Outpouring Thoughts

outpouring thoughts, we'll call them
x y and z
gush warm liquid rem
slow. soft. sweet.

easy first time
predictable spurts
then majestic sky-writing geisers
(look up!)
spell y-o-u
and
m-e.

Crowds form. Carrying coolers and aluminum folding chairs
they pop open cans of cold beer
strip down to pure dna
and carried away by the tide of festivities
Beget a chain of lakes, a thousand branches, a million streams, frothing rivers churning waterways deep frigid oceans, immense currents great psunamis gale force winds tidal waves and the remotest unseen storms

in your quiet world
swimming, you plumb the depths
disappearing
reappearing
merging with other molecules
joining in the most holy of ways
gurgling sputtering drooling peeing spraying pouring mixing sweat, seeping tears, vomiting blood gently swirled with one drop of nectar pressed from the petals of ten thousand roses.

Now go ahead. Drink it.

Tonight's Festivities

Tonight is all "dark sky and gathering storms", and tucking myself snuggly inside my little house, I drink wine from a black box (sort of like a kegger, I've decided!). A party of sorts, I fancy it! (Did you notice the English accent?)

All by myself, Haruki Murakami has done with me for now. After a tearful ending this morning, awake at 2:30, I looked for you, but alas, you were nowhere to be found. Later I traveled to the library where I checked out David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest. Infinite is right, from the look of it. If Murakami took me this long, think of this! (But Gene I trust. After this, Norwegian Wood seems like a good idea. Have you read that one, Gene?)

So. Just so you know, I plan on never loving again. Don't try to change my mind. I have thought this through, and life from now on is purely solitary. Actually? Life is an afterthought to me. The moment, though I haven't learned to grasp it yet, is all there is. I bow to you. I holler "uncle!"

"UNCLE!"

WWJD: Men and Mustaches II

Upon reflection, the assembly line and the concentration camp both have the goal of "sameness", and they both lead to death, of different sorts.

Perhaps my aversion to the mustache has been caused by those silly public school administrators in their "suits", with their "management techniques", their "budget concerns" and their "emasculated lives". Mustaches used to be cool. This guy, who hung out with the worst trash, liars, junkies and whores, had radical hair.



"Gimme head with hair
Long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming,
Streaming, flaxen, waxen"

All the kids in the sixties emulated him and then they became everybody's trash. Fathers wearing tiny mustaches disowned sons who later, on the assembly line to Vietnam, watched their flowing hair fall to the ground.

Have all the melting clocks and dismembered limbs taught us nothing?!



This hair bias has to go. Men shave their backs, women wax off pubic hair, becoming little girls for men who are as smooth as women. Mustaches scruffy meticulous scratchy bushy pencil-thin curvy unruly long manly dashing funny and human and natural.

It's all good.

Men and Mustaches

Mustaches seem to me generally a mistake unless a man looks like Tom Selleck, has the panache of Poncho Villa or is wearing a Guy Fawkes mask. My casual research on the subject tells me that a majority of public school administrators have ridiculous-looking mustaches that are alarmingly similar to this:



Maybe public schools aren't based on a factory assembly line model after all, but are truer to the goals of the concentration camp. Death to difference!

I need a remembrance of mustaches tied to "real" men. Perhaps like him?



But probably more like him:



Yes. Now we're getting somewhere.

(to be continued after more investigation)

V for Vendetta

I saw the movie yesterday. It was great!

What I Saw

What I Did

1. Dolly was too tired to go to the Butterfly Gardens (in which I had imagined us arm-in-arm, gazing up in wonder at 2000 different species of butterflies.)

2. Dolly ate and took her pills and felt better (I think Dolly forgets to eat).

3. Dolly and I drove to the country to see Pip, Georgia's daughter.

4. Pip's huge ugly ferocious foaming-at-the-mouth insane pet BEAR dog bit me!

5. Blood ran down my leg and there was mud everywhere (Pip and her husband are building a house in the boondocks).

6. Dolly: "You had better get a tetanus shot!"

7. Pip feels terrible and actually says these words: "I am going to buy you something really nice."

8. Dolly is worried about the carpet in her car, so I drive with my feet on a plastic bag.

9. I throw two bottles of Iodine away that I find in Dolly's medicine cabinet. The most recent has an expiration date of 1989.

10. Dolly and I eat frozen pizza, which feels surprisingly festive, and I head home "to correct papers".

11. Driving out, I see that Pip has left several apologetic messages on my voice mail, but I am in the land that civilization forgot and there is no phone reception here. When I hit the expressway and enter the world (and reception) again, I call her only to discover that no one has bothered to tell her that Dolly (her grandmother) has Alzheimers.

12. Huck texts me, "There is no excuse for a dog bite!"

13. Dolly calls me at 8:30! She wants to make sure I got home OK. Dolly hasn't called me in months! I think the medication is helping her tune in a little more! Yay!

14. AJ wakes me up at 4:30, saying a cab driver tried to abduct her. She wanted to get out but he floored it and tried to speed away, so she opened the car door and jumped out, rolling and skinning her knees. "I don't want to live here anymore!"

15. AJ calls the police.

16. Opening my computer, I see more news about administration-sanctioned abuse and torture in Iraq at Camp Namo.


From nytimes.com
17. The police can't do anything. AJ didn't get the cab driver's number.

18. I decide to see the movie V for Vendetta today.

Real Reasons for Another Pre-Emptive War

There's a post at Media Matters for America, with some real reasons George W Bush will launch a pre-emptive strike against Iran.

Summary: On Hardball, Chris Matthews, Dana Milbank, and Pat Buchanan discussed what they agreed were the likely political benefits to President Bush and congressional Republicans if he were to launch a pre-emptive war against Iran. (Read it at: mediamatters.org)

Can I Hit the Road with You?

Dear Georgia and Willa,

I wish I knew whether to speak or stay still. Whether in your mind, it is prudent to stand or sit, fold my hands or not, allow spacious pauses in our conversation, perhaps a gentle hug, but without heads touching. The touch of my forehead against yours would remind me of the scrumptious way Dolly wiggled herself warm into my space. She put my hair in rags, and Blue's in later years, and AJ's. That same touch would remind Georgia of our father's quiet fingers, twirling his hair sullenly as he watched TV. To Willa? The touch brings desolate landscapes from which we must all turn. And walk away.

I have screamed until I am hoarse I have fallen skinning my knees on the pavement and my snotty nose and blood runs down my legs and my dirty underpants are grass-stained and mud is packed and cold on my bottom as I plop my sorry self down sobbing catching my breath worn out. It really doesn't matter anymore.

"Can I come with you?! Keepers of the secrets of life. Sisters. Can you take me with you?"

Don't You See It Coming?: Another Pre-emptive War

When George W Bush was "elected" the first time I knew immediately that we were going to war. I had read the Project for the New American Century and was aware of the neo-con plans for world domination. And low and behold, they "got" their "Pearl Harbor incident" that they knew was necessary to rally the US to war in Iraq.

Now that the war drums are getting louder on Iran (although that has been planned for years too), I wonder what sort of "Pearl Harbor incident" will be needed for the citizens of the US to rally once more for war (and even the draft) again? I'm sure it will have to be big. Really big.

Bush has been talking up his policy of pre-emptive strike again. Don't you see it coming?

Fuck You, Whitey

A day off was just what I needed yesterday. I stayed in bed until noon with Haruki Murakami, who is the love of my life at the moment. I went out only to get supplies (tapioca and Grizzly Man). The tapioca felt like childhood and Dolly, and Grizzly Man woke me up in the night with a troubled feeling. Maybe I should have watched Waiting again, which Huck and I laughed at the night before. I love stupid innane profane idiotic movies. That movie would not have been nearly as funny without the wiggers, and I loved the scene where the black "sage" told them they were one-dimensional and they called him "whitey".

But Grizzly Man! I need to digest it some more (no pun intended), but this morning I realize that I was surprisingly unaffected by Treadwell's death. He did become a bear in my mind I guess, because when the deal came down, his death seemed kinda "right". The question of whether he was protecting the bears or doing them harm is important but not dealt with heavy-handedly by Herzog, which creates much more depth. I also found it interesting that Herzog included himself in the film, even giving advice in one scene. Well, it must have affected me somehow if I woke up in the night with Treadwell on my mind. The juxtaposition of a cruel violent world where bears kill dispassionately to survive and Treadwell's idealized version where all creatures can live in harmony is dissonant, and that may be what woke me up.

It's sort of like families. In theory (or in movies) we can all get along, but in reality it's blood and gore. Or like marriage. 65% of the people who do it end up divorced, but we still think it's the "right" thing to do. It's all the biology of procreation as Auggie might say. Marriage provides easy access to sex. Sex makes the world go round. Not civilization. Maybe Treadwell was just another wigger. So fuck you, whitey.

Dolly's Diagnosis III: Life is a Bowl of Cherries

I know there are no perfect families. But what the hell! After Willa told me (actually she asked my brother-in-law to tell me) about Dolly's diagnosis and then they promptly left, I sent them a text message:

Mom thought I was one of my kids today. That's the first time that has happened. Did you tell her friends? I think they ought to know, especially her best friend. Let me know if you want me to call anyone, or come over... or whatever.

Yesterday I received an e-mail from my brother-in-law:

Hi MJ - We got your text message. We don't think contacting Dolly's friends and telling them that she has early Alzheimers is wise. We think her friends see her often and know what she can and cannot do. That's enough. They can call it having a "senior moment" or "getting old is hell" or whatever, but they don't have to have a label for it. I think that if there was some special effort by us to ask them to look out for her because she has Alzheimers would possibly result in an undesirable label or stigma that your Mom is better off without for the time being.

And I shot off a response:

It wasn't my intention that her friends "look out for her". They already know Dolly has more than "senior moments". It's obvious. And they are her friends! I just don't "get" keeping it from her best friend. She loves Mom and I don't believe she would do anything to hurt her. It must be weird watching that happen to a good friend and being kept out of the loop. What negatives do you worry about? Maybe I haven't thought this through enough to realize all of the negative things that could happen. I know that our family has a problem with secrecy and it has hurt all of us. (Speaking of which, isn't it sort of weird that my sister Willa doesn't contact me ever, but my
brother-in-law sends me messages?) You guys have taken care of Mom for years and I really appreciate it. Don't take this message the wrong way, I only want to talk, something our family hasn't been good at.

In retrospect, why shouldn't her friends "look after" Dolly? Why shouldn't they have the opportunity to spend time with her with the knowledge of her disease? They would be able to direct the conversation toward the past, where Dolly is comfortable. They could give her kindness. Why would we isolate her by not telling?

Our family is fucked. Willa is filled with resentment about all of the ways she has been wronged, and Georgia is emotionally gone. Just pulled out and decided on a life with Theo. Last night I called her, hoping for some connection that never happened. She told me about a planned trip to see her kids. "We are going" was quickly changed to "I am going' to see my kids." She can't tell me the truth. All of us putting on a "face", protecting ourselves. Are we sisters? We are "separate". Sicker than Dolly could ever be. I finally blubbered some shit about how much I love mom, "how much I love you Georgia, wah wah wah!", and hung up. God! I am such an asshole!

Dolly is oblivious to the bullshit and always has been, or at least she can pretend. She must have learned that from living with an unhappy man. I remember looking at her right after my dad died. She was sitting in a chair, pale and tired, wearing a colorful embroidered sweater that said "Life is a bowl of cherries."

Dolly's Diagnosis II

Hysterical once more, I hide under the clothes rack at the Penney store. My mother shops. Black velvet. Dark stockings like shadows on the dressing room floor. "Come here Tinkerbell!"

I am lost. Abandonment complicated by dignity, expectations, guilt. "Straighten up! Be good!"

I have clung to her legs and felt the desperation of her leaving. Once. Twice. "For my own good."

Tonight the hard wind blows from here to there. She hears it and the miles between are nothing.

Dolly's Diagnosis

Yesterday Dolly greeted me at her door wearing a bathrobe and slippers. She had been in bed for two days, according to Willa who arrived a couple of minutes later. Dolly said her stomach was upset, maybe something she ate. Willa responded sternly, "Go take a shower! Get up and move around!"

When Willa got up to leave a few minutes later she asked me to walk her to the door, and whispered that she took Dolly to the doctor two days ago. She is in the "early stages" of Alzheimers, and is taking Aricept. The doctor says as long as she's taking the medication she can stay at this plateau for a couple of years. She is still driving and living alone.

Then Dolly proceeded to ask me the same questions over and over and over and over and over for the duration of my four-hour visit. "Can I get you something to eat, Mom?" "No, I'm not hungry. Just a cup of tea." Once she mistook me for one of my kids. That's a new one. I have suspected for some time that Dolly has Alzeiheimers (not a vitamin deficiency!), but now it has been diagnosed, set in stone, like a death warrant. She doesn't know she has it, doesn't even know she is taking new medication that is upsetting her stomach.

She wonders if my dad would like her hair since she is letting it go gray. Her world is narrowing, moving backward, and the TV, usually blaring golf tournaments or game shows, was silent. It has all come down to a cup of tea.

The Verge

"I want to walk to South America. I want to step out my door and begin putting one foot in front of the other. I want a new life."

Perhaps AJ is right, and I can't see what is right in front of me. Old images of reality are seared into my vision like shapes gazed upon too long and remain, covering whatever is next. If I slide my consciousness a bit (it is not that hard!) and as thoughts approach simply choose to look ahead at blackness, the thought-trains which move like smooth shadows along serpentine grooves in gray matter lose power and potency.

We are so in love with chaos. We must stand on our heads, notice the negative spaces, allow ourselves to see what is right in front of us.

Not to close our self, but to open. Not to turn away, but toward. Not to worry. Not to protect. Not to use. But to loosen. Give it away.

Thanks for Everything and Goodbye

Yesterday Mallory and I met for the last time. Polite formalities were required to put closure to six years of the strange intimacy of psychotherapy. She. "I have gotten much from our meetings. You have made a lot of progress. Thank you for everything." Me. "It has been instructive for me, also. I am thankful for all you have given me."

Letting loose the moorings that once were me, I with no hesitation.... enter the gray swells, float free.

Dear AJ, Dream Interpreter

All righty then. I was up at 2:30 this morning, which has become routine. I hope I'm not catching the insomnia bug that's going around. Sleep is such a welcome escape. Or is it?

Last night I dreamed another variation on my "being rejected" theme. In some used and impersonal hotel the group of people with whom I was affiliated but didn't really identify with, were "concerned" about a "member" of the group. They began to pray together in a big crowded circle. I stood at the outskirts and momentarily considered at least mimicking joining in, considering how sure they all were that this was the right thing to do... but I just couldn't pretend, hell, I wasn't sure the person even needed these peoples' prayers, so I cut myself loose from the group and walked out. Another person walked out too, but I don't remember a face and we made no contact. Or did we?

I need an AJ dream interpretation. Hey AJ, you sassy sage. Do they all suck cock for money?

Party Girl Misanthrope

In theory I like being with people. A lot!

A long shot: Sex in the City girlfriends enjoying frequent conversations about men over coffee and then? Tripping off to an exciting and rewarding day at the "career". What about a tasteful dinner with seven or eight good friends at a nice long table, hell, I don't know, preferably with gay men like that one guy on Queer Eye, or really great Portugese guys (a shout-out to my lone commenter!) drinking wine, eating delicious food and delving into each others' private lives because, well, we're "family"! We pry! We're close as hell. We accept one anothers' foibles.

And then there is the sisterly comedy of errors! What a laughfest. If it's not one thing it's another. "She did what?" We must save her! Oh what chaos of miscommunication and love! This would certainly star Diane Keaton as Georgia. Willa? Perhaps Goldie Hawn.

I can almost visualize a sweet summer night with a lawn-full of people, flowers, garden, soft laughter. Hugging. Sounds of summer insects, night breeze. Neighbors and friends shot through a filter who are softer, somehow transformed to understand the subtext and accept One-Eyed Willy.

Later on Shirley Temple finds her parents, the wedding finally goes on, the Hobbits go home and the final scene from the mental hospital window is pastoral, even though Jack Nicholson is dead.

And watching from the shadows, or perhaps sitting on the mossy roof (yes. definitely the roof.) she is waiting for the moment. Elton Johns' Your Song is this scene's soundtrack, and a sense of peace and contentment, not happiness exactly, but comfort in her own skin pervades the atmosphere. She smokes a cigarette, which was discussed at length considering the demographic of the viewing audience. A Jack Daniels bottle beside her conjures up images of youthful debauchery, the yard is littered with plastic cups, scripts, costumes, paraphenalia, and fallen tiki lamps spill keroscene onto the dark earth below.

Cyborg Love

1.
For those whose most intense and sensual experiences occur in the mind (like you)
this anonymous medium is the carrier of uncomplicated intimacy
and deceit of course
which is rendered neutral

All must be accepted as one

2.
Tomorrow we are cyborgs
mapping coding masturbating
(like you)
no better no worse
with collective perception

Free from prejudice of the senses

3.
Our desire
Our sorrow
Our longing
(like you)

More real than carnal knowledge

Hymnal

fingers play
faint sound
of you
over cheek
unshaven

Your chin,
prickly
burning
i open my palm to

No School Today!

black freezing rain taps urgent poem of love
on bedroom window

ahh,
warm comforter
deep
down
under me
Haruki Murakami

Mmm,
I may spend
the day in this world

Moving Day for AJ

AJ, in her inimitable way moved yesterday with her flock of friends, panting up and down five flights of stairs. The group included the boy that she befriended from an apartment downstairs who, when she locked herself out of her apartment a while back, nobly climbed the fire escape (with many nervous neighborhood spectators peering up from the sidewalk below) and climbed through the window. The group, which also included a drummer with a van and a bartender who is one of AJ's best friends, spent the afternoon lugging her belongings downtown.

These kids are creatures of the night, all their waking hours spent in the dark, working at clubs, then socializing after, and finally disappearing into the streets, headed for sleep. Yesterday they were surprised to see one anothers' faces in midday. "You look so much different in the daytime," they marveled!

Several friends have given AJ keys, all opening their apartments to her, and she will divide her time between them until the 15th, when she hopes to have enough money for rent and a down-payment. She called last night after they were finished, and she sounded happy, glad to have a new beginning.

New beginnings are good.