Monday, December 15, 2014

Ridiculous Love









Sunday, December 14, 2014

bitch

at least she said, your bald yeast
loiters in the thigh places, where
bad girls go:
girls who eat too much sugar
have too much sex, 
finger themselves.
it could be worse than!
for example, you could be ugly.
but i am,
i said sadly. i am very ugly.
she licked her finger
an aloof cat in black and white.
well, she said,
i wasn't going to tell you.


People In Your Neighborhood






take a seat and read!!!

My and Lola's new favorite Christmas movie: Nativity!  ( song above from movie )

My new piece in Purple Clover on Dakota's new neck tattoo (!!!) and relationships with adult children

Malls Across America- photos from malls in the 80's

This was wonderfully written, interesting and sad: a piece in The Broad side by Veronica Arreola on her experience being pregnant and birthing after her mother died tragically young, vs. Cheryl Strayed's experience of being able to escape to the wild.

I loved this post by Rebecca Wolff about being overwhelmed and not that into the holidays until suddenly, she is Made me smile!

I can't say I understood all of this, but it's fascinating: Groundbreaking Idea of Life's Origin

This letter from Dylan Hockley's mom absolutely will crack you open. It's so important on a number of levels. Read.

Please do not buy goose down jackets. 

I liked this The Cost of Getting Lean because fitness and health is a number one importance in my life, and I have been thinking a lot this last year about the balance between being fit and being 'amazingly fit'.


Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Disneyland


my mom sent us to Disneyland for Ever's 4th birthday. here we are in front of a tree that stretched to the sky like the tree in The Grinch, in the Who town square. i squealed like a kid when i saw it, it was my Christmas fantasy tree come true. yes, i have a Christmas fantasy tree. i have many Christmas fantasies. Christmas might be my favorite societal creation. i love everything about it, and i love it harder every year, not less. i love the deeply spiritual meaning, i love the story of Christ's birth, i love the malls lit up like the hot greedy heart of American consumerism, i love exploding glass bulbs, i love Christmas tree lights half working, half not, i love Christmas music, i love dragging the tree through the house and needles flying everywhere, i love the cheesy, terribly acted Christmas movies that fill my Netflix, i love the old Christmas cartoon classics, i love presents!, i love wrapping paper, i love decorating, i love the magical frissure that overcomes me every year in December, that something magical is not only possible, but quite likely.


Saturday, December 6, 2014

People In Your Neighborhood

Wanderers - a short film by Erik Wernquist from Erik Wernquist on Vimeo.


If you are looking for a Holiday giving, please consider three orphaned daughters: 3 years old, 8 years old, and 10 years old. Here in San Diego, where I live, their father just ran their mother over multiple times until she was dead. It's beyond awful. The elderly grandparents on a fixed income are now the sole providers for these three children. Leonor's Daughter's GoFundMe

Large scale, enormously moving and deeply sad images of displaced Iraqis.

Salvage, Salvation, Salve by Jennifer Lunden   "For a long time, I felt like a victim of my own body. Struck by a debilitating case of chronic fatigue syndrome when I was just twenty, I was forced to resign from my job and eke by on welfare benefits, flat on my back in bed day after day, uncertain if I would ever recover. "

How We End Up Marrying The Wrong Person in The Book Of Life

For Tamir, Who Was Stolen by Stacia L. Brown

Rampant Prosecutorial Misconduct in NYT

A Revolutionary Approach To Treating PTSD

Yet more information on the link between gut bacteria and mental health by Clio Korn

Wolf Hall - an amazing work of historical fiction about Thomas Cromwell, the poor boy who grew to be the closest man to King Henry. I'm reading this and the sequel to Neither Wolf Nor Dog right now.







buried



the silent face of space
noise from a mouthless ocean
that moves across our face
in one endless motion

how far would i go to be with you?
as far as i could go
what would i endure to please you?
only god can know

the world each world within
yet contained each in the other
i love, you love, we love
for without one, what is the other

i hear the song within the song,
i see the face within your face
i have loved you now for so long
this note held in place

your suffering, far below
the plow does not strike your heart
buried asleep beneath the snow
a silent, prehistoric art

how far can i deliver these medicines?
as far as air to breathe
how can i go on when i cannot go on?
when, is time to leave





Sunday, November 30, 2014

sometimes i want to walk in your shoes

sometimes i want to walk in your shoes
do the kinds of things that i never ever do
so i take one look in the mirror and i say to myself,
baby girl, you can't survive like this



i ran tonight, through suburbia, dark and still beautiful, despite the beige
beige, beige
the miniature ipodshufle i received for my birthday clipped to my sports bra and Beyonce and Bruce cooed in my ear. i ran four miles and each mile was better than the one before. last week a giant owl flew right in front of me 9:30pm on a weeknight, turning his great and snowy head toward me in that odd way owls have of articulating their necks as if they were not actually connected to the bird body beneath. i saw his wings stretched out, and he flew over a rooftop and dipped and was gone. it was an immense moment. an owl looked at my face. 
the sky here retains is truth because there are not tall buildings. when i run the sky is enormous and star studded and the clouds are dark and beautiful and the town is very quiet and moving my body inside of this cleans me. i come home and i can breathe.
at home, sometimes i cannot breathe. all i have are questions. i used to have many answers, but those answers got used up and retracted and wince when you touch their edges. this is a lie. i have much more than old answers and new questions. but when it comes to the balance, this is what i'm pointing to, the balance of knowing and not knowing- that has been grievously assaulted. i meditate on my unknowingness. i sit with it because one of the few answers that still holds its fullness and health that i know is running from or hiding from not knowingness only keeps the not knowing flourishing. it feeds the bloodlines and curdles the whispers from god/theuniverse/treemother or whatever name you'd like to give our connectiveness. disconnection without reconnecting somewhere else is death. to disconnect through meditation is to connect deeper within. when there is no answer and only questions, i keep moving and working and running, but not run away. don't run away, i tell myself. it's less tempting than it was when i was younger. but i'm still young, and i feel young, my heart feels young, i feel that sense of possible rejuvenation lurking in every place, and my desire to dance and make love and be ridiculous and sing and talk and meet people and travel and love and learn and all of the life stuff is as strong as it ever was, were you to hold your hand to my flame, you could feel that. 
i encounter walls everywhere. this feels new, despite the hardship my life always was, and this is scary. i don't want to fossilize within a set of walls that i paint to appear sturdy. i am looking at the cracks and the structure and the underlying bones and watching for the trembling motion of new, uncertain life. 
sometimes i want to do the things that i never, ever do. instead, i do the things that i am afraid to do, i do the things that are hard to do, i do the things that are right to do, and i wait for the silence and not knowing to turn into a tiny mewing, like a kitten stuck outside at night, certain they are home but unable to find the way in.

Saturday, November 29, 2014

Sunday, November 23, 2014

a conspiracy of silence


i am not stitched mouth, stone rubbed smooth
skeleton stomped to soil. i am !
still alive, still needy, still necessary.

the crowd grows more festive
against a backdrop of starvation and suffering.
they drink wine and dramatically, i think of blood.

i am dramatic?
i feel.
a middle aged woman who feels-

can it get any worse?
the fear is bright in your eyes and wide laugh.
i am driven from the room

by a tidal wave of laughter.
night and darkness arrive as they must
the sound of silence for the determined laugh-

agonizing.
there is a list of reasons it would be polite for me
to shut up.

there is a list of reasons it would be helpful for me
to shut up.
there is a list of ailments that women have died from

for thousands of years,
stitched mouths, stone rubbed smooth.
i pluck the stone,

stay up all night burning the tips of my fingers
marking the story with charcoal and flame.


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