook of the arm.  Winter is still as cold as ever, but hints of spring bring promises that soon winter will relinquish her breath for that warm exhaling relief of spring.  And spring knows she needs winter to do her job. She doesn’t demand to be seen as better or prettier, she simply participates in this pearled string that Mother Nature has given us.  Without winter, spring cannot bloom; without spring summer cannot grow; without summer autumn cannot compost the nutrients for winter to blanket with crystalline water for Spring to feed the seeds all over again.  

I mark the seasons like my grandmother did or at least, what I remember of her.  How powerful was her grace that though I lost my grandmother at 6years old, I still try and bring a part of her into my understanding.  I mark the seasons and learn from them for my grandmother.  

Thursday, February 11, 2010

I am not a Buddha Sitting on a Lotus Flower

I am not a Buddha sitting on a lotus flower swimming in the quiet reverie of Dharma. I stumble sometimes with my own disillusionments. There are days when I doubt the compass of the sun while I trip over my own direction. Here I am flawed and imperfect. I’ll never be queen ballerina but I dance anyway. My breasts are real and swell and shrink with the salt water tides. I thrive for spontaneity while avoiding impulsivity because there is a difference. I do not rise from my bed for the same reason every day. Sometimes I make up the reasons as I go. Coffee is a great fall back when I know no other reason to wake up. I believe though there are a thousand ways to love, how I love is as selective as who I love. Though I participate in universal love, it takes practice and the ability to step outside the plumped up feathers of self-identity. I am the fool who tries to practice. I sometimes fear Western culture is the genocide of our minds. I am pragmatic with reason and passionate with emotion, but I try to not let my heart justify manipulation nor allow the mind stagnation. I like being in the middle of the road on age – because I am closer to the person I thought I'd be in college. It is true, 30 is the new twenty. There is room here to breathe. My friends are as vast as my interest. I know that even at my “age” what I know hasn’t been learned by everyone yet. Age is irrelevant to experience and not all experiences are weighted the same on this learning curve. I admit I’m behind. I’d rather take on a mountain then take on a mistress/adultery. I’d prefer lots of sex over the convent of living. I’d like to wait with healthy sensuality then leap at everything my heart desires because sometimes it wants old habits disguised in a love. I practice masturbation as catharsis. I sometimes spend way too long arguing with the hierophant in my head. I read sutras but sometimes don’t understand them. I remembered ‘Dukkha’ means suffering solely because the phenotics of the word reminds me of poop.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

wicked tired

working the midnight shift and wicked tired with a capitol Yawn. creative juices have been limited to the paintbrush ap on my computer. i believe it is official. i am brain dead. time of death, 6:03 am.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

para vivir

We pander the thoughts of ourselves, offering up some resemblance of what dances in our heads. We stagger and glide, sledding down the slopes of understanding. We trudge and skip up those same hills and mountains. We all have voices bantering away in our heads as our hearts plunk at the chords of our own providence.  We are the story tellers who bare the exposure of our days in the retelling of significance.  I wouldn’t say I am indentured to this craft, but it does strum in every cell of me, and I wake up every morning, if only to show up and be present for it.  

Friday, February 5, 2010

sketchbook: calling directions

Here I go, carrying this self forward, step by step, subtle jaunt dancing, stomping, fumbling and floating asunder.  Here I am. Little ole me, strumming the chords of life, living, being…We certainly learn as we apply, don’t we? Aaah, I breathe in all the strength of me, settling hip into the flowing currents and speak truth to the sky, here I am!  I call to my weather vane; she bounces on her pointy stick and twirls like a pinwheel, we float side by side. Here I am.  I hold this asunder with patience while the current drifts us by.

Here I go,
carrying this self forward,
step by step,
subtle jaunt dancing,
stomping,
fumbling and floating asunder. 
Here I am.
Little ole me
strumming the chords of life,
living,
being…
We certainly learn as we apply,
don’t we?
Aaah,
I breathe in all the strength of me,
settling hip into
the flowing currents
speak truth to the sky,
here I am! 
I call to my weather vane;
she bounces on her pointy stick
and twirls like a pinwheel,
we float side by side.
Here I am. 
I hold this asunder
with patience
while the current drifts us by. 

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Interview with a Mit Smoker

GoGo:
So you’ve been smoking for a while now?

Internal Dialogue:
Yep, since the Spring of my 18th year when my heartstruck offered me one. I had dreams about smoking before this. The temptation. The inhaling. Probably because I spent my whole life with a smoker…got the itch way before I ever had one. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t my Mother’s fault. I took the first hit. I knew better. I also knew I wanted a taboo to rebel against my current understanding of things and how I did love my heartstruck. So, yeah, I’ve been smoking for a minute or two.  It wasn’t much at first and I was able to quit in the summers.

GoGo:
How many times have you tried to quit?

Internal Dialogue:
What do those packets say, ‘Never stop quitting’. So, I’m gonna say once. I tried once and haven’t stopped trying.  

GoGo:
Sounds like you want to quit smoking?

Internal Dialogue:
Sure.

GoGo:
What are the precipitating reasons for quitting?

Internal Dialogue:
Ah, now that’s a question. To be honest, if honesty is ever anything I never gave you, that is certainly a complicated answer.  I could say because smoking is smelly, because people don’t like me smoking, because its unhealthy….yadda yadda yadda.  But the truth is, there is a part of me that doesn’t buy into that. Its smelly? Have you ever smelled a silent fart of a vegetarian?! If smelly was a good enough reason alone to quit something we’d all have to eat fartless foods.  And as for people who don’t like me smoking, well I’ve found in my life time there is always something somebody else doesn’t like about me.  My g-d, how I remember my childhood when that group of kids beat me because I protected that nerdy kid from getting his glasses broke.  Told me I was a faggot lover and proceeded to try and shame me for speaking outside the crowd’s way. It’s hard to react to people not liking something about me after that.  

Unhealthy? Yes. Exactly the reason. I want to quit so I can breathe. I want to climb a mountain.  I want to do it on my 70th birth year too, so I need to repair so I can get there.  It’s a silly dream, I know, but I figure it will give me the rush I need to handle the next 30 years after.  I have a date with a time capsule on my hundredth birthday, buried near the library of my home town.  It wasn’t buried by me.  It was buried when I was born by random people at that time. I was born in 1976, so its just coincidence there is a capsule waiting to be open. I figure I got a good chance to open it since the competition will probably have died off and I’ve always been so damn curious what’s in that box!

GoGo:
What do you think about the new Mit law where you cannot smoke in any public space outside or in?

Internal Dialogue:
Well to be honest I’m not going to participate in civil disobedience on this one. I should! I believe full heartedly in civil disobedience when laws are oppressive in nature. Don’t get me wrong, I think all public spaces should be smoke free.  As a smoker, I need to remember those dreams I had before I started smoking.  I knew how to inhale long before I ever did.  2nd hand smoke kills.  

GoGo:
If you agree with the law, why do you question it then?

Internal Dialogue:
Its simple, take out smoking and add homo, black, poor, white, Chicano, rich, dogs, beautiful people, ugly or fat…whatever. Pick something close to your heart and imagine a world that dictates it cannot be there AT ALL because they don’t agree with it.  I shutter at laws that confine and bind in such absolute terms.  You see, Oppression is such a precarious thing, it doesn’t give a flying fuck who it oppresses, just that its tools are re-instilled to do so.  

GoGo:
So what is your solution?

Internal Dialogue:
For what?

GoGo:
How do we stop smokers from killing themselves?

Internal Dialogue:
We don’t.

GoGo:
Why won’t you participate in civil disobedience then?

Internal Dialogue:
I have bigger things to resist in this nation.  I don’t want it to get lost in the diatribes of smoking.  I do have to say though, its going to be nice to not be reminded of cigarettes every time I go outside.  Still it sucks to be reminded that it’s so easy for our society to create laws to suppress rather then laws to transcend the people.  Ah, but this isn’t an interview on that. It’s about smoking and I’ve done that.  Excuse me; I want to go smoke while I still can.