Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Wild West
Wild West
I was smothered
But I didn’t know until the plastic was on my face
My mouth sucking and sucking, the plastic taut
And translucent, a window into my mouth
A flailing tongue and straight, white teeth
Bleached and once braced.
There’s something about suburbia they don’t tell you
That it lives elsewhere
Breathes into apartments with the breeze
Lights up condos
That the myth will follow you, even if you don’t chase it.
The wild west, a myth they said in those school days,
I’ve got a bigger one the teacher giggled
Her desk ornate with children’s photos,
I don’t know if they were hers,
Only that there was
A husband absent.
A woman once said to me,
my mother, but a human being first,
“How strange to think who you would be, if he’d chosen to be with me.”
But he did not choose her.
Not after all that.
Still there is the supposition
And the suspicion,
Goodbye house she will say soon
And further south she will retire, with my little old father,
who did nothing but try to be good
Sometimes, when the afternoon light dims
Tranquilized by the evening breeze
My throat tightens, and I want to cry
My apartment windows are barred and blinded
They remind me of my teeth once, as a child, an adult-becoming,
I try to cry, in that soft light coming through
The blinds tilted at such an angle that I can not see out.
But I can’t cry, and don’t change the blinds to see,
And don’t open the window,
I let the air stifle and still, warm and
Wait for a distraction.
I was smothered
But I didn’t know until the plastic was on my face
My mouth sucking and sucking, the plastic taut
And translucent, a window into my mouth
A flailing tongue and straight, white teeth
Bleached and once braced.
There’s something about suburbia they don’t tell you
That it lives elsewhere
Breathes into apartments with the breeze
Lights up condos
That the myth will follow you, even if you don’t chase it.
The wild west, a myth they said in those school days,
I’ve got a bigger one the teacher giggled
Her desk ornate with children’s photos,
I don’t know if they were hers,
Only that there was
A husband absent.
A woman once said to me,
my mother, but a human being first,
“How strange to think who you would be, if he’d chosen to be with me.”
But he did not choose her.
Not after all that.
Still there is the supposition
And the suspicion,
Goodbye house she will say soon
And further south she will retire, with my little old father,
who did nothing but try to be good
Sometimes, when the afternoon light dims
Tranquilized by the evening breeze
My throat tightens, and I want to cry
My apartment windows are barred and blinded
They remind me of my teeth once, as a child, an adult-becoming,
I try to cry, in that soft light coming through
The blinds tilted at such an angle that I can not see out.
But I can’t cry, and don’t change the blinds to see,
And don’t open the window,
I let the air stifle and still, warm and
Wait for a distraction.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
The Yoga-nator
Yoga last night was fantastic torture. It's 90 minutes of dripping sweat and pain, but I love it. The class was jam packed and although the room is not heated, it feels like sauna because of all the body heat. I actually stepped in a puddle of someone else's sweat in my barefeet on the way out, but was too exhausted to care. Thinking about it now though gives me the shivers.
It's simply cleansing, in every sense. I walk out feeling lighter and freer, like I definitley left a lot of crap in that room on my mat. Clean energy, clean body. I've been yoga-ing for a year now. And I'm addicted. This was only my second time at this studio. One of the neatest parts about it is that every class is donation based. I'm utterly shocked that I'm not sore. Just a little tired, everything a little worn.
It's also good for my neuroses because you're packed in like sardines. I could feel the guy next to me breathing on me (and yoga's all about the breathing). It helps me work through it, just be comfortable, people are people are people.
Holy cow, though. Right before the class started, this black guy in a suit, stumbled in, walked on everyone's mats and lied down in the corner, on someone's yoga mat. It took the teacher and a few students like ten minutes to get him up and out. And on the way out, the teacher told him it was a yoga class he was trying to sleep in, and a goofy grin lit up his face and he said, "Yoga?!" It sounded as if he had an African accent. And then in the early moments of the class, I could hear a brief cop siren, I'm guessing they came to remove his sleeping body from the sidewalk.
He wasn't homeless, you could tell by the way he was dressed. Just drunk and confused. Unsettling.
It's simply cleansing, in every sense. I walk out feeling lighter and freer, like I definitley left a lot of crap in that room on my mat. Clean energy, clean body. I've been yoga-ing for a year now. And I'm addicted. This was only my second time at this studio. One of the neatest parts about it is that every class is donation based. I'm utterly shocked that I'm not sore. Just a little tired, everything a little worn.
It's also good for my neuroses because you're packed in like sardines. I could feel the guy next to me breathing on me (and yoga's all about the breathing). It helps me work through it, just be comfortable, people are people are people.
Holy cow, though. Right before the class started, this black guy in a suit, stumbled in, walked on everyone's mats and lied down in the corner, on someone's yoga mat. It took the teacher and a few students like ten minutes to get him up and out. And on the way out, the teacher told him it was a yoga class he was trying to sleep in, and a goofy grin lit up his face and he said, "Yoga?!" It sounded as if he had an African accent. And then in the early moments of the class, I could hear a brief cop siren, I'm guessing they came to remove his sleeping body from the sidewalk.
He wasn't homeless, you could tell by the way he was dressed. Just drunk and confused. Unsettling.
Monday, May 5, 2008
in images
Alex, what a joy to see you the other night. As always, you were hysterical and tickled me. Beef Nate too. He's got some great one liners. About the beer spilling,"Now the floor's going to be sticky" and dave quoting. It's no wonder I based some writing on you guys. Whenever we hang out, I remember the night in images. The sticky floor, rubbing our shoes on the wall, the perv and the short guy's near calamity, the couple's "tender" making out, Alaska, I LOVE HANGING OUT, and then all the strangeness happening off camera. The perv pissing himself, and somehow believing pouring cologne on himself would remedy the situation, the missing furby...I don't know. I just remember these things, and my memory is poor. And that's why they find their way into my work. Because I remember, you make me remember, how is it I remember???
I'm making a cameo in your film this weekend. Write me in. I fly in Thursday, so maybe thurs night or fri night. Are you still an all night kid? I'm up for some midnight street wandering. like we used to. unzip that sweatshirt a little. it's been a while.
And thank you for your instant wisdom. The first thing that came out of your mouth about it. It wasn't the first time I had listened to it, but it was the first time I really heard it: You don't need to go to grad school to validate yourself as a writer. You don't need another degree to write.
After visiting Palm Desert that day, it was the perfect timing to receive it.
The script is coming together. Great feedback yesterday. I think we've got something.
I bought potatoes, tangerines, and cheesy bread things at the farmer's market. i love that place. listened to the band, watched people, ate samples, perused the tables of food and color.
Highlights of Palm Desert and Palm Springs: Driving through the windmills, which looked like monstrous, white flowers. The Mexican food restaurant with refreshing margaritas. Facing that stifling mountain of dirt and rock that loomed above us. Sand overwhelming the boundaries of the streets. The heat waves rising above the street like a whisper.
I'm making a cameo in your film this weekend. Write me in. I fly in Thursday, so maybe thurs night or fri night. Are you still an all night kid? I'm up for some midnight street wandering. like we used to. unzip that sweatshirt a little. it's been a while.
And thank you for your instant wisdom. The first thing that came out of your mouth about it. It wasn't the first time I had listened to it, but it was the first time I really heard it: You don't need to go to grad school to validate yourself as a writer. You don't need another degree to write.
After visiting Palm Desert that day, it was the perfect timing to receive it.
The script is coming together. Great feedback yesterday. I think we've got something.
I bought potatoes, tangerines, and cheesy bread things at the farmer's market. i love that place. listened to the band, watched people, ate samples, perused the tables of food and color.
Highlights of Palm Desert and Palm Springs: Driving through the windmills, which looked like monstrous, white flowers. The Mexican food restaurant with refreshing margaritas. Facing that stifling mountain of dirt and rock that loomed above us. Sand overwhelming the boundaries of the streets. The heat waves rising above the street like a whisper.
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