as always, every time i’m in NM i try to figure out why i’m not living here.
i’ve heard some really excellent poetry. yay.
drinking is a recreational sport, and i’m out of practice.
overall, incredibly well run.
good to see everyone.
onward into the next debauch!
was out doing last minute shopping and errands all night.
the load out is happening; the volume’s decreasing on here…
safe journeys to all; I’ll see you on wednesday.
I just heard Minor Threat’s “Straight Edge.”
Ah, memories. The first time I ever heard that song I was tweaked on meth.
I tell you, I barely
recall the Eighties,
so when “Vienna” came on the radio
it meant nothing to me at first, and I had to think
hard to remember that it was done by Ultravox,
and then I knew
I had been here before:
the way you smelled
in Lupo’s back corner
overpowered the beer on the floor
I gripped
the hard ridge of your hips
from behind
it didn’t feel
like Europe
it felt like the New World
in the arms of the Old
but then came Killing Joke
and then came Smithereens;
yes,
that seems about right.
The first carload of Worcester poets left for NM tonight.
My laptop’s wireless function works like a charm…and my hotel goes wireless today.
I have located the flask I have not used in years.
I bought sunscreen.
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Good weekend at school; decent night at the Hut; got to spend a small amount of time with my niece which made me very happy.
Two more days of work.
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I may be back later…and then again, I may not.
school all day.
thai food and errands and drama tonight. don’t ask.
school all day tomorrow.
poetry tomorrow night. the niece comes with me!
later, gators…
OK…I’m starting to get excited now.
It’ll be good to see y’all.
I am nervous as hell about managing stress/time dilation/alcohol/poetry tag and most of all sleep deprivation.
See, I trace a lot of my most recent breakdown and worsening of the overall diagnosis to the disruption I went through at NPS 2003. That trip screwed my sleep cycles up so badly that I went into a tailspin right afterward and then it just got worse.
I’m on different meds now, vastly different meds; I’m far more conscious of what I need to do to align myself with health, too. Nonetheless, I worry.
I do hope I get to read at one or two side events.
I need to get out of the city one day and head to somewhere like Acoma or Mescalero. Acoma because the church there is such a sacred space, Mescalero because that’s where my dad is from and I need a peek at Sierra Blanca again. Although I’ve been in NM a couple of times since then, I’ve not been on the rez since 1990.
But I’m thinking Acoma might be more my speed this trip.
I’ll have a laptop with me so I can update LJ if I feel like it.
I am betting I won’t feel much like it.
And I’m counting on this trip to clear my head in a couple of important ways, in regard to a whole host of questions I’ve been thinking about. More, perhaps, about that later.
Right now, I’m just thinking of sunset on the Sandia Range…
If you don’t read javabill, go read his latest post.
NOW.
Print it out and bring it with you.
NOW!!!!!
Man, the things I find
every time I look for
something else!
I have a houseful
of children’s faces
and a blank easel
which appeared while I
was looking for truth
in a bottle of paint.
I own clothes
that don’t cover my shame
that were found in a box
where I had hoped to find
comfort and freedom. (The shame
came in a pocket I forgot to check.)
And those eyes! Where did I get those?
I don’t remember what I was seeking
when I picked up that pair of stones.
Amazing! Everything I am
was a discovery by default!
I turn my face away and reach out once again.
What comes into my hands this time
is the book of a lifetime
that was so not what I expected.
I put it away.
I take it out again and shake my head.
But I cannot toss it aside.
Is this a work
of fantasy,
or an inventory?
but i’m very, very tired.
i am trying to get on a somewhat even keel before ABQ with sleep and all because i know how much i’ll be abusing my circadian rhythms while i’m out there.
on the list of things to do:
— read a poem or two here or there
— hang out with friends
— cheer on worcester, delaware, and bar 13
— rent a car one day, go down to the rez
i might drink something too, somewhere in there.
school this weekend — friday, saturday, sunday.
bringing my niece to poetry on sunday night!
I won’t be around much tomorrow.
classes 9-1 and 2-5.
let’s hope the seroquel wears off by 7:30 AM when I have to drive to work, eh?
(NOTE: if I’m writing about it, i’m past it. ok?)
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1.
Left exit only —
it’s all the way over there?
I shall turn the wheel
and drive across all the lanes
to reach it, brakes yelling,
wheel chattering, traffic
suspended around me.
That is the way I wanted to go,
in a fanfare of obvious; now,
I’d settle for an idling engine
in my grandmother’s garage, bottle beside me and
a notebook too, perhaps, drifting toward
far less eventual notice.
2.
Your admonition
to cheer up
just makes me want to
tell you to recall that
underneath every smile
one can see a skull.
3.
I think of the boy I knew
who died in the winter of 78
stuck head down in a snowdrift
not ten feet from his parents’ door.
They didn’t find him till spring.
He was ten. No one would ever believe
it was a suicide at that age
so it must have been an accident.
Right?
In 1978 I was 18.
I’d been thinking about it
since I was 9 and
I envied that frozen boy,
because I was also a frozen boy
and being head down in a snowdrift
sounded so warm.
It’s been requested of me (okay, well not really – it was an open tag) to do this thing where I write 15 statements anonymous to people on my friends list and then pick 5 people to do this, as well. Some of these may be directed at people who don’t even use their livejournals anymore, but here goes:
1. Slammin’ body, yo. Seriously.
2. Where the hell is the M-60 when we need it?
3. For the last time, I DID remember the talcum powder.
4. She went that way, and she said not to tell you.
5. Do I even have to say anything?
6. Dreadlocks, you imbecile! DREADLOCKS!
7. Forgetting those rubber bands in the Jeep was the smartest thing I ever did.
8. The left hand of God is actually in your back pocket. Mind your wallet.
9. I didn’t know they came that big. Or that thick, for that matter.
10. Love means never having to say you’re sorry.
11. I’m sorry.
12. Nothing a fifth of Jack and some Vienna sausages won’t cure.
13. Let me see if I’ve got this right: cut up the arm next time and it’ll bleed out faster? You’re a real pal. Thanks.
14. I’ve had my share of waffles in my time, but this takes the cake.
15. I mean it! I am a natural blonde! I just dye my hair to enhance my ethnic credibility.
Consider this a Quaker meme-tag: if you are moved to post it, post it.
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seem to have words for all sorts of subtle emotions, such as “Schadenfraude” (the pleasure one feels at the discomfiture of a friend) or “Gestalt” (the sense of the entirety of a situation, more or less — harder to translate).
Spanish, too; witness “duende.” And Portuguese: “saudade.” They both represent a sense of life enriched by the awareness of death and sorrow — the Spanish word is darker and more passionate, while the Portuguese is sweeter and more melancholy.
Is there a word somewhere for the intense desire for someone, anyone, to call you unexpectedly just to say they think you’ll be ok?
(No, that’s not a solicitation. Really.)
I love the idea that there are words uninvented in our language that have been invented elsewhere. Why in those languages and not ours?
What emotions do we need words for?
PS: You do realize LJ is the only thing keeping me going right now, right?
My buddy Skip is now on LJ.
Skip is the guy who knows where all the bodies are buried. Talented painter, art gallery owner, political activist…we’ve known each other since high school and before, and both live in the same small town we grew up in, trying to figure out why.
He is six days older than I am, and recently became a grandfather. (HA! Take that!)
Welcome to the madness, drgeorge.
C’mon, folks — come say hi, and lie profusely about yourselves.
Dark Matter 