Ah. Early morning. I woke before dawn, did my yoga and made it to school by 6:55.
it's going to be a great day.
an old friend called me last night out of the blue. We recklessly toured Europe together back in the early 90's, hitting all the main locales in his piece of shit beamer. God, those were some wild, eye-opening times. How strange that I just entered a piece about losing memories and people---but the minute we talked, they all came streaming back into my mind. He was a bright guy, army brat, wrestler with a delicate frame. What is it about wrestlers? I think I have dated at least 4.
Anyway, he would have made a great politician. Good to talk with you again Bruce.
I don't know if it is age or experience but I am feeling so much more in tune with things these days. Unfortunately, along with clarity, I have lost the lofty idea of romantic love, I won't allow people in anymore. Love is disease and once infected, you are helpless. There is no remedy or relief except fateful time---waiting for it to die, waiting for the feelings to wilt and decompose, watching the body wither and groan and become worthless.
The good times are so few and fleeting that I wonder why we even put forth the energy--when ultimately we know it is doomed to fail.
Fortunately for me, I have the strength of 10,000 men. Now that I know better, I will never go to that place again. It would take a miracle. A fucking miracle.
10/07/2004
10/06/2004
Baby
"Don't cry baby," he said to her, cradling her head in his arms.
She had never been called baby before. It always sounded so cliche. But coming from him it was...nice. Baby hmmm.
*****
I hate the fact that I have to rely on my students in order to have a conversation about anything important. The election, condoms in schools, relating to your kids, having civil discussions without closing off the other person, dismissing them or walking away. Maybe because they are a captive audience? I am honored that they let me in to their lives at all. I know I never let my parents in on anything I was thinking or feeling.
I thank my lucky stars for students like Ryan, Anna, Alex, Keith, Anton, Trevor, Jacob, Jimmy, J-Moore, Kerchie, Hoppie, Esther, Evan, B-Carl, Steve, Haddie, Kayta, Danielle, Krystopher, Sarah, Kathleen...they never let me down, always have a hug for me and are straight up with me. I cannot say that for many adults that I know.
Dreams were crazy last night...I was crazy, elevators, painting, college dorms....
She had never been called baby before. It always sounded so cliche. But coming from him it was...nice. Baby hmmm.
*****
I hate the fact that I have to rely on my students in order to have a conversation about anything important. The election, condoms in schools, relating to your kids, having civil discussions without closing off the other person, dismissing them or walking away. Maybe because they are a captive audience? I am honored that they let me in to their lives at all. I know I never let my parents in on anything I was thinking or feeling.
I thank my lucky stars for students like Ryan, Anna, Alex, Keith, Anton, Trevor, Jacob, Jimmy, J-Moore, Kerchie, Hoppie, Esther, Evan, B-Carl, Steve, Haddie, Kayta, Danielle, Krystopher, Sarah, Kathleen...they never let me down, always have a hug for me and are straight up with me. I cannot say that for many adults that I know.
Dreams were crazy last night...I was crazy, elevators, painting, college dorms....
10/05/2004
paper airplanes and pastel
Driving west this morning the sky resembled an easter egg--pastel, cool and pretty. Sometimes I wish that I could freeze moments in time. I hate how time makes you forget. Why does time do that to beautiful things, beautiful people, beautiful moments? It isn't fair.
I see you caught under the watchful and suspecting eyes of others. I see nothing behind your eyes now. And your hands, your scent--- they are gone. forgotten. And I miss them.
Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
There died the best of passions, love and fame.
--from "Eloisa to Abelard"
I see you caught under the watchful and suspecting eyes of others. I see nothing behind your eyes now. And your hands, your scent--- they are gone. forgotten. And I miss them.
Soon as thy letters trembling I unclose,
That well-known name awakens all my woes.
Oh name for ever sad! for ever dear!
Still breath'd in sighs, still usher'd with a tear.
I tremble too, where'er my own I find,
Some dire misfortune follows close behind.
Line after line my gushing eyes o'erflow,
Led through a sad variety of woe:
Now warm in love, now with'ring in thy bloom,
Lost in a convent's solitary gloom!
There stern religion quench'd th' unwilling flame,
There died the best of passions, love and fame.
--from "Eloisa to Abelard"
10/04/2004
eloisa
Anger today. blinding--brain bluring--and from here then to mom mode.
I am so fucking tired.
I need someone to put their arms around me and tell me I am loved and it's all going to be ok. I want to be able to put my guard down and just relax.
Is there anyone out there?
>>>>
a productive al beit lonely weekend once again.
the downstairs got a new coat of paint, baseboards stained and the carpets are somewhat presentable now.
After three days i finally made it all the way through eternal sunshine intact. cannot remember the last time i watched a movie with someone.
i feel my heart growing colder, the distance i place between myself and others seems to grow with every passing day and i find myself not caring much about tending to the relationships i do have. as someone once said to me, it is best not to have any expectations of other people--that way you won't be disappointed if they do not meet them. huh--interesting but uh, no.
maybe it's the sudafed?
I am so fucking tired.
I need someone to put their arms around me and tell me I am loved and it's all going to be ok. I want to be able to put my guard down and just relax.
Is there anyone out there?
>>>>
a productive al beit lonely weekend once again.
the downstairs got a new coat of paint, baseboards stained and the carpets are somewhat presentable now.
After three days i finally made it all the way through eternal sunshine intact. cannot remember the last time i watched a movie with someone.
i feel my heart growing colder, the distance i place between myself and others seems to grow with every passing day and i find myself not caring much about tending to the relationships i do have. as someone once said to me, it is best not to have any expectations of other people--that way you won't be disappointed if they do not meet them. huh--interesting but uh, no.
maybe it's the sudafed?
9/30/2004
goat
well fuck.
I am finally over my hangover from Monday night's escapade. I don't think I am going to drink another glass of wine again. Sitting at the bar definitely has it's advantages--or disadvantages depending on what orifice is buried in the toilet bowl.
Unfortunately for me it was the latter, not the former.
Mercury must be retrograde. I keep losing things--my glasses, sunglasses, cell phone, checkbook--I chipped my front tooth and a kid ripped my silk scarf in class. My back was turned and I heard this heart-wrenching "rip". The room was silent and all eyes were on him. They waited for me to lash out in a fiery rage. And in my silence, I realized that all this shit: phones, teeth, glasses--it was all pointless. I told him to forget about it. Cheers rang out--I felt like a hero.
I picked up my daughter from daycare yesterday and read her report--the provider said," She read a book to us and was so animated...And at the end, closed the book and said 'bye-bye'."
My daughter rocks my socks.
Another weekend is rapidly approaching. Being alone again is okay but what I wouldn't do for a little intimacy, actually company would be divine. Come Saturday around 4p.m. I get sad and stumble around town with my hands in my pockets. It's a self-defeating activity but better than sitting at home with the ghosts of bitter fights, crying and isolating solitude. I'm lookin for water from a deeper well.
I think I will go see Rachel Caswell tonight. After all, I have the day off tomorrow. Sigh.
I am finally over my hangover from Monday night's escapade. I don't think I am going to drink another glass of wine again. Sitting at the bar definitely has it's advantages--or disadvantages depending on what orifice is buried in the toilet bowl.
Unfortunately for me it was the latter, not the former.
Mercury must be retrograde. I keep losing things--my glasses, sunglasses, cell phone, checkbook--I chipped my front tooth and a kid ripped my silk scarf in class. My back was turned and I heard this heart-wrenching "rip". The room was silent and all eyes were on him. They waited for me to lash out in a fiery rage. And in my silence, I realized that all this shit: phones, teeth, glasses--it was all pointless. I told him to forget about it. Cheers rang out--I felt like a hero.
I picked up my daughter from daycare yesterday and read her report--the provider said," She read a book to us and was so animated...And at the end, closed the book and said 'bye-bye'."
My daughter rocks my socks.
Another weekend is rapidly approaching. Being alone again is okay but what I wouldn't do for a little intimacy, actually company would be divine. Come Saturday around 4p.m. I get sad and stumble around town with my hands in my pockets. It's a self-defeating activity but better than sitting at home with the ghosts of bitter fights, crying and isolating solitude. I'm lookin for water from a deeper well.
I think I will go see Rachel Caswell tonight. After all, I have the day off tomorrow. Sigh.
9/29/2004
harvest moon
While sitting through a meeting trying to persuade unsuspecting seniors to buy memorabilia, I snickered at a colleague's retort, "I have decided that Consumerism is a whore." I think he is absolutely correct.
The moon last night was amazing. I held my girl up to the glowing mass and she pointed and said, "moooo."
The moon last night was amazing. I held my girl up to the glowing mass and she pointed and said, "moooo."
9/27/2004
great tranquility and order
"Tanto monta, monta tanto, Isabel como Fernando."
I had an opportunity to spend some time with an amazing artist this weekend who has his studio in the old Bare Essentials building.
I was captivated by his work in the window as I would pass by on the way to Soma. I love oil painting; it reminded me of growing up--mom had a studio set up. Later, Carolyn took to oils and the summers were spent with the projector set up in the kitchen, slides of Degas ballerinas cast on the fridge.
I never thought much about it--but the scent of the oils drifted toward the outside patio seating and took me back.
His works made me want to cry-- each one so different; so full of depth and pain and suffering...
He recently completed Billie Holiday.
Dorothy Parker is next, followed by none other than Isabella.
His interpretations of Hester Pryne, Saint Joan and Elizabeth, Medea and Ophelia were unbelievable. I have known quite a few painters in this life--but this one--this one I could see myself in all of his works, I could talk to him for hours about these women, standing there in that space, looking at each one....
I had an opportunity to spend some time with an amazing artist this weekend who has his studio in the old Bare Essentials building.
I was captivated by his work in the window as I would pass by on the way to Soma. I love oil painting; it reminded me of growing up--mom had a studio set up. Later, Carolyn took to oils and the summers were spent with the projector set up in the kitchen, slides of Degas ballerinas cast on the fridge.
I never thought much about it--but the scent of the oils drifted toward the outside patio seating and took me back.
His works made me want to cry-- each one so different; so full of depth and pain and suffering...
He recently completed Billie Holiday.
Dorothy Parker is next, followed by none other than Isabella.
His interpretations of Hester Pryne, Saint Joan and Elizabeth, Medea and Ophelia were unbelievable. I have known quite a few painters in this life--but this one--this one I could see myself in all of his works, I could talk to him for hours about these women, standing there in that space, looking at each one....
9/24/2004
Musings
Friday afternoon.
It looks cloudy outside--
I am staring at the screen--eyes glazed over, glasses are off.
It's quiet--only the hum of my computer and an occasional passing student; the clicking of my fingers on the keyboard. The place clears out quickly come Friday.
I love the silence.
come closer to the screen.
closer.
I am here. Let me brush the eyelash from your cheek.
****
Smoke-filled bar. Loud and crowded. Posers and intellects in thick framed glasses. Plastic cups and bottled beer--You wonder what you're doing here.Your bright eyes flash but you look unhappy.
She is not here.
Your worn jacket, large pockets on the inside, hold the empties.
Her earring back is lodged deep in the lint fibers at the bottom.
Run it between your fingers like so many soft things.
Someone bumps into you and spills her beer, a cute brunette trying to act grown up, her white tennis shoes and second-hand argile sweater.
She's only 22.
You sigh and turn again toward the band--girls are twirling and spinning to the hard drum beat. The band sucks but your head bobs in time to the song being butchered. Your mind is elsewhere. Escaping to the bathroom for a change of scenery you push through the crowd that engulfs your frame--the girls rub up against you. This scene is so college town. Raising your head to avoid interaction with the tight-packed mob you see her there--on the balcony, her arms resting on the rail...
and she smiles.
She is smiling at you.
It looks cloudy outside--
I am staring at the screen--eyes glazed over, glasses are off.
It's quiet--only the hum of my computer and an occasional passing student; the clicking of my fingers on the keyboard. The place clears out quickly come Friday.
I love the silence.
come closer to the screen.
closer.
I am here. Let me brush the eyelash from your cheek.
****
Smoke-filled bar. Loud and crowded. Posers and intellects in thick framed glasses. Plastic cups and bottled beer--You wonder what you're doing here.Your bright eyes flash but you look unhappy.
She is not here.
Your worn jacket, large pockets on the inside, hold the empties.
Her earring back is lodged deep in the lint fibers at the bottom.
Run it between your fingers like so many soft things.
Someone bumps into you and spills her beer, a cute brunette trying to act grown up, her white tennis shoes and second-hand argile sweater.
She's only 22.
You sigh and turn again toward the band--girls are twirling and spinning to the hard drum beat. The band sucks but your head bobs in time to the song being butchered. Your mind is elsewhere. Escaping to the bathroom for a change of scenery you push through the crowd that engulfs your frame--the girls rub up against you. This scene is so college town. Raising your head to avoid interaction with the tight-packed mob you see her there--on the balcony, her arms resting on the rail...
and she smiles.
She is smiling at you.
9/22/2004
skipping stones and other plunks
I love skipping stones. It's more fun to do with someone else-- a competition automatically ensues. I never win, but enjoy the motion of throwing. Same with a frisbee--the motion and send-off, no matter where it lands is satisfying.
Last night I heard a great tune by Ricky Nelson called "That's All" read on for more...ok they are sappy, but when in the right frame of mine, nice.
I can only give you love that lasts forever,
And a promise to be near each time you call.
And the only heart I own
For you and you alone
That's all,
That's all...
***
If you're wondering what I'm asking in return, dear,
You'll be glad to know that my demands are small.
Say it's me that you'll adore,
For now and evermore
That's all,
That's all.
Last night I heard a great tune by Ricky Nelson called "That's All" read on for more...ok they are sappy, but when in the right frame of mine, nice.
I can only give you love that lasts forever,
And a promise to be near each time you call.
And the only heart I own
For you and you alone
That's all,
That's all...
***
If you're wondering what I'm asking in return, dear,
You'll be glad to know that my demands are small.
Say it's me that you'll adore,
For now and evermore
That's all,
That's all.
9/20/2004
on a blue background...the cresent moon rises
her sad, lonely eyes
gaze up at the distant moon
she howls her love song
c
it is a beautiful evening tonight--
the sky is midnight blue,
and the moon is glowing, throwing shadows on everything below.
my first bit of solitude all day and I am too exhausted to enjoy it.
the smells outside my window remind me of falls past;
football games, woodsmoke and hayrides, bonfires and attraction, walks with boys, yo la tengo's crickets.
timing and fate...fleeting and always off.
is it too late, I wonder.
what my heart feels-- what my heart knows
the rush of love washing over
tear stained pages of verse
longing and resentment
fear of rejection
I'll go to bed alone
and make the same wish on the moon
hoping, this time
that it may come true.
time: 8:45pm
gaze up at the distant moon
she howls her love song
c
it is a beautiful evening tonight--
the sky is midnight blue,
and the moon is glowing, throwing shadows on everything below.
my first bit of solitude all day and I am too exhausted to enjoy it.
the smells outside my window remind me of falls past;
football games, woodsmoke and hayrides, bonfires and attraction, walks with boys, yo la tengo's crickets.
timing and fate...fleeting and always off.
is it too late, I wonder.
what my heart feels-- what my heart knows
the rush of love washing over
tear stained pages of verse
longing and resentment
fear of rejection
I'll go to bed alone
and make the same wish on the moon
hoping, this time
that it may come true.
time: 8:45pm
9/15/2004
e.e.c. and baker's dozen
Every Tuesday night I listen to WFHB's Baker's Dozen. I like the program for the jazz and ballads he plays. He knows his music and will always play my requests. I think he expects my weekly call and anticipates what I will request. Then he plays one of his own, usually something that he knows I would like.
Last week it was Ellington's "Daydream" and some Cole Porter. I also requested an old favorite love song called "You Go to My Head". He promised over the airwaves to find it for this week.
Lilly and I were bathing by candlelight, a nightly occurrance for us while listening to his program. After the painfully long Lotus promo (yawn) he finally got around to playing some tunes. Mine was first. The second, a Billie Holiday tune that was out of this world
For one moment I felt like someone was doing something amazing for me.
my girl's tall with hard long eyes
as she stands, with her long hard hands keeping
silence on her dress, good for sleeping
is her long hard body filled with surprise
like a white shocking wire, when she smiles
a hard long smile it sometimes makes
gaily go clean through me tickling aches,
and the weak noise of her eyes easily files
my impatience to an edge--my girl's tall
and taut, with thin legs just like a vine
that's spent all of its life on a garden-wall,
and is going to die. When we grimly go to bed
with these legs she begins to heave and twine
about me, and to kiss my face and head.
Last week it was Ellington's "Daydream" and some Cole Porter. I also requested an old favorite love song called "You Go to My Head". He promised over the airwaves to find it for this week.
Lilly and I were bathing by candlelight, a nightly occurrance for us while listening to his program. After the painfully long Lotus promo (yawn) he finally got around to playing some tunes. Mine was first. The second, a Billie Holiday tune that was out of this world
For one moment I felt like someone was doing something amazing for me.
my girl's tall with hard long eyes
as she stands, with her long hard hands keeping
silence on her dress, good for sleeping
is her long hard body filled with surprise
like a white shocking wire, when she smiles
a hard long smile it sometimes makes
gaily go clean through me tickling aches,
and the weak noise of her eyes easily files
my impatience to an edge--my girl's tall
and taut, with thin legs just like a vine
that's spent all of its life on a garden-wall,
and is going to die. When we grimly go to bed
with these legs she begins to heave and twine
about me, and to kiss my face and head.
9/13/2004
september 12
The door slammed shut in her face and she felt the wisps of hair move with the sudden breeze. The exchange which seemed like years before was brief and cold. And the familiar taste of embarrassing shame flooded her mouth like so many sips of rancid wine fermenting too many years in the bottle.
He was shirtless and barefoot upon answering the door-- A familiar look that carried no pretense or suggestion. As she entered into the sparse front living space, he put his shirt back on, the first of a few exchanges that collected in her mind like bad episodes of nausia. He sat back down at the table where he had been working, closed the box of cheez-its (the second exchange) and looked at her with loathing. He had already distanced himself; protecting himself from feeling or truth. She tried to make light of his demeanor by laughing-- nervously picking the label off her beer bottle, but the desired effect didn't come. She looked down at the bottle wondering why she came.
Her face was flush as he spoke the words; his voice steady, unfeeling, as if reading a directive for a standardized test or scolding a small child. She put the bottle on the uneven table and watched the change below scatter. His toes were thin and dainty, one foot crossed over the other.
She knew this would be the last of their exchanges: the last time being so close to him, the last time she would be in a room alone with him. The tuber roses were wilting on the counter behind him.
They sat in silence as she finished her beer, she stood and said goodbye, waiting for him to respond.
He walked again with purpose to the door, as if getting rid of a magazine salesman or a zealot Christian and the door was closed. They both sighed--his a sigh of relief, hers a sigh of heartbreak.
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