Wilderness Within

distance + soulshrapnel

2012-01-31T21:54:00.001-05:00

lately it's about the space between, the words not said, the silence in situations that drip through my head. the constriction, restriction of being bound to this place, of the same face in the mirror, of the stagnant disgrace.
my enthusiasm paired by an ironic dismay of
quietude
and rants
that are as long as the day
if i told you that my longing
to connect with all of you
was borne out of something real, something grand and something true...
would you roll me in a ball of corn and pop my kernel of hippie-fused dreamtime?
or would it be alright, dear stranger, if this world of heaven hell was neither yours or mine?
this swimming in solitude leaves pride at bay
its swallowing action and cleaving time from the day

a social butterfly and hermit fused into one
always longing for something deeper:
a rocket-ship to the sun

Around this time last year. . .

2011-12-14T04:23:00.000-05:00

Tangled in knots of you
Pulses palpating upon themselves with thoughts of the two
The biggest surprise here is what I let you have from me
I am expanded, exhausted, elated
In the ecstasy of We
I lay Awake,
~~Asleep~~
Crumbled in a reverie, of every
moment
hour
and delicious
irreverent
irascible
incendiary
-connection-
in
between
You've seen every follicle and flaw
Every detail in the sweet of me
I am your lover and your woman and your freak and I want you to devour me
Withdrawl from the chemical exchange
We've deposited in our parody
It's been 4 hours and I"m already roaring, a hungry, love drunk
Beast
She lives in me.

The latest in these esoteric adventures...

2011-10-10T19:50:00.001-04:00

--Is this guy: Bashar, as channeled through Darryl Anka. It just sounds fake. But, the thing is, the talks are REALLY good. They're ridiculously on point, well delivered and definitely uplift the vibration. That's the thing about new age aliens that supposedly visit us via channeling with/through humans:whether they're hoaxes or not, they are teaching things that have been with us eternally. Listen and you'll see, even though its easy to dismiss b/c of all the latest rage in co-creating with e.t's, it'll still wake you up. And that's all that really matters.

When you awaken with a song in your head

2011-09-30T14:16:00.001-04:00

...it's probably your subconscious trying to get clear.
I've been accused of melancholia. And I don't deny it. Sometimes you just resign yourself to the fact that these are the places where things work themselves out. They fall apart to come back together again.

I am never feeling one way at one time. There is always a swirl of emotion, two things going on simultaneously within. And I will no longer apologize for the way that I am. Evolution and Revolution. Involution. And a soundtrack that G-D gives you to make it through.

This is the song I woke up with when my eyes finally managed to remove their fodder and the lids lifted from the bags underneath. Things have been moving along so quickly lately. It's easy to slide down into disparaging places energetically. There are days when the guilt of the things I loathe torments me, for I feel dirtied by those sentiments (i.e: hating someone's ex-girlfried b/c she's a exhibitionistic cornball and you can't understand how the man you love could have spent so much time with someone that cheesy), but I know that I have a dark side which often times runs amok.
This was the song in my skull when I woke up.
It's also from one of my favorite of Madge's albums, and one of the looks I like best that she experimented with.

"The Mystery of Maybe"

2011-08-14T13:26:00.000-04:00

Maybe I'm not a writer. Maybe I'm not meant to ever choose one thing or label myself. I belong to so many tribes, live between so many worlds, it's hard to ever imagine considering my path as straightforward or concise. I am a creative spirit, but I have little to show for it. Lacking fruits of my labor, shall we say. I am an entertainer, but again, much of this exists within the context of Life, and not in a set-to-show arena. I am a nurturer, a protectress and an intellectual, but none of these things exude from me. As of late, I've had to embrace the role of leader, and realized that if I owned it, I am damn good at it. However, none of this ever feels satisfying, nothing ever satiates, and its not to say that there is some endless, abysmal void within, it is simply that I have begun to conclude that I am one of those souls, that perhaps, has already lived so many roles in former lives that this life, in many ways, seems to be filled with constant ennui. I used to be disturbed by the ennui, but I am now at peace with it. Maybe this will shift, maybe something will put fire under my ass so hard that I have no choice but to explode with momentum. It's not that I am not passionate about causes or art or change or psychology or yoga or animal welfare or fashion or dance---all the interests I always held dear remain close to my heart. Except, none of it seems that important anymore. I tangle mentally with the possibility that there is some form of complacency being born in a real way here, some lack of goal-reachng or an acceptance with where I am that is not really acceptable. Sometimes though, life, itself--the little things--get in the way. They get in the way so much that you can't always visualize where you'll be in the next 5 years or even care anymore, b/c you're worried about where you're going to live for the next 5 months. Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes warns us about this type of ennui, and I heed her teachings, b/c this very blog was built upon her wisdom and named in honor of what she bestows in her lessons. Still though, being in love and having peace there, and learning how I can not, even a little bit, deal with drama directly in my sphere, has given me some tools of maturity that, although painful to receive, have made me all the wiser. One of my closest friends told me yesterday that she worries I am not in a financially stable place, and that at our age, it's a big deal to not be creating this. I then clarified how I have no debt and though my earnings are essentially at what would be considered "poverty level" (haha!), b/c I have 0 debt or real bills besides my cell phone, that probably puts us at a similar range of earning. Ok I didn't say that last part but the point is, in order to maintain an attitude of abundance, we can't even let ourselves go there. I am at the juncture in life, where I am forging my way into "independence" and so need to be mindful of every dollar spent. But that does not mean that I am spiraling into an impoverished state of mind. Because most of us are struggling with the material form of money, it is vital that we shift into abundant thought processes, in order to maintain sanity and momentum toward our TrueWealth. The Wealth of the Inward Revolution. Maybe I'll never travel just one path and be satisfied. Maybe I'll never be one of these overly ambitious, non stop powerhouses (who generally, from what I've observed never actually seem ~~all~~ that happy or fulfilled anyway), or maybe something will open up and I will transform into Creative, Enterprising, BusinessWoman_+Writer +Performer Extrodinnaire. But I doubt it. That's not negativity. It just IS. And the next step here is--examining whether or not that truly leaves me feeling OK or whether not dreaming and thinking big scare me, b/c I am so used to desiring that which I have not yet attained or even come close to attaining. Sometimes You just need to stop longing and wishing and hoping and praying. That is called resting in the essence. And when I move into it, it feels a little strange, but so peaceful.
All I think of these days is peace.
Peace of mind, Peace in your Heart, Peace on this Complicated, Beautiful, Horrid and Astounding planet of Beings with endless potential for Evolution. . .
Let nothing disturb your Peace. If your desires are decreasing that which you quietly reside in within this moment, let them go. No one, nothing, ever can take away the gift of Peace that The Creator gives us. Even if we have unfinished karmic debts or whatever, WE make the choice to play this out as we must. Other peoples value systems on our lives are meaningless.

Your life is now worth LIVING

2011-06-11T21:40:00.000-04:00

Thanks to my occasional check ins on a certain person who's got her pulse on some very magnificent things, I came across this video. It just punched my PMS in the face with joy.

If not for the graces of FagHagdom, life would be very dull indeed.

Can you TAKE IT?!!:::-->

A talk with the Shadow Artist's Shadow, PartDeux

2011-04-14T17:14:00.000-04:00

As much as I envision myself backpacking over the planet to explore, document and tap into wonders yet unseen, and as much as I enjoy the idea of living a life of minimal maintenance, 0 attachments and in complete union with nature, I still DREAM OF DECADENCE. Let me be clear, however, b/c although worlds and desires can be fused and don't necessarily have to cancel each other out, it seems to be an effort for me, personally, to merge the two sides into one happy Gemini Package (is there even such a thing?). Of COURSE these sides can be merged, to declare otherwise would be like telling a yogi they absolutely can't eat meat or consume caffeine. Granted, the elimination of flesh and uppers benefits the practice greatly and allows for more flexibility, but I digress. Sometimes it feels as if I should bring myself to the point where I quiet all desires for hedonistic indulgence, and live a life of "perfect" health (no alcohol, no drugs, no experimenting, no vanity, no ego, just compassion and kindness--you know what I'm getting at, if not, well then, live a little); purity, stable routine and "respectable bedtimes". However, the truth is, much of the calling to indulge is simply a Creative Fire, un-churned, untouched, undernourished. Let's not even get started on the fantasies of costumes, choreography and cachaca that become increasingly fueled. At the end of the day though, I'm a misfit--don't know where I fit. Thirty years on this planet and so much time wasted has led to much artist shadowing. Basking in their audacity and talent as a means to deny my own. The time is now (how many times have we said that before?!) to release the conflict between the parts of me that may be fragmented. In Gary Zukav's "Seat of the Soul", he discusses that the soul can not be fragmented, but the personality naturally is, as it is a means to cope with the outside world and all it's facades. To close, there is only one way to demonstrate how I feel, and that of course, is with music and art (see below, of course). Gracias. Blessed Journeys to the Artist within. The CREATOR carries us along to Co-Create. Waking up to this reminder day after day, some days more loudly than others, eventually crescendoes. And THAT is when u have to make the real decisions. There are two main ingredients to this recipe for progress. Complete confidence grounded in unshakeable faith. Surely there is a way to bring these parts to make a whole, but without leaving behind one or the other--seems like a challenge, and will require the deepest and most willful intent of shadow-boxing-with-the self, to get to the root of what IS REALLY IMPORTANT.

I chose this as an example of what decadence means to me; it is as much about talent as it is about vanity as it is about basking in the glow of your hard work and FIERCNESS. Also, I'm kiiiind of obsessed w/the work of w/MissThang here and so, here we are:::

Then, there's this side of me. The Yogini, the Hippie, the Philosopher, the Writer, the Earth-Magick-Practitioner, the Naturalist, the Activist, the Gypsy.

Limbo for New Lovers

2011-03-02T22:56:00.000-05:00

I can only say in this abyss of silence that it is your lips I miss.
I'd take all the ugly words away for just a drop of your kiss. I'd say Im sorry for this world we live in and the painful words that keep this once perpetual peace, now split.
I am walking on eggshells in my own mind, out of my head, separate from time. Just let me hear your voice ~~again~~, i've counted the hours, remind me, remind me, remind me, you are mine. Not that any of this matters now. We've turned over a new piece of ourselves, and all is exposed, beating hearts and angry minds and fiery flesh. It is a rite of passage. Only now, I wonder if I will pass through it alone.

Child of Oshun Laments Her Demons

2011-02-04T04:58:00.000-05:00

Fading, falling, faltered in the foibles of a boiled wound, sipping from chalices of rage and doom. Each finger of this cold strangle grips tighter against my flesh, melting into molds of mania and disorder: repetition/escape/repetition. Shadows of she in We.

Drowning, I am perched to ask that you drink each sour note of wrath and frenzy. There is no need to filter the fate in this connection; b/c it is so perfect that at it's root could only be a gift of kinetic dismay; curdled in desire and juices, sweetened with nectars of perfect fits and disgusting anectdotes to the pulling of our skins...the push of the dissolving between the two; And the worry I have, that I can not stomach this for much longer. It toils in my soul, carving pieces of pain and past--the histories now mingled in our saliva; DNA exchanged, a cosmic rebirthing into yet again, another test, another chapter of challenge beyond articulation.

Steadfastly incredulous. What is the insatiable, insidious NEED to prove this entire thing wrong? Dashing madly from hope to doom there is an elephant in this tiny room of ours. Sneezing and coughing to tell the tale. I walked upon a hello and fell into the hold of a dark ocean below; where I floated right inside you, and you moved inTO me. Floods my subconscious, it's in my dreams--I play out variations on all our themes. There is a peak now, a changing of sorts, a misdemeanor against my sanity, a common resort/ing to, a mesh of all parties involved. Its a triangle, a vicious circle, a diamond shining in the shithole of defeat. Lost again in the cycle of scattered, irascible things unseen;
longing to tell you of these turbulent sins, but it's frightening, its a cliche in all it's glory, a predictable discourse: "it's crazed, it's too deep".

Indeed.

Past Lives

2011-01-14T19:14:00.000-05:00

It began with Cheb I Sabbah and the song "Why did I follow him" // "Esh 'dani, alash mshit". It triggered my wanderlust, my karmic questioning and most of all, sent my soul and body beyond. So I had to write about it.

Typing Fast off the Inspiration today...watch me as I GO::

The World's Famous Warrior Queen, Al Kahina (like most of these Greats, there were many names. . .). Upon further research, not surprisingly, I found how many different groups utilized her image and tweaked her story to fit their purposes and feed their motives to the masses. The truth is she was a tribal leader, a skilled and powerful force of humanity. Beyond that we don't know much. I FEEL very strongly she was gifted, SOURCED and followed her path as leader to her last days. Here is my offering to her legend. I have always known that b/c of my own mixed heritage, which has ties to the Middle East/N.Africa b/c of it's lineage, that the pull of all that is born from there draws me in intensely in the present day is natural to experience, but there is more. There are certain things, musically, that send me right into a visual journey of a story, and I can't help but conclude it is my own former journeys (cue new age woowoo music---) aka, Past Lives, that allow me to access these states of consciousness.

La Kahena, Darnna.com

La Kahena, Plfoto.com

"Dahyia Al-Kahena era judía, de ahí su nombre (Cohen, la estirpe sacerdotal israelita). Hasta ahí no pareció llegar tu guía..."
-Angel

"It is important to remember that many ancient Jewish populations were very dark-complexioned, so much so that to modern eyes we would call them black. Saying someone is Jewish or from Jewish heritage in a history text does not mean they have a "pale complexion." But, in the case of Dahiya al-Kahina, she was not just Jewish or African, but also Berber. Modern Jewish populations who comprise the majority of Jews in the U.S. and Europe are from Eastern and Northern Europe and tend to be lighter-skinned, but over the centuries, Jewish complexions have varied. For Dahiya, a Judaic-Berber-African Queen, her complexion was likely the result of both North African genetics (including Jewish communities) and a life in the saddle and sun, which would greatly deepen her Semitic/African complexion. Does any of this make her less African or Berber or Jewish? No. We should take care not to have our modern perceptions of ethnicity distract us from her legendary courage and desire to defend the indigenous communities of North Africa, including her unique Judeo-Berber family as well as local Christian Copts and Byzantines. These are traits that should be celebrated by everyone. The sources for this information are in chronicles of North Africa and Iberia, including the North African Muslim philosopher Ibn Khaldun and several much earlier chroniclers, such as Ubaud ibn Salih ibn ‘Abd al-Halim. The stories are legends and can be argued by anyone, but for historians the Jewish connection is not at all implausible because linguistics show a trail of Hebrew in the Berber language that the whimsy of legends cannot obliterate. The Mediterranean basin at the time of Dahiya was a sea of intermarriage and cultural exchanges. In no old chronicle or modern Jewish history I have read has Dahiya al-Kahina EVER been referred to as "clear-skinned"." -BDC

AND LAST TIDBIT ON THIS WARRIOR QUEEN:
http://theafrocentricexperience.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=67:dahia&catid=59:african-queens&Itemid=73

We are Warrior Women, All.as.One

2011-01-09T00:04:00.000-05:00

MentalMastication, (1)

2011-01-07T15:25:00.001-05:00

FACE! I love this shot of Kim Noorda. Yes, we get that she looks like Frederique. But, check the contrast here. Dope makeup vision executed perfectly. The soft yet subtly frosted pink of the lips and cheeks, the blue of the eyes and the darkness of the brows. Always did love played up brows. It's not an aesthetic that everyone appreciates, but it ain't goin nowhere, it's been around as long as betches had brows. So, if you ask me what I prefer in terms of extreme statements, the pencil thin look of the 20's or THIS, well, now you have my answer.

(More) FACE! SIOUXSIE SIOUX on This album cover,and ALL OF HER EXPRESSION IS EVER--so GEMINI--->

BODY! Another one of Kim Noorda, only b/c I found it and now jiz in my pants to this dress. Mostly with thoughts of it on me. Obviously. It actually looks like my prom dress, believe it or not. Yes, I was THAT girl in high school. Scrappy rebel by day, fashion adventuress by night. Well, at least I was on prom night. Which was in 1998. Don't do the math, just realize I was way ahead of my time, mmkay?? It was an all girls school and betches jaws dropped. I ain't neva scared. And you shouldn't be either. Just make sure you FIT and are in TUNE with what you put on. Or rather that it fits you. And people want to tune in to it. Ya dig?

MentalMastication, (2)

2011-01-06T02:41:00.000-05:00

::Respect to Maripol, the Magnificent & some of Her Muses. Just wanted to put this together for my own visual cravings. Still, give proper respect to the masters--they will teach YOU!::
Gotta love this one. The fabulous, the one and only, Joey Arias. My one very magical & INSANE night in the dressing room /dance floor (thanks to my lovelies Bridget Barkan and Max Antonio) at The Box with this Diva was unforgettable. Much Love & Thanks to Joey!

Pull up to my bumper baby. . .

Who do you think created Madge's looks at the start of her career? All that like a virgin shit? Yeah, Maripol's vision.

HOMAGE TO THE GREAT LADY T

2010-12-28T23:37:00.000-05:00

I've been searching through the recesses of my mind to find words to honor you. I was so changed by your offering of music, it transformed my spirit, and in your gifts, I found the real meaning of Artistry. There have been many love affairs with musicians in my mind, in my lifetime: many kindreds. But you, Lady T, reminded me that there was always beauty in the sensitivity of a tender soul's journey on Earth, and you rekindled my faith in the Divine, through your own steadfast faith.

In college, when I first fell deeply under the spell of your gift, I was a tormented soul (that hasn't changed THAT much, i still carry the edge of raw intensity and feeling, albeit, with a sunny twist) going through a tumultuous and psychologically abusive relationship. It was all I thought I could afford, romantically and my belief in "lack" led me to some dark, frightening places. The truth is though, that in all that darkness, your light found me, and through your voice and words, I realized there was a world beyond the pain, a world where pain transmutes into wisdom and art, and with your poetry, I found my own. Your words are etched in my brain, your voice, a lullaby I've carried with me from the first day I bought one of your albums. I was not and am not just a fan, I am part of your soul cluster, Teena Marie, and I am sad I never got to tell you so in person. Now, I can speak to the stars and see your face in the heavens. Your inspiration surpasses tangible reality and now the gift you've given us with your music abounds forevermore, not that there was any doubt it would have done so despite your sudden departure.

I cry not for the fact that you have left this physical plane, but b/c the tenderness of your soul entwines with mine and I recollect each experience with your songs as I collected them, studied the lines and played out the story of what led to each of your finished masterpieces. So much is focused on your skin tone. Humans are obsessed with race, it is our one "big" thing. That and "money". You knew better, you always had, like any true artist, you were pure energy SOURCED through Glory and I weep for the beauty that you bestowed. We mourn you the way we would a Queen. A Queen who took us to our most vulnerable places, our most deep, delicious devourings...back to the sky and sea again. You were Piscean Royalty, swimming both downstream and up, and your AstroKin: Jill, Erykah, Amel and so on, will share the message of that complexity through their gifts, messages and LIVES.

This is a personal testament from me to you and from this day forward I will always speak your truth to any who ask, they should all be so lucky to experience your transcendental sound. You sang from the heavens and the oceans and brought it to this Earth for mortals lucky enough to resonate with it. I adored you, Mary(Marie) Christine Brockert and I am so lucky to have experienced your MAGIC in this existence.

"when you said hello I knew all too soon you'd go/when the autumn leaves came tumbling down/i looked everywhere sunny and you could not be found/don't make this last forever, its raining january through december.../sunny skies, a tear fell from my eyes and since you went away i've been sad and blue and grey..."

New Band Discovery

2010-11-12T20:16:00.000-05:00

They do it new, but old, and new again.
Been too long since I found something I actually played over and over. From--umm--2010!

"what a wonderful surprise/bet ya gonna win/i watch your daddy's shadow, you're growin out of it..."

Homage to Wild Woman

2010-11-12T01:11:00.000-05:00

I do not pity you or cry tears of sorrow for the seeping and splitting of your heart today; I feel your pain in every particle of my being, when I laugh or cry, when I worry where my lover is, or where my life is going, I feel your journey and speak to you with the fortitude the way you would to me. I see you wrapped under the covers, bottle of wine in hand. I know the corners you hide in, which sides of your pillow are soaked with salt, how red your eyes will be the next day.

I live your shame, wear your glory, watch you clawing the walls of ego to see the bigger picture; taste the pit of fire in your stomach, the secrets in your soul, I know them all. You are my soul-reflection and with each confession and cry for help I stand tall with you, a soldier on this path, holding your hand in solidarity. You are my sister, my kin, my mirror. Each day I sing praise of your Divinity and allow anger to run its course(for when stunted it warps to rage, bloody, bleak, mute, blind). I put on armor and strip layers of a bulletproof heart so that I can see you. More often than not in my dreams I hear you. The echoes of fused laughter ring through thorny willow trees and steel clouds. Inside of them I find the center, the sweetness that is wild, the fortitude in transformation, the strength in surrendering.

"who really cares cuz its ya life, you never know, it could be great"

CONGRATULATIONS, AND WELCOME, TO BUSTING WRITERS BLOCK!

EXpired. You're gettin in the Way.. . of what I'm feelin.

2010-11-04T21:09:00.000-04:00

Let the ego speak::

You know what, exgirlfriend, all IS well with him. In fact, it's going so well he threw out your old love notes in front of me, such as to demonstrate how very much he has let go of the past. Apparently you're still holding on. And believe me sis (and i mean "sis" in a very esoteric, loose sense), it feels to me in all my powers of intuition that you, in fact, have NOT let go. Do us ALL a favor (and by "all", I am referring to the likes of your *current* love) and leave your EX alone. See, b/c I know you were (are?) the jealous type. And i feeeeeeeeeel you on it, b/c in some ways we are of the same mind. However, don't unlock the box to the pandora within me, b/c she's a banshee and a warrior and she's just waiting for a fix to feed. It's bad enough you lived with him, shared the bed that we now make love in, fucked in places we fuck now, and had old, corroded creams left behind in his medicine cabinet that I had to discard along with all the other years old relics you weren't mindful enough to scoop out from the dead space between the two of you. It's poor form to remind him of how you're doing. I say so because you assume he wants to know. You're like a cloud that hovers, always raining down on this beautiful parade. Sure, you want to be all sunshine and roses, but there's a reason why we admire the sun from afar and why roses are pase, ya dig? I know, I'm angry. I'm upset; can you blame me? He loves the hell out of me, and naturally, as is his way, loved you very much too. It's true. I know it, I feel it, and everyone else sees it, the fact that nothing can come between us (cue Sade song) ::::

but we all remember that the green eyed monster manifests in many shades, and now mine is turning RED. Get gone, little girl. Before I have to tell you twice.

Please Go

2010-09-12T19:43:00.001-04:00

what i've known has been scattered
desents into indecency
entangled lies and farewells and pieces of the beast in me
torn in two as always a conundrum wrapped in old news
each layer that has shed thus far
strangled softly in the muse
of what it seemed like when i was in it
so far from what i feel today
we grow apart together glued loosely in our frays
breathe perfect to be over this
no point in hashing out
you're patterned and imbittered
and im sober many days now
so keep far and keep going
because that's all im apt to do
but its hell to think of our wilderness
sweat heavy on our brow
of days stomping concrete and adrenaline rushes torn without
i can't stop the fury of the memory
she is heavy and hellward bound
please release me so i can do this
so i can love a man in peace
your happiness keeps me miserable
i am a hypocrite dressed in good girl sheath

Toasting to Today

2010-09-12T01:06:00.000-04:00

In the midst of watching the relationships of loved ones fall apart, I can only relish what I have been gifted for now, for all things come to an end. Even if that means they finish when our time in this physical form ends. These truths wash over me, my tears shed in compassion, in kindness, in my own pensive process of fear and hope and faith, I let salty drops roll, with a heart as raw and vulnerable as it ever was. In every piece of them, I see myself. Each reflection serving as reminder of the journey of this life.

So, as an honoring of that which IS, which shall remain for as long as it need to, I pen appreciation for that which is not perfect, and ought not to be, for best results. A good man. For a good woman.

\\IN PLACE//

He doesn't write poetry
He doesn't read fiction.
But his cookin' is mean and his kisses cause friction
Of just the right kind:
Smoldering
Quiet fire
Lit
by a stimulated mind
He's a bit neurotic, yet fares rather well when I border on psychotic.
Deliberate effort to please and keep peace
These are the pieces of the man
who holds my heart in his teeth
My wild child heart screams for higher heights,
So he offers me the ladder and says,
"Teach me how to climb".

When we verge upon immersion
Distraction rattling in our bones
There is space created
Quietly inward we go;
silencing the lie
of those afraid to be alone.
Time and time again I pick at what is "wrong"
But when I stop to replay moments,

The joy abounds; he feels like home.

Taking risks and nursing wanderlust, we speak parallel dreams
Along this abundant shared path, we dust them off.
My fear of commitment blankets the need to be close,
so close that it's daunting--
since I need always come first.
But you, you're of sweetness
of mirth
of sky and of laughter
kind passion
soul-kindred, unearthed.
We walk miles when we entangle, the whirlpool of our flesh
melting like old lovers, appointed to keep each moment fresh.
I erase your story and hear only for today.
If life is an opera,
A daydream,
I'm glad you've stayed to play.

Everyday I am proven wrong about my assumptions...

2010-08-19T02:23:00.000-04:00

...And so, It makes me weep.
But still, the green eyed monster feels so comfortable with me. Here's another one inspired by that bastard.

My illogic
has a smidgen of logic
dropped into the frame of this minds deposit
would you mind--
pause it
hammering nails into the coffin of an empty muses
throes for calls
in comparing
hues and pathways only leads to false
notions
of another
beings bettering without background on their story
sorry to fight so long
sans causes, asking the spiral
to halt
lest it should
unfold into darkness
you see her
shes so pretty
so fly
SHUT IT DOWN
the presumptuous
lies wrangled in edges too sharp to
subside, a knife
wielded for lifetimes
still sharp enough to make us cry
so you write down the words
to bring on the shut eye
but we close our lids
only to reply the hearts cues
of what you think you want that they already have
that which keeps you up at
night
and
keeps
your
happy
mad
turn off the story
and there is
at the end of this journey
only emptiness to be had
attachment to form
and visage
free fallen frames
in photos burnt to crisps
at the end of all
this clamor
silence always sits

What remains is, of course, love, love, love and love some more. Make it. Have it. Do it. Live it. Be it.
:::My most recent musical obsession, as of late, helps with all these layers, as it always does. Listen. To the music. And the lyrics. Feel this.:::

"i find shelter in this way/undercover, hide away/can you hear when i say i have never felt this way/maybe i had said something that was wrong/can i make it better with the lights turned off..../please teach me gently how to breathe/and i'll cross oceans like never before so you can feel the way i feel it too"

--Mama wants to get lucky--

2010-08-14T20:13:00.000-04:00

:This fall, footwear gets seriously sensual. So hard to resist, so fun to fantasize:

From Top to Bottom::

DG COVERED WEDGE SANDALS (Peep the quilted lining. Are you shitting me? Shut the front door. Right.Now)

ALEXANDER MC QUEEN STRETCH ANKLE BOOTS

ALEXANDER MC QUEEN EMBROIDERED WING LEATHER ANKLE BOOTS (dark angelic sex, for your feet)

MARC JACOBS SUEDE THIGH HIGH BOOTS (In plum, no less!! Heaven Have mercy on my soul!)

AND THE LOOK IM MOST EXCITED ABOUT (AS IT BRINGS BACK MEMORIES OF MIDDLE SCHOOL FAUX BAD ASSNESS)--THE COMBAT BOOT:STUDDED. YUM.

-Rhapsody for We-

2010-08-12T18:28:00.000-04:00

Calling For Love PinUp Color by ~enchantedgal on deviant ART

Going slow is new. But it's worth it, to keep tasting the likes of you. A delicious new flavor, something I thought I'd tried before. The revelation in this reverie is that there is goodness to be had once more. It's like a basket of fruit delivered from heaven, some kind of recipe for joy and liberty from the strangles of patterns and pain. I don't need to hide (that much), I don't need to try (at all), it simply IS with you. You're like the icing on my cake, the chocolate chip to my cookie dough, the prelude to the non-melancholic relief that this has proven itself to be. Perhaps it's too soon to speak. Maybe I'll have to bite my tongue later on. Possibly, maybe, when I do, it will taste like you.

"As much as I definitely enjoy solitude...I wouldn't mind perhaps spending little time with you...sometimes...sometimes... "

So WHAT?

2010-08-07T22:45:00.000-04:00

So, It's my blog. So I can fantasize all I want. I am in love with love. It's past the addiction to distraction thing. I've been highly productive this weekend, and still, love is on mah mind. It's clear. I was meant to love. So were you. To ask the simplest question: why not love love? And just, LOVE as much as you can, while you're here to do so? It's deeper than some novela soap opera co-d shit-- I don't just mean romantiCAL love, I mean, lovey-dovey connections, on earth, for lovers, for all beings, the sky, the stars, picnics, moonlight, the beginning, the end, the middle, laughter, confessions, honor, foreplay, loyalty, patience, poetry, truth, cocktails, music, dancing, friends, summertime, sunshowers, sunsets, deliciousness. And most of all, making out. Here is an homage. To kissing---::>>Cheers!

Thank You. Goodnight.

It's gonna feel real good---

2010-08-04T22:15:00.000-04:00

This woman. I MEAN---Pure inspiration. In every utterance and vibration. Thank you.

::Remind me to remember::

.Fun.Stop.

2010-08-02T04:14:00.001-04:00

I wish I could explain the fervency with which I used to sing this song. And so many like it. What the hell did I know about "talkin bout the lover in me?" If you asked me, in 1988, I probably would have thought, (bizarrely enough) that I knew very much. I have clear recollection of, first of all, thinking this woman was the most beautiful person, ever, with her Bally's-body, ringlets and fake tan. I didn't put that all together at the tender age of 8 years old, I just thought she was fly, all bows and curvy muscles and rose accessories. I was already a music and fashion junkie, and as any typical Libra rising, I was completely entranced with fashion and dancing, image and expression. What I really lived for was PopDukes takin me to the WIZ so I could scoop my next batch of tapes. Which I'd obsess over ("obsession" being an operative word in my existence thus far) until the very moment I walked into the store. Each period of time between visits would be a sweet agony, where I could decide who the next musical-flavor-of the month would be, and add them to the roster--load them into my storehouse of musical pinings.

Not that you could have told much of this by looking at my awkward, super sensitive- class clown-sometimes shy/loud/ crystal-child self, but still, inside my room, I made up entire routines and stories to go with songs like this. I always had a penchant for drama, it's inevitable as an only child that your creativity becomes your best friend. I had plenty of steadfast & loyal cousins and homies to chill with, but these worlds where I was a seductress ((Yes at age 8, I was already plotting how to deliver my speech to my crush. . Hello, Love-Junkie-Recovery, full steam ahead,---flash 10 years later to college and turbulence that rivaled the War of the Roses. LOlololol. or maybe not so 'lol', but makes for good material...---Alas, there's more where that came from)) meant so very much. I think of it as practice. I was practicing for drama since age 8. How creepy and fascinating.

Looking at this video now, I can say it's hilarious and also kind of well done, in that incredibly cheesy, 80's dance video pop/Babyface-esque kind of way. I love Babyface Kenny; Im just saying though, this was before Sheena E teamed with Prince and got even more sultry.

I like to think of myself as part of the pair of protaganists in this video, cuz who doesn't wanna crawl across the bar counter to the hottie with the body at the other end and play tonsil hockey with him? Who wouldn't I ask? hmm?? NO one. Prudes. That's who. This post is not for you. Go away.

So, that all being said, the best partof this is the ridiculous places it goes in the story line. We can, naturally attribute this to era, and of course the white horse. Also, fair mention to the fact that the video wouldn't be complete without said guy with long hair and a mesh shirt on, saxophone-syncing. Priceless. Hysterical.

Talk about the love you're missin'
May be that it's true when they say love is blind.
I can help you if you listen
I can make you feel good if you just let me try.
If everlasting love is what you're waiting for
and the time for you is just passing by.
So here I am
come walk right through my door
And in love for the rest of your life.

If you talk about good lovin'

Let's talk about the lover in me.
So don't go talk about no other

Just talk about the lover in me.

I can give you all the lovin'
But I gotta know that you're there to receive.
I can be your only woman
But I gotta feel that I'm all that you need.
I'll give you everything that I
can give and so much more
And I'll never leave you lonely at night.
So here I am
come walk right through my door
And in love for the rest of your life.

If you talk about good lovin'
...
If you talk about good lovin'
...

You talk about and dream about and
think about your lover.
Don't talk about and dream about
or think about no other.
Don't run around all over town or
searching for some other.
The love you find won't let us down
let's talk about the love.

I'll be your everything and I can
give you so much more
And I'll never leave you lonely at night. ...

If you talk about good lovin'
...
If you talk about and dream about and
think about your lover. ...

And another, which of course I'd play loudly and sing even louder to. Wow. I think i'm disturbed by the review of my love-fiend-ways before the age of 10. Identified with it. Crazy. Thanks, family.

-What it used to be-

2010-08-01T05:50:00.000-04:00

:::Nostalgia in the count of 3:::

In the middle of my meditation you were trying to dislodge
((After a lovely chat, with the dislodged, I realized you were buried in so deeply, excavation literally pulled at aortas and ventricles, internal channels & all.))
Not sure if it's a clinging or
truly,
the measure of this unfinished business.
The kinetics of the karma
leaves the layers
tightly glued together.
You sit in a room with lights
only in the shades of the stars and sun.
It stays locked, for the prisoners may intrude
chained tightly to the mess they made.
Inside veins and arteries
pressurized palpations
for acknowledgement then escape;
Never healing fully:
Where does it go, the
love linamented in razor sharp retorts and
caligulas of chatter?
Is it not impressed upon
the failed hearts dedication to sustain its mentoring
Does it not seek,
not wish to be free of the cage?
Who offered them extended stay in the house of kronos and memory?

[[I am happy to bury you. Quietly, to the sea, it will go, next lifetime or no. Our silent burial, and away, my friend, away it goes.]]

A fatal attraction to cuteness

2010-07-28T22:18:00.000-04:00

Smelled these today. They are magnificent. All of them. Made me super-happy-go-lucky. I love me some Gwen. I want them all.

"Hurry up and come and save me. . ."

Lay it to rest.

2010-07-28T03:12:00.000-04:00

"The way to rule the Universe is to expose your heart, so that others can see your heart beating, see your red flesh and see the blood pulsating through your veins and arteries." -Chogyam Trungpa

We die every day to be reborn.

Don't you tempt me with perfection
I have other things to do
I didn't burrow this far in
Just to come right back to you...
I'm going in I'm going in
I like to see you from a distance
And just barely believe
And think that
Even lost and blind
I still invented love

--RIP, Lhasa DeSela--

It's not you, it's me; But for real though.

2010-07-27T01:53:00.000-04:00

I feel like a cheating strumpet. The truth is though, after much review it's clear:: I need a break from you. You're starting to irritate me, and lately, you wear at me in ways I can't even articulate.

Allow me first to say this: I love the energy we have when we connect, all the incredible ways you test my fortitude and intelligence, strengthen my spirit and reinforce my individuality. And I love the scenes you've brought along, and the friends you've helped me make, as long as I can remain detached from it all (but usually I can't, and then it starts to hurt in weird places). I love the energy we have when we connect, it is one of a kind, irreplaceable and filled with shakti.

Still though, to be honest, I feel I know you too well. It's true what they say, you're full of surprises and you'll always keep someone on their toes, but enough is enough. Everyone you introduce me to knows everyone else and frankly, it's time for me to branch out. I mean come on, the last 3 years of my life the meaning of 6 degrees of separation has taken on such a devastatingly ironic turn that even Shakespeare would blush and nod in agreement to the imminent hiatus between us.

I'll say this much, I don't know how SOON it will arrive, I don't know in what FORM it will arrive, I don't know HOW long it will take to arrive, or even that the arrival of it will benefit me in the ways that I am so looking forward to, but I do know this much: I can not wait very much longer. I am not impatient about this change, b/c I know that impatience will only push away what I need. I will enjoy what we have for as long as it so needs to last, but often times, I want to throw up at the thought of this going on much longer. You fuck with my addictions, my fantasies and my nightmares. I need a break already. Some room to breathe. It's like I wake up in the damn morning and I'm already in the mood to tell you to just LAY THE BLUCK OFF! Nah, but I love the shit outta you, NYC. You've made me into the enigmatic lunatic I am. I just don't know what else you have to offer me at this point. I feel we've drained one another's resources.

Sometimes (SHUDDER AT THE THOUGHT), I am even close to saying you dont...you don't...inspire me anymore---but---that's not COMPLETELY true. There is no one else like you. The entire world wants to be like you, haters and all. You see though, I've known you since birth, and our relationship is quite different from those that move into your heart and then move out, just to get a taste or live out some line in their sordid, lovely stories. We were made for one another. I know, in my heart I will die with you, for I am born from and with you. Just let me go though...just for a little while.

I promise I'll come back; but you know how good it is for me to fly a bit, for a long while, so I can miss you again. I mean, take the most recent turn of events: you helped me meet that awesome guy, and gave us all that energy in our time together, you infused your magic as the moon lined higher in the sky and the sun rose, and then, you didn't even give him enough of a muse in his damn heart to simply keep the connection going. What kind of city does that?! You are supposed to have my back NO matter what. You and I, we are a force unto ourselves. Wherever and whenever we are felt, we are not forgotten. So what the hell is up already? We simply aren't meeting each others needs at this point. I'm over this. I'm bored. The same circles of people and experiences have weaved their faces so deeply into my gut that when I take a shit I see their features. See, even the way I'm writing--no one else but someone so loyal and comitted to you could write with this level of, well, grit and um, "texture", lets say texture just to fuck with the critics who want to use the word "hostile", but can go suck a salmonella egg (all in love, lovies!) for what we care (and we do, we just show it differently, ok?).

So, I guess I'm not COMPLETELY uninspired, if I'm writing you this break up/love letter/confession. But I am tired. And I am bored. And I am over the crap I see at parties and galleries and the street and the train. BORED. BORING. BEEN THERE, DONE THAT. All the fakers that aren't from here, that need to ignore to be acknowledged, the flakes, the lovers, the fighters, the dreamers, the losers, the "artists" (ha-ha-haaaa!), the rich, the homeless....I'm done. Stick a fork in me. Another gypsy-wings-clipped rant, right? WRONG. This is a testimony to you, NYC, YOU filthy, beautiful betch. I love you more than any stupid blog could describe, but I need you to release me, so I can let you go too, until we figure out what we're giving to one another. Since I've been back here, work has been turbulent, love even more complex (see: not particularly existent in the romantic sphere) and confidence, well, that's an entirely different side of the coin. But suffice it to say, you haven't done much for that as of late, either.

Listen, I'm not blaming you. It's like they say, with that obnoxious line that actually has some relevance: it's not you, it's me. Well, pathetically so, it happens to be true. Im a Gemini. I need my space. Right now I know what I need. I need hippies and open air, beaches, I need real warrior men unafraid of their hearts, women who love you instantly, b/c you both have fallopian tubes and can give birth, I need other gypsies, mountains, drum circles (Not in central or prospect park for crying out louuud), not to take the subway or sit in traffic constantly; I need more time to grow and to reconvene with nature and simplicity, and yeah, it's not fun to say, but, you do suffocate me sometimes. I'm sorry. It hurts to put it down but it's true. I used to think it was b/c I had a nomads heart and was trying to escape from myself. But it's the opposite that's true. I long to wander only so I can return to you, my love. Can't you see this by now? Don't you know? Well if you haven't felt it yet, today is the day you find clarity about us. We must find a means to part ways. It's the only way we'll continue to remain utterly, madly, eternally in love.

And when in doubt, all i need to do is listen to them; if I ever wondered if I would return back to my home--

This is the remix. All D.P's work hits so hard. Genius shit. And I don't even think they from here! Damn. They do assimilate quite well though.

And then--

The Divine Dis-ease

2010-07-21T00:38:00.000-04:00

Facing our addictions is often the hardest when we lack the essential patience it takes to master them. Asking for assistance from a Higher Power, seeking God or whatever title you give to Source, comes with a few perks, to say the least. One of them is a constant appreciation for the little things. Even if you thought you did so before, each time we tame the beast, the victory of it renews this gratitude. We see that surrender to that which guides us is just a reminder of how fragile we are. The journey is lifelong. Overcoming the pattern is a splendidly painful thing. So, we just sit with it. And it lifts.

Moray McLaren - We Got Time from David Wilson Creative on Vimeo.

1095 days too many : A final Testimony.

2010-07-14T21:35:00.001-04:00

When i hear of your new affairs i cringe
the light inside me faints to dim
Then Cosmic Intelligence kicks in, something Holy always says:
"stay silent, young souljah. not one of us can trust his whim".
We all know better--
you'll strip her peace, leaving her pretty little soul tarred & feathered.
Delicious to you and like absinthe for she,
you'll drink each other down to quench the karmic melancholy.
But, finally, i've unlocked the secret to the path of peace
and found that all the answers dwell within me
the quiet rites of what i know are deeper than the blackest sea,
farther than the bluest sky.
Hear and abide by my words:
You'll love this one once and listen twice
and inside the truth of what i've learned
the beauty of my sacrifice shall never die

You see, my friend
through tumults and unrest
and vapid, muse-lending naps upon your chest
i've learned the truth:
That just because someone's light can shine strong one day
does not grant his ways astute

He remains a poison,
a leper of sorts, immersed
in the theatrics of a constant triangle.
Today, with this tale,
i've found a way to
push my spirit into reboot
no longer forlorn or disparaging
envious, jealous or fueled with despair and mental ravaging
i accept the truth of what is, what was and how the unfolding of
these chapters
make the richness of my character
even more outstanding.

So, tonight, when you wobble on your doorstep,
lost within a dream
to supplement a substitute of self loathing never seen
when you roll and dip another
to quiet your hearts screams

I'll be watching from the mountaintop
once a Pious princess
Now a Warrior-Queen.

reveling in beauty is best therapy

2010-07-10T17:42:00.000-04:00

:::This is what falling in love could feel like. a slow burn. Like cauterizing an old wound:::

--Xavier Chassaing--

SCINTILLATION from Xavier Chassaing on Vimeo.

today

2010-07-10T04:14:00.000-04:00

We toast:
Honoring things reviewed.
After we gain clarity, we must celebrate.
So,
Here's to celibacy. Again.
And to endings, long overdue. To secrets, mind games, ego wars and turbulence.
Hold a glass up for run-ins, go-to's, confessions, t.m.i and real love making.
To booty calls (once love making), self righteous arguments (once playful banter)---
Cheers, to competition, wise moves, stupid decisions and kindly traitors.
Here's to faith, progress and good kissing. And to trying, after all. The word gets a bad rep thanks to New Age wish wash. But fuck that. Trying is better than turning away, I say.

Like this:

The crash of the Pedestal, (Part III)

2010-06-29T03:08:00.000-04:00

Dearest Wise Teacher,

Today the day arrived I never thought I'd see come to be. That's a fairly cheesy opening line but is difficult to say any other way. By my own demise, as I so often have, I've placed a dear one on a pedestal they (you) can not possibly remain on. The ensuing result is a mass of tears, disappointment, ego black outs, angry self-talk, and ranting writings. There is no one that could live up to the faulty June 13th paradox of fantasy, depth and idolatry that I manifest. I scare myself with how much rage I feel from little things, but they almost always have their root in the same issues: authority, routine, and lack of understanding/empathy. These are typical Indigo qualms, but on days like today, they hurt in places deeper than I had remembered they could. Granted, as of late I've cried for Pacha Mama, loathed corporate slobs and greed and marinated in my usual self-loathing-ever-too-dreamy-why-everybody-else-doin-their-thing-but-me bullshit, but today, this, this slight, (and a really tiny one, I admit wholeheartedly) ,this minor oversight in my abilities, has spiraled me into a place so upsetting I could do nothing but come on here and share it with a possibly small proportion of strangers and innocent cyber-by-passers. When one strives to be on a path of ego-lessness, the strain of the ego monster hurts even more. Surely we can step outside of it and see, but there are the rare occasions, like today, when we see that what we thought hurt us on an egotistical level really feels like a lack of trust in our abilities. This, all from someone who honestly fucks up just as much if not more than little ol' me...well, my friends, you can imagine the frustration. Especially when it's bathed in fawning adjectives and superflous flatteries that actually wind up feeling more passive aggressive than real and helpful.

Why, wise teacher, are things never your fault? How come all your mistakes are giggly mouthed and bright eyed? Listen here, my bushy tail and street mouth are having a harder and harder time keeping quiet and witness to all this bullshit. The yoga Godly path is one thing, but I keeps it real. Truth is GOD. And I know unflinchingly what my intent is. I feel hurt and yes, I'm lashing out a little here, but the loneliness of being so brutally honest (the way i am right now) sometimes feels unbearable. It nearly always rears its head in the work environment. That is my struggle, of course, but bringing it back to the teachings of you, Wise Teacher, if we really are all one, then own it. If I am you and you are me, then how can you be so blind to the lack of communication? It reminds me: This is why I can't or rather DON'T hold down a job, this is why I float, b/c truly, my patience for taking orders and being accountable for nonsense things wears thin. I don't like handling other peoples money and I certainly don't like handling their accusations. Those two things don't usually link but in todays blog post, my friends, they do. The best part is the people who I would most like to have read this likely will never click a link to my blog spot. They are too busy. Too busy to see my ass is not as scattered as I even thought I was myself. Too busy to see sometimes the reflection projected is skewed and blurred by their own damn smears.

I can remember from an early age having a problem with authority, as well as some very magical and important connections with my teachers. But here's the thing--- you can love your teacher until the highs of Heaven expand and land on Earth, until you are purple-blue in the face, til the cows come home and pigs fly and hell freezes over, but those mothaflowas is still human and believe you me, they will fill you with such fury sometimes you won't even know what hit you. Frankly, I'm dismayed by my anger. Granted, there are hormone issues involved, but STILL. Still, yo, this is crazy. How can I possibly learn to stop putting loved one's on pedestals? There is no realistic use in this habit, however, it is part of the way I show my love. How absurd. Maybe I'll figure this one out in this lifetime. So far the ratio of lessons learned and lessons presented: 0::10,000. Or something like that.

A Bright Light--here for a while, and back to the Celestial Realm from whence he came

2010-05-18T00:42:00.000-04:00

I decided that instead of blindly weeping every night (or whenever the feeling arose) about it until it passed, I should come on here, and attempt to write some words about our dearly departed friend, Kevin S. Belle. After all, what are blogs for, right?

Kevin S. Belle realigned with the Divine outside of physical form after 24 years on Planet Earth. He leaves behind a large group of deeply loving family members and friends, and his beloved, Kathleen, whom I met (for the first time!) at the after-funeral gathering. Kathleen is due to deliver their bundle of joy in July and I have every intention of keeping in touch with her and supporting her journey through these changes.

I scoured the net to find a good photo of him, one that jogged the memories of the time i knew him for, when we were New York Botanical Garden - ECAG (Everett Children's Adventure Garden) buddies. But i became flooded with sentiment and tears, and that good old fashioned phase of mourning: anger, began to rear it's head. I found myself kind of pissed that someone who had such an important job to do on this planet is gone. How selfish of me, yes, but such is the way of sadness, it twists up inside and you easily forget what it's really there to teach you. That crying is how the soul cleanses. And he the tears trail the devotion to the intricacies of this life. I decided to use the picture that the Christadora Group (http://www.christodora.org/english/mission/mission.html) used, b/c it was most how I recall Kev. Though each picture I found of him and the work he did brought me to further tears, it was joy that I felt, for he was so very admired and we honor him with these writings, knowing that by sharing what he did, others will be moved to continue doing the same.

It's strange how your friendship with someone does not have to be consistent for you to find that the loss of their presence on Earth cuts so deep. Kevin, to me, was a kindred amongst kindreds. We shared a Shamanic dedication to this planet and her creatures, and the animal kingdom was our playing ground. We found the joys of teaching humans about Mother Nature to be, well, second nature, as did most of our fellow ECAG STAFF. Kevin amazed me every time he spent a while with us over at the Children's Garden. He never seemed to lose his patience, his humor or his confidence. Granted, as any young man would be, surrounded by intelligent, charming, vivacious friends and such, Kevin enjoyed his share of tall tales, practical jokes, crushes, and political conversations (Bronxite's don't shy away from these things. Being a native NY'r bestows a gift for verbal sparring in all forms, friendly or otherwise) and this only added more to his already wonderful love of life and existence. This young man never ceased to amaze me, he was full of compassion, love, enthusiasm, creativity and most of all, Spirit.

We can all feel him, still and see him, in the curious, shy eyes of a bunny, or the liberating laughter of a child, and even though it's probably been over a year (could it really be?), since I had seen him, the news of his passing made me feel ill and my heart, upon discovering it, fell to my feet. In some ways, it's like we lost a soldier to fight the good fight. His love shone through him, for all that he did, and whenever I had a bad day, a nasty attitude or would snap (as I often did b/c of my hormone b.s. or just plain old tiredness and boredom with the job or the kids, or whatever inane rationale I had for my behavior), Kevin would still shine that light, never taking things personally, (or if he did, made you very aware with a joke to help you lighten the hell up). I pored through so many photos of the garden, found his facebook page and the page of his girlfriend (with a baby on the way, have mercy, when it rains it pours),and it all adds up to the same sentiment: We must love this life every moment. For every atrocious thing that happens, there are 10 more wonderful things. Humanity is indeed in a state of crisis, and long has been. In fact, when hasn't it been? So the loss of someone so dedicated to bridging the gap in our understanding of this world, of teaching the connection between humanity and the rest of the forces at work, hurts all the more. For this reason more than any, we know that his Spirit will carry on and Inspire on the highest levels. I can imagine what Kev would have been like as an older man, and I have faith that any reincarnation of that essence will bring the world much good. I know he had to go, he was called, I feel that firmly in my heart. Angels come here to do what they must and then depart. When they leave at a young age, this rings even more true. I will ask Kevin as often as I can remember to to show me what I need to do to help his vision live on. The first thing I can do is include some info on Wildlife IN THE WILD (Kev was one of the few people I knew who agreed w/me about zoo's being a miserable place, but unfortunately one that was needed. Blasted human beings ruining things, and trying to make them right with captivity. We're so smart. NOT!)--
Anyway, see this here::

nwf.org/summerguide

That made me think of him.

It's hard when you remember how fleeting life is, how bitter sweet things are, how incredibly blessed we can be if we surrender to it. Kevin lived so close to me. Right up the block almost. It's crazy how many times he may have driven by my house to reach his own,and we hadn't been in contact since I left the Garden on slightly odd terms. Now all that stuff is even more clearly in focus: the pettiness of my moods, the lack of ability to meet up with old friends from there (though I won't feel guilty about that, or I'll try not to), and most of all that despite all the social networking, I didn't keep in contact with a very important being, and now, he is no longer with us, in physical form. So, the lesson here, I suppose, is: honor those you know are dear to you, whether you were very close or even a bit friendly, but salute to their light--- b/c though we all have one, there are those blessed individuals who are able to bring theirs into focus and shine it brightly for all to bask in. It reminds me of how, not too long ago, I lost a family member, also so very loved and admired, and so young. Just about Kev's age, with aspirations similar to his. She was a fashion student who thought about marine biology, she had an infectious laugh and a light and a beauty you could see from miles away. The young, pure of heart, beautiful ones (RIP, DANIELLA ENDARA) don't stay very long here, do they?

"Beautiful ones gone too soon/Where'd you go?/ Back to the moon/to the stars where angels host/and to the One who loves you most . . . "

Gitana Conundrum: A Springtime Rumination

2010-05-02T22:39:00.000-04:00

it starts again
the dissatisfaction
the itching to crawl out of my own skin
the having to quiet down the nomad within
she begs
for wide wings and gets only a story in her head
nursing secrets for wandering,
then watching
the world spin instead
it won't last long this way
soon a bag will be on her back,
having long snuck out the secret
portal
sans goodbyes or farewells,
no grasping, no chewing cud and ringing bells
or sad stories begging to be heard
no tears left to cry
over
and
and over (wing clippings shouldn't hurt, but how would you know?)
like in junior high school, when she'd pen poems about escaping
a june 13th gypsy, always ready to run, from herself, to her sanity
movement blending a peace to satiate the wanderlust
the teachers would tell her she was full of potential
and still, she
hovered
in the ethers
part of all this, but far above
so below
She was always flying, running, swimming, kindling to GO

cooking foreign meals and
experimenting with
restaurants in the city just won't cut it anymore
she has to leave
even writing this, in attempts to find some relief:
is merely
pretending that this is happiness:
a bitter reprieve
it's true (her mother keeps reminding her)
"wherever you go,
there you are"
but she'd rather "be her", in someplace real far
leading to
a small confession:
this monotony implores a soul lobotomy, and today could be tomorrow
if the structure hadn't swayed under pestilent agronomy.

its not too late to run
said the heart to the brain's dichotomy
she was weary and bored
though there is practice to be kept
this discipline could be harnessed on a distant shore
new sands, her heart glittering wet
with possibility
solid and quiet sensibility
once more

still,
she must wait (as a captive would)
and breathe through
the present limbo
asking what's been stunted to once again, go into
a reverie of patience
that she has never had.
now that reality demands it
these fantasies look kind of sad
thats just a lie
though
(its the ego's special trick; to keep her bound and downsized, spreading rumors about failure and repeat-plights),
in truth
it is not a dream deferred,
:::but a pause:::
for the silver lines that flank the sun
knowing that when this passes,
the journey once begun, still comes.

As i was doing my laundry

2010-04-13T22:53:00.001-04:00

...and lamenting, as usual, about how guilty I felt not being happy for people's accomplishments, and feeding into the vicious cycle of envy and then guilt regarding the envy and then sadness b/c you know you are beyond this and there is no "you" or "me"-- when suddenly a song sent from the Universe, literally, (on Pandora, naturally) brings you to your knees and the tears follow in bliss, and you weep in the corner of the room (me, weeping on the floor? nevah! get yourselves a good visual here, folks) and give in to it now as you usually do except this time it feels much more safe, although there is no such thing. It was sent, just to remind you, even in your persistent hysteria and pain, that Divine Source has got your back. And maybe you don't know how you fit into all of it now, but you listen::::

Then you move into Sun Salutations and Peaceful Warrior, b/c at this point your body automatically asks your cells to do so, or vice versa rather, and then sit with the fact that as usual, you have no idea, about any of this. Why it all hurts so much. Why you've got to play out this karmic game of profound misery and beauty, and imagining that millions have it far worse and of course, far better, and in fact there is nothing wrong with your life at all, besides the fact that you are your own most horrid enemy and massively invested in unhealthy, wasteful things often times. Your baggage feels heavier now more than ever. Your heart seems so full and so broken it can only listen to music, attempt asanas with grace (while not hating the fact that you aren't cirque du soleil material) and read sacred texts. Your brain feels unable to intake any more than it is already filled with but is wide and ready for nourishment.

You miss your lost loves, who were never found to begin with. You wonder when your ship will sail in. You are very, very quiet. You ask to feel beautiful and free again, but that's all an illusory mythology in and of itself anyway, isn't it? You wish you were wealthy and traveling the world in style, as you "should" be. Whatever that means. You long for more confidence but somehow feel this non-confident self is not real at all (cuz it's not duh. "Self", what is that anyway?), it is in fact a shell protecting the brazen bitch inside ready to take on the world. It never seems to come. If so, only in tastes and tinges. Usually, while immersed in drama, drugs or sex or playing therapist, which give the impression of inner power and strength and you say hey "i did that", but then, there you lay again at that same forsaken precipice of the "but there's nothing to show" for it bullshit. Speaking of beauty, you're totally obsessed with it though no one would be able to tell from the way you look when you've left the house lately. Eyebrows merging with Frida's soul, and upper lip and skin texture resembling a pubescent sophomore anxious for the prom date that will not arrive. You realize that you've probably only felt beautiful about 3 times in the almost 3 decades you've been alive. You appreciate the people you envy, but realize that they also repulse for good reason, b/c their overconfidence seems somewhat painful to watch (what goes up must come down, kind of thing, no? maybe, no. ok. i dont know), though it's certainly gotten them to some what of a satisfied state. Again, whatever that means.

You know you're supposed to be just sitting with all this, not judging it. That is your task for the week. Part of the Yoga Homework you sort of resist and sort of embrace. And you sort of do all these things but feel so exhausted there is little speech left in your entire chatty form. It (by it I can not articulate b/c I do not know the definition just yet--or ever) changes so fast but stays the same old way. All you can find is a subtle silence. Hidden. Obscurely peaceful. When i say you i mean me meaning you who is me who may be, just maybe can relate.

Smear

2010-04-13T13:57:00.000-04:00

Funneled in the fantasy
To have a man need me desperately
to be the only one who can satiate his heart so essentially
To quiet his hunger silently, to be longed for not intermittent-but-constantly
To be the vine, the leaf and the fruit of his tree
These are the truths I confess shamelessly
For the man-child I request them from, is damaged quite thoroughly
and its easy to imagine we'd make a happy family
but truth is there's no possible peace in that reality
Since after all these years he still wants her
And we all watch, apprehensively
While he wheedles away in delusion and PCP
It's not like she would change him
or make his pain disappear miraculously
But we hope someday soon
They'll manifest equality
Because on a personal note
I'm exhausted from the
middle-play-grey-date-melancholy

HUMANE EDUCATION::THE FIRST STEPS::

2010-04-08T19:47:00.000-04:00

1. TEACH CHILDREN THAT ANIMALS HAVE FEELINGS AND SHOULD BE TREATED WITH LOVE AND KINDNESS.

2. INTEREST OTHERS IN SAVING ANIMALS

3. RECYCLING, CONSERVING ENERGY, AND BUYING NON-TOXIC PRODUCTS ARE ACTIONS WE CAN ALL TAKE TO HELP GIVE ANIMALS, AND ALL OF US SAFE LAND AND CLEAN WATER.

4. EXOTIC ANIMALS SHOULD NOT BE KEPT AS PETS. HELP OUTLAW THE RAMPANT TRADE IN EXOTIC ANIMALS-THE SUFFERING OF BIRDS, PRIMATES AND INFANT WILDLIFE IS ENORMOUS.

5. NO PET SHOULD GO HOMELESS. PLEASE EDUCATE OTHERS TO SPAY OR NEUTER THEIR PETS.

6. HELP YOUR WILD NEIGHBORS. SUPPORT HUMANE SOLUTIONS TO URBAN WILDLIFE ENCOUNTERS.

7. TAKE ACTION FOR ANIMALS. VOLUNTEER AT A LOCAL ANIMAL SHELTER OR WILDLIFE REHABILITATION SERVICES.

8. ADOPT A PET FROM A SHELTER. SAVE A LIFE.

9. SUPPORT HABITAT CONSERVATION. WILDLIFE NEEDS WILD SPACE!

10. ACT TO STOP ANY NEW IVORY TRADE. DON'T BUY JEWELRY, ORNAMENTS OR PIECES OF ART WORK CARVED FROM IVORY.

11. READ ABOUT THE THREATS TO ANIMALS AND TAKE ACTION TO HELP THEM AT WW.IFAW.ORG.

12. SPEAK OUT FOR ANIMALS. WRITE TO YOUR GOVERNMENT REPRESENTATIVE TO SUPPORT ANIMAL WELFARE LEGISLATION.

**ALL STEPS PROVIDED BY IFAW ANIMAL SANCTUARY CAMPAIGN**

The New Pathos

2010-03-23T16:12:00.001-04:00

I tell myself this is the last poem i'll write about you
Except now, you know every curve
and nuance.
Every arch & bend
And it fits perfectly into your palm.
Putty I've become;
I can't even cry about it
Because it felt too good to lament
I tell myself today is the last day I am using words
Like Madonna
in her HighArt phase of mystical resolve
You laugh at my melodramatic heart
Not so much full of melancholy now as
it is full of clear intention,
to push past this wall of back and forth
and ego entrenched time warps.
That is what I tell myself,
Each time a new layer peels
you see more deeply into the drain I place upon my
own endeavors.
Now that you speak it into existence I feel naked:
More undressed than when our flesh fuses
We know it's all an illusion
That the play-for-today
only lasts til our last breath
when the spirit gives way that is the real birth
unto death.
It melts the game into a silent soliloquy
and in the next lifetime
We walk the path and manifest the deepest
of our weary hearts' destiny.
Wouldn't it be nice--they say to SAY
Announce it to the eardrum of the Universe
So that it all will go our way
Except we know when something isn't ours
Because nothing really is.
Most of all we know this
When it's declared within a kiss.

Message to the Miser

2010-03-09T01:40:00.001-05:00

How long will you stay here? What measures will it take to vanquish you and this unrest? Do you feed from bloody tears and miscarried confidence ? Do you feel at home on the floor where we lay when you appear to snort your sinister lies into our face, as we shudder, languished in self-lament and dextrous spirit sabotage? You are cunning but we're much smarter. We've learned your methods and though we are still too weak to fight back, when our armor is fully polished, and we are suited up, prepare to return from whence you came. For how much longer can we stomach your sour abuses to our insides, the writhing up, the clenching, the fevers, the rashes, the chills, the aches, the vertigo? How weak are you to consume a sacred being with your falseities and distinguished manipulations.

Allow me to to declare to you once again:
You will not win. You have no place here. Your powers are null and your voice mute in the light of the truth.

I just hyperventilated

2010-02-25T02:18:00.000-05:00

As in, heavy breathing, lamaze class style short exhales and inhales paired with long ones; contractually--at the thought of a real, true, healthy commitment.
No, not to someone else.
{HA! i scoff in the face of that notion.}
But to myself.
I have been offered quite an astounding opportunity, and though I am amazed at how beautiful the Universe can be with her gifts of mentorship and that-which-comes-knocking-to-save-us, I just tallied the amount of time and discipline this next move would make and I almost shat myself. While hyperventilating.

See, the idea of something lasting longer than a month (besides my self sabotaging behavior), that would lead to a new set of rules for me really shakes me up That sounds astoundingly cheesy but it's said with sincerity. It's like taking away my pills, except, I don't take pills. Freedom is my pill/drug/high. I hate answering to people, I hate punctuality, and most of all, I fear with shaking limbs, sweaty palms and bloodshot eyes-that great lingering "B" word etching itself over mine very own eyes.

Yes, boredom. I'm terrified of boredom. Granted, for the years I've been on Earth thus far, I have yet to actually be bored by my own company (I am quite the entertainer), BUT, sometimes, the very notion of routine (even if it's a good, progressive, positive one) shakes me from toenails to widows peak. The dilemma-which of course is a challenge and a blessing, (b/c usually "dilemmas" are blessings in disguise), is that of course, I want to embrace this stellar opportunity, but I fear not being able to follow through. So great is my fear in fact, that upon review of the amount of time it will entail and the level of steadfastness I must apply, that I became short of breath, and well, rather lightheaded actually.

Of course, If i miss this window, I don't know when or if I'll ever attempt to go through it again. I may just shut the curtain and shimmy my ass down yet another rabbit hole. It's funny, for someone with SO very many dreams and goals, how that bend-of-mind could be so horridly paired with such an Alice in Blunder-land complex.

I suppose the solution would be to suck it up and just take the plunge into disciplined, responsible adult land. It's not so much the maturing I fear by any means, but the good ol' "fear of failure and/or success" issue. The truth is, we never know what the worst or BEST is that can happen, but I stay committed to one thing: I do so loathe working on someone else's schedule. I know that charm alone can not erase a track record that so proves this fact in all its shining hot mess-ness. The truth is, I tremble at the thought (though I somehow manage to do it when I absolutely must) of having to get up early and not having the liberty to party until the wee hours. Why? Because even though every night out isn't something to remember; indeed, many are, despite the long ass shlep back uptown to the Bx-borough (mad thorough--act like you know, cuz if you don't you probably will in 3 years when gentrification has stuffed a fat axe up the bunghole of our communities); my late night trolling town adventures keep my life full of unexpected surprises and delicious (sometimes odd, silly and just plain corny-- but hey, who's counting?) connections. SO, if I choose to take this commitment under my belt--it will be almost 3 months (you chuckle at the time frame, but I am only task master of short-obligations) of very deliberate and specific practice, which would inevitably lead me to well, not be out as much. And lead to of course, an entirely new me. Which would be great. Obviously.

I think I'll have to deal.
I've done this before: gone far on the path of healing and renewing, and then turned away, but I know this time it would be different b/c it's the same kind of gift with another garnish. And if you keep getting handed food for the soul and then saying "no, I can't eat this meal, b/c well, I don't do tofu", then well, you're an asshole.

Right?

I spy with my little wi-fi

2010-02-21T00:48:00.001-05:00

On accessibility// ( then and now):

This watching is in all of us:
The spirit of the voyeur, spy.
The truth about obsession, possession, blame, distraction.
It seems to be the fuel and muse for some great creative work.
Case(s) in point:

sting
u2
bill withers
lenny kravitz
all salsa songs (hahaha)
fiona apple
and an innumerable amount more that shan't be listed; b/c really, i have to go to sleep at some point.

I tend to want to write about the depths of human consciousness that most people find repulsive or shameful. I hide not: I am an obsessive, neurotic, shamelessly curious freak of nature.

Except, I am SOOOO not alone.

When I took note of some of the best songwriters I've come across {which would be a significantly enormous amount, obviously} while loving the Pandora station I had finally settled on (tuned to the Police), I know for sure, some of the best lyrics evaah have been on the topic of someone belonging to someone else, on spying on our loved one's privaCIESS and most of all, on the most admired and feared topic: obsession--->> which is that which leads to the craziness that leads to these creepy but not so unique behaviors no one ever wants to admit they engage in.

Caca. Caca Lies.

We all waste time on other people. Sometimes. Granted::
There are some of us that do it more than others. It's a dangerous little game to play with our minds, all this allowing of minding other people's business. But seriously, EMPIRES HAVE been built on this entire facet of human nature.
See:

http://www.people.com/people/
http://perezhilton.com/page/1/
(and blah blah blah so on)
--but that's the cheap kinda voyeurism, with no depth or passion; except for thinking rich people have it better than us, but no, thats not true.

they are more stupid. --

Some of our best art has oNLY been produced b/c someone, somewhere was watching someone else and sayin "damn, that is some beautiful story going on right there with those people, lemme paint that."

In so many words, of course.

To balance all this out, we should clearly become more exhibitionistic, right?

Oh, wait.
There would be no voyeur with out the exhibitionist in the first place.
Happy Stalking!

Minimal-Espionage (a short, rambling tale)

2010-02-20T23:57:00.000-05:00

tastes like poison dipped in candy baked by demigods
watching silently
conferring with pedagogues
discussing infinite fury and distaste
we sip from chalices swathed in illusion, burdened by the smiles on our face
the watched become the watchers
and 10x in we give way to karmic sin
inking tales of elaborate armor and glee only to see the liberties drenched in glittered shackles
and the herds swarm to hide their weak frames of solace and rank agony
sans lyrical footwork
we pen the abstract
images sketched with the egos indignation
flowers and parades for the fillers of
basketed-momentary-corpses
already dead before reborn
already alive while another soul sits
crunched
melodic
in it's distant hum
not knowing of its coming or going or what it would mean to launch such a ship
bestowed with beauty only in parched pieces and frail reminders
each glance proves justly how an investigation numbs the truth that each fair weather wire and frantic folly
inebriate the play inside
the storyteller becomes told. the actress long acting out ancient lines
come lay with me children of the storm
lay peaceful in your solitude
the Universe hears our echoes
each request already formed ©jlh

Coy Voyeur by =Uranian on deviant ART

bourbon dreams

2010-02-18T00:15:00.000-05:00

Thinking of excuses to call.
Warm-liquor singeing consequence

First toying with options for delivery:
a.Choke on my words
b. A wound up manic speech

Both"remind me to remember"
how to sabotage a disintegrating self mirage
Feeding on the frenzied fantasy of your lips
questing for the interlude of our thighs and hips.

But this delusion sentences me to 500+ days of missed hits
I said i wouldn't write another godforsaken poem about a boy
"an unrequited love shot down with gilded arrows from above"
(i used to declare them to be)--but who am i kidding
searching for a savior
only with the ones born from ruin

Truly:
at the end of the night
{beyond the swell of flickered pandemonium}
the savage hunter-turn-prey
longs to be more than just a whim.

Where the hell was THIS when I was in my bedtime stories phase?

2010-02-11T02:07:00.001-05:00

As I've been on a good run lately reviewing singers I love, I found this little gem while spanning the Madonna vaults. Her "bedtime stories" and "ray of light" phases are some of my favorites, but this song, which she has on the "bedtime..." album and features Meschell N'dgeocello (not Tupac; so, um where was he hiding? OH, wait, he was always hiding kinda. . . ), who, of course is equally as HAWT a cameo. But, STILL, the fact that this was never released and worse off, that I, of all people, didn't know about it is really insane. Yes, me of all people. I only have every album, single, etc., this woman has ever made, essentially. I'm sure there are lots of "secret" cuts (pun intended) that the Gays have yet to expose me to, but listen, betch, don't hold back on me.

Running in Place

2010-02-10T00:34:00.000-05:00

Wanting to be loved the most; Breathing in the knowing that
there is
No one above
Shedding scripts and masks
Birthing only divine admiration
Wishing the respect for self
Would shatter false prophecies
given in haste.
Silent arguments
with a trickled down egomaniac
leave this once-sweetened mouth
parched with distaste.
Some shy girl
inside cries for the woes of superstar's throes
Knowing it would prove incendiary
To share all that she knows
Revealing secrets far too esoteric
for the mundane;
If she utters what's in her heart
Mama earth would shatter her frame
A quiet melancholy laced in joyous lament
She prepares mixtures of alchemical deception
to quiet the descent
Calling upon Saints and protectors
to soothe the questions inside
They guide her always
and to peace, they oblige.

I used to shun her as another folk-fly by night--but,

2010-02-09T23:31:00.000-05:00

The truth is, this chick has been in/under the radar for quite a while, and has gracefully gained just the right amount of popularity to tour a hell of a lot and share her fire with the international audience. This old-ish clip features rather fuzzy audio, but the fact that she opens up this ridiculously dope song with Sam Sparro's "black and gold" (Sam and me are buddies, in my head, and well, he's a fairy i love to love) and then slides right into her own heart-felt joint (Come Around Soon, which, to my poetic heart, is perfectly written) is simply delicious, so I had to share, despite it not being current. She is a new discovery for me in the sense that, well, I wasn't interested in her before. I dig her down to earth style (which is big in my book, and by down to earth style i don't mean clothing--i mean vibration). Anyway, the woman brings it home at the end, and like all the other beloved vocalists I make a point to discuss, once again demonstrates how the talent flows through her, serving as the conduit for the gifts the audience revels in. She has supposedly been in the studio since late 2009, working with Questlove on her upcoming album. This is a very exciting notion. Can't wait to see what they concoct.

Splendid Ms. Smith

2010-01-14T01:47:00.000-05:00

In all my years of music-musician-lyric-musician-obsessing, and with my on again/off again love affairs with certain bands, (etccc......); I have no problem declaring I have a crush on this woman. If I was a man, I would make it my business to let her know i adore her, and I probably will regardless of gender preference, b/c that's irrelevant anyway. She has such presence, spirit, and ease; watch her minimal yet completely understood way of communicating with the audience when she chats for a moment here and there. In any case, this love affair is based not only on what she helps me come to feel more clearly within myself, but for the way she does it with finesse, nonchalance & total in-the-moment-passion. She knows you came to HEAR her and she gives it to you, straight up, no chaser.

Had to throw in the no chaser b/c I'm pretty sure that's also how she takes her drinks.

This woman is REAL. Her lyrics aren't sugarcoated, her performance ain't all bells and whistles followed by antics and ego. She's simply there to saang. Alice is doing it for the sheer joy and purpose of expression. Granted, many evolved performers have this quality, but she has something you can't articulate, and for my chatty ass, that's quite a feat. It pours through, just pours through and out; catharsis in each note.

She'll be at Joe's Pub through the 22th of this month, and though I missed my chance to buy a ticket (so mad bout that; but I blinked and they were gone!), we know, indeed at that last show here in NYC for a while-- she'll be sure to turn your heart inside out and then put it back and you'll love it , and want more and more. I know I'll catch her soon, though, b/c she's doing shows quite frequently and it is only a matter of time before I bask in the sounds of Alice Smith-deliciousness!
As of late, especially, she's helped weave a tale I was already telling, and shed the raw light I so relate to in only the way she can. With Power, Presence and yes, some inexplicable sense of Peace.::::

All the things you never get to say, brilliant singer/songwriters offer up for you to marinate in. So, sometimes, when you want to call and you know you can't and you never will (b/c "reality" is your frieeendd, remember??!), and actually, he doesn't care, but if he did, and deserved it, it goes kinda like this-->

And if it went well, I'd say---->

To top it off, the eagerly awaited album "For lovers, dreamers and me" was inspired by the Muppets, which I am a not so distant tribesmember of. COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT ! HAHAHA. kidding. Just don't believe in irony.

All I know is, that Muppet on stage in that polka dot dress and in her ruffles and clean ponytail with no pretense can saaaaaaaaaang the birds from the sky to your finger to perch and tweet sweet sweet revelries of love aligned. Or not so aligned, only misguided or desired or on fire. And all of it is beautiful.

Castor And Pollux talk to Lady Justice, who Punishes the Serpent Goat for his Inscrupulousness

2010-01-12T00:27:00.000-05:00

Let the rage be our fire
For today
allows the Furies' desire to undress.
Peel fast through bones and flesh
60-odd days of surreptitious irrelevance.

Fall to our knees
Praying for right-rain to pour
This fevered dance
Cannot only be attachment to romance;

What we wouldn't do to see you bleed//

To watch your frivolous mythology
of the king you are not
Unfold into the hellish depths of Earth.

Mother Gaia. Father Sky.
Faithfully topple the weakness
of your piteous flesh;
They consume all futile endeavors.
Rest assured,
We shan't shed a salty tear
Or bat a tired eye.

Solstice Sonnet [1]

2010-01-05T19:47:00.000-05:00

A silent heart echoes with the winter wind
Howling and aching for the lover within
nothing to straddle or fence between
only a solitary heart
silent it sits on its wobbled mezzanine
Does not glitter or gab, or ask for attention.
It sits in peace, uttering only sighs of compliance and open dissension.

How does a silent heart feed on the calmest of nights?
Does it ask for nurtured guidance, for a calm from the fight
of each quiet hour, or glance un-held mute, or each dropped conversation
that never comes through?

A silent heart murmurs in drops and kicks heard
only by other quiet allies, also silent and misheard
no use in distraction or denial to bait
a fish on a dull hook, for old times sake.

Just off the record, a silent heart says:
I'm not quite lonely, I'm not quite dead--
its only that this silence has gone straight to my head.
And I'm picturing naked all the things that were said;
when the heart was shouting at the top of its lungs
that a love was in limbo but it was singing.
It was young.

Now the silence leaves mindless the words once delivered
when flesh was melted and pink parts quivered
the silent heart knew then
what it already knows now
that a shouting singing heart
is bound to quiet down.©JLH

Blues for Poetry/Prose Exposed

2009-12-29T15:12:00.000-05:00

It ususally feels like
I am Denise Huxtable
Without the melanin
Only b/c I was born to
a Pale Skinned Green-Eyed Rican
and a Beige Semitic Russian
Tied between the lines of
a sacred kin
Fitting nowhere and everywhere time and again
Explaining my humanitarian misanthropic
fidelity
Loving the man who isnt right for me
chasing a rainbow spiraling upwardly
5th dimension galaxy born
Can anybody read me? ©JLH

Cerebral Lice

2009-12-20T22:51:00.000-05:00

A)) -discernment-
Picture perfect
sitting straight
clean lines
clean game
First-class lesson in restraint.

B)) :conflict:
Im not subtle
I only know what i'm doing
some days
Worn out excuses and repetitions kept it cyclical
such that
I almost got good at solitary sun-rays
Singing closely inside the drums of longing
They appear
While destiny chants and chides
She's constantly in heat
Shouting. Calling.
running down and chasing
she waits, she giggles,
she stews inside

C)) :resistance:
Curses and distractions
Sanity on mute
He promises to deliver from dishevelment
But her defense stands astute
In glory and fair weather the laughter almost saves
Over by the shadows, gremlins cajole and cackle
Awakened from their cave
bleary, red-eyed and reminding--
The depth of seas she swims in will drown all that they make

D)) .force quit.
Choose madness drenched in chaos
Apathy in flesh
It's easier to dwell there since reality follows
flaming
Leaving empty disconnects
So trite and simple really
To stand off and silent speak
the few and far between remain
The rest were always weak ©JLH

ISSUED INSTANTLY

2009-12-20T22:36:00.001-05:00

Can't disguise gullibility
Naïveté
And tactlessness
Behind a façade of oblivion
Forever, my friend

Dearest, you are protected
This you must know
Recollect
And call upon
When the lesser of two evils tantalizes
Your shattered reflection

Some see right through
Like it or not

The truth
The sorrow
The madness
Are always there
We need only call upon them
To cope

The admiration and unhinged, closeted respect exists
In cuts and bruises
In currents beating down across
Level plains

The plateau of enthusiastic disinterest
Houses heavy bricks of secrets
For the haven of the soul
For the last standing noble sage

Loving potential
Pumping (life) through clogged channels
Atriums resounding songs of partnered cataclysms

Empowering

Strikes
Pounds
Alarms

To ascend
Awaken
Respond
Renew

Star child; merely accept the grace connected throughout

---With this---

Beauty begins ©JLH

CAT-alyst

2009-12-11T21:43:00.000-05:00

Path
-o-
logical
Righteous
Path
Mired in disaster
This mess kind of makes me laugh
Your contrary adorations and lies affixed to depth
The heaviness
of your detachment
and a shadowed bloody bed
A mistress nonexistent
You push buttons til they feed
Your famished egos mission
Your dirty karmic need

Take heed: I shall not ride this,
That dour, dying horse
It's a pity, that this won't work
Here is silence, overjoyed in remorse
Pinched paradox of film
there must be genius for it to hold
But we wash away our sins
With this battered tawdry mold
Combined,
sometimes it's kinetic
An elemental fire
(now in microcosms of revelation)
There is not enough respect
to sustain this carnal desire
Short lived play date
With a man from Saturn
Lady from Mercury
I wore his rings of fantasy
wishing and wishing
It would make us free
Strange tear to shed
of a deadbeat story told
It's only that when the highs hit us, we spin
sickness
into Gold
Torn once again
From the divine to the profane
Spirit defends that the heart is pure
But logic tells me it's insane ©JLH

Stealthy (12/16/06)

2009-11-24T23:06:00.000-05:00

Synopsis of the sullen story
Stench of indescript speech and words rife with undertone
A lecture in priority, teaching in it's distance
IN every utterance of the truth of me.
Each fragmented meeting of a medium
Continues to disarm
Decayed attempts at love prove just in their failure
As in a game of "go", the strategies, blocks and attacks devised lay
out a a master plan
A finale.
A return to neutral silent territory
where (in which) neither battalion resumes combat.
Mortality predicted, the battle continues frigidly,
a Cold war of exteroceptive endeavors. The history in the chapter
of this encyclopedia of chaos reads a tale most captivating, indeed.
The heroine resumes her contact with the truth of the world.
The enemies lay in wait, at the border, soon placed elsewhere for the next attack.
Blinded by her triumph, she sits to undo the war she has fought.
Scraping scabs and anointing wounds, she tastes her blood, and recalls, without haste,
hesitation or regret--
why she bothered to fight in the first place.© JLH

ByProxy x 3, An Appaloosa's Lament

2009-11-10T13:23:00.000-05:00

He never quoted loving me
Only masqueraded
What I wanted to see
A heliotrope, a harlequin
Who claims to be a god
Demise and disguise leading our way
Palpating an outcome takes
the splendor away
Trapped hitherto
Squalor in dreams
Dances with shadows
These are our themes
He spoke truth when the sun rose
Of where his heart truly lay

Each one following:

a mimicry, a delay
To the treasure of self containment
The fluidity of remorse
The carried over baggage
From him --... her
and this carriage horse. ©

Venus Square Neptune

2009-11-10T12:56:00.000-05:00

After you left
I had a moment in the shower
Disengaged from the tangle of your limbs
like forests
and the ivy vines that skulk about my spine
I gave in to that which you inflated
Allowed myself
the pleasure of a space still elated
By the presence of a madman
With a tender and raw heart
Allotting a decree between us
Even when apart
Moons thrice in the making
exposure ripe for taking
Once never and always a stranger
The pencil glints light
off the page
and I miss your warmth upon me
Distant lover, Right across the BQE. ©

AFTERSHOCK

2009-11-07T20:24:00.000-05:00

None of it is real
Simple farce
A shifting of tectonic plates
Histories unwritten
Waiting for their place
Outside of melodies and screams
Beneath the sigh that
Ruffles dreams
None of it is
Real
We make up stories
About the loving that we feel
-Flashback_
To the sun
The hills
Truth, connected
What was::to What Is

It goes deep(er) for me
But you, you're wired
to be shifty
It's ok
My (com)passion does not desist
As your habits persist
I move through the eye of the storm
and feel the presence of where the divine sits
Gently
As you cannot

Always running
Disgruntled in the earthquake
of lost thought

Fowl-freeze-steeze (Episode 1)

2009-11-04T01:24:00.000-05:00

pecking at scraps
until necks hurt
taking small bites of nothing
swabbed in white lies and triangular deceit
this is how "chicken heads" are born
they cluck and peck and til they have nothing left

when things arent clear
and he's never quite
near
enough to tell you the truth
you hover in wait and tell yourself it's cool
there is only the less-than
of what you cannot forsee
but instead of declaring "he isn't for me"
you continue to push upstream
drowning in the defeat
of a chicken head lost
in the deep blue sea
(chickens don't swim, do they?)

they all say they'll wait
and congregate by the cold locked gate
don't believe the myth
of love coming from his dick
it's simply a trick
they play in their head
to get past the midriff

and the lust only quips
and quits once it's in
it sweet til he's with the next
and your wincing a salty grin

Testament to soul-murder, whose force is great & skill profuse; but who lost it's engine cuz the heart dropped the noose

2009-10-25T22:13:00.000-04:00

Punishment is made for me
I cook up the best appetizers, entrees and
perfectly baked desserts
Chockfull of guilt and self pity
Internal rhetoric
Arguing
Banter
"Regret"
Suck on it like a cigarette
or a lollipop
Or
Everything feels dirty again
Plates tacked in scum
The clock laced in woe
Surreptitious clouds drizzle in the
syrup of imaginary foes

Punishment is everyday breakfast
A nourishment stripped of the divine
Practice in frozen framework
Denials
Disrespect
The work of dismissing
Honor pithy and pretty
in its plumage
Pushing out of gaping (w)holes and flesh tight
with sewage
The monster| The hunter
The demon who always knows
The gargoyles shrill and stately
fight to lay domain in this home
Where twin lashing feigns soul bashing
Carve a face into stone
It's tight and crooked lines
point blood arrows and bows
A struggle to shed the meltdown
Only warriors know

"Quisas, quisas, quisas. . . "

2009-10-18T19:08:00.000-04:00

The paradox of the girl
That's just how she was made
A karmic path to slash and burn through
A manifested contract learned,
only for the astute
Too deep for her own good
the same bags carried from place to place
Hiding creatures of frenzied melancholy
Leaving them only with distaste
Take heed
No pity here
Only self knowledge/crisp-bright-blurry-clear

A circle, full,
cut in triangle riffs
The intensity in each cell
cores climax into whiffs
of the bittersweet aroma
so familiar inside
She wonders if it's a tender
heart,
ego
or shakeable pride
that bring her to her knees
asking angels
for a cease to the cries
the crime against faith
She's committed countless times
the guilt in the melancholy
and it's slinking grime
Another moon passes in confusion
with joy just undertow

All the boysnotloversrun-from her
(cuz this enigma gets old, we know)
Tell the truth
Self deprecation
Never seemed so pase
It's like a teen caught in a bear trap
Stuck in 8th grade
Sola
Solita
A dreary dessert
With laughter in peaks and freedom evident
If only she'd stay there
In that vortex of glee
Maybe those lines repeated
would seem more complete

| aque/men-n-eye |

2009-10-18T01:51:00.000-04:00

It is no coincidence I see your sadness.
The melancholy; it is manifested in our madness.
As much as you move it will take lightyears to soothe the emptiness within.
I kiss you, as I'm prone to do
It is with bitersweetness we're akin-
--a folklore common to the journey.
We'll tell each other its peace in this adventure, knowing its more than just a story to endure.
I wish you could see my love. It's quite a trip to the middle of it all.
3 parts to the sequel.
one part disaster;
the other 1/2'ves- blind faith--
RED- furnished in a credenza.
rhythm wrapped in wait.
We touch.
Now.
tommorrow. And for today
like yesterday, let the grapes
the sour fruit of our labor--expound.
Expressing all that we can not, we drink them down.

CENTIMETERS

2009-10-18T01:45:00.000-04:00

If I just look at them with love
If I summon from above
Then I wont be green with questions and red with hate
I wont detract my measures by the cut of their tape
Accept what would be as all that still is
Remove apprehension (and the scent of a kiss)
REserve what works, fuel it with meaning
Cease resurrections (mirrors can't retort and offer no protection)
If I could jump these hurdles
of self to connect-beyond-them-this adventure would be less cryptic
Instead of codes
I'd pen a hymn

Pollen; A Proclamation.

2009-09-18T03:28:00.000-04:00

All these years of knowing and preaching how passionate I am, only to come to the realization that scattered passions get you nowhere.

Where you end up is squaring off with your reflection. In windows and doorways.
Doing double takes in the rear-view mirror of a strangers car. OH, there I am again.

(Damn, I'm still here?)

Loving nothing enough--- but making it everything in fantasy-- drains the life force from the sincerest of souls.

The search has its share of beauty until you feel you've reached your limit. The wait has exhausted you and patience is thin. There's little resolve left. Silent shouts for placement reel from their wanderings and one escapist plot too many goes up in it's last flame. Nerves thin and armor falling down, the journey must change direction or the cycle must be completed.

Setting spirit free and action in motion. Putting plagues of heart-denial down to die.
Killing off any inkling of remorse, pity, doubt, fear, anger, envy, hatred, rage, frustration, guilt, catatonia, sadness, weakness, laziness or sickness.

Affirming each contract and surrendering to the Divine. Signing a new lease on life and speaking it aloud.
Silencing the lies, the mistakes, the regrets. And in one fell swoop, the rebirth begins when these poisons are expelled.

Dancing through the pain of wasted time, stagnant stories and lost years.

A hammer to the glass of the laughing clown in the frozen water's feedback.

Need a Wrench?

2009-09-13T01:51:00.000-04:00

It's possibly official. Is that possible? Possibly official?
When you arrive to the conclusion that insanity is indefinitely completely comfortable with you, that your patterns of fervent unhealthy mental dips and slides and climaxes and come downs are totally at home with you--you can see. The clarity of perspective does not lend much comfort to the strangle hold that the habitual poison leaks into the healthy frame of mind, into the pure heart of Loving Kindness. Insight does nothing for relieving the customary self stabbings and scattered energies. There is no relief from casting your self beneath the light of others, no words another can offer to soothe the primordial anger and infermities of a spirit quited by inexperience, suffocated by comparison and murdered by insecurity.

Picking at scraps and the realization that you've done so, the foresight it lends still does nothing to ease the ache of a broken heart who has an attachment to the attachment of another-other-who-is-not-you-so-lucky-to-be-free-but-oh-how-it-burns-to-release.

Ode to an Almost B

2009-09-10T17:51:00.000-04:00

I tried birth control for 2 months with horrid results. I wasn't thrilled about going into using hormones in the first place, but the cramps and terrible PMS I've had since I was 16 were so unbearable that I figured I'd try it in any case. I've been downing a daily dose of the infamous Yaz and it hasn't done a damn thing but make my mood swings worse and now, to top it off, this month: I've bled for 10 days complete with nasty cramps EACH day and hot flashes. I know they say to give it 3 cycles but I feel pretty strongly that even after another couple months this relationship with synthetic hormones and my body is simply not a "go".

That being said, the sore boobs and terrible bleeding and cramps will not be missed (though again, I had those symptoms pre-birth control), but the newly engorged SIZE OF my boobs will be very much missed. The girls plumped up to the way they were when I had a bit more weight on me and I'm so sad to see them go. I've never really cared about boob size, but I have to say, having them increase in size has made me feel a bit more shmexy. I even had an almost-cleavage. Sort of. 'Tis very sad to say goodbye, little ones, we were just getting to know each other.

Oh well, all's well that ends well, and this birth control shit is not ending well, so it's back to the drawing board.
My Medicine Woman is waiting to help me heal. I know she's waiting for me the way I'm waiting for her.

DeMachinzedRetraction

2009-09-03T05:28:00.000-04:00

something beautiful
in each watching with praise
each shout of joy and echo of
surrender
the magic inside the
freedom of what IS
never knowing our judging
is keeping us trapped
breaking free from
glowing imagined bounds of restriction
we see palms that touch the sky
where coconuts suckle the mender of the
branching
of where you and i
split yet combine
like the meteor shower
we leave only stardust behind
when i think of you, it is of rampage
-- excited fear doused with risk
and courage tainted with deliciousness

This is food for the journey
each fuel to the fire of
engineered delight

Again with the guardians. . .

2009-08-21T01:33:00.000-04:00

First it was beetles.
Now, the Praying Mantis:

"Ears occur in 60% of mantids, and are found on the underside of the mesothorax. The mantis is an auditory Cyclops, and having only one ear is a feature unique to the mantis, not seen anywhere else in the animal kingdom. The ear is a deep 1 mm slit that has cuticle knobs at either end and two eardrums inside (Sargent 8). It is located in the ventral midline between the metathoracic legs. Interneurons in the metathoracic ganglia mediates hearing. The ear is tuned to ultrasonic frequencies of 25-60 kHz, with thresholds of 55 to 60 decibels. This is the range of bat's echolocation, supporting evidence that mantids, like lacewings, moths, and crickets, use hearing as a defense against predators (Yager 471)."-Feldman

Did you picture that?
Cuticle knobs at either end and two eardrums inside.
Compelling and nauseating.
Ah, nature.

Also,
"The males package their sperm into a spermataphore and place it into the female spermatheca. In one experiment, mantids were observed in copulation for an average of 6 hours. The males flew away directly after mating (Terra 3). "-Feldman

How about::
"So, in outer reality, a praying mantis landing in front of you may be a sign of Angelic protection, i.e., in your presence, the Angels are protecting you, able to guide praying mantis in your presence."-blogger j1534
-
And finally::

"The praying mantis derives its name from the Greek language, "mantis" meaning diviner or prophet. The name has also become interchangeable with "preying," due to its fierce predatory behavior. To complicate matters further, the mantis is also known as the mantid, for unknown reasons. They are also known informally as "soothsayers," "devil's horses," "mule killers," and "camel crickets" since their saliva was erroneously thought to poison farm livestock (Sargent 4)."-Feldman

SO, clearly this Feldman guy knows his share and I share an angelic relationship with ominous bugs.
Things that fly. Buzz. Copulate for 6 hours.

Old Maletas

2009-08-04T18:37:00.000-04:00

Has he ever shown up at long past the witching hour
emblazoned in the juice of Dionysus,
speaking words
cracked with self loathing
and broken-boy pain?
Laid in your bed while re-living the
saga of the love he has
for the girl he won't ever win?
Left his life so exposed and uncovered
you realize it's because
he wants you to catch the lies?
Taken on an issue most seriously with only
slackened, fragile ego in his eyes?
If he has,
then please make haste.
You'll get nowhere fast
masking your needs in the shadows
of his blind faith.
Has it been days
since he called
and when he does,
He's a prince?
Re-appraising his stories
as they suit him,
manipulating each unbridled whim?
Did he live off your love and nourishment
for short spurts of weeks?
Then find that his life was too shady
and retreated to his juvenile junkie feats?
Yes, of course he did.
Because we know how to pick 'em, don't we?
Third time's a charm
But this makes the sixth;
they never mean to
"hurt nobody";
they simply plead the 5th.
Glasses on,
vision tight;
when you're stuck and lost
in your reverie,
it is the predators melody
that will add rhapsody to your life.

But just

Adjust
your lens, m'lady
Life is really too short
For the TRIANGLE,
the MALAISE,
the LOST SOUL
and his ESCORT.

Secret #108

2009-07-26T19:03:00.001-04:00

i am a warrior
in the truest sense
i do not battle with shadows alone
but reflections of he in me
riding this invisible horse to the infinite light at the end of the tunnel
to prepare to leave a mark upon
the transient universe
a blink of time in existence
that one insists on living
i can not depart without capacity
fully reached
on
my deathbed I will not give in to the self deprecating
mass of lies
i have taught myself, that i've beseeched
i release the burden of control
so incessantly plagued around my heart
to let go of the fable
the label
the dirt on our shoes
we journey this path together
there is no doubt inside the faith
if each battle is a scar
then we know,
we know there is only one way
take the bitter with the sweet
no end to
an end
already made
loving with conviction and truth
leaves only an opening
in the gaping hole of what was long cast away
the seas of sincerity
they beckon to us
through crowds and lights
amidst past lives and melodies
we can not hear over
so we mask our pain through the lust
there is no shame in these desires
only a bump in the road, met with a fork and a twist
that lands you right where you thought we had missed
G-d in the whispers
of thunderous remorse
the lightning and rolling in me
in this heart
each beat sticks a pump of delicious
each year i think:: life will start

there is no dismay in this distraction
or disgust in this dissatisfaction
truth is
i must have warranted and
created it
such that this misery
eats me alive
in order to take action
which direction to be determined
confidants and lovers
finding approval and flaws in each line uttered
bells ring and hymns sung
there is no other answer
no spell or magic
dissuading
that I am the only one

newbie poets
and musicians croon
their blues
painters scatter color
and dancers don't bemuse
set it right through their endeavor
so that i am once again
lost in the sound of everyone else's dream
waiting for mine to begin

no martyr or saint or sage alike
could deny that this turnaround
from no degree
would excite anyones life
still here it is
in full display
my demons
my angels
rainbow vibration
one girl
multiplied by 3
the trinity ripped apart
glued back together
the sunshine in each line and kiss
the fair in your weather
that heavy lightweight bliss
don't try to split it open
you'll never piece it back
its tainted and protected
blessed from the skies
celestial guides
cautious in what to show
beyond riddles and wrath
mercy and compassion
they keep my damaged heart in tow

seek the words in the silence
lets not talk it out
move faster to the real thing
slash the story, burn the pages
it ends now ©

sun in the 8th house

2009-07-23T18:09:00.001-04:00

A prayer left behind
Dusted
not
seen by the setting sun
or hands clapping in mirth
It lags and follows
fat tail of weight
A prayer
from the heart
disquieted by the day

Treason

2009-07-19T23:15:00.000-04:00

CAVERNOUS,
LIKE THE LAND OF MY ANCESTORS,
i am deep and dark inside a light filled space

i wake with the dusk
on some days
and feel the silence of the sun inside my chest
where you are
carefully huddled
and etched in a formless canvass of silence
no words carved into the hollow of where we do not speak

BLUE like the sky of my guardians,
i shade hues of joy and melancholy straight away
give in to pain so that i can tell the story next day
you
follow blind in the mythos of what never waited,
what never grew,
what never made an equation
equal past
the minus
of
a one degree
plus 2

Flat
when you disappear
my resonating echoed future
dry and gaping
given
to face
when your fantasy sours and the sirens swim ashore

VAST like the ocean where my kin swim
deep tides bring in shells and pearls left behind from
a lovers sin
deceptive
are the waves that wash over us when we collide
a sacreligious escape clause
drowning inside

Red
like the brimming of the fires they made
to cook their meals and burn away
hauntings of the heaviness that strip human form
Aflame in heart
chest agape and new

Yellow like the sun
It shines
Reverent for
nectar-sweet dew

Clear
Quenched
Eternal
Renewed
A silent repose from the noise that is you

Pentacles, squared::Rx.

2009-06-30T19:04:00.000-04:00

Rejections of invitations to sleep
Prone to miss the beauty reignited
with the greeting of warmth
echoing Whitman and hearing each leaf speak

each hue of green, smiling
composing melodies rapturous with appreciation
every note the chickadee sings to the sparrow and the jay retorts to the crow
creates magic

reflexive ground
our earth
she holds us firmly
allowing us our penance
her grace and bosom,our shelter from the obstacles of intellect
symmetrical simplicity
no vanity or games
competition drops quite quietly
no separations or rebounds
infinite
exquisite
a canvass of their own:
Father Sky
Mother Earth
Humans make their home
Where creatures of magnificence bow down without a choice
We take recluse in the dream
that heaven lay within

No sleep
no harm
For it is the light of day
that asks her to take fantasy
shaping it from clay
mold the pictures three fold
removing them
from long standing incarceration
years of neglect and abuse
quieted distemper
The muse
hung on her noose
Only bringing sparks to the match
so truth gets spun about

And here--
it is morning, again
shapeless glory
Reminders of today
as everafter,

Useless chagrin
Formulated dexterity,
A creature crippled by its whim.

"When deep inside you is the darkest, that's where i can always be found."

seasonique is super scaryyy

2009-06-23T02:12:00.000-04:00

Scary Shit:::

As much as I hate my period, and loathe it's arrival, and can not leave the house b/c of the pain and misery it causes me, and often have to hole myself away from the world 3 days a month or maybe more (which is ok b/c sometimes the world really bothers me), I have to say, you know what, I will faithfully stick to getting 12 periods a year, mothafuckas. I will deal with it, without birth control, especially birth control that LIES and tells you it's ok to not menstruate!

Sure! Why not limit the normal functions of our body for convenience!? Hey, in fact, next let's find a way to only shit and pee once a week and after that, why not find ways to not yawn or even sleep, b/c hey, who needs to be healthy and alive when there's pills to be taken and evil pharmaceutical corporations to be paid? !

"French Women Don't Sleep Alone"

2009-06-17T15:07:00.000-04:00

In attempts to cover all the lovely bits of advice and confidence boosting tactics that Jamie Cat Callan discusses in her book "French Women Don't Sleep Alone--Pleasurable Secrets to Finding Love", I have taken an immense amount of time in formulating what I'd write here and how I'd address my feelings about this very personal book review.

It must first be stated that Ms. Callan is a long time friend of my mothers and the three of us reunited last summer, serendipitously, during a showing of HAIR, at Shakespeare in the Park. This beginning reunion of fabulous-ness was enough proof to me that Jamie was indeed a woman I wanted to connect with further. My mother, through the years has always spoken highly of her and this inspired me to not only look to Jamie Cat Callan as a person who would re-ignite my passion for writing, but who also serves as a role model of the happy, productive woman living out her passions. Indeed, I had to go to the book reception for her latest work and I had to tell her I'd blog about it. So, finally, here I am, overwhelmed at how important her message is from "French Women..." and it couldn't have come into my life at a more appropriate point in time!

Let's thank Jamie & her French Grandmother for the delectable advice!

From the moment they are old enough to talk, American girls are given mixed messages about how to behave in relation to men, and their attempts at getting dates, obsessive clinging, moving too fast, drunken fucks, and then forced detachment, etc, are concrete proof of this. I do not make this statement in blind theory, it is clearly based on 29 years of experience (ok, 15 years, but whatever). I can not begin to go down the list of single and "coupled" women in my life who are, essentially, miserable in both conditions though they'd never admit it. WHY? Obviously, b/c they are revolving their lives around a man, his approval and his time, and he in turn, could not care less but of course, cares enough to the point to keep you there, pinned under his thumb and suffocating, just they way you set him up to.

Callan points out the simplicity in changing this pattern, a simple fact we as women AND men always know but refuse to acknowledge: LIVE YOUR LIFE, ALWAYS, NO MATTER WHAT. TAKE THE BEST CARE OF YOURSELF POSSIBLE, ENJOY WHAT YOU CREATE, AND ROMANCE WILL FALL INTO PLACE. I found myself reading the beginning chapters saying aloud "Obviously, Jamie. A'duhhh, we should look our best and wear matching underwear to keep sexy and blah, blah, blah." But how much have I ever done that in my life? Um, never, really. The truth is, I am a proud bum in many ways and shlumping around is one of my favorite past times. I take it for granted that I step out in style when I need to,but Callan makes it clear, don't just do it when you need to, be consistent. Keep social, keep active, but do not kill yourself to prove anything to anyone.

Enjoy your food, your wine, your femininity, but don't exaggerate. It's almost a point-by-point comparative discourse of how Americans seriously address everything so contractually and puritanically, including sex, love & romance that we have manifested our own misery quite thoroughly. Even one on one dating, she points out, is something the French do much later on, after having gotten to know a prospective love after many instances of public, group get togethers, dinner parties and the like.

It's so smart, right? But we never seem to do it.

I've been lucky enough to have friends from many different parts of the world and even an ex boyfriend with a French mother, who had a younger lover living with her for many years. I wouldn't say she quite fit the bill of the French woman Jamie Cat Callan paints, but, in many ways, her joy and her comfort in herself, her love of good food and wine and even smoking the most feminine cigarettes I've ever seen, were truly inspiring. So, needless to say, the advice in the book is not new for me, b/c I am highly independent and do not bow down to false notions of orthodox marriage or "forever" or permanent soul-mates (there are lots of soul mates, and really, they appear to teach you something, not to necessarily marry you), but despite this, the meat in all of it remains that there is nothing wrong with getting swept up in romance, as long as you're already fundamentally fulfilled enough to handle it and realize all things are truly transient, so live it up while you can.

The core message of all of the tips in the book really hit home, especially the parts about us American gals going from feast to famine in essentially every level of our lives and then making stupid mistakes b/c of this approach. AMEN! I have done this since I was 13, literally. I go from obsessive, revealing too much, being a therapist, lover, roll-dog, borderline martyr, no one else for me in the world, booty call, drunken dramatic insanity, to like, Krishnamurti status in a matter of months. This mania is all too familiar for my homegirls and I, and if not, then they take the opposite route and live like strumpets/serial monogamists on acid. What I'm trying to say here is, clearly, we are a mess and constantly in the midst of giving mixed messages to ourselves and society.

There are so many juicy, relevant and truly helpful parts to this book that I will wind up spoiling the experience of reading it if I begin including quotes and favorite passages. But the message is ultimately this:

-Don't stop your life while letting love in, or stop it once it is "officially" there. Who wants to live with a person who has no hobbies, goals or passions of their own? He isn't a baby, you don't need to help him through work, be his secretary and such and certainly, you don't need to spoon feed him and coddle his ego repeatedly (unless thats something you two enjoy behind closed doors, which in that case, right on!) Bottom line, that shit is NOT cute and it leads to major co-dependence and spiritual stagnation. Trust me, I have seen this in at least 3 major relationships in the women around me, and I don't give a shit what they say, everyone sees right through to the co-dependent, robotic, deluded truth! Sad to say, but: sorry girls, your cover can't be blown b/c it was never really there; he had you playing Mommy by your own device from the moment you two met, and that's really hard if not impossible to change once you set it up.

-Make yourself chase-worthy. Flirt, and never, EVER give up that part of your sexy mystery; flirting is fundamental! Stop revolving your time around what he'll think or when he'll call. During the courting phase and also after, ALWAYS plant to meet up in groups of friends, so you don't have to be obliged to attend to him and vice versa. This is a much more loving and social way of connecting and seeing if sparks fly, and you can always go off for a walk or chat during this time if you so feel compelled. Much better than the boring one-on-one date over a lame dinner when you two don't even know if you'll really like each other in that context.

-Keep appearance up inside out & keep smart. Read, keep yourself charming by being knowledgeable about all kinds of things. NO man wants to keep company w/an airhead. And if so, we know why. Spend plenty of time with your friends so as to enrich your life, both male and female, and always maintain boundaries in each type of relation you have in life; platonic, professional and so on. In this country, we lack boundaries, and it often gets us into big trouble, b/c before we know it, we've revealed too much and we're up the proverbial shit's creek with only the paddle stuck in our mouth.

-Remain patient with yourself and the seduction on all levels of romance. Don't expect a man to come into your world and fill up the voids you've yet to address because you are so expecting him to have done it already. This is the "fix me" syndrome and it's so old already. Find romance in all levels of life,from the soaps, perfumes and lotions you use, to what you read, your under garments, your shopping excursions, your friendships, your meals, what culture you take in, and so forth. This is key. Again, he doesn't have to know anything at all about what you do, but keep doing it and you will be surprised at how juicy your world is with or without a "boyfriend."

-Dress appropriately. Drop the pajama/slut dynamic. I especially enjoyed the chapters about this. Being raised by an extremely fashionable mother who has a truckload of experience in the fashion and makeup world has influenced my ability to dress others and myself, I can attest to this as pure fact. Women here usually dress in 3 different ways: they either slut it up for bar-hopping and sloshed make outs with strangers or, run the streets in awful frump wear OR, uptight suits that don't flatter at all. Granted, this is seen less in Manhattan than the rest of the city or nation, but the fact of the matter is, we're not just talking about NY here. Consider the midwest. Exactly.

Ok, I've listed enough. I am on the verge of overkill. Go out and read the book ASAP. I've already found myself saying "I'm doing the French thing", meaning I'm not looking for dates (not that I really ever have, b/c lets be honest, I've done myself in by choosing people over and over again who I buddy up with & confess so much to, to the point that if they actually do see me as a potential mate, it's by sheer miracle and warped dynamics); but more so, I'm not looking for someone to obsess over, someone to expect something from, or someone to practice my extreme tactics of self-sabotage and mental wiles upon.

It's true, as I stated before, I am quite independent, but what I have yet to remember that was brought to light again with Jamie's book is that this type of "independence" has yet to be fostered by true maturity and strength. Many people see me as a bit much, too raw, too honest, rebellious, outspoken, quirky and so on, but Jamie's book helped me to remember to find a middle ground in who I am and how I can function in the world. It's been another lovely tool of learning amongst the plethora of books I have about meeting approval (which is a recipe for disaster) and how to handle the male/female dynamic. The difference in "French Women Don't Sleep Alone" though, is that the message that men and women are not enemies resounds in her writing and this perhaps, is our greatest asset. Let us not see each other as fillers, but as adding momentum and as a lovely, positive addition to one another's lives.

No external, magic man or woman can fulfill what we ourselves have to learn to internally create. The joy in your self can only really begin with nourishing your own world, and this of course, invites in more joy from external sources. Whether they be lovers, friends, co workers, or what have you. We're all so big on the Law of Attraction now, and Jamie Cat Callan lays out the fundamentals of establishing this, French style, complete with sexy humor and inspiring tips in the simplicity of la joie de vivre, savoir vivre; and all that delicious French goodness!

Giving "grown up" journalists a run for their money

2009-04-21T00:36:00.000-04:00

Last week, sort of late on the uptake on discovering little man right here, I watched a 20/20 report on Gun Violence. They re-introduced Damon Weaver, a 10 year old from a small town in Florida, who has a huge mission. I'll let this video explain it. I tried finding a more recent clip of his, like the 20/20 story itself (which would have been nice), but this is what I've gotten so far. It's always uncanny how I relate to these children with huge dreams to change their world and live life out loud, speaking nothing but truth with lots of humor and even more fearlessness. Not only is he determined to end the obscene gun violence in his community, but he also wants to be a football player and fly a helicopter and well, the list goes on. *Indigos*-->If you don't know: ask somebody! Or, I'll just discuss it in the next post. In any case, this video highlights his determination and warmth and, I mean, how can you NOT LOVE this kid? It's my mission to share stories of others on their mission. I'm an only child, an expressive and sensitive Indigo Adult, and we do these things. Love and Light. Thank You, Damon. If only more adults had your point of view, we may have long been on to something. By the way I watch this over and over b/c it makes my heart so very, very happy. How inspiring & cute is this kid? Heaven have mercy. Check out his ecstatic grin of self-confidence and excitement at the end of the piece.

Post-"Accident" Appraisal

2009-04-10T00:01:00.000-04:00

Since my accident, my dreams have been riddled with metaphor (obviously, as dreams and symbolism is the means of transmitting the message) and woken me up in the middle of the night. Not that this is unusual, as my dreams have always been shockingly graphic and almost inexplicably detailed and outlandish. This waking in the night business is never fun but it lends one the opportunity to regroup mentally and figure out what message you may be able to make clear in the morning. These pre-dawn revelations are the stuff of poetry, the stuff of psychic hints and certainly, the main ingredient in my favorite thing, digging in the shadows to renew the light.

In fact, dream analysis is more than just one of my hobbies. I've always kept dream journals and have a number of dream books for reference. I can break down my own dreams & those of family & friends in accordance to what information and wisdom the dream books offer and more so, with my own innate sense of reflecting and situation-matching in this "reality" dimension. I often have artists come to me in dreams to offer support and joy as well as of course, a little performance. Post-traumatic (which I suppose this phase of my life may be considered) nightmares are to be expected in this almost miraculous situation. Except, they aren't quite nightmares, and I'm actually OK despite the shock of still being alive and making some cessations in personal connections despite the unfortunate circumstances. So, these dreams are doing the same thing the car wreck did. Shaking the shit out of my soul so that something, many things, are re-shuffled. Out of their mire, beyond their haze and stagnancy and past the superficial levels of comparison, obsession, anger, fear and confusion. And to remind me that even though I am solitary and silent for now, it doesn't mean that people have forgotten me or love me less than they have always made clear. It only means that I've quietly declared to the Universe that I am laying really, really low, and naturally, the Universe obliges.

So, for whatever reason, last night Aaliyah joined my friends and I on a very high, hinged monorail platform. I say monorail b/c I couldn't tell if the vehicle we were waiting for was a bus or a train, but clearly a major theme was transportation (movement from one phase to another, change, influx). I was scared shitless the entire time thinking--"why'd I have to climb these high ass steps, fearing the slow build of this height, only to stand on an appendage of a platform?" (I wish I could sketch this platform. Well, I probably could but, not with a keyboard, of course). During these fear thoughts, up came Aaliyah, joined us in waiting, with, I must say, a profuse amount of fuchsia lipstick on and began telling us not to ask what her favorite song to sing was. At this point, we all chimed in with her and began to sing one of the songs off her first album, I can't recall which one. She was, despite telling us not to make "requests", happy to sing with us and we danced around a little as much as the platform would allow (My God as I write this out it's getting even more obvious! See--writing sorts it all out) ! I have no idea why this deceased artist or these songs came up but the rest of the dream is pretty clear. Also, singing is always a good sign as long as it is pleasant to the Dreamer and not some melancholic mourn-song.

In sharing this, I am intending to convey the importance of dream work. There is truly no better tool for figuring out what really lurks inside of us on every level (psychologically, psychically, physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally, ETC...). Record your dreams and always make sure to note how you felt after you woke from them. Note any sensations of anxiety, joy, freedom, ease, repulsion, and so forth. This is free therapy for the soul. And often, when we have repeated themes of others (i.e., lovers, parents) this is of course, a clear reflection of these facets of ourselves they reflect that we may need to clear up. I have lately noticed a tendency of dreams that perpetrate many of the people who've crossed my path as conniving and dishonest. This may not literally mean these people are "bad" (what is "bad" or "good", anyway? These are merely spectrum's of light within the human journey) but that perhaps, their path and mine are out of sync and, for my well being, may need to keep my distance. Also, clearly, trusting myself and others may be a bit of a challenge to take slice apart.

Ladies, dream work is especially important for us, as our dream messages are often the WILDERNESS WITHIN begging to be heard. The loud voice we push down that turns into sickness or self abuse or, SETTLING. That is why I honor Dra. Clarissa Pinkola Estes in all of these entries, for it is her work that has inspired & pushed me forth in sharing my Wilderness Within. I've kept it inside for far too long, despite outward animations and jubilee, my creative fire has been suffering in silence since childhood.

I'm gonna go puke now. Only because I can't believe I just wrote this. Of course I can. I should have had a "blog since 8th grade", according to one of my Uma's. More on them another day.

Not literally puke, of course.

I could never be one of those.

I enjoy food way too much.

Nourishment for every part keeps the divinity satiated.

The glory in the dis-ease

2009-03-18T22:07:00.001-04:00

(Extensions on Universal Loss)

As the inner star continues to grow, as we take in information pertaining to our path, our bliss, our drive, we see that there are so many others who choose to make their way to a divine vibration. Living in love, moving forward, changing the story, making the healthy choice. Finding self sufficiency through responsibility and the nurture of the spirit.

Remember the arts, remember expression, remember performance; go to nature. Befriend your monsters. Shake hands with them. Invite them to dinner. Get them lost in your charming conversation and maybe a lullaby. Then capture them, as they snore and choke, and throw them out. What the hell nerve did they think they had overstaying their loud, stank welcome?

Mop up the mess they made. Clear the air.

Possibly with some sage.

Release your truth. It's not just him or her--or that reflection wincing back at you, that falls off the bridge, quickly and easily into the rapids of repetition and blind mire . Its all of us. When that tension arises, and you verge on the edge of forgetting. Return to recollection: it's likely that your neighbor or your co worker may also very well be dealing with headaches and family drama. It may very well be that "jerk" on the train forgot how to live with graciousness and became bitter and disgusted with so many things he could have changed so very long ago.

These are our stories, and this is our reminder. If we don't stare the truth in the eyes and reach for a prettier paintbrush on a wider canvas, we will find ourselves regretful, always wondering lying to ourselves, saying and maybe even never realizing that we are resentful.

Ask for guidance. See that your struggle is shared. Laugh until your face turns blue, your breath is gone and you think you may very well collapse, stomach twisted in sweet, necessary agony, body convulsing and the inside light bursting through the walls, the doors, the sky; space.

If you're like minded, and can maybe to relate to your 3rd eye and destiny (or call it "choice" or even GASP! ... "fate"... it's all the interpretation and the perception of the unfolding of the layers) aligning, look below:::

You can say things like "right On" (this happens to many) and clang your meditation bells when you browse...

Something like this--

Check it out:

http://www.trustyourvibes.com/testimonials.php

Some kind of ceremonial beginning

2009-03-16T20:07:00.000-04:00

I will be posting much of my poetry here, but as an introductory blessing, I picked one of my favorite pieces from the wonderful Alma Luz Villanueva. Since I am very much connected to feminist lit. , especially poetry from those of Latin & Jewish heritage (considering this is my lineage this choice is obvious), I chose the following as an opening to what I know will be an exchange ripe with growth:

WITCHES' BLOOD

power of my blood, your secret

wrapped in ancient tongues

spoken by men who claim themselves

gods and priests and oracles---they

made elaborate rituals

secret chants and extolled the cycles,

calling women unclean.

men have killed

made war

for blood to flow, as naturally

as a woman's

once a month---

men have roamed the earth to find

the patience of pregnancy

the joy of birth---

the renewal of blood.

(the awful bloody secret: O woman

you dare birth yourself)

call me witch

call me hag

call me sorceress

call me mad

call me woman. Do not

call me goddess.

I do not want the position.

I prefer to gaze in wonder, once

a month, at my

witches blood.

-ALV