Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Eric, Stevie Jay and Me - Join us!!

From Planet Waves - Eric talks about the upcoming Aries Full Moon:

"... the Aries Full Moon over the weekend. That lunation is about relationships: finding ourselves as individuals in relationships instead of being “half a couple” as we so often do. Tonight I’m priming my brain with a friend named Stevie Jay. Here is a snip from our conversation. He just wrote to me:"
Men love men and women love women, and that’s a reality of being human. And to take that simple reality and turn it into a “thing” via giving it a label adds all kinds of weight and significance and existential/social/interpersonal CONFLICT that are nothing more than mental constructs and have nothing to do with the reality of simply loving someone or simply being attracted to someone. Some of the best spiritual teachings deliver this very message: “Don’t label things; don’t draw lines. Render oneself vulnerable, like a child, and come into DIRECT contact with everything, with each other, with yourself, with whatever is before you.
“As soon as you’ve named it, you are no longer in DIRECT CONTACT with the thing, (whatever the thing is) — you’ve distorted it. Be nothing. Just be present with what IS.”
These are the basics of Zen Buddhism and these are also supposedly the central teachings of Jesus — to strip oneself of all dogma and stand naked before God. And folks just WON’T do it. This stuff sounds great on paper or in a Sunday church sermon, but it’s ultimately just another theory. Folks don’t really GET IT — that this shit is MADE UP. (They also didn’t want to hear it from Alfred Kinsey. Same message. Not interested.)
This “direct experience” approach is also taught by art teachers, (drawing, painting, etc.) Drawing 101: You look at a chair. In order to accurately draw the chair, you have to forget the word “chair.” You have to completely be present with the shapes and textures in your midst…and draw THAT. And the second you bring in the word “chair,” you’re no longer SEEING what is right there before you.

I know it doesn't take much to get me fired up...but come on!!!  Hellooooo?!  YES!!!  Can we just all be understanding of what we are?  Life is simple.  People are simple.  Living could be simple.  I am no expert or even half as good at living this way as I'd like...but it does make sense to me and it does turn me on and I do my best.  Let's experience each other in a real way.  Let's look past the labels of teacher, bus driver, etc. and relate to one another in the moment.  Let's be happy for each other, not ashamed to love one another, not afraid to express gratitude and affection.  The current state of the world is demanding that humans become humans again instead of corporate building blocks.  If we don't support each other through this mess (because it's only going to get worse) we will lose our entire world and there is no need for that to happen.  And besides losing our 'comfy credit bought' world...relating in truth to someone is joyous.  We feel good.  It feels 'right,'  it feeds the spirit and revives our true perceptions. 

A fine merging

Two Sewing
by Hazel Hall (1886-1924)

The wind is sewing with needles of rain.
With shining needles of rain
It stitches into the thin
Cloth of earth. In,
In, in, in.
Oh, the wind has often sewed with me.
One, two, three.

Spring must have fine things
To wear like other springs.
Of silken green the grass must be
Embroidered. One and two and three.
Then every crocus must be made
So subtly as to seem afraid
Of lifting colour from the ground;
And after crocuses the round
Heads of tulips, and all the fair
Intricate garb that Spring will wear.
The wind must sew with needles of rain,
With shining needles of rain,
Stitching into the thin
Cloth of earth, in,
In, in, in,
For all the springs of futurity.
One, two, three.

Hazel was a seamstress, embroiderer and a poet.  I like how her relationship to these activities are seamless..hehe.  In other words, she is what she makes whether it be clothing or poems.  Her mind has integrated these activities in such a way that her expression allows for a natural coinciding of images.  How she sees the world is through the filter of her talents.  This poem caught my attention today because of my mergings.  It's difficult to reconcile the number of 'businesses' I'm in sometimes.  Making hobbies into something that sustain me financially and keep me fulfilled on all levels is challenging and things have been difficult lately.  Her poem reminded me that harmony does exist if we look at it from the right state of mind.    Working with and surrendering to nature's natural rhythms is the way to go.  Thanks Hazel :)  

I just read this post and realized I hadn't commented on the beauty of the poem itself.  Goodness me.  It's really beyond anything I could say about it.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Random 'ahhh!'

I don't like talking on the phone
I don't like making contacts
I'd rather have an assistant

I don't like being sandwiched
in between two
I don't like making soup without
I don't like frazzled

There's a tree
     right outside my

     but I can't leave
because I'm making soup


Karaoke Audioslave

This guy's good.  This is a song that always makes me smile and I never hear it anymore.

More commonly

It'll come in this form. Less the make-up shadows and colored clothing.


Monday, September 28, 2009


Anna Sui for Target! So cute

Her inspiration is the show Gossip Girl (their season premiere is on tonight).  I do watch the show, at first just for the clothes, but the story is actually pretty good.  Anna Sui is the rock star of the American designer goddesses and her mix of upper east side + outrageous = great, affordable, funky clothes.  Yay! 
Here are some looks:

Mercury stations direct tomorrow morning

Better finish up any loose ends today. That's why I'm here, cough...working. Some people can be provocative without that little sting of deviance to their solar plexus. I don't think I was born with that gene. "Hide," she says. No thanks. I'll work on it. Shift change. Tomorrow the truth comes out, hopefully. This mercury retrograde was an interesting one because it dealt with relationships. Turning inward on what we really want for ourselves and in a mate. Also what we want our primary relationships to look like. How often do we get a chance to do that? And with the support of astrology? Coming out of a long term relationship, this was an amazing time for me to assess the possibilities of what my life with someone could look like. Many options opened up in my mind and even the question of children was brought into the mix. As a girl, I was raised to get married and have kids. Adoption and 'life partner' weren't really discussed. There are no wrong decisions. Mercury retrograde is a good time to open to possibilities without the overwhelming feeling of having too many options. Usually during this time you can just observe your own reactions to possible outcomes and trust in yourself when the time comes to make a move.

Change of ITunes

Blasted jazz-
give me back
the Beatles!

make your own
damn music.

piano waves, windows media player playing me
steam of milk- shhhhhhhhh
cough, cough
metal on plastic, three headset wearing mumblers
soft humming cooler
sax, click, click, siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip

On the lighter side

I'm 'at work' at the New Milford Starbucks and noticed a new edition of Coffee News. This two-sided piece of paper (one sheet) is so chock full of funny stuff. One segment is called On the Lighter Side and contains little sayings supposed to make you giggle. They tend to be truly absurd instead of light and sweet though. Here's this issue:

In what month do people talk the least? February

Shoe salesman who had dragged out half his stock to a woman customer: "Mind if I rest a few minutes, lady? Your feet are killing me!"

When we're lost in thought, could the reason be that we're totally on unfamiliar terrain?

What is the name of a tourniquet worn on the left hand to stop circulation? An engagement ring.

A motorist is a person who, after seeing a wreck, drives carefully for several blocks.

Nothing annoys a woman more than to have friends drop in unexpectedly and find the house looking as it normally does.

Good words are drops of silver; good deeds are buckets of gold.

Views expressed by husbands are not necessarily those of the management.

Opportunity may knock once, but temptation bangs on the door forever!

A weekly horoscope is also given and it's perfect for what I am here for!
Aries: Time seems to pass swiftly as you become passionately involved in a project that touches your heart. Savor every minute.

Ain't that the truth!

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Things Learned in Theta

Hair texture- softer than expexted.
Enjoys sitting on countertops and the word 'neat.'

Still quite respectful- not a whore.
Enjoys getting to know you and the word 'neat.'

Friday, September 25, 2009

On my head!

Just screamed a bit and it's 1:37.
Here's the scene:
watching videos on youtube.
Madonna's vogue, a live performance.
Feel something on my head so I
try to brush it off, whatever it is
and my headset wire moves.
So I'm thinking, ok, it was my headset.
The other side of my head feels strange
so I brush it off, my hair is a little funky
so I think, yeah, alright it's my hair.
Goddamn head still feels weird
so brush it off again and a daddy
longlegs falls onto my bed!  My
worst freaking nightmare.  I'm not
scared of much but little harvestmen
with their big creepy legs and black
bead bodies......icky!!!!
So I could have woken up the whole house
just now but I think it's all good.

After jumping off the bed for a moment
to regroup and do the freaked-out dance
I grabbed a wash cloth to 'get rid of it'
even though that freaks me out more
than just seeing one.   But how can I
sleep in a room with a daddy longlegs?
I can't.  So the couch will be my home
unless I can get to it.  Can't find it now
of course.  Sneaky little thing.  Ughhh
It's on the loose. I hope it at least crawls
up the wall so I can see it instead of
being lost in my knitting bag (which
is where I think it is hiding)  And no,
I am not sticking my hand in to find out.)
I realize I am no longer a gnat, but really...
They are freaky little things that should
have become extinct a long time ago.

What does Ted Andrews have to say about harvestmen?  Let's see what the universe is literally throwing at me this time:

Nothing, it's not in the book but I found something else online:

Subject of vicious rumor, little understood but with an important tale to tell, will suffer injury in order to be free

 That's pretty right on.  I went to a high school last night so maybe things are coming up from that.  The rumor parts at least.  High school was rough for me and rumors and nicknames were certainly present.  I was often called a witch even though I never practiced wicca.  I was also a troll and a fortune teller.  I think the troll part came from my ever evolving hair color; blue with green, green, purple with blue, etc.  The fortune teller part is obvious and the witch thing comes from being a fortune teller, of course.  It wasn't all bad.  We all have high school horror stories I bet.  As for the important tale, I'm not so sure.  Maybe that's why I have a blog.  I have suffered many injuries to be free.  I just don't look at it that way.  Maybe that is the point.

I'm Bored

He's reverse mummenschanz.
He's wearing a shirt.
He's bored.

Baroque Dance With Me

Make it to the second part.  It's lively!  Baroque has always been my favorite period for classical music.  How can you not love the harpsichord?  Francois Couperin has wonderful music for the harpsichord (and lute!)   If you like chilling vocals check this out:

This is only related by title but what an amazing idea!  Social art as he calls it. 

Muma, a Spanish-born artist in Lausanne, Switzerland, transforms his town into a scintillating paradise. "Allumons Lausanne!" (French for "Let's Light Up Lausanne!") attracted over 40,000 visitors on July 31, 2006 to absorb the spectacle created by over 127,000 candles placed in intricate patterns by 1,000 volunteers. The ancient Swiss town was transformed, bringing everyone together to appreciate what Muma calls "social art." "Lessons of Darkness" will make you reconsider your thoughts on collective identity, urban space and what it really means to live in today's intensely modern society. Please visit for more information on this incredible event - and its next incarnation in Paris in 2007.

Symphony No. 3 by Beethoven


Walking down a street,
running.   Underpass- stop!

Jump into the little boat.

Head downstream, oh no!

Will I make it to the next day alive?

I shout, rejoice!

Jump out of the boat
which crashed ashore.


Run, run, run
frollick through a field

wow, a castle.

Is the King home?

guards trumpet for his attention

"oh, it's you! nevermind" said the guard
"let me hail the King for you"

cool dude

oh shit!  I'm being chased off the property!

Run, run, run

through the field

I'm not getting back in that boat, no way!

Run, run
frollick, arms swinging, horaay!!
It's so good to be alive!

Where shall I go?


New blogger editing hooplah shindiggity color!

How often does it happen:
you don't know what is
missing from your life
until you find it.

  make loud music with me

My life with the thrill kill cult
'nuff said. Let is all go!
Dance!!!!! for joy!!!!!!!
Be a maniac sometimes.
Sing a long.
Make it up!!!!!!!
Be a techno god or goddess.
Fucking do it!
be unpredictable in the way
that people get used to it
and they say...huh, yeah that's you.
Then they want to join in.
Come on people, go for it.
Make it great.

Blasto butter music night

antidote for mixed up,
muddled up night:

A second helping

This, coming from a confused female.
Only on the outside. I talk to an
imaginary friend. He was my guide and
my fake brother when I was little.
We played on the swings a lot, chasing
the praying manti who congregated on
the wooden shed walls and back fence
where I grew up. Buffering a marsh.
Also friends: snakes, snake skins,
opossum trasheaters. I'd take you
all to Milford. Either my neighbors
are playing hide and seek, having a
fight or getting kinky. Maybe I do
hate something. This is all garbage
you know. I'm spewing stuck mud.

I grew up in a marsh.

This is a word pie

What a gorge in between these meetings,
the reality, the listenings, the sharing.
An ambient sense of laughter but only
sometimes when it rises through my lungs
to venture out into ether. Show me what
is capable. Stop me guessing.

Maybe ravine, blackened rocks to cook
on. Charcoal sticks write on picnic
tables. We was here. Before. Some
dream space created to show me something.
Not that thing, something different. If
I could wave long streamers in the air
I'd lose it. Dance the dream. Will
it get the point across or will I spell
it wrong? Maybe there is already a brick
laid down in mud, but it's shifting due
to extreme weather patterns. Winds shifting
west not east, bring sunshine to me. Move
my window fan. Someone's talking in the
other room. Muffled, I can't hear the words
but maybe it's a poem. Music is overlapping
it. It's mostly like this.

When I come across an event I know
someone else would enjoy I note it.
If there's a basis for friendship I
let them know. So the fake or unsure
stops me from sharing, meetings, listenings.
Almost a hurricane of shifting winds. Yeah
I've used this metaphor before. The same
contents, though. I am not an owl so
perspective/view changes all too often.
The eye, that's me for this point, I don't
change. Often I stay detached. I'll keep
a cool head about things. Rarely do I
say fuck this shit..cause it's not shit.
We are real people down here, huh! Wow.

I never told the story of being cheated
and beaten down. If you saw me then
you could probably tilt your head
and squint a little like dogs do to see
it in there. Squirming around my body.
Making little worm paths in the sand.
It is refreshing to know that is gone
now. Replaced almost, but not with the
same deal. What is there now is at least
real beauty of vision. I mean, maybe I
complain occasionally but it's great, man,
the best. Accessibility is the problem
but it doesn't have to be. There is
no sin in speaking. It comes back
to music, when a song is on that I
don't like I can skip it, but I don't
always do that. It takes a song that
grabs me and pinches hard to mobilize
the veto. It could even be a band
I enjoy, like REM. Don't go back to
Rockville is a song I skip. See, then
Regina Spektor comes on. Fidelity is
the song. I had hoped for that.

I don't hate, I'm no hater. I never
know what would happen to see them,
the two in the cottage who still
use my old curtains. But since my
face is pale and overheated maybe I'd
run away. It's just honesty or a
reaction. Sled riding down that slope
saved me more aggravated years. That's
the thing about love. The saying, "if
it ain't broke don't fix it." I have
no idea what that means.

After reacting I'd think about
a thank you plan. Really. It was
in everyone's best interest. Chosing.
It's chosen. I chose which level
to integrate. Which set of rules to
follow now because of what i've seen
before. That's the real pickle. Are
we emotional/mental/physical/etheric/
genetic/inherited people? All together
now. And which ones are we living and
creating on? Which point of view wins?
What gets cast out? It's life work.
Integration after cleansing. I'm
striving for that. We all are. To
love everyone in an open way having
respect for all the choices made.
But it's too big a concept to get
good at. Especially in a word pie.

What's a pie without a little sugar
on the crust? My hurricane shifted
after that last . Shake it up,
sit back, tear drop stew, tummy ache
laugh session, can't breathe, listen
louder, want, ache, desire, pretend,
sleep, nod off, just rest the eyes,
understand that this will continue
for seasons, detatch. repeat.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Dream tonight

I'm so tired and I don't want to write a poem. I walk around tonight resembling someone who needs both hips replaced. Gotta get better at stretching after the gym. The pipe outside moved like a snake up the handle and I think the siding cracked in stereo. Clarity is wonderful but it is such a slap in the face. Being here now means that I was there for so long. I tend to forget that part often. There is a practice of letting your past go. Maybe I tried too soon or made an excuse for waiting's sake. Whatever the reason, I am sobered. A grown up. There is moving on involved. Left with not much! Is there anger or only motivation? Both I suppose, but shedding the rest will hopefully be easier.

Yeah Man - get creative!

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Relating to Humans While Living on Earth

I had a huge day.
The clouds told
me to look on the
bright side and I
did; before they
told me to. And
I'm in love with
living again. It
never goes away.
I'm excitable.
There is no out-
come that would
deprive me. I'm
glad to have
signed up for this
Earth thing.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Monday, September 21, 2009

Four Drawings from a Fiery Day

It's the last night of summer!

In honor of that funky sun of ours I've recorded a poem I did last year and put the audio with the drawing.

laughter wish, yearn to speak. languid
plants. molded with

sunlit wake. the new way.
love that blue.

bother not clouds. drink me from
the sky. learn your tongue and let
me rest from shining.

unknown past. seedling

no hope but to rise, meet it's

some day.


Today is supposed to be a very strange day according to the sun, which is currently void of course. I'm not sure what that means...I am just learning about astrology. It's fascinating but very involved. Over at the Page Two blog, Eric Francis has a special post about today including a daily astrology for all signs.

PS: the comment at the bottom is a work of art!

Sunday, September 20, 2009


God? Why did you fuck me? I mean, why am I so fucked? Stop sending me these signals! I'm not talking to you anymore. Fuck over someone else. I'm a good person! Huh? What? Can't hear you. Fuck it all- but I'm not like that. Fuck you internet...sorry, didn't mean that...I couldn't live with out you. Wait! Yes I could. Stop sending me in circles, God! God, Fuck! Wow, language. You know, god? This is ridiculous. Just make it so I am not fucked. Make it so no one is. You can do that right? You can do anything. Stop the bad fucking and only allow the good fucking. Let everyone be fucked the good way. Some people really need that. I do. Are you writing this down god? Do you need to borrow a pen? What the fuck is wrong with me? fuck.

A Sidewalk Matter

The other day I purchased Real Jewish Rye. Seedless- but that wasn't a factor, I like seeds. So I toasted up two slices, spread butter on them and cut the stack in two. Hot tea in an Eiffel tower mug. (Thanks Jen)

I want to be that guy in the dirty jeans who sidles himself up next to you on the street spouting bullshit. Telling you the answer while being overly nonchalant and using hand gestures. (He assumes that builds respect because that's what his Dad used to do.)

I usually eat toast with the butter side down. We don't have taste buds that register fat, but the texture is nicer. Sometimes I eat the crust first.

So this guy- he has his own agenda. He wants you to be on his side. He doesn't even know why because he's not a thief or a dealer- it's just important to him. When he appears wearing his torn-at-the-elbow leather jacket, black of course, I know to stop and let him speak. I respond, "Yeah man, I know. It'd be fucking great." His speech, now more animated continues on until I decide to nod my head and walk away even though that nod shakes my hair over my eyes and places my hands in my pockets.

All I really want is to eat my toast, real Jewish Rye and drink my hot tea from an Eiffel tower mug.

Just for fun- if I was that guy, I might warn you that toast gets cold. The butter, congealed again, sticks to the lips. The bread gets chewy because the gluten activates and if you have TMJ, like I do, it can start to irritate your jaw. And as for the tea? That cools off, too.

This is a thank you.

My version of a
greeting card.

I'm being kissed
on the cheek by
the sun through

The more I look
at this drawing
the more it makes
sense. I've become
so sensitive lately.
So searchy, searchy.

Look, I am hugging
that swirled up
mess. That's what
I see anyway.

But at least you
can know I mean it.

Now the song about
the dawning of the
age of aquarius is
on the stereo, aka
the house computer.

It's like in a movie
when the main player
has a lightbulb
moment. Some epic song
begins. Deja vu.

"Love will steal the stars?"
Not sure if that's what
they say. I'm too chatty
these days. Word piles
Oohh, I should make
a word pie! Gotta get
to that now. Thanks.

That green chakra of mine

Saturday, September 19, 2009

One Minute

I am not writing as myself
because I am at someone
else's keyboard. I just noticed
how one minute apart means that
time is not made of jelly.
One minute apart means that
time, being a slick friend
who calls you a nickname
you hate, is just there, waiting
for you at every turn to tell
you how wrong you are to feel
the way you do and how wrong
you are to keep feeling those
feelings. Time just sits
and waits for you to notice him
clicking, ticking away until
you give in and as Bukoswki once
said, throw the radio out the
window. You want to look at the
cute lady across the way, whose
ass is shining at you while she
gardens but... Time will get
you. He'll steal your courage
and send you into something.
That something you don't want
to say.

I love this song

Sheram Jay & Nick
/K Shaka
by Seb Fontaine


Like you have a
in your hands
and your body
is made of


Foundation for a horizon

Before I Draw

I like to call them chalk
because when they are
inviting me so subtly
to pick them up, the
slightest matter surrounding
them blows to the sides
and not a pastel could
pull off the vibrancy
they represent themselves as.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Myth of the Blaze

by George Oppen

(I apologize for misrepresenting this poem. The spacing of words is not correct. Please visit the link above for a more accurate version)

night—sky bird’s world
to know to know in my life to know

what I have said to myself

the dark to escape in brilliant highways
of the night sky, finally
why had they not

killed me why did they fire that warning
wounding cannon only the one round I hold a superstition

because of this lost to be lost Wyatt’s
lyric and Rezi’s
running thru my mind
in the destroyed (and guilty) Theatre
of the War I’d cried
and remembered
boyhood degradation other
degradations and this crime I will not recover
from that landscape it will be in my mind
it will fill my mind and this is horrible
death bed pavement the secret taste
of being lost


clown in the birds’
world what names
(but my name)
and my love's name to speak

into the eyes
of the Tyger blaze

of changes ... ‘named

the animals’ name

and name the vigorous dusty strong

animals gather
under the joists the boards older

than they giving
them darkness the gifted

dark tho names the names the ‘little’

words a mountain the cliff

a wave are taxonomy I believe

in the world

because it is
impossible the shack

on the coast

under the eaves
the rain barrel flooding

in the weather and no lights
across rough water illumined
as tho the narrow

end of the funnel what are the names
of the Tyger to speak
to the eyes

of the Tiger blaze
of the tiger who moves in the forest leaving

no scent

but the pine needles’ his eyes blink

in the shack
in the knife-cut
and the opaque


bread each side of the knife

Bitsy Chaos

The stars are
only puzzle

up in

When they fall,
I make
my day


Thursday, September 17, 2009

Confused Clouds

Where a dog bites
the head off his
stuffed chicken-
the mess you come
home to. Wet, nonabsorbent
fluff. Scattered and strewn
on the berber blue rug.
That not quite gray
but still depressing color.
The tree with split trunk
tries to divert the eye
but you look up anyway,
not through. It's still
mid September so the
leaves are curled with
untrimmed, gangly branches.

Lighthouse through a
metal fence, cloud parts
through wired skyline.
Patio furniture- white
fence barricade. Where do
people live? No one enjoys
the sand now- it's too
much to walk over the
bridge. Only life I seen
was in an electric vehicle
combing the sand. Forcing
back erosion, so America.

Now, at the bench the
water, more berber than
the sky. Rippled, textured
dobby of gray. Look up at
gray no sunbirds clouds.
Chilled. Sedum beside me
last flowerhead of a
generic, contractor daylilly.
These are not shore plants.
Salt water tolerant, sandy legs.
Only the yucca survives.
The Montauk daisy
sprawls in hopes of
smelling the tides.

Bicycle mailman, trashcan blue
camry. Imitations of my
clouds blocking sky. I went
to the shore, from across
the bridge to find sponge.

This is my sky. Structure
roof, array of colors. Poke
through air, backdrop, not
solid. Empty garage we
dwell with cats, plastic
tubs and weeds so beautiful
grow through the floor.
White top seeds spreading
generations. We can knock
down this structure and
not lose a thing.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009


I keep wanting there to be words for these. At first it was math, summation and extrapolation. But the second drawing is just a different view. It starts in the center while the first starts at the sides. They say the same thing, really. They say too much. Is it really that complicated? I didn't think so.

What do I look like today?

I ripped my aura.
Really, tore the page.
Loving the earth, spirit's
coming in. Focused,
wise words, sunny
disposition, if not
a little airy in
the best of ways.


The mouse
is me. Ouch.

The Radio

allows for eclectic listening in a short period of time. Today I heard Water Music by Handel (my favorite piece of music ever). Turned it all the way up and melted in.
I disco danced to That's the way, uh huh, uh huh I Like it. Sang the Guess Who's American Woman, Green Day's, Welcome to Paradise, more songs I don't know the band names/song titles for... Grooved to Conscious's set list on some station that plays good r&b. Be True to Your School by the Beach Boys, love them. What else? Oh, Bad Company by Bad Company.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Searching for new material to read,
I read it all the same again.
When it pisses me off, all the same,
all the same, I know it's not them.
I have the same, the same wanting
to get rid of. It feels similar.


Poetry comes now.

From the wooden spoon

My Mother never hit me with,

From the childhood friend

I met with tonight,

From the fingers that

Are off-placed on the keyboard.

Poetry comes from the sky

Filled with stars-a-hiding

From nights past.

It comes from the notion

That I talked and remembered

All the days of the 'hood'

And came home smiling for you.

Comes and goes, as it would

Any other artistic endeavor.

In the spirit or of it...

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Saturday, September 12, 2009

The Hand-off

I think in football a hand-off is a maneuver you participate in with a member of your own team to advance the ball in order to score a touchdown or gain yards for a first down. I hope I got that right.

Friday, September 11, 2009

A Shout Out - Sephyrus Press...

is a year old today. Sappho Does Hay(na)Ku was released in limited edition paperback form last year on this date. Thanks to everyone who helped with the project including my very talented Mother, Tina Mingolello and those helpful folks at Transient Books who bound them. And thanks to the author for letting me take his existing work and make it a book. Thanks Scott Keeney! You can read the whole collection of poems over at his blogbook or check out the bound version with the link at left of this blog. I am planning on many more years and many more books with Sephyrus Press. Woohoo! Oh, I almost
forgot! A huge thanks to Eileen Tabios because without her mention of the book on her blog Sappho Does Hay(na)Ku would have been exclusively found in the candle catalog of my other company. (not to mention the book wouldn't exist if she hadn't invented the form!) So again, Woohoo!


This is sudden
sullen erasersnakeshutinthedoor!
Want to make noises like
nature being objectified.
Take a look at those
nursery rhymes. Bowachoweeeeezerkablam.

9/11 is a Gingerbread House

Planet Waves article on 9/11

This is a very important article. The fact that I believe 9/11 was orchestrated by our own government usually shuts people up. Well, what do you think? It's so obvious if you want it to be. I don't know what to do about it either, but pretending it isn't true seems worse.

Thursday, September 10, 2009


no time!


fingershakey, email- slap of hand, what color...?, call on the phone, make the call, don't go in, want to see....him. Rest. Listen to the radio, feel the days, caffeinate, draw is all i want to do, lay on bed, type, daydream. work. scan. make word piles. be unsatisfied. don't write. don't see. wait.
fingershake, email- spin.


Hold them both.
Keep those gnarly ideas
in their cages, one
on each side of the
brain. You know who belongs
where. Kick up your heels
now because you've
figured it out. The
sense is to not make
any. Life's circles
are precious. Logic
isn't a square.

Now what? Take that
bubble and dip into
your muted reflection.


Are you making me
take another, no.
Is it truth or
a silly, no it's real.
What is the point?
The help. It's wanted.
How is it ok, just
go with it. Trust.
I'm afraid. There
is space for this.

Why did I turn on the TV?

Permafrown people creep me out.
Is it really that bad at home?
Does Dr. Phil make sense to you?
Why did your husband join a cult?
Listen to the Harvard Lawyer.
The IRS is no joke! Step it up.
No, David, this is real. I think
David, because of your religious
beliefs you just don't get it at all.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Right Now in Drawings

One of my favorites from Scott Keeney's Solar or Leap

Solar or Leap is a newer edition to the Keeney Blogdom. It houses 377 poems from 1991-2008 with more to come. His main blog, Nobody in the Rain, is an absolute daily treasure so be sure to check that out if you aren't already addicted like me. The poem below is from 1995.

Untitled Landscape

Then there is a time in life when you just take a walk:
And you walk in your own landscape.



There was no geometry today in the sky.
I looked azure into the sky.
The starlings exploded into the sky.
I thought of jets, ink-jet light, laser-printing light.
There were no clocks melting in the sky.
But in the branches
and deep inside dark feathers
where iridescence is bare brown barbules.
But under those leaves and under those wings,
there I was and here I am.
Pythagoras was playing on the radio
while I was melting
my shadow along the wall.


The yellow leaves, the red leaves,
those some still green leaves —
thousands of little doors to the sky.
Some clouds like silent drums.
The west wind is out of season
and I have no kids. I have a bed
bought for me by my parents.
I have the earth more than awareness.
I have a reader I hope
who has more than the earth.
A dry eye, the earth
is beyond the scope of landscape.
Skeleton, cold fingers. The pale
moon sheds its petals of daylight
in the sky, the everyday sky
where the leaves lead to.


Hello, Tree, my name is Sciopticon.
It feels so good to be
so obsolete. I love the way I join
with the moment like a plan.
If someone were to whisper,
Save me, into my ear right now,
that would be sweet nothing.
Though I might light up and become
aware of the earthworms walked on
on rainy days.
O I want nothing more than
the sky is my obsolete
dream. There is a sunny moisture
along with the dust moving
along in the air. I am drum.


The buildings corner the sky.
Corners no corners,
Where these things meet
geometry cries, the way
I see blue into the sky.
Blue as a fire engine roaring
past, forging mind.
A blue jay darting across
evergreens is a small piece
of the sky, corner-like.
When your professor asks, What is
the length of the shadows cast
by some building A, tell her,
The shadow of the building A is
a blue jay in the sky.


My fingertips look blue. What
blue head of what an arm
and a leg are when they are
one! In walking, I am walking
again, again through the sky,
through nobody’s sky.
I breathe and it’s like erasers
of ocean all through
my veins. A thousand spindrift
miles away. The birds, the trees,
the sneakers, the dog, the fleas,
everything, save the sky.


The sky is a miraculous flower.
The sky is no miracle.
I have no feelings for the sky.
If I were a flower, I would be
a flower. I might take more
notice of earthworms.
Certainly I wouldn’t step . . .
my petals would fall off the way
the moon rises. I would need
no name. Oh,
what would I say? Call me
Little Calendar.


Lost in the waves of sky and earth,
standing on the curb,
she waits to cross the street
like a caesura. If this were a
dream, it would be dawn,
the street would be a lake,
and she would be a nymph
and have a name like Oh,

What is that airplane overhead?


Suddenly becoming aware of
a person is like something
suddenly gone. The sky
changes color. The leaves
grow dark. The tree deepens
as its leaves grow darker.
Why am I a tree? My hands
like sick white leaves.
To walk. But I walk and I
curl myself into the sky as if
to sleep. Geometry, old thief,
where did my nymph go?
And those starlings that shot out?
Already obsolete.


Leaves exist to fall, but do they
want to? What’s the principle?
Is it greater than a Lamborghini?
What breath! A loaf of bread!
I feel like rain rising to the earth!
The sun is high! O yellow mouth
of the sky, take me as your snack!
O exclamation points of thought!
I need you, things, and I don’t.
There I am in the sky, cutting corners
I’m a blue jay how I breathe.
I have been here. I have walked
like an insect across the damp
yellow leaves. Many times, once.


Each star is a kiss from the ancients.
There are no stars this evening.
I am out on a limb of reset
and I am walking again again.
The sky today has been forever.
I am not a star. I am not a tree.
I don’t even know biology
let alone astronomy. Call me
Pythagoras of the blue leaves.
My name is nothing more than —
wait — I am a majuscule of the body
of language. This is my number.
I am walking and I am waiting
for the sky to tell me her new name.

save as draft

adam and eve
big bang

Just came across this thanks to Pandora

Monday, September 7, 2009

In Transit, In Transit (Details Please), Parking Lot Meeting

Huh. The Colors, The Tiger

Waiting for my sheets to [Black]

Mayonnaise, the song not the condiment, usually makes me cry. It was the song he played on my guitar when my room was in boxes. The house that almost crippled me, which I loved. What is that syndrome called where you fall for your captor? Without that house I'd be normal, unaware. (almost) Pandora decided to play this first tonight. Maybe it's time to recover some love for the one who keeps you heightened. Singularly focused on survival of mind. Silly little demons. I don't believe in demons, yet today I picked up Beelzebub returning home from Stop & Shop. He caressed my shoulder with his sunshiny wing and told me of his adventures. He's earthbound. [Heart shaped box] Has a heavier feel than fly-abouts. I'd call him neutral. [Lucky] "Pull me out of the air." We are standing on the edge. The place of focused comfort in ever changing surroundings. Inscrutable happenstance resulting. [You've Got To Hide Your Love Away][When You Were Young][Rhinoceros] The couple in the apartment above me are screwing right now. Who needs porn when you can hear through the ceiling.


Doorframe arabesque penchee,
Rond de jambe en l'air,

Sunday, September 6, 2009


I had trouble relaxing today. Even with my feet in the water it was hard to breathe correctly. Now I am watching Donnie Brasco and realize that everything is fine. No one is getting beaten up here. No wack jobs, haha. I think I've even been upped. The bee said to keep going. Nothing is impossible and timing is everything. Timing is right on time. I forgot earlier that when I got into the car leaving the beach there was a green lady bug in my hair. Besides noting that bugs must really enjoy my hair today, I thought, 'wow, how lucky am I? A rare gem of nature likes me.'

It's a Nontage

photos were taken from the passenger seat of a moving car

A la playa

Tales from the beach

Today a bee, who thought my hair was a flower, landed on salt-sprayed blond. Visible to me, my hair hanging down in front, his burred legs tangled. He wasn't agitated as I watched in amazement. When he became free he turned to my face, then flew off. We understood each other perfectly. I wonder, what kind of flower am I?

The Stand-In said
hello as

my position
near the jetty.

Walking Silver to Walnut. Where are you? Why can't you read yourself? know. It was set up. Everything was in place. And then they sent the Stand-In. I counted 51 clouds today.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Wild Life After Noon

Raccoons wear masks which connect them with higher planes
or even bars of grains. Blue herons turn up silver on a
sunny day. I go to where the skirt of the horizon is the
same color as the sky.

Wow! A Supernova

I've had the title of this song in my head all day :)

This is such a pretty song and these two did a great job.

Quando e dove?
Not where's the love.

Friday, September 4, 2009


Here's what I've got, besides a tired teary, full moon night...
five pages.
Five pages and two books full of answers.
Yes, two books. Freaked out yet? I know I am.
This didn't happen over night.
You really did want to know all of this.
Random line: No magical story to give.
I'm in.
I mean inWe need to talk.

Mobile Blogger This is a Plea

Please fix your crossed signal with my pink phone. I would so much like to mobile blog. Pictures taken during the day like to be seen by Sephyrusian page. I have registered and verified both SMS and MMS. Take pity on me Mobile Blogger. Don't make me wait until Mercury turns direct.

Blogger #5,327,459

Harry Hill People, Harry Hill's TV Burp

Egg Ghost:
I burped during this one so you know it's the real deal

Today the sky looked like:

Found Object:

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Six with a kicker

Time for sleep.
Acidic tongue

Neptune belly please
clear this

Not a collection
more like

Spitfire Rachel wtf
Rachel Rachel

Assurance before deepening
offense / defense

Official Office Business:
Love 2


I've tried to
stop wanting

This's as real
as real

I'd not have
started so

if that was
any false

I only hope
you can

my sincerest attempt
at compassion

longing born too
deep down

name. And [woah] hope
'tisn't 'too

Yes, I am speaking and Yes.

It's tough business being the one with five eyes open.
Male or female, lots of times the paper sucks, the walls suck,
the bathroom stinks, the dailies makes one cringe.
No one can tell anyone how to interpret the story.
That's left up to the viewing room. My last coincidence
ended in an abrupt farewell and fuck you, too. Not a
shiny paper bag with studded parting gifts. Nope,
ripped up painted on surfaces. Chewed by a rat.
There is patience in my reckoning. I wait for no
one as I wait for you. Time is fake, remember? I
know this well. If no one shows up to my party
so be it. I care for people and I care for silence.
I don't make things up which also means I don't
fuck with people I have a name for. Loud as can be
I journey on. With my unclaimed string attached to
the moon.

Consciousness with a side of mashed potatoes

The Moon. In its effulgence I sing. In its craters I dance. Peer beyond the shadow I do. I won't die because you say so. This heat came before your name I knew. To you- its reflection seeks. It is the purse of nature which I carry high. Flares are outbursts aimed at centaur boys. Life revolves with passages of plenty but one orbit I have found. Rays shine on you Moon. To sleep you may shade down. My bastion of beam knows no night.

Reclaimed Items:

1. Bonsai Cycad named, Mini Fred.
2. The Power of Now, by Eckhart Tolle.
3. Nude Sketch, it's not art it's nakedness (apparently)
4. Psychic Protection, by Ted Andrews (no relation)
5. Sense of Abandon, by Mother Nature
6. Friday Mornings Free, to take long sun showers.

In concert

Riffs flinging passive

down scales.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


I need something big,
I need something.
I cannot be contained.

Wearing a red hat
with brown trim.

I need something big,
I need something.
I cannot be contained.

who's line is it anyway?

I can't find my line.
I listen for the game
in everything. When it
comes to true distinction
of source, I am clouded.

For next time

Here's the plan for when
I find myself sitting
as your opposite. Write.

Pass it along under the
table. Response in your
comfort. Poetics.


What energy, intercourse
in that discourse. Holding
the space. Responding sans
face. Building cloud
with a fury of silence.


I'd like to try this sometime. Sit across from someone and communicate by writing poems back and forth. It could be lame but it could really be something. Let the words speak and keep a poker face. I bet the energy would be unreal. :) Hhmmm

Dance Cave In

At least the room looks green
with a blue stripe coming down
from the light. Silly Green,
Silly Blue

Fiona does Across the Universe

beautiful :)

Mass MoCA Visit

Before heading home from Mass. on Monday Lisa and I visited Mass MoCA, a contemporary art center. I am always excited to see art wherever or in whatever form it takes. The brochure in the hotel listed two exhibits I couldn't wait to see. First a Sol LeWitt retrospective. He's the 'idea guy.' At first he would make simple art on walls himself then over the years simply gave instructions for installing the art. He believed in the idea being the purpose. The idea is important, not the artist. Over time his language evolved beyond simple lines to include colorful, undulating patterns as well as geometric shapes. If he was showing, he would direct helpers to install the art in the gallery or space and more often than not paint over the art after the show. The most amazing part of the retrospective was seeing his instructions. A simple drawing with some penciled in text sitting under glass. I felt the care in that. What disappointed me was the starkness of the completed walls. I understand that the idea is on display but why can't it also be a chance for the installation artists to give something. I felt nothing, no reverence, no deep respect...a robot could have painted the walls. I am used to contemporary art making me feel uncomfortable because that seems to be a major theme these days...'yes life is awful,' 'there are so many wars,' 'we are fighting to make art,' and so on... There is almost an acre of wall space occupied by this late artists ideas. I just wish it meant more to those who participated in making that happen.
mass moca Sol LeWitt link

Now to the Elegies...
These Days: Elegies for Modern Times

I was SOO looking forward to this! Here's a snippet from the MassMoCA site:
Bringing together six artists whose work is infused with that lyric's sense of wonderment, and with the poetic and musical tradition of the elegy, These Days: Elegies for Modern Times responds to today's changing world with installations, photographs, painting, sculpture and video. The exhibition is at once an extended lamentation, but also full of a revelatory sense of possibility and hope.

I didn't feel anything but a sense of doom from this whole exhibit. The only textual poetry was Dante! For more: link. I don't know...

To top it all they had THIS IS KILLING ME!
Show don't tell.
In contrast to the popular mythology of the studio as a site of inspired genius, these artists depict the studio as a space of always difficult labor, laced more with self-doubt than triumphant brilliance. Part and parcel of the pervasive uncertainties of economic distress, war, and environmental collapse that define our moment, the works in This is Killing Me reveal the specific anxieties of artists in these generally anxious times.

Self-deprecating artists using words on a canvas as a mind map full of, "my work is shit, what will they think?, what if he says this?..." What about the process? The idea? Sure recognition is nice once in a while but that's not why art is made. I know, I am being an art bitch. But I never thought I'd ever come out of a museum feeling such a sense of 'ehh' as I did on Monday. I was let down. I appreciate the work, but I got a sense that the curators of these shows wanted to tell more, they didn't connect with the art and set up way too high expectations. So either the art didn't deliver or the brochure writers didn't see the work. Oh well...

There was ONE shining ray of hope, though!

Anselm Kiefer @ Mass MoCA from Mass Moca on Vimeo.

His work is amazingly moving. “Among our most important poets of war, in this surprising body of works Anselm Kiefer presents us with poignant moments of color flowering across the ruined topographies of his vast canvases,” said Joseph Thompson, Director of MASS MoCA. Now that's hope. I would drive two hours to see this.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009


The words, word?
It may have said,
Brown, two stripes.
Trace the letters.
Push onto the stripes.
No stripes, heart.