this week has been strange. i have had so many amazing ideas for the show but have never been so all over the map before in my life. i hope something settles here soon. but i am utilizing the energy.
emmylou harris tonight should be a good show. it has been a long time for me. a long time.
i can fight now. gots the mental muscle working.
alienation is okay, but debilitating
i am just wondering why i have to go through all of this
why do i put these thoughts here? well, when you have no one else, the screen is friendly. it doesn't talk back, it is safe. it lets you cry without feeling ridiculous. who is really going to read this anyway? i mean, you would have to be looking for it---and to be honest, if that is the truth, then you should be talking to me in person about it instead of speaking in hushed tongues somewhere else. thanks friend. thanks a lot for being there.
10/22/2004
10/21/2004
eye teeth
Thou know'st how guiltless first I met thy flame,
When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love.
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee.
She drew pictures with a sharpie. Circles. Scribbles.
She said words like "doggie" "kitty" "apple" "peepee" "bee"
And when I put her to bed, I held her so close, her little hand cupping my finger. Most nights she stared up at the ceiling fan without a sound, then back to me. I looked at her and understood unconditional love. Why was I chosen to carry such a precious gift, I ask.
***
"Got a letter from the NRA. They want money," he says while tearing up the bill.
She wonders why he even opens them.
Guns were never part of her experience. Not even toy guns. Her father didn't believe in them.
I would feel better if you would take all of your guns to John's and lock them up in his safe," standing by the door, shifting her weight.
"Sure...but after I heard the shots in the neighborhood, I have kept a loaded gun in the house..." still sifting through two days worth of mail that accumulated in the rusty box.
"I mean you have a gun in coat closet..."
"It doesn't work. The damn thing is broken," he blurted, as if being accused of high treason.
"..and what is under the bed? Are those bullets? I mean, it is within reach of little hands. Is it a gun? Is it loaded?"
"Yes, but she can't figure out how to open the box.."
"Oh my God! You have a loaded gun under the bed! Doesn't that bother you? I mean she can call people on a cell phone, I am sure she can figure out how to open a box," her voice was ugly and the words deformed.
He grimaced, "but the cat pee..."
"What? Do you think she cares about cat piss? You have a loaded gun under the bed. Do you know how many people would freak if..."
It was a joke, Cat." She hated it when he called her that.
"Well I don't find it funny at all." She was expecting him to get up and move the piece immediately. He knew this, and so didn't move. He wanted to control this conversation, this situation.
The argument continued until the last word had to be one-uppped.
"So, are you shutting down?"
"Yes, yes I am. You are not listening to me. You say we need to work on communication and you never listen. You don't care. You could give a flying rat's ass. So go and tell Row about all of this. I could give a shit. So I guess you won this one, huh?"
It was the usual. She wanted a tape recorder so as not to miss a single ridiculous sentence. It was laughable. She sat still in the chair, waiting for him to continue to berate. He disappeared upstairs and she heard fumbling in the bedroom. She took another sip of wine and took her place on the couch. She turned off the light and drifted off.
When Love approach'd me under Friendship's name;
My fancy form'd thee of angelic kind,
Some emanation of th' all-beauteous Mind.
Those smiling eyes, attemp'ring ev'ry day,
Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.
Guiltless I gaz'd; heav'n listen'd while you sung;
And truths divine came mended from that tongue.
From lips like those what precept fail'd to move?
Too soon they taught me 'twas no sin to love.
Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,
Nor wish'd an Angel whom I lov'd a Man.
Dim and remote the joys of saints I see;
Nor envy them, that heav'n I lose for thee.
She drew pictures with a sharpie. Circles. Scribbles.
She said words like "doggie" "kitty" "apple" "peepee" "bee"
And when I put her to bed, I held her so close, her little hand cupping my finger. Most nights she stared up at the ceiling fan without a sound, then back to me. I looked at her and understood unconditional love. Why was I chosen to carry such a precious gift, I ask.
***
"Got a letter from the NRA. They want money," he says while tearing up the bill.
She wonders why he even opens them.
Guns were never part of her experience. Not even toy guns. Her father didn't believe in them.
I would feel better if you would take all of your guns to John's and lock them up in his safe," standing by the door, shifting her weight.
"Sure...but after I heard the shots in the neighborhood, I have kept a loaded gun in the house..." still sifting through two days worth of mail that accumulated in the rusty box.
"I mean you have a gun in coat closet..."
"It doesn't work. The damn thing is broken," he blurted, as if being accused of high treason.
"..and what is under the bed? Are those bullets? I mean, it is within reach of little hands. Is it a gun? Is it loaded?"
"Yes, but she can't figure out how to open the box.."
"Oh my God! You have a loaded gun under the bed! Doesn't that bother you? I mean she can call people on a cell phone, I am sure she can figure out how to open a box," her voice was ugly and the words deformed.
He grimaced, "but the cat pee..."
"What? Do you think she cares about cat piss? You have a loaded gun under the bed. Do you know how many people would freak if..."
It was a joke, Cat." She hated it when he called her that.
"Well I don't find it funny at all." She was expecting him to get up and move the piece immediately. He knew this, and so didn't move. He wanted to control this conversation, this situation.
The argument continued until the last word had to be one-uppped.
"So, are you shutting down?"
"Yes, yes I am. You are not listening to me. You say we need to work on communication and you never listen. You don't care. You could give a flying rat's ass. So go and tell Row about all of this. I could give a shit. So I guess you won this one, huh?"
It was the usual. She wanted a tape recorder so as not to miss a single ridiculous sentence. It was laughable. She sat still in the chair, waiting for him to continue to berate. He disappeared upstairs and she heard fumbling in the bedroom. She took another sip of wine and took her place on the couch. She turned off the light and drifted off.
10/20/2004
skipping stones
I suppose there is some truth to the number of posts on one's page per day/week/month that reflects the quality of one's life at that particular time.
I think it has been well over a year since I have been out socially, and about the same amount of time since I recall letting go, glowing and basking in the feeling of love, or feeling like a part of something bigger than myself. We make our bed---
I can wait. Love always waits.
Been talking with a friend about art this week. He offered a painting to me that is worth thousands for a steal at a grand. Sure in al practical purposes it could be 5 month's car payment, blah blah blah, but the piece is so incredible I cannot let it pass me by. I love art.
Feeling a bit of tension so must close and pick up again tomorrow. And when I see the moon, I think of you...
I think it has been well over a year since I have been out socially, and about the same amount of time since I recall letting go, glowing and basking in the feeling of love, or feeling like a part of something bigger than myself. We make our bed---
I can wait. Love always waits.
Been talking with a friend about art this week. He offered a painting to me that is worth thousands for a steal at a grand. Sure in al practical purposes it could be 5 month's car payment, blah blah blah, but the piece is so incredible I cannot let it pass me by. I love art.
Feeling a bit of tension so must close and pick up again tomorrow. And when I see the moon, I think of you...
10/19/2004
in the waiting line
In the cicada's cry
No sign can foretell
How soon it must die.
-Basho
Today the twinkling lights downtown blurred with the fog
I took an extra lap around the square, windows open, to take in the full effect.
Wish there was someone to share these fleeting moments.
I followed you foolishly,
you were in a smokey bar,
we were out til' three...
remember how we used to say
can't stay away?
No sign can foretell
How soon it must die.
-Basho
Today the twinkling lights downtown blurred with the fog
I took an extra lap around the square, windows open, to take in the full effect.
Wish there was someone to share these fleeting moments.
I followed you foolishly,
you were in a smokey bar,
we were out til' three...
remember how we used to say
can't stay away?
10/18/2004
nothing really matters--but love
i feel the void growing with every word, every step.
i fight back the bitter tears driving to work in anger and leave in the same way. today the cold hard rain beat down on me like stones.
last night i dreamed my baby drown. she was a sinking grey rubber doll; her eyes and mouth open. i felt like Medea.
i still do.
the words spewed all weekend long like poison. the sarcasm, the hateful, condeming charges, the accusations. lilly sat quietly, playing with her books. that in itself makes me want to cry.
but there was that wonderful moment when we were free--it was just lilly and me. the way it should be.
i fight back the bitter tears driving to work in anger and leave in the same way. today the cold hard rain beat down on me like stones.
last night i dreamed my baby drown. she was a sinking grey rubber doll; her eyes and mouth open. i felt like Medea.
i still do.
the words spewed all weekend long like poison. the sarcasm, the hateful, condeming charges, the accusations. lilly sat quietly, playing with her books. that in itself makes me want to cry.
but there was that wonderful moment when we were free--it was just lilly and me. the way it should be.
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