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Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Turn the World Around
We come from the fire, living in the fire
We come from the fire
Go back to the fire, turn the world around
Go back to the fire, turn the world around
We come from the water, living in the water...
We come from the mountain, living on the mountain...
Oh, oh so is life
Ah, ha so is life
Oh, oh so is life
Ah, ha so is life
Do you know who I am
Do I know who you are
See we one another clearly
Do we know who we are
Oh, oh so is life
Abatiwaha, so is life
Oh, oh so is life
Abatiwaha, so is life
Water make the river, river wash the mountain
Fire make the sunlight, turn the world around
Heart is of the river, body is the mountain
Spirit is the sunlight, turn the world around
We are of the spirit, truly of the spirit
Only can the spirit turn the world around
We come from the fire
Go back to the fire, turn the world around
Go back to the fire, turn the world around
We come from the water, living in the water...
We come from the mountain, living on the mountain...
Oh, oh so is life
Ah, ha so is life
Oh, oh so is life
Ah, ha so is life
Do you know who I am
Do I know who you are
See we one another clearly
Do we know who we are
Oh, oh so is life
Abatiwaha, so is life
Oh, oh so is life
Abatiwaha, so is life
Water make the river, river wash the mountain
Fire make the sunlight, turn the world around
Heart is of the river, body is the mountain
Spirit is the sunlight, turn the world around
We are of the spirit, truly of the spirit
Only can the spirit turn the world around
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Missed Connection: 1/24/09 6:25pm
I've never done one of these before, but it's totally fitting according to recently read statistics this town's most common location for this type of thing.
I'm such a sucker for scruff. Your's is well trimmed. I'm standing on the 59th St platform eager to get on the long A train ride to Nevins, switch to G to Russel's and drink away some of my existing cares and probably pick up a few unnecessary others on the way. I'm gazing at the various faces and then see you from a distance, wait five seconds on another face while you approach, closer. I then do something I rarely do enough to seal the deal--I hold my gaze. You look, slight waver away and then back again, yes, he's looking at you. He seems to waver a moment in realization of this. Keep walking past the blue plywood construction wall that I'm leaning on. I step out, two D's have already past and here's the third. I've turned and walked a little toward where you've paused, catching my glance again, I step out, we're both unsure of the others path, but we not getting on this D. I step out onto the bumpy yellow to look for an approachimg A, just an excuse to glance again, too much glancing? You ask a elder woman with a stick if she needs help I think. The A rolls in on the other side, I step up next to you in the crowd and you let me pass to board the train first, we find our places, standing facing, I keep sipping my chai latte down to nothing, fidgeting. Closed off with my headphones plugged in. The glances continue. The train departs, I pull my gloves off with my teeth, you pull out a thick worn paperback--what are you reading? What are you trying to show me
You have a brand name baseball cap I forget the logo for, a cute jacket, hoodie combo, buttons, stylish. At 34th, seats open and I grab one, you move down, I can now see you're reading Philip Pullman--glances comtime. We want more. I catch a glint of your silver belt buckle, you're wearing blue pumas I think. I remove my hat, you look more. A moment you take off yours and rub your hair, a few stands of gray in the mussed black. We look and make cute shy faces when we're not looking trying not to get caught. But we're already past that waiting to see who'll make the first move if at all. You look down the car and your profile is nice, a little slim for my usual tastes, my thoughts wander as they do to an imagined future where we're wearing sweaters at family Xmas recalling the cute story of how we met so long ago on the a train on that ruddy night. Twentythird is yours as you move toward the door as the train slows, you glance back as you move toward the door and we lock gazes, and bid a farewell with an irresistable smile. I spend the next five minutes smiling feeling a bit better about the randomness of the day.
I'm such a sucker for scruff. Your's is well trimmed. I'm standing on the 59th St platform eager to get on the long A train ride to Nevins, switch to G to Russel's and drink away some of my existing cares and probably pick up a few unnecessary others on the way. I'm gazing at the various faces and then see you from a distance, wait five seconds on another face while you approach, closer. I then do something I rarely do enough to seal the deal--I hold my gaze. You look, slight waver away and then back again, yes, he's looking at you. He seems to waver a moment in realization of this. Keep walking past the blue plywood construction wall that I'm leaning on. I step out, two D's have already past and here's the third. I've turned and walked a little toward where you've paused, catching my glance again, I step out, we're both unsure of the others path, but we not getting on this D. I step out onto the bumpy yellow to look for an approachimg A, just an excuse to glance again, too much glancing? You ask a elder woman with a stick if she needs help I think. The A rolls in on the other side, I step up next to you in the crowd and you let me pass to board the train first, we find our places, standing facing, I keep sipping my chai latte down to nothing, fidgeting. Closed off with my headphones plugged in. The glances continue. The train departs, I pull my gloves off with my teeth, you pull out a thick worn paperback--what are you reading? What are you trying to show me
You have a brand name baseball cap I forget the logo for, a cute jacket, hoodie combo, buttons, stylish. At 34th, seats open and I grab one, you move down, I can now see you're reading Philip Pullman--glances comtime. We want more. I catch a glint of your silver belt buckle, you're wearing blue pumas I think. I remove my hat, you look more. A moment you take off yours and rub your hair, a few stands of gray in the mussed black. We look and make cute shy faces when we're not looking trying not to get caught. But we're already past that waiting to see who'll make the first move if at all. You look down the car and your profile is nice, a little slim for my usual tastes, my thoughts wander as they do to an imagined future where we're wearing sweaters at family Xmas recalling the cute story of how we met so long ago on the a train on that ruddy night. Twentythird is yours as you move toward the door as the train slows, you glance back as you move toward the door and we lock gazes, and bid a farewell with an irresistable smile. I spend the next five minutes smiling feeling a bit better about the randomness of the day.
Friday, January 23, 2009
A Confabulation of Emails
con·fab·u·late (kən-fāb'yə-lāt') Pronunciation Key
intr.v. con·fab·u·lat·ed, con·fab·u·lat·ing, con·fab·u·lates
To talk casually; chat.
Psychology To fill in gaps in one's memory with fabrications that one believes to be facts.
Jan 22 (2 days ago)
Backburner. Theraphy. We tried to ford the river and one of our oxen ate Carol anne. *sigh*
I need to try to remain productive. (and not whiny, which feels in fact the cause of this writing) But words are productive, right? And I get bonus points if i just start making up words, right? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portmanteau
Perhaps I'm very subject to placebic effects. I had about four vials of blood drawn yesterday, though; that could have something to do with it. Probably didn't eat enough. Incubators. I feel sometimes like a scientist in a solitudinous lab stubbornly running experiments incessantly - the same experiement? - but on people. Trying to devise...something. Like some ideal interaction-basis for myself. From whence to start out to make things OK from the get-go. Now ever-mindful of yet another stupid complex that confounds the whole enterprise: that need of approval. And now I see it everywhere. I can't go to a stupid non-specific-sexual-pref meetup.com group meeting for Lost without becoming preoccupied with some guy, confabulated by the mysterious mythology of the show that i get myself too-too-immersed in-two. Some guy, that I wouldnt' dare approach but would sit with the subgroup of three friends and try to look only mildly interesting. My god, these are things that I would go home, day ruined, dwelling on five and eight years ago. When does this change? Do I want it all to change? Perhaps I'm afraid of letting go of the quirky, youthful, good parts I like about myself.
He looked just like a Carlos actually. A thicker, bigger version. I wanted to ask what his heritage was. So clearly part of the selling point for carlos in me has to be that I can make it SEEM like I deal with emotions OK, or at least keep them industriously swept under the rug.
"Do I know you?" he said. (the first line of my movie in which all this un-plottable plot will figure predominately)
If you convince them all you're crazy, then it's okay. There, there.
I have a tingly body-awakening feeling, breathing, digesting, making these words has something to do with it. Paragraphing not yet a strong suit.
there's always something bigger it feels. Like bigger than our joking of my issues. (totally fine and needed) , which is the real issues, and bigger than those, which is my simple not-yet-switchable state of mindness that really is the only thing complicating/creating them perhaps - and then bigger than that - some idealized productive-milk(honey?) land where I'm building (the right ones) bridges and buildings and boats for us to sail out on for just the day (and don't leave anything onboard when you leave!) and then eventually a farm, with chicks and ducks and geese out in the woods. Out west. Is stability really a state of mind?
My sweater is a weird merlot with sky blue and red stripes. I wish someone could ride along with me on these stripes. Could see that this is bad in its place of my productive reality and centeredness but also good and imaginative in its rambling-off the beaten tracks train of (too) consciousness. Ride along for a spell.
There are too many men. Too many that I've grown fond of for unknowing distant wanting reasons. Too many that were i to have the skills I want to (lure? obtain? what?) ...to... have them see me (Selfish desire!) I would be more overwhelmed than now, which is to awful to think . How do I become contendented with leaving the amazing new toy on the shelf and be happy knowing its there. How do I deal with the fact that i regularly compare human beings to consumable goods?
the record skips. this song is too long.
but i appreciate the canvas to ramble a bit.
lost was amazing last night. probably too amazing.
i get wrapped up in it.
sit down with management is today. i'll brush myself up.
three working days left. no promise of a new temp job.
i get down when trying to apply myself like this.
self-emailed craiglist ads sit expiring in my inbox.
i can't even talk to my mom. (this is how it happens)
too too long.
don't you worry yourself with me, but eagerly await our next talk.
and why you'd worry I'd be like someone else.
chat soon.
11:43 AM (9 hours ago)
Sometimes I feel like i play a game that everyone thinks its unfair because i haven't taught anyone the rules. I'm figuring out them as i go along and what fun is it to know all the rules ahead of time?
Sometimes I feel like i bend awkwardly this way or that to put a keyhole to something in myself right in front of someone's line of sight to see if they bite, but...nothing. They don't see the cavernous opening in which a great deal still remains hidden, a loose thread begging to be picked. Someone to open me.
Going skating tomorrrow? More bears to appear than my flimsy affair to be sure.
I'm off tomorrow if u perhaps wanna do lunch before.
intr.v. con·fab·u·lat·ed, con·fab·u·lat·ing, con·fab·u·lates
To talk casually; chat.
Psychology To fill in gaps in one's memory with fabrications that one believes to be facts.
Jan 22 (2 days ago)
Backburner. Theraphy. We tried to ford the river and one of our oxen ate Carol anne. *sigh*
I need to try to remain productive. (and not whiny, which feels in fact the cause of this writing) But words are productive, right? And I get bonus points if i just start making up words, right? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portmanteau
Perhaps I'm very subject to placebic effects. I had about four vials of blood drawn yesterday, though; that could have something to do with it. Probably didn't eat enough. Incubators. I feel sometimes like a scientist in a solitudinous lab stubbornly running experiments incessantly - the same experiement? - but on people. Trying to devise...something. Like some ideal interaction-basis for myself. From whence to start out to make things OK from the get-go. Now ever-mindful of yet another stupid complex that confounds the whole enterprise: that need of approval. And now I see it everywhere. I can't go to a stupid non-specific-sexual-pref meetup.com group meeting for Lost without becoming preoccupied with some guy, confabulated by the mysterious mythology of the show that i get myself too-too-immersed in-two. Some guy, that I wouldnt' dare approach but would sit with the subgroup of three friends and try to look only mildly interesting. My god, these are things that I would go home, day ruined, dwelling on five and eight years ago. When does this change? Do I want it all to change? Perhaps I'm afraid of letting go of the quirky, youthful, good parts I like about myself.
He looked just like a Carlos actually. A thicker, bigger version. I wanted to ask what his heritage was. So clearly part of the selling point for carlos in me has to be that I can make it SEEM like I deal with emotions OK, or at least keep them industriously swept under the rug.
"Do I know you?" he said. (the first line of my movie in which all this un-plottable plot will figure predominately)
If you convince them all you're crazy, then it's okay. There, there.
I have a tingly body-awakening feeling, breathing, digesting, making these words has something to do with it. Paragraphing not yet a strong suit.
there's always something bigger it feels. Like bigger than our joking of my issues. (totally fine and needed) , which is the real issues, and bigger than those, which is my simple not-yet-switchable state of mindness that really is the only thing complicating/creating them perhaps - and then bigger than that - some idealized productive-milk(honey?) land where I'm building (the right ones) bridges and buildings and boats for us to sail out on for just the day (and don't leave anything onboard when you leave!) and then eventually a farm, with chicks and ducks and geese out in the woods. Out west. Is stability really a state of mind?
My sweater is a weird merlot with sky blue and red stripes. I wish someone could ride along with me on these stripes. Could see that this is bad in its place of my productive reality and centeredness but also good and imaginative in its rambling-off the beaten tracks train of (too) consciousness. Ride along for a spell.
There are too many men. Too many that I've grown fond of for unknowing distant wanting reasons. Too many that were i to have the skills I want to (lure? obtain? what?) ...to... have them see me (Selfish desire!) I would be more overwhelmed than now, which is to awful to think . How do I become contendented with leaving the amazing new toy on the shelf and be happy knowing its there. How do I deal with the fact that i regularly compare human beings to consumable goods?
the record skips. this song is too long.
but i appreciate the canvas to ramble a bit.
lost was amazing last night. probably too amazing.
i get wrapped up in it.
sit down with management is today. i'll brush myself up.
three working days left. no promise of a new temp job.
i get down when trying to apply myself like this.
self-emailed craiglist ads sit expiring in my inbox.
i can't even talk to my mom. (this is how it happens)
too too long.
don't you worry yourself with me, but eagerly await our next talk.
and why you'd worry I'd be like someone else.
chat soon.
11:43 AM (9 hours ago)
Sometimes I feel like i play a game that everyone thinks its unfair because i haven't taught anyone the rules. I'm figuring out them as i go along and what fun is it to know all the rules ahead of time?
Sometimes I feel like i bend awkwardly this way or that to put a keyhole to something in myself right in front of someone's line of sight to see if they bite, but...nothing. They don't see the cavernous opening in which a great deal still remains hidden, a loose thread begging to be picked. Someone to open me.
Going skating tomorrrow? More bears to appear than my flimsy affair to be sure.
I'm off tomorrow if u perhaps wanna do lunch before.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
In Preparation for this Next Change
The anxieties and the letting go of them. The wish for snow and getting rain. Wishes in an empty tumbled glass, a stomping taxi ride home- sometimes alone, many times not. Staying in the sun too long to burn, or being burned unwanted by the lights.
This is too, too vague. I'll come back to this and many more stories, as I have many to tell and all I can carry with me is memory. I have learned.
"I see their knavery. This is to make an ass of me. To fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I will work up and down here. And I will sing that they shall hear. That I am not, I am not afraid. I am not afraid."
Though my hands grow tough and my ears furry and long, I will press on in this great task. I am not afraid. I will read. A Winter's Tale, Amazing Adventures, Dreamboy. Great, and then more.
A few steps back, several forward.
In a direction only you and fate and any poor fool that has the courage to push you can say. A dance regardless. Whether blithe and green or gray, heavy with awkward bags. A trudging along.
We'll struggle forward, we'll push through.
As long as there's music, the dance will never cease.
This is too, too vague. I'll come back to this and many more stories, as I have many to tell and all I can carry with me is memory. I have learned.
"I see their knavery. This is to make an ass of me. To fright me, if they could. But I will not stir from this place, do what they can. I will work up and down here. And I will sing that they shall hear. That I am not, I am not afraid. I am not afraid."
Though my hands grow tough and my ears furry and long, I will press on in this great task. I am not afraid. I will read. A Winter's Tale, Amazing Adventures, Dreamboy. Great, and then more.
A few steps back, several forward.
In a direction only you and fate and any poor fool that has the courage to push you can say. A dance regardless. Whether blithe and green or gray, heavy with awkward bags. A trudging along.
We'll struggle forward, we'll push through.
As long as there's music, the dance will never cease.
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