Sunday, June 27, 2010

sketchbook: joyn'n in

poetry...the subtle wind chime of zephyr lost to the percussion between rain and earth. the shoreline soothing roaring waves of the big sea, while feet sing arpeggios to the sand; our laughter slips sail into breeze. poetry...the soul speaking, singing, breathing,
                                                beating,
                                                                     believing in her tongue.

& for you?
~gg

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Moon Swings & Rants

Charles Burkowski wasn’t the poet of the human condition but the alcoholic’s condition:

The world is too busy genuflecting to the HD television. We dream of lithium and gold while the gaping ozone begins to boil the blood of grandmother oozing from her gaping wounds bleeding the seas into its last rites. We begin to dream of the apocalypse saving us from ourselves. No one is inoculated. No Signet ring will be worn to differentiate the winners from the sinners. G-d no longer intends to discriminate. The fool believes they will be saved from our ancestor’s follies while this next generation keeps the traditions of beatnik ideals and yuppie wet dreams alive and well. Why are our poets too busy writing about self inflicted love and diagnosis inherited from our family’s bad choices, weak character breeding new generations of victims. Doesn’t anyone want to model transparency and ownership?

Baby doll, if you can’t survive a day with a few bad feelings, how do you think you’re going to survive this next revolution – which will not be televised because Mamma E. knows the first way to bring us to our knees is by stomping on the boob screens via our power source – the black gold that made it to shore. While we search for the tourniquet to choke the flow, grandmother knows we have passed the line of salvation. She waits for the next thunderbolt to strike our Babeling towers of hypocrisy. Are we really likening ourselves to G-d when we fucked it up so bad? I am not a poet caught up in the guise of Cassandra spewing the obvious at the deaf throngs; too busy masturbating to Niche’s mirror. I AM Simply a woman about to bleed herself and too tired of the rhetoric thrown at me day-to-day-to-day that begs me to say, to want to scream – how are we not accountable to each other, to our Mother Earth, to the third parties orbiting around our gravitational fields if only by default? Why is it everybody else’s fault but our own? Why is the American Dream the only thing sacred?

~Just cranky tonight. I like the images, if not the misdirection in frustrations.
Maybe I should also point out, I am one of those poets who write about self inflicted love. ;). ~gg

Saturday, June 12, 2010

sketchbook: Capitol Mit Pride

I walk into door, the beat already pushing soul to move differently, greeted with kind familiarity in hugs and hello. Friends flash by in carnival fanfare flowing in music and liquor. Strangers hug the corners of my current moving through this sea. Pride, hook ups, dates, friends, straight folk who saw a party but didnt know, lovers, dancers - this ocean of gaiety spinning with me. I came here to get wrapped up in the dance. I don't bring a pack of smokes with me. I just dance. Sometimes I go outside for fresh air. Me and the bouncer chat about sex, gyrls, and smoking. Rather, we talk about her gyrls and my not smoking.  Someone at the bar turned 30, this beautiful fairy of a lass and she tells me "30 means letting go of people who you don't have time for". Really? I look around and see her x behind us. Ahhh. We are silly things trying to make sense of our emotional plains called people. I ask myself, what does 30 mean to me?  My internal dialogue snaps back "I don't know, I'll report back at 40. I came here to dance."

Friday, June 11, 2010

The Next Step is to Dance

Regarding my relationship to my addictions like smoking:

My words here feel stunted because I cannot face myself.  The first person we lie to is our self when we choose to lie to the other.  History repeats the unheard lesson - a liar who lies for you, will lie to you.  Therefore, when I lie for myself, I am capable of lying to myself.  I've seen a thousand stories that back this up.  heh, Lying is a special tool, it can be used appropriately, but too few of us take the time to know when it actually is warranted and when its simply the easiest thing to do. In theory, as we learn to grow in our own emotions and build a dialogue to express them, lying falls to the wayside for honesty and here we can discern the tool and the defence mechanism*.  I say in theory because this process is rare in my society. How many people lie to their bosses, lie for a fuck, lie about their addictions and the reasons for them, lie about how they might be responsible for their own and/or others misery (which is most often the case), lie to a partner, lie lie lie about something irrelevant for such a calculated tool. 

The more we lie for others, for our self, the harder it is to actually see the truth under the epidermis of the psyche. The more we rely on lies to expedite our choices, the harder it actually is to see the authentic truth hidden behind them. I write this because I feel like I have been doing much self lying to avoid truths too hard to face.  I don't like this at all.  Especially since I don't buy that everyone lies, so why not do it.  Blah blah blah.  Rather then relying on the lie to get me through anything, I'd rather learn how to have an honest dialogue with this self.  It is possible. 

It is possible. 

Just a thought, a challenge, a moment of letting the walls fall away.  I am feeding myself bullSh!t and calling it caviar. This is my first step to facing my truth.

*I  find the first thing folks do when discussing lying is to point out all the valid, if not extreme and unrealistic times when lying can be appropriate. So rather then get lost in the self debate about the whether the complete truth or a lie is more warranted, I will yield that lying is a tool that can be used in our social systems to negotiate our social systems.  With that said, I would argue before anyone can truly report which time is a helpful tool, one must also acknowledge its unhealthy mechanisms.  I don't buy into the idea that certain lies which are so prevelant in our society are valid. I say this because our society denounces emotions, particularly the uncomfortable ones like anxiety, shame, guilt, sadness, and grief WHICH isn't helping any of us, so just because society wants to go jump off the bridge doesn't mean it was a bright idea. I can tell my coworkers the truth about a moment without qualm or lies, and it is hearable yet candid. Once I learned the tools of conflict resolution - lying was the emotionally underdeveloped malnourished thing to do in the situation. When I stopped relying on it, it was no longer the healthiest choose in my grab bag of tools.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Found: one random thought

My temple calls to me.
The rain baptises my skin,
fleshy form, my skeleton
the infrastructure
that holds these temple walls strong.
Can you not hear the chants?
Do you not see the light
and silhouette