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This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...

Friday, March 28, 2008

40% Bullshit

There are 10 posts per page. On the page showing the 10 most recent 4 of them say something like "I'm all backed up in writing/art/action: stay tuned".

I'm calling bullshit on myself.
I just handed me the bullshit card.

Not happy about this.
It's not really anyone's problem but my own.
But, hell, there it is.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

He Called Me Emo

Ha!

It's sleeting here today. I'm still fighting the good fight against the office epidemic that has people coughing in their cubes on all fronts. I've been eating raw garlic every night before bed since Sunday and sporadically before that. I got the Traditional Medicine "Healthy Pack" of teas along with some spinach, lemons and a lime last night. I'm going to bed as early as I can and thinking positively.

So, yeah.
My boyfriend called me emo on the phone earlier today. It made me laugh, but he's a little right.

Last week, out too late at the bar, I was one of the sober ones watching all the drunk forgettings. (I did get a number, boo-yah!) This guy started talking about "Never Ending Story" which I loved as a kid, but retain little knowledge, trivially, of. He starting asking trivia questions, which I didn't know the answers to.
He asked, "What's the book (the boy) is reading (in bed) at the beginning of the movie?"
My friend quickly answered, "The Never Ending Story".
They laughed and the questioner said, "Yeah, people really over think that one."

I do that. I'm the person that won't answer that question because I'm wishing I had a better head for stupid bar trivia and didn't quickly grasp, duh...

Anyway, that's not really the problem. The problem is over thinking everything.
A simple e-mail becomes an exercise in explication and all of the sudden I'm parcing possible meant tones and contexts that were probably never implied.

Stick to poetry dear, stick to poetry.

Right.
So, I know, the postings have been SuperLame lately. The art is bursting inside me but I haven't had much time to myself until just this week and now I'm spending most of that time trying not to get any sicker. It's working. And I'm teaching myself (slowly) about herbal medicines while I dream of gardens and books and poetry.
To Do:
Write 2 travel blog entries before Monday.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Ex at My Bus Stop.

this is done in the form from the Overeducated Nympho's triad blogs. I've adapted it. I like it and it's good to know who/what you like as a writer.


My heart: Shit. I can't believe she's here!
the head: You knew it would happen eventually. You live in the same neighborhood.
My heart: But I forgot as time passed! And I'm not in her hood! I'm on My route to work! What is she doing here?! Doesn't she work from home?! ShitShitShit!
the head: You're staring.
The pussy: And she doesn't see you.
My heart: Really? Is she just playing cool?
EGO: Ow. Look away. Be cold. Look away hard.
My heart: Is she looking? Does she see us?
the head: This is stupid. Look at her. She's walking this way.
The pussy: Does she see us?
EGO: She's five feet away. She has to see us.
Removes sunglasses. Gets her eye immediately.
the head: Her face. It's doing that cool cover up...
My heart: ...adorable sheepish look. Shit. I'm scared. I'm scared I can't control these feelings.
three hours later
My heart: Shit.
the head: It went well. Chill out.
My heart: Will she call? Or text?
the head: Fuck. No obsessing allowed. Absolutely not!
EGO: Remember that floor you dropped through last time?
the head: And how months in an unfamiliar emotional basement felt empty and sad?
My heart: Yeah.
the head: Do Not go there. Stop obsessing and get to fucking work. Think about something else.
My heart: Her face. I shouldn't have sent that e-mail to her saying I kinda loved it. Shit. Why am i so bad at thinking about something else?
the head: Oh christ you're obnoxious. Shit.
My heart: Hey, I can't help it!
The pussy: No! It's good! She suggested lunch! She told you you look good!
My heart: She was as herself as she can be on short notice.
the head: Shit. Just keep quiet.
EGO: Keep quiet little chick.
the head: Try and enjoy the first day of spring.

Monday, March 17, 2008

In The Air

I have a lot of stories backing up at home and have not been very disciplined about moving them forward or putting them into a more interesting plot or format. Stay tuned for more stories.

I need to call my Grandma and ask her how she feels about the state of the Union. I wonder if I'm imagining the awakening of the national consciousness or if it is actually happening. I feel my Grandma, who lives in a "Senior Community" in Las Vegas, is a great canary in the mine. She spends most of her time worrying about finances or her children and their children, so if worries about the shrinking world and economy are getting into her purview then, maybe progress is being made on the sleeping complacency front.

Sleeping complacency front?
That phrase proves I'm paying only half attention as I type.

One Love

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Makes me wanna homeschool

I was browsing other who link themselves as Poet today on blogger and found a blog by an apparently Awesome 13 year old girl in the Madison, WI 'burbs.

She calls herself Not Freddy Jones

I wanted to send her comment love telling her that she's awesome, but I don't want her linkig back to my R rated posts.
Ideas?

Friday, March 7, 2008

Letter to Zem Chance

Hi Sweetie,
I'm in love again. Ha ha, you should laugh at me. And then rejoice with me in the warm strong feelings of love that wash us over and make us feel proud to be alive again. I want to tattoo evolutionary epics on my body. I want to write poems about transience and graffiti. I want to skip around the block of this often stupid place.
It's so good to have someone dominate me again. It's so good to have an exchange of ideas that makes me feel alive and not exasperated or sad.
I only met him last night. So, obviously, it is not actually the kind of Love that one grows over time and people call "real", but love it is, nevertheless, wouldn't you agree? I know you know what I'm saying.
There are probably as many levels of love as there are levels in Dante's inferno.
I love you too.
I miss you, doll, let's start playing phone tag until we're tired and collapse giggling on the lawn of an actual conversation.
Kisses all over
all over
smothering your skin with moisture
kisses on you,
Shana


Nourish beginnings, let us nourish beginnings. Not all things are blest, but the seeds of all things are blest. The blessing is in the seed. -Muriel Rukeyser

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Kind of Deadening

:inhale:
::exhale::

that's right, just breathe through it.
consider yourself admonished.

i just got told by my boss, who got told by her boss, who got told by her boss that i've been seen doing too much walking around and talking in the office and i may be moved closer to my boss to be "kept an eye on".

well.
if that don't beat the fucking shit.

:inhale:
more graffiti
::exhale::
s'ok, i'll look like an office drone at my desk, but i won't actually Be at my desk.
:inhale:
fuckers
::exhale::
graffiti frenzy!

Here's a great interview with Swoon who I'm obsessed with today thanks to the talk she gave at MoMA that 'mysteriously' appeared in my iTunes.

In the interview I linked to, she says this:
"I see that they painted that wall brown, and it looks horrible. Everything is gone the whole thing is brown. And to me that is so much worse vandalism than anything else that was done to that wall. Because it’s brick, I mean look at all the colors and textures, and all of the sense that you get of that building. Now they’ve just painted that whole building brown. It looks really horrible. It’s kind of deadening, you know"

:inhale:
::exhale::

There Are Ways Out

note to self:
don't listen to rage against the machine
on the way to work




in the next post, i talk about swoon more. at the end of the interview i link to she says something that's at the core of success.
I don’t even really like this work (the early paste-up pieces). In fact nobody likes it. Even when you don’t quite know what you are doing you have to keep doing, then you will hit on something. Sometimes you will spend six months making really ugly things but you would never have gotten to the good stuff if you hadn’t gone ahead and made the ugly stuff.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Tabs on Tags

Graffiti is one of my favorite things about living in a large city. Every day when I look at the abandoned looking building on Grand/Milwaukee/Halsted I wonder why the authorities keep covering the tags, postings, & art over in drab grey/blue or brown paint. It looks worse!

I got a lot of nice exposure to world wide graffiti via the wonders of the internet and work slack today.

In Berlin the breaking down of the wall let thousands of kids, artists, and rebels flood the previously sterile East side to do their work.

I happened upon the daily photo blog of a French man and discovered that March 1 was a blog theme day for Daily photo blogs and the theme was graffiti or street art & murals. Sweet! I spent the last 20 minutes looking at street art world wide. Blog hopping is so much fun.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Powerfully Turned and Turning

I called him because I had to get out. It was a beautiful Sunday morning. Spring is in people's blood. The 2.9 million people in Chicago give little credit to the connection to the earth. Spring and summer get the lion's share of credit and adoration. Winter is the red-headed step child to the people here. I left my dishes in the sink, my outdoor gear in the back of the car, and my thoughts balled up internally. I had to keep all of the important stuff quiet. I don't want my secret plans to leak out. My demons and I still battle. I'm lucky to have nice demons that are all about seeking a higher plane of living. I have not had the misfortune of having too many demons set upon me by outside forces.

Jewish people are superstitious of proclaiming good luck aloud, but I am a gypsy child of all religions and so I will acknowledge gratefully that I am a blessed child.

I was proud of myself for not slumping. The energy I'd sucked from the bright stars and seeing Mars in the sky again was still with me. My toes were still warm and I was still rubbing out blockages in my belly counter-clockwise. I wiggled in my skin happily as I could. I told him we needed an outside play date. I would accept the Forest preserves and allow the wood chip trails to suffice.

The rain that washed freshness over the concrete kept us away from the muddied and crowded trails after all. We went to the lake shore and hopped on rocks. I did daring-looking things on a break wall to test his reactions. I must know who I want on my team when the time to fight and flee comes. He needs work.

I told him very little of my brief escape from the metropolis the day before. I proudly proclaimed, to the world at large, that I had gotten to see sunset, star rise, moon rise and sun rise all in one period of awake-ness. It helped me find my own rotation again.

After I met the fascinating teacher friend she listened, and knew I needed urging. "Get out of there, Shana." I will I assured myself. I said it aloud, "I will." I know I'm waiting and I think there's a purpose to it, but that purpose has not become very clear to me, yet.

Perhaps, when my throat no longer constricts with desperate yearning I'll know. When I think of going out to go home again and think it with a throat full of a courageous cry of determination I will know I'm ready to go. I'm preparing. After all, one does not become an herbal witch, a world-wide story teller, a traveling gypsy dream in just a few months. My memory has lost so much know-how and it will take much experience to help remember again. I will work and be patient. "I will work harder" has been my Chicago mantra since I read The Jungle upon arrival. I will work.

We watched a documentary about riots and free speech fighters in Chicago '68, and after, I asked him what he wanted to do when things like that got him all riled up. I had to spend the rest of the night arguing powerfully that the power lay not in The Organization (no matter who started it) but in the Individual. He told me I was self centered. How can anyone be anything but? Did Mother Theresa go help all the starving poor in India because someone outside herself told her to? The more we understand our Selves and the more credit we give that self to know what is best for all good, the better I think we must all be.

Perhaps, if the shrink were to tell me that I'm ship lost at sea again I could tell him that I'm not lost; I'm just Powerfully Turned Around.