I Boil It Down To……. Language
May 12, 2012
I just finished reading Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. Took me hella long but, I read it slowly, and with care.
He talks in the end of the book about patients (he’s a psychiatrist) stating that roughly 30% at his time of writing were suffering from neuroses which were based in the essential problem of meaninglessness – that the patient could not, or did not, have a meaning for their life. This he found in both California and in Vienna.
I immediately thought about language. Our language changes. In the US it changes often and rapidly. A few hours ago I just read this quote in my ‘word-a-day’ email: “No man, or body of men, can dam the stream of language.” -James Russell Lowell, poet, editor, and diplomat (1819-1891). And today, in the US, we have so many languages. And I’m not even speaking about English vs. Spanish, I mean we have a corporate or professional lingo, we have e-bonics, and a whole plethora of others, including regional dialects and city-speak vs. country-speak (I made those terms up but I think you probably know what I mean.)
Too often we can’t even understand each other.
And worse – even people using the same dialect cannot sometimes understand one another. We’ve forgotten the true meanings of our words. As a writer I encounter this often and get extra nervous about it, even when I’m writing sometimes I double check the definition of a word to make sure I’m using it right.
Then we have definitions and connotations. GRREEEAAATTT. Even more confusions!
So ya. Our language has become superfluous. It makes me annoyed. And sad a bit. But I don’t think all is lost. It’s just, really bothersome.
So, as a sociologist (there, I situated myself, k?) I think this has a lot to do with work. In the US and Western Europe we have highly developed, or stratified really, work systems. Jobs. Jobs upon jobs upon jobs upon jobs upon… ya. It drives me nuts and I think it’s totally nonsensical but it’s become necessary. I was just talking about this with a coworker of mine yesterday: in order to buy a house you need to find an agent who will show you houses for sale, then you need to find a lender who will give you money to buy a house assuming your credit is alright, THEN you place a bid among others, wait to see if its accepted or not, and keep going. Once its accepted you have all this other crap, your loan officer sends your paperwork to an underwriter for approval, you’ve got all this paperwork to sign… I mean, really? Oh ya, you gotta get an inspection, buy homeowners insurance (which, good luck there, that business has a language of its own, try not to get taken advantage of!)… I mean, shit. If people were just honest and kind we wouldn’t need all this shit.
If people realized their interconnectedness…. *sigh*
But my point with this example is that with each new industry we have a new language. So no wonder we are so divided!
“these words are your truth” – a line from one of my favorite people’s poems.
We become our jobs. How shitty. Who wants to become an insurance salesperson?!? Why the hell? For what???
I was miserable in the 1 corporate job I ever had. It was meaningless. And it wasn’t rare that customers would leave respect out of how they treated me or spoke to me, so ya. I have dignity. F that.
The key obviously is to hold meaning to your life outside of your work. Unless you do what you love, but even then, I think you still need to have other meaningful things in your life too because what if you could no longer do it? What then? We must have many meaning baskets, to store our goods.
What is my big point?
Language shapes our understanding. It’s how we process and make sense of our worlds, our sensations, everything. Without language there is no way to understand.
And in a society as stratified by work as ours we use so many process words, I don’t think we use nearly as many reason words.
I think that’s a problem. And people stop using reason. They stop trying to reason, they just DO things.
Where is the meaning when all you talk about is process? Where is the why when all you talk about is how?
Now wonder people are having trouble with the ‘why’ to their lives and find it meaningless. These things are never talked about. THEY never talk about them. And probably few people around them talk about them. There’s no space for that conversation in many workplaces. Not everyone is blessed with family who taught them to reason that way or to have those conversations with people.
When’s the last time you had a debate with someone where you actually boiled the differing opinions down to the foundations upon which they lie? For many, I bet it wasn’t very recent. Our conversations are suffering.
Our language has become superfluous.
No wonder why people feel superfluous.
If I could be a student for the rest of my life I would study linguistics. And neuroscience. And psychology. And some philosophy because I like it, and it’s hard. It’s dope exercise. And also poetry, my first love.
That is all for the evening.
These are the things in my head.
‘nite!
Like this:
Talk to me about God. I’m listening…
April 25, 2012
I’ve danced around this topic before…
Enough tip toeing.
5 years ago, after roughly 5 or 6 years’ worth of tests and explorations, heart recordings, ultrasounds, wires sticker-ed to my head… a Cardiologist told me I had Neurocadiogenic Syncope.
I write about this here because it’s unknown. No one knows why it happens, no one really even knows how. And people who have it … some day they just magically get cured.
F’n weird huh?
I know.
Tell me about it….
So anyway…. I may be cured.
We’ll see.
I’m not jumping up and down yet.
I’m still worried I’m going to faint, just randomly, in the middle of the hallway at work one day or on my way to my car as I leave the building or…
I’m waiting for the pool in my legs.
The swelling.
The rush.
The escape of blood
from head
To toe.
I’m worried about it.
Honestly.
I’m paying extra attention to like EVERYTHING.
I’ve been wiggling my toes more, just to make sure the circulation is still working.
Once, a doctor took my blood pressure and asked me if I was alive.
I said ‘yes.’
What a weird experience.
I could’ve said, “I dunno doc, you tell me…. Am I NOT alive?!?!?? Am I dreaming this???”
Wtf…. she ought to know a corpse…
And people wonder why I roll my eyes a lot.
Maybe I f’d with her ontologicial security. (plugging that to remind myself to blog about that one day. Giddens, NOT Habermas. Thanks and shout outs to my comment-er who corrected me. Gracias. And that shit matters. Google if you’re curious.)
Very little makes sense when you have a heart/brain condition that takes you out of consciousness. Without willing it so and without knowing why. And that no one can fully explain.
They know WHAT happens. They just don’t know why… or even fully how…
Yeah, talk to me about God now.
I’ve got a good bit to say about that.
So I write about this in case anyone Googles the condition one day and stumbles upon this blog. I never found much for resources for people with the condition. It’s rare as hell.
….Or, maybe hell isn’t so rare…
but the condition is rare. That, I do know.
So, briefly, this is how they explain it: your heart sends messages to your brain but they don’t connect. They “misfire.” So then all the blood that WAS heading in that direction just falls back down.
Gravity can be a bitch.
When I took voice lessons in college I had trouble with the middle ranges. I could sing quite high and quite low but the middle was always f’d up. And forget any song where I had to travel in between the two… FORGET IT. Sounded like trash.
I couldn’t make those sounds.
*prolonged shrug*
Call me crazy but I think there is no coincidence.
Call me ‘exploring my solar plexus’ lately.
And recently curious about this pineal gland
a.k.a. my third eye.
I think I need that sh*t
Like, maybe a little more than most
Cos literally,
I might die without it.
So what happens to heads who grow out of Neurocardiogenic Syncope???
Maybe we all become artists. Or social justice workers.
Maybe we all had to do something with our hearts because they just weren’t working right…
Maybe.
Call me crazy
But I kind of believe that.
Talk to me about God.
I’m listening…
Like this:
When authenticity is anomalous…
February 26, 2012
When your inner and outer feelings match and you show them in this society you become an anomaly.
America is so full of layers. Socially. In social interaction. We hear the phrases that people can be “fake” or “superficial” or “genuine” or “real.” They can be “cold,” as in unemotional, or “fluff,” as in extra-loving (least I think that’s what fluffy means… ’tis an adjective my poet friends use for me, lol… so… I THINK that’s what it means. Something similar, at least, for sure)
The layering also exist in media. People on TV, the internet, in movies showing ourselves back to ourselves… art imitates life, imitates art… but is it all there??? I’d argue no. And I’d also argue that media is merely an abstraction of the real, a la Jean Beaudrillard, but that’s another post for another day…
So, to me, “superficial” and “fake” mean not being oneself in the company of others. It means that somehow the way one interacts with others seems not real or like a performance. Somehow, as humans, in our interactions, we can tell when a person doesn’t mean what they say. I imagine it’s a combination of words, intonation in voice, body language, eye contact, perhaps other things I’m not aware of.
“Genuine” or “real” is the exact opposite. Somehow we can tell when a person means what they say. I believe it’s because they speak like the mean it AND they know exactly what they’re saying. It encompasses both thought and feeling, and both are meant and authentic. When a person knows exactly what they’re saying, perhaps because they’ve thought it through at some point, most likely at many points, and then their feelings match. And then they deliver their words WITH feeling.
Somehow we can tell. It has been reasoned that many individuals are at least slightly, in a lot of cases more than slightly, more intellectual or more emotional. The Meyer’s-Briggs Theory uses the terms “thinker” and “feeler.” But that theory does use the two on a continuum, so no one is ALL thinker or ALL feeler, it’s a matter of degree. The idea is that one is more thinker or more feeler. That they use that process, either thinking or feeling, to form their understanding of something, of a situation, of a person… etc…
I try to be in the center. But life is difficult. I think I’m given to being more emotional, dare I say ‘by nature,’ but I have lived a life with a lot of study and intellect. And I still read, often. And not simple texts. I’ve enjoyed philosophy since my father began to teach it to me when I was maybe 10 or 12. And since then I’ve loved theory and thinking theoretically. It’s difficult, but it’s really fascinating at the same time.
It’s a great depth, in my opinion.
So back to society. American society at least. We hear many women getting categorized as “emotional” which men aren’t “supposed to be.” Or many men as analytical or intellectual, which luckily, I feel like the common narrative is allowing more room for women to also be these days. Though there is still some hesitance to accept women and trust them in these ways still… but I think time and effort are helping rid that.
The funny thing is though, to me at least, that there seem to be very few images in popular, mainstream view, of individuals who are both. And who are really great at both. Spiritual leaders like the Dalai Lama come to mind but they’re in a different “popular” field. Their field stretches broadly, not focused and ferocious like TV media.
What do I mean by that?
They’re popular the world over. And I don’t see many people get extra, overly excited if they come to their town or city. Sure there will be people lined up to listen if they give a talk or sign a book or something like that but the general public does not seem to want to cling to them, run after them for an autograph, or be in their presence with such a great degree of urgency. There’s not much “urgency” in their fame. Their fame spreads, it’s not targeted… and it stays….
Certain artists also come to mind. Mainly, to me, certain poets though poetry is NOT a popular genre in general so ya….
(If you have any other ideas of figures like this, who are publicly both great intellectuals and emotionals, please post in the comments. I’d like to look them up. There is MUCH I don’t know. This is part of my learning process.)
One of my problems/concerns in today’s society is work. Jobs are sh*tty man. There’s a lot of really sh*tty jobs. Ones that pay well even but that don’t allow a person to be a whole person. For example, customer service. Who honestly wants to sit on a phone all day and be berated by angry customers while at the same time have to maintain calm and not be hurt by this? Who??? No wonder people are emotionally f’d up.
Some work is really abuse.
Or a job where all you do is sit in front of a computer all day and punch in numbers, like data entry. Droning away… 532351….556772…
What a brain waste. No wonder people are mentally f’d up.
No wonder people seek release in their off time and go drinking, partying, do drugs, have promiscuous sex… or a multitude of other forms of ‘release’ for all they must hold captive, and all they have to let die, in their 9-5… for life???
Well thanks but yeah… that’s why I’m still waiting tables.
And even that has its moments for sure but at least its human interaction. It’s both human interaction and process. I think that’s what I like about it. It’s movement and communication. Sure it gets repetitious but I also can control that to a degree if I have guests who seem to be relaxing, laughing, I can be a little more relaxed, say something to make them smile… you can be human AND wait tables.
How revolutionary!
Though, it does have its downs most definitely. Often kitchen staff, particularly chef’s, are not very nice. They OFTEN yell a lot. As a server you may have to deal with the verbal wrath of a chef or even a manager if you make a mistake. Which kinda sucks because umm…. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes… we’re human. There is error in our humanity.
I think they forget that.
BUT, if you’re lucky in the restaurant business, you may work at a place where managers, chefs, etc don’t yell at people. Those are goldmines in my opinion. Not necessarily financially but for the ability to work and not have to be subjected to that. That matters to me.
Anyway, what the hell is my point?
This was on my mind as I awoke this morning. I’m feeling like there are very few places of work in our country where a person can be a whole person. And can be treated as one.
This iron cage of bureaucracy… ugh…. Look up Max Weber for more on that. He’s one of the founders of Sociology. I could explain but my fingers are starting to hurt. And this is long enough already.
I’m sure I’ll write about it at some point though…
Most likely.
Enjoy the day. Keep it meaningful.
<3
Like this:
Keeping Grace and Meaning
February 24, 2012
“look for someone who means what you mean”
My dad knows how to speak to me. He knows I am restless. That nothing really common or usual satisfies or makes sense to me.
Why?
Because it’s often missing something.
So many things, messages, words, ideas, mantras even in our society are dumbed down. They’re weak. They lack everything.
No really, they lack:
EVERYTHING.
Very few messages really contain it all, it its totality. What am I talking about?
Reality.
Our real existence.
I can’t even begin to count how many times I read a quote or a phrase or hear someone say something and think “well, that’s part of it, yeah…” Too many messages try to simplify, to explain, concretely what something IS or who someone IS or how a process works. And sure that’s fine when speaking of concrete THINGS. Like a chair, a broom, a house, a toothbrush… But not with human action or even interaction. People are enigmas. Social interaction is so full that no one person or way could ever really explain it except to say that they cannot entirely know…
Nothing is all one thing.
Everything is everything.
And that. Explains. My fallout. With Sociology.
Or, with the institition actually, as it has built itself, as humans have built it, to declare that one discipline alone has all the answers.
Gimme a break…
I’d rather eat a Kit Kat than be part of that mantra, even if grant money does flow and tides do wave to new and unexplored pastures…
I will not be part of a sense-making process that holds itself in such high esteem as to think it better than all others.
That, quite frankly, does not make sense to me.
Moving on….
the only messages that usually satisfy me, fully, are those that have it all.
Let me try and demonstrate one way with poetry. Here is exactly what I’m talking about in a poem by Lisell Mueller titled Things:
Things
What happened is, we grew lonely
living among the things,
so we gave the clock a face,
the chair a back,
the table four stout legs
which will never suffer fatigue.
We fitted our shoes with tongues
as smooth as our own
and hung tongues inside bells
so we could listen
to their emotional language,
and because we loved graceful profiles
the pitcher received a lip,
the bottle a long, slender neck.
Even what was beyond us
was recast in our image;
we gave the country a heart,
the storm an eye,
the cave a mouth
so we could pass into safety.
What she’s saying that we give meaning to things. As humans we have to in order to understand our lived experience, or to be able to at least keep it meaningful while we’re alive. In my opinion, I think we do this because otherwise: we go dim. We can become depressed, sad, lost. If nothing means anything then really, why would one live?
That’s a scary but honest thought.
(luckily, lots of things mean lots to me these days. Though I can’t say that’s always been the case…)
But essentially, I think that’s what a lot of people try to do. They try to explain so that instances, people, things, ways, turns of events MEAN something. Otherwise, it can feel a bit chaotic, one can feel out of control if they don’t see a reason for something. Many people make sense with religion or spirituality. Many with process. Many with relationships. The list goes on…
I try to make meaning with everything. Impossible because we don’t and can’t know everything. But I try to do that with everything I know and see and think and feel… Everything in my experience. And that sort of requires purpose. It’s a lot of work! And it takes dedication to that and to the fact that you don’t know everything.
“let there be no stone unturned…” - I’m not sure where that’s from, but its from somewhere
I try to understand it all. Or sense it all. If it cant be understood logically, such as emotion, then I look for patterns, repetitions, similar sensations and what the catalysts could have in common…
So what is it all? Lol…. Well… I’m going to try and explain, or create a list ‘cos I like those, and see how far I can get… knowing I’m probably going to leave something out.
- They present reality as it is, not shrouded in embellishments, or undermining importance. Honesty.
- An inclusion of everything in this human experience of ours: emotion, intellect, perhaps something of the physical realm, or something of the imaginary.
- Following #2, let me re-state for emphasis: an inclusion of the imaginary. Or at least a notion that it exists. It exists in our minds, therefore IT MATTERS.
- A realization that everything cannot be explained. Because it can’t. Imagination cannot be explained. But it exists.
Ultimately, its a balance. To know what you know and what you don’t. To leave room for more without knowing it and without HARD evidence that more exists. Because there is always more. There is always more knowledge than any one person can ever know. There is always more than one person can ever see. Life is too short and structured for the knowing and seeing of everything.
We are mortal.
But being aware of my mortality, I believe that grace is the way we, or I at least, may achieve immortality. To be gracious. Grateful. To appreciate people for who they are in this life and for what they add to mine, not count the subtractions. And to be sure that they know they are appreciated.
No one is perfect. I certainly ain’t.
And everyone makes mistakes. Goes a little crazy in some way or another. Everyone has weird protrusions, either physical or emotional, mental or spiritual perhaps (?). Everyone’s going to be different in some way and if there’s anything I believe in wholeheartedly it’s that:
There is a reason for everything in everyone.
That includes us. The reader. The writer. The sociologist. The mathematician. The nanny. The clown at the circus. The dog breeder. The man at the checkout line. The pilot. The prophet. “The angels [that] are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory…” – phrased actually, from Viktor Frankl in Man’s Search for Meaning.
….
I often tend to lose where I began when I get near the end. Then I ask, where was I going? Why did I come here?
What was my purpose?
My purpose was to write. To reflect. And to share that with anyone interested in reading.
Nothing more, nothing less really.
I’ll be keeping grace.
It begins behind the eye.
With a decision.
<3
Me.
Like this:
A Forgotten-to-Post Poem and a Short Ramble… “The angels are more confused than ever”
February 4, 2012
You will have to forgive me, I have been away from here for a while…
Life has been very, very busy, so I have been tending to it.
My life flock is…. a bit scattered across some green grass on a chill, gloomy day
but I have a thick, wool sweater,
and a good sense of fortitude,
so I have been tending.
The blessing is that I have sunshine in my steps!
And the flock,
well the flock is the flock.
It remains.
And I am gathering.
My arms, like spandrels.
So here is a poem by Jim Carroll that I found in my draft notes on facebook. I have a few others there as well. For some reason or other I WENT to post it, threw it in there, created a draft and everything but didn’t.
I have quite a few of those. Those go-to-post-then-dont’s or go-to-send-then-dont’s.
“It’s a finicky muse
with only potential
to choose” – Blind Pilot, Pain or Pollen
I have been listening to Blind Pilot’s Three Rounds and a Sound lately, on repeat.
I suggest it if you like easy to listen to music with fantastical poetic language.
It’s almost a dream. But not dreamy. Quite realistic music in my opinion.
So here is the poem I found. It’s long. Hope you’ve got some minutes.
While She’s Gone by Jim Carroll
It’s too late to change you with language
Your boundaries are always too narrow, and you bury
Yourself beneath a shallow grave of artifice, flesh and perfection
Look up above the mountain, to the right
Of the castle’s turret, that’s not a gull
That’s a heart.
And of course it’s tattered
Swooping too low crossing
The Atlantic to find you, its stomach
Was slit open on the horns of a caribou in Greenland.
Many species of birds have feasted on its eyes.
So, having come this far, I can now barely see you
It’s two weeks since you’ve gone
The fragrance you left
Still remains in this apartment
As if it were bracketed to the wall like a shelf
It remains sweet yet somehow stale
The pressuring scent of expedience
How I hunger to devour it to devour you
Slowly, gently, vicious.
I chew on the pubic hairs you left on the sheet
Like a country boy chews a blade of grass as he walks
Near a pond, skimming flat rocks across the water.
If the angels knew, were kind,
That is where I’d be.
Instead, I have been been sitting down by the Hudson
At the end of the Gansevoort St. Pier
Reading Schiller on the sentimental and naive
Melville was a customs clerk there
The streets are still cobblestone
I’m hoping for an experience that pre-dates you.
For example, being chased by a dragonfly.
What is not perfect, you deign to destroy.
When you find your idea of perfection
You relax on well-cut grass leading down to the stream.
You make a stranger a lover and a lover a stranger
You isolate the curve of longing
Then accelerate the flow.
It becomes the curve of binding energy.
Under different circumstances,
I could admire that.
I keep finding your long straight hairs
In the blankets in the carpet on the arm
Of the chair where you were working
Perfecting your calligraphy
The lavish tyranny of words
Now I watch the red in each long strand shine, twisted
Between my thumb and forefinger in the window light
I tied one around the neck of an alabaster bear
The rest I just continue to drape across the roses
In the wine bottle beside the kitchen window
It’s beginning to look like a spider’s web. It seems
That each symbol possible, in time, finds its way back to me.
I put my faith in I put my I put mine in I put my faith in you
While it rains outside through the night
Through the twilight of the gods
I want to watch the rain falling with you inside
Inside you I want the rain to fall inside you
Lap the drops that drain
Lost, I remain inside you
When I took off to swim the river last week
I left the wine glass on the table beside my bed
The one you drank from here
Near full with bottled water, as you asked
The capricious symbols are turning cliche and wet
When I got home it was five days later, the humidity
In the city heavy that week but still
When I held it up there was something left, just enough drops
To wash down a pill to fall asleep
Then I filled it again and left it to the sun and defiance
There are times I hate you there is no question
But an unforced grace remains. Your generous silence
Listen,
With our tongues we could tie the laces of angels,
Light or fallen, no matter
Your thighs moved smoothly as Latino gangsters
It’s hard to walk from a love that never ended
The fury is deadly, as if I were locked forever
In a room with movies of bridges collapsing
Too rigid for the quick wind
You see, your leaving occurred without
The foreplay of anxiety which is essential
Before one flies through the window of a car
Out of control
Unprepared, only a certain yet vague prescience which didn’t
Seem to concern me much I left it in your hands
As I took you at your word. Now I see the only means
I had to heal the burn was to replay again and again each permutation
In all its bitterness, and illusion.
It becomes tedious
As the tedious becomes essential apparently
Cassandra: that’s you incarnate
Sweating the details of a future bliss
As if you could control it
The angels are more confused than ever
For once they call out, and there is no one to listen
You called from a phone by a lake
Deep in the canopy of black forests
The entire country deciduous, leaves rotting
Among the fresh angel skin a heart flown so far, it’s fallen
It’s grey among the leaves like a dying frog
And, seeing it, you step away, glad you avoided it
I found another of your hairs on the floor
This time I just threw it away it’s becoming old
Gravity
It keeps us from floating away.
yet presses down. We stumble and fall.
I thought dusk was the moment dividing
Night and day, all things possible.
Yet, tonight looking out from this terrace
Twilight is filled only
With red taillights moving away, to bridges or tunnels
Yet always water, above or below, red taillights
And the mercurial sadness of another darkness descending
A thicker gravity. So many lost loves
Your boundaries were too narrow
Everything planned assiduously
Within surgical thin perimeters.
Now and then you would test the borders you defined
But never too far, inside the fear of finding yourself
Even for a moment lost. At times you did
Step beyond, paler slightly from the risk,
To burn in the wilder sun, yet always returning
In time for the mail and the certainty and the phone perhaps
Inside those boundaries assurance and fantasy blur and merge
Inside those boundaries, thought and action become one
Without distinction. Those outside
Get spun, unravel. Your arms shrink in the cause of embrace
What you try to comfort you can no longer reach.
And I’ve done everything I’m accusing you of.
All the while I was staring straight
Into a wavering blue flame
Among the flaws, I watched
Your necessity bloom
Like careless crawling orchids
So imperceptible
I didn’t really notice until the first petal fell
And a strange arboreal wind blew it away
I was always seeing you on the move
As if passing in airport after airport
The smell of jet fuel, vanilla, fancy soap and ambivalence
Without an hour hand, a minute hand emblazoned
On its heat and glow, I could have
Watched the dew in these days reveal you as you opened
Perhaps I could have unveiled my own hesitations, washed the poison
From my lips, held you down by your wrists and watered you
In all resistance. Once again build myself a thirst and drink your overflow
I could have taken you to the dark gods
Still getting us back home on time
To sleep with the anorexic angel
Who I would pin motionless, radiant
Between your breast and my hand
My hand unyielding
Extended outward as light, the light
You learned as you lost it in a single moment
It’s months now since you’ve been gone
And what I feel I’ll tell you what’s it’s like
It’s like a last glass of Spanish Champagne slipping from my hand
Taking months to reach the carpet
It’s like a slow hanging
This city is a scaffold my room’s a trapdoor beneath
Not rope but a long red scarf a silk noose
Tightening slightly more day after day
Even now as I type
My feet are dangling a foot or two above the floor
Breathing only through vanity and my fingertips
The time hasn’t changed since you left
That moment in front of my building throwing your suitcase
Into the trunk of the cab, a Hindu driver. I check the airport route
He has planned for you. We kiss long and sad and I
Watch you drive slowly off, your head craned back at me
I watched until you turned at 19th St. and were out of sight
Leaning my head to the side and feeling the cool of a marble pillar
Against my cheeks making one last wave one last
I went upstairs, called her, and slept
Forcing myself not to wake until daylight the next day.
You’re in Amsterdam.
You know,
If they took those reinforcing beams away
From the old wooden houses along the canals in Holland
They would most likely have fallen into the water by now.
That is your art form
Creating vestiges
Out of lace and lashes.
Everything just fell away.
The bridges over the canal
They’re quaint and banal
Tourist boats pass beneath.
I was a tourist
To your body.
Why do you smile so widely in every picture I have of you?
Sometimes it makes me feel like slapping you
In this room everything comes as a whisper.
So what did you say?
Why do I want to know?
Because that’s the way it is for me, and always has:
To be amused, bewildered, bemused, and fucked
Without the slightest aspect left out.
I thought I had been floating with the tide easily
These last three years, not looking ahead yet waiting
For some small island
Even a rock would have done
To land on and survey how far I had come
And if it was worth going on
And all the while I now learn you had somehow fixed, shifted the natural flow
And I have been swimming upstream against those vacuumed years.
Salmon are an endangered species
Man, and the paws of black bears
I’m tired too tired for conjunctions.
Having reached land,
Are you worth love in any form?
An old story getting older
You may not possess irony, but you carry it like a silk purse
Now the mute fog rolls in off the river
And I can’t speak.
It makes me listen too hard
With an urge to believe.
Why couldn’t we find a love in that too-American exhaustion
Melt into each other as the hour that moans
In Europe how you have reached a mountaintop
Whose scent is things dead a thousand years
That is the fragrance of betrayal.
A cologne you took years to create
A chemical pun you mailed me in a white envelope
A white wedding envelope
The chemical wedding of C.R.
Child bride antelope
Collide and elope
This cologne is what you would have me press
In two subtle drops around my neck
Like a noose of splintering tears.
I flew straight through that car window
Without the essential anxiety
And the only way to recover
Is to play it over and over
On a screen too small
For the curve of time in this ward where I have been waiting
It makes everyone a fool, awake and in dreams,. I wound up
Loving something I was forced to reinvent, deconstruct
Though I know you so well now
Come to understand your meaning
That’s the worth of a lifetime
Everything else collapses
Or repeats often enough to forget
Conscience is no more than the dead speaking to us
It’s hard to find comfort
In this world.
You brought that to me
That’s hard to let go.
Only you and I know only you & I
See
You have always been so far away
You have always
Been right here
Like this:
In the Cold We are Reflective Like Glass… (perhaps?): Weather, Language and Culture + A New Poem
January 19, 2012
I wonder if in winter we become more reflective.
Or, with cold weather, perhaps.
Here’s why:
December of 2010 I broke up with my ex of 4 years. Well, WE broke up. It wasn’t just me. It was a joint decision.
And this past December I remember feeling quite close to a few friends. Closer than normal.
1. A friend I met 6 years ago. One of those hit-it-off-immediately type friends who’s just stayed a friend ever since, even though we only hung out in person a couple-of-handfuls-of-times over a few months, followed by him moving to Washington state and me to Barcelona. Thank god for Facebook. And phones. We never totally lost touch but communicate more since my breakup and it feels like time hasn’t moved a bit. I am only reminded that it has because I realize how much knowledge he has amassed in the last few years. What greatness.
2. A newer friend I met during Southern Fried but didn’t really converse with much until about a month or so later, and strictly via text and online chat. There can most definitely be a sense of closeness through these mediums. I know. He came in the clutch on more than one occasion. And without really “knowing” me very well… that sh*t happens. Believe it, ‘cos it does.
(I am now reminded of my dissatisfaction with science. It cannot explain these things. F science.)
3. After falling in a kind of literally crazy kinda love, I also found myself feeling more “normally” closer to said person as well, round November/Decemberish. And more sane. For accuracy, the fall began around July and lasted pretty seriously through October where it began to dissipate a little. It felt kind of like a dream. Well, for me it did. Every day. And beautiful. A pretty steady bliss… Read different people’s reflections on falling in love and I’m sure you’ll probably find a lot of difference. And a lot of similarity. That’s my very brief description for now. I’ll probably have a more detailed account at some point in the future. Most likely in the memoir. Actually, yes, most definitely in the memoir.
So this is what I’m wondering right now. I hear a lot about weather and climate. I have observed both in person (obviously) and from a distance. I honestly do believe that weather climates impact cultural climates. But so do other things like language. During a conversation last night a friend was telling me how they were thumbing through the dictionary and found themselves realizing the great number of words in the English language that describe something unpleasant. Be it something sour, gruesome, horrific, sad, angry, just all around negative. He said he just noticed all of these negative a** words in the dictionary and what seemed to be a lacking of positive ones.
Well sh*t. I believe in linguistics and how language shapes culture. Perhaps the “happiest” nations are those with the most words that describe things with joy and love and beauty more than with negativity.
Connotations also matter, yes, but words and their origins matter as well.
And granted, my friend thumbing through the dictionary “noticing” does not equal science. BUT it is data of some sort, if only strictly based on one person’s experience. So it does matter.
So what’s the point in all this?
I believe language shapes culture. It shapes meaning. We can experience multitudes but language allows us to make sense of everything and if those words or sentiments are more often negative than positive well, hell, we could be a negative people.
And also weather shapes people as well. Tell me you don’t know more people who dislike the rain than who do. Tell me you don’t know people who, when it’s cold outside, just wanna lay in bed under the covers with tea or soup. Those cold commercials and soup commercials don’t just come out of thin air. We humans have a collected human experience. Granted, we differ, hell yes, to a great degree. And yes, I know people who say they love the rain and it doesn’t make them sad.
Me? It doesn’t necessarily make me sad but if I am sad, it can heighten it. But it doesn’t really make me happy either. Only when it’s a slight sun shower does it bring me joy. I like the juxtaposition of opposites. Mine is a very gray-ish existence, but I keep it colored with love.
Hmmmm… so my greater point…. Or the greatest of this post….
If language and weather can affect our experience than perhaps it could be common for people to be more reflective, generally, when it’s cold. Biologically, when it’s warm, our pores open. With open pores we can physically feel more. The physical and the emotional are connected. They are part of our being, our experience. They happen together. Are you not mad or sad or unpleasant at least when you stub your toe?
Right.
So, when it’s colder, our pores are more closed. Making us less open to the minutiae of physical sensations we were able to feel when it was warm. So with that decrease an emotional decrease can also accompany.
Is this why single people say they want a “winter boyfriend’ or “winter girlfriend?” They know with the cold weather they’re going to crave a little more warmth. So they seek it, or hope for it, from another’s body and presence.
So perhaps we are more reflective, conscious, and thoughtful in winter because our pores are closed and we are less “warm” emotionally. When emotions are faded to the background of our sensemaking process and the mind is more dominant, we can think more “clearly.” (Granted that’s our American definition, colloquialism. But such I am so such I have adopted)… But we can think more than feel in cold. Hence, the breakup. An acknowledgement of “yeah, this ain’t really WORKING…” as opposed to the “I feel like we can make this work” type sentiment. Perhaps it’s easier to ‘keep your head’ in cold weather and easier to ‘lose your heart’ in the warmth of spring and summer…
Beware any men in my sights who may occupy space with me in spring or summer… you just might find me a little extra charming…
Jk
(sort of)
And maybe that’s why the north is a bit more productive than the south. And the pace of social life is more rapid.
Though life in the south is not vapid… but it is f’n warm and happy and who doesn’t just wanna enjoy the sunshine???
I sure do.
I love it!
But I am aware of this.
And also aim to be productive.
These are all generalities – yes I am aware of movement and people crossing borders and personality types, etc, etc… this is more a brain wander than anything but sh*t, I think it could have some validity.
Generally speaking.
Now allow me to share one of my own poems first written on a New York City sidewalk, then revised at a New York City bar, and revised again in my bedroom at my parents’ house, and again, in my own bedroom at home.
(…she strokes her own ego…):
To the Masses
In New York City, walking down streets, I fall into a dream,
I am momentary and floating, and when I awake I realize
I could be a simpler woman.
I could be just like her, with
Red or golden hair, blow dried and always ready
For a picture.
I could wear that very same dark gray and neatly plaited peacoat
Adorn it with an ivory stole
And pin myself with gold and roses
I could take every breath in this city
And with eternity left at my lips
I will never have to run.
But I, simple me, no, not so, so, so simple,
I know better.
The weather here is cold.
It stings always in winter and these skins get bolder with numb.
And I like my thumbs.
And I’m wise enough to know that frostbite is never far from everything,
So far, far from nothing, So
Still,
take each step
like you mean it.
to grace or gleam it,
to tip-toe and glide, greet always
Opportunities awake,
We shall vow not to fake
For this life is too good just to bake
and we were not made to be cookies.
There is much more than sweetness at stake.
So I ravel in her ever glowing and disastrous bliss,
And I Spring til I’m empty,
For an easy sleeper takes nothing.
They leave everything in their absence, whether staying or going
And these leaves
They offer too much
to go missing.
So earnestly and intently, the day, she calls
and my skin lifts to its winds at my nape,
Like a fish with gills, my Piscean neck needs not lace to illuminate.
For the day is calling.
And each more consistent than the last
More steady than times past, I am not passing by,
I lift my eye to ablaze.
She singes my fingertips, always,
With fire.
And in winter, or summer,
Or for so many seasons and times having passed,
I cannot allow myself
To resist
her flame.
And I ask of you
Very much the same.
*****
Trying to keep a sense of urgency in life and remain purposeful amid love and wonder and beauty can be difficult. Though I realize it necessary for progress.
Once more to the breach dear friends!!!
(Today, I am not scrambling eggs and making delicious lunch even though I am home because I have other sh*t to do. Even though I really want delicious eggs with homemade salsa, toast, and spices… I shall make a sandwich. #keepitmovin)
Like this:
Another Free Write
January 17, 2012
Since I talk about free writing all the time it feels honest to share some of what I preach. On occasion people have asked me “well, how do you free write?”
I often smile at this.
You just write what’s in your head. You sometimes don’t try so much as ‘let go.’ But I realize that is also difficult for some. Perhaps for many. But if it’s just you and the page or the computer, then what’s to fear? really? Honestly, what’s to fear?
honesty?
the honest and real things in your head?
Do not fear those, please. They are yours. Spill them. Acknowledge. Know that it was not you trying to craft wisdom or be smart or BE anything really. It’s just like a brain spill. Or an emotion spill. And you don’t need to clean it up either!
Just a warning for those who, like me, tend to over-analyze everything: DONT!
I once, or twice, or thrice tried to think too hard about my free writes and I honestly thought I was insane. Literally. For a few minutes. Don’t try to connect the dots, the meanings, TOO much. Or you might find yourself feeling the same way. Or, if you MUST think, wonder, try to imagine connections or meanings, know that there is always a possibly of randomness. Keep that in mind. Things, ideas, sensations, emotions are in you for reasons, sure, but in this practice it doesn’t necessarily always make sense. Be okay with that before you try this.
K?
K.
(and if there’s literally NOTHING in your head, lol, as I’ve heard people say this before AND I suppose I know the feeling though for me it’s fleeting, and it flees quite quickly… If there’s nothing in your head, speak from sensation. what do you hear, smell, feel either emotionally or physically. Like, is your finger hurting? Do you have a soreness in your back? Your left pinky toe? Your right ventricle?? lol… jk. sort of… )
So those are my instructions for anyone who wants to try free writing.
‘Least that’s how I approach it when I sit down to free write. If I feel tension or unease, I let it lift off. It’s sort of a meditative practice for me. Not always, sometimes its more like dreaming. Sometimes its more just like journaling. But a good bit of the time I’d consider it meditative.
And a degree of meditation that actually improves the craft that I love? :) Yes, please, and thank you dear universe.
So this one is from: 1/3/12 at 4:53pm (yes, I date and time my free writes. consider me neurotic. most likely I am).
Bring me tea,
Honey,
Who has the honey? Where have all the bees gone?
“we all needed something to cling to, so we did”
Running
Wet, naked, the light falls with scattered fingertips
The lights, beaming, stretched out sideways and backwards, where were you going?
What were we running to?
There were no lights but artificial
And we didn’t even greet the ocean.
Their hands, their heads, hats tipped downward. Rice paddy fields, their fingers, small and working. Childless. With parents. Working.
The water, dirty, deep, don’t touch it they’d say. You never know what’s in it.
Sweat.
A crumpled brow.
Sun, blinding.
A church floating on water.
Have you seen those?
On stilts. With canoes, passengers arrive by boat with newspapers. Where is the printing press?
Were they messy?
What were they saying that day by the docks?
Their fish stink.
Bloody aprons.
Full smiles.
What were they wearing, but our ways?
Why were they so excited by us?
Why did we just leave?
What did you find when you went home?
I think I went looking for a long time…
Perhaps I still am.
Leave room for randomness but some things do come from somewhere..... this pic is my shared recognition of that.
True Love is a Decision
January 14, 2012
Thanks Dad. I think you told me this when I was about 16. I didn’t even really understand what it meant but I believed you. I believed you so much that I broke up with my little boyfriend at the time, using that as a partial reason, lol. His poor little 16-17 year old heart… :/ I’m sorry!
But now, nearing 29, I understand. Fully. And you’re right. It is.
But it becomes something else after a while. Time changes decisions into ways. It becomes a ‘way of being,’ if you will. It becomes ‘your way.’ If you want it to, if you allow it to happen, and you keep wanting and keep allowing… yeah. Plus work. But I imagine the work feels less like “work” in the traditional, laborious sense and more just like effort. Yup. I do believe in effort…
So, this is how I know this is true. I’ve been taking very seriously these life changes. Granted some of my readers didn’t know me prior to this blog, and that’s fine. You’ll just have to believe me. I’ve changed a bit. And am changing still. Or growing, rather. Yeah, that’s more like it. I’m growing better. *nod* that’s wussup.
There’s a societal mantra of some sort that states that it takes half the time that a relationship lasted, in being single, to fully “recover” or readjust, however you want to put it, from that relationship. My last one was 4 years. I’m beginning year 2. I think this timeframe, while general, I think it makes a good bit of sense, so yeah, I can see this. 2011 was raucous for me. It felt like lightning! I think I crashed thunder at least a few times, we went head to head, and I think the cosmos got pissed at me: “Tawny, cut the sh*t.”
“yeah, yeah… I heard you. Got it.”
Soooooooooo….. I began to change. Sometime around June. I had actually begun a little prior but June was a huge eye opener to lots of beauty in life that I just hadn’t seen in a LONG time. And in things, ways of being, and people, that were all tangible to me. How f’n awesome. Sometimes life just gives you exactly what you need right when you’re ripe for it….
Or perhaps that’s just you. Changing.
Most likely both.
Anyway, yeah, so with these life changes I’ve learned, and am still learning, how change really works. I mean, I’ve been here before. I’ve made changes in my life before so this time it’s a bit easier. I know what the F I’m doing. I know my ways better, the ways in which I am given and often fall to in times of strife. My shortcomings, if you will. So in knowing them, and acknowledging them, I know better how to change myself FOR THE better, and REALISTICALLY. For example, I don’t like rules. Especially if I don’t see a good reason for them. (I also tend to think I know everything, so that’s most likely where some of that comes from). But I know that I will not do better or be better at anything if I am strict with myself. Or under strict pressure for someone or something else that I don’t really believe is right or true or necessary. I have to approach things slowly and flexibly. For me, it leads to much greater success if I say “I’m going to exercise 3x a week” instead of “I’m going to do yoga 3x a week” or “I’m going to hit the weights every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.” Yeah… the scheduling and the exact activity = fail. When the day comes I just DON’T wanna do it. I’m really difficult in that way. Routine ends up boring the sh*t out of me REAL quick. And then I just stop.
So I keep it open. These days I run and just began yoga again and I’m going to add weight lifting and biking to that as well. So now, I just have to agree (or DECIDE rather, since it’s just me here, lol) to exercise 3x a week. But each time I DECIDE to go I just do what I feel like. And if I wanna run then I might jog 3 miles, I might do sprints at the track, I might jog a mile, rest a half, sprint… I might mix it up. I leave it open for choices, though not too many, just a few. And that works for me. I get bored easy. So that’s my fix.
(too many choices overwhelm me, I know that too. Like at restaurants with big menus, UGH!! I just ask someone to pick for me. I find it overwhelming and annoying. It’s just food!)
I know that ^^^ makes little sense. I’m human. Moving on….
So what does this all come down to? Well, true love starts with you. Most certainly. It starts with the self. You have to KNOW yourself. You have to acknowledge all this bullsh*t, all these intricacies and foolish ways that you are that make no sense but that you are anyway, and then you have to want to be better. And why be better? Because you can, so why the hell not? It just feels good, y’know? Being better, accomplishing things feels good. It just does. Failing sucks, for sure. But accomplishment feels awesome. You have to be willing to accept both and just keep pushing until you accomplish. And if you try, honestly, I think you will have more accomplishments than failures. Just keep it in perspective. Baby steps…
So I think with love, after learning to love yourself, and by that I mean, being patient with yourself, giving yourself what you need more than what you want (like, health-wise – eating well, exercising, giving yourself health rather than the alternative of just laying around being lazy because it feels good and it’s easy), and just continuing to TRY to be better, even in small increments…. Eventually you get better. And after some time it just becomes your way. And then, you’re like, AWESOME!!! And HOLY SH*T!! How’d THAT happen?!??!
Now will there be trials in life that test your way even when it’s more ingrained in you? Of course. But trials in life will be easier when you have a solid foundation of self. Those trials will happen regardless. You just have to have the desire, and the willpower to do it, to make sure that you’re ready to face them fully and honestly and with the strength you’ve given yourself so that they don’t break you.
And then, you don’t break.
Or, if you feel like you have… or that you’re torn open at the seams like that woman from A Nightmare Before Christmas (I have felt like her before… all limb-ed apart and ish… ya, I know that. It sucks.)… but, if you’re a good person then I have a hard time imagining you won’t have some good peeps around to help you sew yourself back together.
We have needles and thread.
So keep a good circle. You might need someone to hold that needle for you for a moment while your hands are broken. or to tie the end of the string so that when you sew yourself the thread doesn’t just pull through and leave you open again. You’re gonna need folks. To love you. So I love them because people matter. Just like you. And just like me.
And like, love spreads, y’know?!?!?? I try to be a good person and spread bits of love to everyone I encounter. Why? Because it comes back. I probably get more hugs than anyone at my job every shift. If I had to guess, I probably get anywhere between 2 (on a low day) to maybe 7 or 8, maybe even more if one person just hugs me a LOT that day. And man, can I tell you, it’s f’n awesome!!!
Hugs rule.
Embrace each other. It matters. It’s like a little lift of the self. Together.
And isn’t that beautiful?
So true love is a decision. Yeah, Dad. Yeah. You’re right. And I finally get it. Lol.
BUT, actually… I’m going to caveat that a bit… of course. Because what a short statement! And sometimes shorties leave me wanting more… (lol, 
)
And I’m a poet. I want it more POETIC. So here’s mine Dad:
True love BEGINS with a decision, BECOMES a way of being, but it is you, in yourself, your will and your collective wills, that keep it going.
We become the intertia that moves us.
Can’t you just see it now? Like heat waves wavering in mid-air on a warm day??
Can’t you just see it??
I can.
“We be that, we be that, aphrodisiac, disiac…” – came into my mind after this. Can you hear it?
I can.
Keep it lovely. It matters.
Temper Tantrum Poem
January 13, 2012
So poetry can be therapeutic. (I say that for anyone who’s never written it, those who have I believe know this very well.) And I’m a highly emotional person so here’s my version of having an adult temper tantrum INTO a poem.
There’s no reason to fear negative emotions if you use them to CREATE!!! I’ve had friends say they would LOVE to see m ehave a temper tantrum, lol! I don’t know why… I think it’s because they’re so used to seeing me happy and joyful and positive that they just have a hard time imagining me flip out, lol. Well, my closest friends and family have seen me flip out. They probably laugh in retrospect but it’s prob not that funny at the time. Just like anyone, my negative emotions are not so great, lol. They’re negative. That’s that!
Anyway, here’s the poem. And no one gets hurt in a poem. I don’t believe you’ll end up with any cake-shrapnel here.
+ <3
Temper Tantrum Poem
And I sit here staring at all the cakes they’ve presented me
And I frail,
I freeze,
I flounder around wondering what all this means.
Why have you brought me cakes?
What have I done, that no one else has, to deserve any of this?
Why do you look at me like I am bliss?
The incarnate of some emotion in your eyes…
And why are you
oceans away?
Have your pupils dilated or have mine expanded?
There is distance here
And I am not the top of your pedestal.
To stay
I must shatter something.
I must combust a little,
And spill some cake-flour all over the room.
I throw a few handfuls of marble and chocolate batter at the ceiling
I twirl a little in a fury, getting my skirt stuck on everything
And spread some of this icing on the silverware, the refrigerator, your faces.
I have to cover them a little.
Because I am not so great.
And this? These cakes?
I don’t know why you brought them to me.
So I have to throw them,
In a fireball-girl-twirl -ing
I have never been able to sit still well with this much attention.
So I stamp out the next Sanctuary,
Stomp, stomp
And go back to my normal self,
Not screaming.
Like this:
“Not Resolutions” – These Are My Non-Comformist Ways I Am Making Changes to the Self
January 10, 2012
Don’t call these “resolutions” – these are my works in progress… lol
Yes, I have an issue with words. Yes, it is a love. Yes it is also sometimes a hate.
Bleh.
Sue me.
I also have a “thing” with popularity. Like, I’m anti-it. It makes me wanna throw up. Not necessarily ME being popular (tho, that does a bit too, thank God I’m not very popular nor have I ever really been very popular…. matter of degree… but I digress)
What I’m talking about is trends. For example, I don’t like blockbuster movies. Never have. I’ve always been turned off by the sheer swell of excitement and foolish joy so many seemed to get over a movie with exciting commercials and lots of action. Ugh. “get over it” I often think.
But, to be fair, I do see the draw. AND I know I’m just picky and easily annoyed and difficult.
It’s not like I think it’s just you. It’s also me.
Lol
So anyway, the same for me goes with traditions. To a lesser degree but still, it is quite similar. I think Valentine’s Day is stupid. (Every boyfriend of mine has LOVED this btw, lol). The idea of Christmas makes me curl my lip like Elvis. And I wanna throw up a bit….. buuuuttttt thennnnnnnn I think about my family and how simply awesome they are and how we’re going to have a blast and then the bile subsides. Lol.
And I participate, regardless. Because it is nice to give meaningful things. I just try to keep my gifts meaningful and not commercial. And this year, lol, ya, I had no choice really. Commercial wasn’t even an option. Massive funds deficit.
But anyway! HERE are my things-im-working-on-in-progress-since-last-year-and-prob-for-a-while-to-come
- Read more. I am shooting, initially, for 1 hour a day or 7-10 hours per week. I have a busy schedule. And I sidetrack easy. We shall see. (I suppose I have to actually keep numerical track of this…. Uuuggghhhhh NUMBERS!!!! Ugh!!
- Keep writing. Right now, I’m probably averaging OVER 7-10 hours per week. BUT, like above, I suppose I ought to keep numerical track of this…. Yuck. (I think I just spit out a 7. “ptuhh”)
- Give up daily caffeine. I decided NOT to give up coffee entirely. I love it. It makes me happy. It feels like “morning” to me. BUT once my current bag is gone I’m going to switch to decaf. And stick to decaf tea.
- Exercise 3x per week. THIS may be difficult at times. In order to stick to this I need to not pull any 12 days straight of work…. Which… *sigh*… we’ll see. But I hit the gym twice since the new year, twice just before it. SO, I have some steppin’ up to do but “the body is a temple” and if I want to be a writer, well then, I suppose my work will only be as good as that which creates it! AHH! Which takes me to….
- Giving up alcohol for a while. Undetermined. Don’t shoot me or say “you’ve gotta pick a timeframe and stick to it.” F that. No I don’t. If there’s any good way to get me to NOT do something, it’s by putting a parameter on it or rules or regulations. I can regulate myself quite incredibly. Just watch. And I’ll keep you posted as to how long I go.
- Get at least ONE piece of creative writing published this year in some outlet. Preferably 2 or 3 but I’m giving myself some breathing room here.
- This should maybe be part of #2 but I like 7. Write 100 pages of my memoir. (at least). And this, luckily, my computer will keep track of!!! HOW AWESOME!!!
There!
Those are my “not resolutions” for the zombie apocalypse year in which we have arrived. But “sshhh” don’t tell anyone I know about the zombies. They might come for me and then…
And then….????
Eeegghhhh…..
I might actually have to DO SOMETHING!!!
Sorry, that was stupid.
But that’s all I got. Here’s my list of the non-comformist way of making changes to the self.
#keepitpoetic
Well, What Do You Do Instead of Love?
January 9, 2012
I need a good reason to do anything
(or an incredible impulse, but that’ll be another blog OR a story. In fact, most likely many stories. Prob some in the memoir-in-progress).
But these days I am working on being less impulsive. It is a way that I am and have been very given to in my life. Why? Who the F knows! Ugh… I mean, I’m sure there are reasons. Family life, growing up, childhood, and then repetition and continuing that way through adulthood… and impulsion is easy. For me at least. Prob because I just know it.
2011 was a million eruptions.
I pray, and I am working to see to it, that 2012 is much more steady. Even if it is less exciting. I will take even-keeled and less-than-spectacular over volcanoes.
So was I ever consistent and well tempered? Like, for any decent stretch of time?
MMMmmmmm….. I have definitely been moreso at earlier points in my life SO I know it’s not impossible. I think of my 20-22 year old self. I was pretty f’n awesome. Quieter. My loudness was reserved for cheerleading. Lol, yes I was a cheerleader for like 13 years. Yes, I cheered even in college. Some find that very surprising. Some, not so much. Yes, I am a cheerleader with a love of social theory. Yes, there are cheerleaders who are f’n smart. Lol. Mount Holyoke has seen a good number of them. I know. I was one of them. Great women. *fist pump*
But age 20-22? There was a LOT I didn’t know then. BUT there’s a lot I know now that honestly, I don’t think I really need to know, lol. That is to say I have in many ways gone vagabonding through life. Through these 20′s. Doing a variety of things. Have they aligned or made any sense? To many, probably not. To me? Sure.
I tell myself that I was just giving myself more things to write about because life was too nice and seemingly “boring.” I sort of know that’s not true… at least the second half. I think it’s just that I didn’t have the knowledge or the courage to look back on my life and write about the difficult stuff. But I’m doing that now. It makes sense. It’s a sense-making process. AND I’m finding it really worthwhile. And hopefully SOMEONE will buy my memoir!
I’ve also realized that I have been connecting with a lot more women lately which I am really happy about. Most of my life many of my friends have been males. Why? Who the F knows. Lol… jk. I think it has something to do with having an older brother and being sort of a loner. I didn’t always find it easy to make friends or meet new kids, as a kid, so I just hung out with my brother and his friends. They were always around. He was WAY better at making friends than me. And I was always welcome. OR, if I wasn’t, they never really made me feel that way.
So, what is the reason for this? This blog? This writing? This self refection?
I love this. And it’s growth. And I hope it will become mastery. With time.
That’s it really.
A friend once posed the question, “Well what do you do instead of love?”
I don’t think I answered then. I think I thought the question was rhetorical or something.
But I have been thinking about that more and you know what? What do I do instead of love????? Not much. But LOTS at the same time. Everything, for me, has to do with love to some degree. Otherwise I wouldn’t f’n do it. Plain and simple.
(have I done things without love? Yes. Sure. Plenty. Am I about to moving forward in life? No. I don’t think so. F that. Or at least, I’m certainly going to try not to. It’s difficult, sure, but ’tis a much, much better way to live. And.. I believe this life is like… worth living… yeah. And living well. We don’t have forever….)
So that is a great question. There is my answer. Feel free to share yours in the comments if you like. I would really love to read them. I love knowing what people have to say to big questions. And feel free to pose any of your own as well. I’ll answer. Meaningful discussion is probably one of my main reasons for living. *shrug* I don’t think living well exists without it.
(this post was scattered, I know. I often am. Consider it honesty. )
A short prayer/self mantra for the day:
Make me the ocean
Keep me steady
And waving.
<3
g-day all! Much, much love! Always!
A New Year to Til Better the Masses…
January 6, 2012
SO!!! This blog, I am expanding! I have been USING it mainly for myself. My thoughts, my poetry, my ramblings, my fleshing-out-of-things and ideas…. And, in my opinion, it’s all been good BUT something is SCREAMING MISSING!!!
It is not screaming to word “MISSING,” like, loudly. It’s been so missing that it’s beyond simply “gone” it is now SCREAMING-MISSING!!!
Get it???
I hope so.
Cool.
Alright, so this something IS………………
Lifestyle sh*t.
I know, I know. I grumbled a little myself at the initial thought. Like, “UGGHHH another ‘lifestyle’ blog?!?!” But no. Do not worry. This will not BECOME a “lifestyle blog.” It will just ALSO include some useful lifestyle sh*t. So you may find a poem, a story, a reflection, a theoretical or philosophical wander… OR, you may find also, a recipe! Or a time savings trick! Or money savings! Or… ***GASP*** All three! In one!! Ohhh Emmmm Geee!!!
And are we not all whole people??
Does it make any sense for me to bring myself back here with any less than my full self?
MMMMmmmmm……
Nope!
So this decision was spawned by the reality that I continue to be reminded, often, that I have lots of tips, tricks, things and wonder up these sleeves that I employ to keep life lovely: to the tune of definitely beautiful. I forget because it’s become ‘just-what-I-do’ but whenever I find myself talking to someone and see their astonishment or excitement I am reminded that ‘oh ya… I guess that’s like not really common, huh?’ … yeeaahhh….
And for me the definitely beautiful life means: +time to do what I love and -work I don’t love. (well, it would also include some other things but this is what I got now so it’s all I really can show you so ya, I’ll be stickin’ with it, like bbq ribs! Or honey, on the palm of my hand… because ya, that actually happened yesterday. lol!).
I do work a lot but I have a lot of student debt so ya, I sorta have to… it is what it is. BUT there are some certain lifestyle habits I’ve developed, acquired, created, and maintained that keep my need to work at a minimum so I have plenties-of-time to WRITE! :)
And also, because I know a lot of students, artists, folks who work with me at the restaurant… many of whom live on limited budgets and who could probably use some of this info for themselves so that they too could have a bit more time and a bit more cash flow to do sh*t they like, rather than just keep the wheels turning with little room to breath at all… if any…
Plus, passion requires giving back. Reciprocity. We are all apart of eveyrthing and everyone and so for me to use this blog and TITLE it A Life More Passionately…. it would be complete bullsh*t for me to not be giving more useful things, that people can actually walk away from here and put into practice if they like. (I have begun smelling the cows… have you???)
It’s all about tilling…
SO!
HERE is my recipe for Homemade Laundry Soap. I didn’t create it. I stole it. Like a THIEF!
Jk
I got it here: http://www.diynatural.com/simple-easy-fast-effective-jabs-homemade-laundry-detergent/
The recipe yields about 32 ounces. I use 1 tbsp per medium load, 2 tbsp if it’s a really big load. So this should get you somewhere between 32-64 loads. Lasts me quite a while!
- 1 bar of shaved bar soap (Ivory, ZOTE, Fels-Naptha – and yes, you just grate this yourself. I use a hand grater. It goes quickly. Just put on some music.)
- 1 cup of borax
- 1 cup of washing soda
BUT WAIT!! I have to caveat this by sharing that I, in fact, DO NOT use Washing Soda. I simply use a little more Borax and the Ivory soap. And that’s IT! I read in a few places online (which took me forever to find and I did not bookmark them so they’re in the abyss somewhere and… I ain’t got time now to go huntin’…) But these are the basic measurements. If you can find Washing Soda, go for it. It can be difficult to locate though. I’ve never seen it in Atlanta but that doesn’t mean it’s not here. I have seen it online so if you really want it I’d suggest just ordering because you could waste a lot of time out there searching. You can find Ivory Soap everywhere and the Borax I buy at Walmart (I think Target has it also). If you don’t see it with the laundry stuff, ask someone. They have it. Borax is a weird product that is sometimes in another location but it exists.
And TIME savings is PART of the battle!!! (or, mine at least!)
Mmmm so ya… that’s all I got for today. There’ll be another post soon, in a few days perhaps, about my alternative to dryer sheets. And then more… in the future… perhaps some food recipes… and who knows what else. I’ll just pay attention to wtf I do and then if it makes sense (and keeps cents in the pockets) I’ll just share it here!
<3 <3 <3
There is Nothing to Love But Love Itself…
January 4, 2012
Well, maybe not but … can it not be the same as fear? I mean really, if we hold the emotion of fear to this statute than can we not substitute other emotions? And if not, why?
This was an idea that scurried through my mind this morning and I decided to resurrect it again for further prodding. In an attempt to not be overly pessimistic but rather to flesh this out and get at its base. And then either throw it away, or keep it around if it makes sense or feels right or…. Something….
Yeah. So, really though. Is there anything to fear beyond the emotion of fear?
Sure, I’ll argue. There is death. There is pain. Physical, emotional, spiritual if you fancy the inclusion of that as well. (I don’t really know if I would or not but… that’s another blog)
So does it make sense to fear these things? No. I think that’s what the statement is getting at essentially. Fear is irrational because you are going to get hurt in life, you will experience pain if you acknowledge your emotions to some degree. So the logical thing to do would be to just accept it as a fact of life and without fear. To use pain as an opportunity to grow and to use death, or the reality of your own mortality, as an opportunity to live, knowing that you will die. So live, like you f’n mean it. ‘Cos you only get this once. (At least, that’s all we really have proof of).
So the adage is basically saying ‘don’t be afraid, just live.’
So does it work that way with love?
Well, I think love is illogical, lol. Because people, things, life itself, we are transitory. If we love people and they leave then we will be saddened. The opposite of love, or a slant-opposite, you know what I mean. But many of us love anyway. And some people, or some people at certain points in time, just LOVE to love. They love to love EVERYTHING, they just love this emotion. Which is kind of interesting though at the same time it’s like a degree of separation, and perhaps maybe layer of abstraction, from the emotion itself. To love love. Doesn’t make sense.
Lemme see if I can flesh out why:
If we love love then are we still loving the object of love? Can you do both? I think maybe, but perhaps if you do then your love is just heightened. Though that seems quite fragile. I guess, fragile because you have to hold that love of love up yourself. And if you falter on that, if you are ever given reason to NOT love love then no one else can hold up that way of being for you. You’re going to crumble, at least a little.
Though at the same time it could be the opposite of fragile, it could be really strong IF you were able to do it. BUT…… I dunno that I believe anyone really could and also maintain a fair degree of sanity. I would be worried if I heard someone say they love love. I would want to ask: “well, what are you not looking at? Why so much love? How do you balance that? At the other end of the scale, how or when do you tip? And then what?” I’d probably steer clear of this person because it seems a disposition ripe for overflow or undertow….
Or just crazy.
and yes, I am speaking to all of this from experience.
But further, what is the point? There is nothing to fear except fear itself? I call bullsh*t. There are plenty of things to fear. Women get raped on the daily. Children shot or turned into warriors, literally, on battlefields and then… do they come back? Some maybe, some maybe not…. I honestly don’t know.
Fear exists. And though it may be illogical, it is there for a reason (at least that’s what I believe. At the very least, instinctually). It is there to keep us alive.
Perhaps maybe love is too.
Isn’t there a song called “Love Will Keep Us Alive”? haha…. Maybe someone will write one called “Fear Will Keep Us Alive”
I’d be interested to see what it came out like. My initial thought was “oh ya, a rock song.” But imagine a folk song or a slow jam, lol. I’d laugh! *shrug*
Yeah, I think laughter is part of that too. That ‘keep us alive’ box. Mmm hmmm, it’s in there with fear and love. Maybe not loathing but… it’s not like we’re going to Las Vegas or anything….
Good day all.
Much much love!
6 Billion Ways to Say ‘Hallelujah’ + a Poem by Lisel Mueller
January 1, 2012
Looking forward to 2012 with new poetry.
That is not to say that what I have produced will change, because it won’t. I feel like my poems are moments captured in time with a certain position and energy that cannot be erased.
But, also for that reason, I am paying a lot more attention and being a lot more careful with what energy I dedicate time to molding. What I work on with precision and intensity. And what I memorize.
The words we speak can, in a way, be like mantras. And if we craft our own and commit them to memory, then they leave a mark on us. I haven’t crafted or committed anything to memory that I DON’T want to be “tattooed to my soul” but I could craft better.
This is self-tilling anyway and I think, in essence, we all grow and go toward infinity
So til infinity, I will til.
It just makes sense.
I don’t think anything in front of me has ever felt more difficult but more beautiful at the same time.
If I find myself at any point in life approaching parenthood then I imagine it will feel quite the same way…
On that note, I’m sharing a poem by Lisel Mueller here. She is becoming one of my new faved poets, though I am still very much getting to know her work. But I have found a handful of pieces that I love and value already. In a Wikipedia article on her it was written that “Her poems are extremely accessible, yet intricate and layered.”
Accessibility, intricacy, and multi-layered-ness are all things I very much value and am hoping to better achieve in 2012.
Though that is not a New Years’ resolution, that is a life effort.
Tawny the poet and Tawny the person are the same. My poems are just bits of me. Collect them, as you go, if it feels right and makes sense to you. That is what I intend to do: those 2, with intuition, til infinity.
<3
Letter From the End of the World
Lisel Mueller
The reason no longer matters,
the lamp, my curiosity,
my sisters’ insinuations,
never waking up together,
you saying, “Trust me.”
The point is the end of innocence
comes when you look at someone you love
asleep and see how his eyeballs flicker
under their shallow lids.
The point is since I lost you
I have been going around the world
looking for you and finding myself
instead, small scraps of a woman
that are beginning to fit.
At first the mountains closed ranks against me,
blackberries dried in my mouth,
the wind kept turning to face me.
Wherever I came, the music stopped,
sidewalks opened up manholes,
lights went out,
a pregnant woman shielded her face.
But I learned to sleep on the ground
despite the heartbeat of giant oaks
and the moon’s soft taunts at the sun,
the all-night labor of heaving roots,
the mushroom smell of death.
I learned not to throw the bouquets
the wretched made of their wounds
back in their faces, to accept
tears brought me on red pillows,
to knock on plain white doors
without windows or peepholes, not knowing
whose voice would say, “Come in.”
The point is I came back
from the deep places. Always
there was help, a man or woman
who asked no questions, an animal’s
warm body, the itch in my muscles
to climb a swiming rope.
I started out as a girl
without a shadow, in iron shoes;
now, at the end of the world
I am a woman full of rain.
The journey back should be easy;
if this reaches you, wait for me.
*****
And now, toward the day
I feel ready
To rise.
(I find multiple mornings each day. And that is to say that I am very in touch with my senses. All of them. Though the 6th, more than any. And that being: intuition. I believe any great poet must be.)
#keepitpoetic
Last post of 2011: A Morning Glory Story (I’m funny. Read me. If you’re bored and have 10 minutes. :) )
December 30, 2011
Morning Glory Story (a shortie):
I arrive home yesterday evening around 10:00 pm after driving with my poet-in-crime, Kaci, for 12 hours from DC. Exhausted. Chatting on the phone with my greatest love (my best frined that is), Amanda, I haphazardly gather my things. A jacket falling off the shoulder, a cell phone cord dragging on the ground, my arms just full of EVERYTHINGS!!!
I catch a glimpse.
Through my bedroom window.
Of boxes.
“uh oh” I think. “hmmm…. What. is. this.?”
Though I do think I know.
My friend pauses on the phone, hearing the pause in my tone.
I fumble with the lock on the door and one of my roommates opens it for me. Our lock is forever always trying NOT to unlock even though we have the key.
He welcomes me home, I smile, still chatting with my love. Maintaining an air of cheer. Perhaps avoidance. A this-is-not-as-horrific-as-it-might-be kind of demeanor…
I go to open my bedroom door and it’s locked. “okay…” I think. “hmmm” Why is my door locked? Do I actually have this key?
I try a random small key on my ring that I honestly don’t know where its corresponding lock is but no luck. I ask my roommate, who’s at the table eating dinner with his girlfriend, if he knows why my door is locked or if there’s a key. He doesn’t. He tells me just to go through the next bedroom. It’s on the other side of mine with a bathroom between so I can just walk through.
“Is there anyone living in there now though?” I ask.
“No, no one lives in there.” He replies.
I’m quite positive he’s wrong but we’ll see. So I knock. No answer. Then I open the door and proceed to pass through. There is definitely someone living in here. A bed. clothes. A nightstand. I knew it. And he has so few things! How slightly envious I am, in a way.
(Hi new roommate! I know you. And I think you’re awesome! Welcome! )
As I enter the bathroom and look out the other side I see…
the sea.
Boxes.
LOTS of Boxes.
And bags.
Next to my bed.
Behind one another.
Bags IN boxes and boxes in boxes and books and storage bins and suitcases and
My bed.
Is unreachable.
My bed.
I just
Want to lay
On my bed
and sleep.
Boxes.
I sigh…
“heh, duuuuude…” I say to my friend and I begin to laugh a little at the ridiculousness of: myself. And the misfortune of the situation. “Ummmm ya, sooooo maybe I should just let you go now because ummmm… I’ve got a lot of shit to move and I don’t imagine this to be enjoyable. You might not like me much during this soooo yaaaa….”
She’s wondering. I tell her what’s up. She laughs. “Yeah, sounds like fun! Well, enjoy pal! Talk to you tomorrow!”
LOL
I am grouch. No O. Just grouch. I am the personification of Grouch.
That is me.
“What is the least exhaustive way I can get these boxes out of the way so that I can lay down and go to sleep?” I wonder to myself staring at the sea…. of boxes…
So I slide them. It was quite easy actually. The sea looked enormous. Heavy. And sad. But I slid it.
I corralled the ocean. In my bedroom.
Of boxes.
I slid them all to the opposite wall, leaving just enough space for a path between my bed and the bathroom and my bed and the kitchen. A “T” shaped path. “THIS will have to work for now.”
I lay down.
GLORY!
And I rest.
(and I went on facebook a little but that’s beside the point…)
Retired with a book. Some friends via text. And I drifted to sleep. “ahhh sweet sleep, where had you been?”
*****
Camera click to this morning:
I awake and I remember.
Before I open my eyes and pull the cover off of my head I remember: the boxes.
“uuhhhhhh”
The boxes.
I shake my head.
The sea I pushed to the wall. It is still the sea. And overflowing to some degree…
“oh sea…. We have some swimming to do today I suppose…”
“Welcome home” she says. Greeting with smiles at the tears in her bags, the charismatic cracks of her cardboarded sides while the upside down frowns of her shopping bag handles call to me saying, “Get up already. Pick me up please and get rid of me. Or move me. Give me a home. Just put me in the cupboard already. Or throw me the F away.”
LOL. The mass of this stuff is stupid.
I laugh and shake my head at myself.
This morning, thankfully, I am: hilarity.
I have energy. I am restored. I am ready to move the boxes. And PLOW through the STUFF.
Last night, I was grouch.
Grouch-me just needs: sleep.
So I throw myself out of the bed, make breakfast and with coffee in hand I am INVINCIBLE!!!
“Let’s get this puppy movin’!” I holla!
“Bags – we are doing double duty today!
I will clear you from the surface!
I will SEE my bedroom floor!
We will go to Goodwill.
With clothes and THINGS.
THINGS – you are going elsewhere! We do not need each other!”
I smile.
The biggest saving grace to all of this:
My parents gave me a set of speakers for Christmas. So now I actually have music that I can listen to louder than I can sing. Aaahhhh the beauty!!!!
And I imagine my roommates will also be grateful for that.
I am not Jill Scott.
I am Tawny’s ever-present, solar-plexus’ fortitude saying “get the F up and just clean this mess already!”
(and I also plan to put my books away once one of my roommates comes home and deconstructs the beer pong table, turning it back into my bookcase and chairs so that I may proceed. Smh…. I love them. Very much. Thank you my loves for putting all of my stuff back into my face, and so vividly, LOL. A very necessary and honest reminder. You are adored and appreciated…. And it’s a damn shame I missed that party)
BUT
I had poetry to do!
So that is where I was,
Living life poetically…
and now
the grind
of release
and giving.
The un-tethering of the self
from things.
We will enjoy the day today, boxes.
And I will see my love later! And celebrate! With a beer!
- My day’s pay for my day’s work.
Keepin’ it movin…
into 2012 we go!
<3 <3 <3
always, all ways, always
til next year, lovers!!
… and she dives into the ocean
***SPLASH****
See you on the flip.
peace.
A few weeks ago I swore I felt my pancreas working…
December 25, 2011
This year, has been outrageous. Anyone who knew me at its beginning has seen the progression.
Kind of like an isotope whirling out of control in all it’s protonness, collapsing into exhaustion, being reawakened by others of its chemical element (in this case maybe hydrogen), filling with elemental and chemical love and then laying the F out to dry.
Coupled with contemplation.
Anyone who knew me well at its beginning knows where I am going. We know because we know not. We know uncertainty and time, timing, luck, catastrophe, repercussions, solace and renewal.
And in the midst of all, we still plan.
Sometimes it takes a great disaster to awake to a great morning. An awakening.
Sometimes a great bliss to remember the great despair. It’s opposite. The empty.
I find solace and answers in nature. In ancient philosophy. The Socratic method. Essentially, in myself.
The year ended sooner than the calendar for me. Actually, it ended twice. Two deaths and two re-births one sometime in June and the second near the end of November.
Or perhaps there was a third that I am overlooking…
Either way, the seasons change 4 times in a year so if I got ahead of myself, I am still behind nature and I find peace in that. After all, we are at its mercy…
So maybe this great revelation next year will be around the end of November, for me, and not December 21 like forecasted. Maybe sometime around Thanksgiving.
That could be suiting.
Or maybe it’s already here. And it’s already now.
Once more to the breach dear friends…
How many lives does the cat really have?
How many do you?
How high can we count?
How long are you willing to live?
My answers currently reside in: “…not yet. Not yet.”
What or where are yours?
Like this:
December is Full of Reflections – Part II
December 21, 2011
Reflections, bits of wisdom, things I like and things I want to remember from this year that I plan to keep, remember, and hold dear while moving into 2012 (and perhaps beyond):
1. My favorite new nickname is “Tawnzorz” – Thanks to Zero. Why? Because it’s original, silly, the sound of it makes me laugh, and it’s not f’n fluffy. Zero knows better. Thank you my brother. *fist pound* *serious hug*
2. I love this song: Hearts and Bones. I once said “what a love song” or something like that. But in reflection, there are only a 1 and 1 1/2 lovers in this song. I do not want a love like that. Because “when you take two bodies and you twirl them into one, their hearts and their bones, and they won’t come undone.” But people come undone. I do. Often. But it’s my soul, or spirit, my sense of self and self love that keeps me intact. And sometimes my community too. Without that, I think love may be a bit doomed. Real love at least. I think it an impossibility, without that glue. A better love song by Paul Simon is Rene and Georgette Magritte With Their Dog After the War.
3. I seriously LOVE the band The Nixons. I wish they were still together. BUT, here’s the cool thing about when bands break up and stars are no longer stars: They become reachable. So I am following the singer via twitter. Perhaps he may like one of my tweets one day! He’s an amazing writer.
4. For all I need to know about love I do not need to date to find out. I look to my parents. My family. And some of my best friends. We have that glue. I know the glue. It will happen for me whenever I and another stumble upon each other and perhaps, just get stuck. When we just never want to leave…. And then….. Probably more stumbling. But hopefully, more often than not, it will be poetically…. ( I sometimes think we are a difficult generation… but that could also just be me and the people I surround myself with. For we really are just multitudes.)
5. People are equally as capable of good as they are of bad. I don’t use the word “evil” because I don’t like its connotation. It’s been misused too much and become comic-book-y (thanks to ole Dubya and the “evil-doers”). And I don’t really like to make comedy out of serious issues. Just not how I roll, really.
6. We are bound to the elements. For the simple reason that we cannot escape them. (That is also a line from my latest performance piece!) But we are made of them! And they have rule over us! Don’t believe me? Try telling a tidal wave to stop before it crashes and floods a city. Don’t wanna try that? Just ask anyone who’s been through one, who’s lost a loved one due to one, who lost a home, a dog, a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a great-uncle…. There are some degrees of separation but they do connect everyone eventually. And if you don’t like conversation (a ‘dislike’ I’d advise you try to get over), go read about it. There are plenty of stories. Everywhere. Someone’s probably blogged about it. And I’m sure there’s tons of poems.
7. Tell people you love them. If in fact you do. And tell them like you mean it. Many people will believe you.
<3
…there will be more to come
Like this:
December is Full of Reflections…
December 17, 2011
I’m beginning today’s blog with a quote from Minnie Bruce Pratt in a write-up from PoetryFoundation.org.
“I returned to poetry not because I had “become a lesbian”—but because I had returned to my own body after years of alienation. The sensual details of life are the raw materials of a poet—and with that falling-in-love I was able to return to living fully in my own fleshly self. “– Minnie Bruce Pratt in “The Struggle to Write: I became a poet because I became a revolutionary”
I’ve already written about what re-sparked my love for poetry and writing here. See (http://alifemorepassionately.com/2011/07/23/say-what-say-who/) for that explanation if you’re interested.
And I’ve already written about having fallen in love… at least, I wrote about it in reflection. Though perhaps it may be evident in the tone of some of my writings sometime between July and November (who knows when the fall begins… it was sometime in here though, I’m quite sure of that.)
But it’s been roughly 6 months now since the poetry “spark.” And like anything with “love” it can go dull. So has it?
Sure, at times.
But do I allow it to stay that way?
Absolutely not.
Returning to poetry is helping me learn a LOT about life and love. And commitment. The funny thing about my existence with poetry is that I’m not sure I ever really fell in love with it in the way we hear recanted about in songs, movies, on tv, etc. It was never blissful: long and extended. It was moments. Moments of wonderful, moments of sadness, at moments comforting or reassuring, and at various moments just full of wonder, wisdom, dreams and beautiful, incredibly crafted words. My jaw would drop at times. To differencing degrees… though mainly as a reader.
As a writer, it was just something I did. As a child. A teenager. In parts of my adulthood. It’s just always been there. Just a matter of me wanting to, or feeling able to, access it. To find it again. To return to me, and then stay there. And my jaw has dropped a few times at my own words… though only really in adulthood…. More often than not it is dropped by other people but I try to keep it movin…. Not to get caught up too long in the jaw drop. Life goes on…
Sometimes the hardest thing to do is just STAY.
I know. I’ve moved. A LOT.
Staying is hard when moving means “new” and “new” is fun and exciting. But everything cannot always be new, in my opinion. Or, at least, it’s not wise to seek that all the time because you can never make any progress that way. And what the hell else is life for?
Sure to enjoy. To love. To have fun. To learn and grow. To give back. Perhaps other things as well. It’s all cyclical but to me, at least, right now it’s feeling like too much new can spoil the old, or not honor it and its utility and taking advantage of what’s already done. Taking what’s already created and then go further. What’s already good in life and what I’m ALREADY good at.
So yeah…. I’m keeping poetry. And very, very close to me. It just doesn’t make any sense not to. I love it. It is not bliss. Though sometimes it CAN feel like that if I’m writing a really dreamy piece… It’s honestly just a fascinating and meaningful way to explore life, the present, the past, the possibilities of the future, from your bedroom. A coffee shop. A hotel room. A bridge. The earth.
To continue to dream, as an adult, is something so wonderful and necessary. And I think I forgot how to dream for a long time. My “dreams” were given to me, verbally, in dictation. “Do this. Get A’s. Be successful. Get a job. That is your life.” And I had no poetry…
So thanks, to the dictators… luckily I found the good sense to give them back. Along with the anti-depressants. “I will do what makes and keeps me happy. What I am able to be happy doing, and continue that happiness on my own. Thanks but this is how I’ll dictate it to myself.”
I remember one of my dearest friends texting me the day after Southern Fried and just saying “Do what you love.”
Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he didn’t. But that text, honestly, made all the difference in the world for me at that moment.
What loves and beautiful, beautiful people I have in my life.
I am blessed.
And I will continue to do what I love, more and more, with progress, til I no longer can.
And with a few new things every so often because it’s fun. Like slamming. I have yet to but I imagine I will in 2012.
But the old stays: writing.
So I am working on a memoir.
(I’m also writing a novel, a second book of poetry, a theoretical paper where I’m attempting to create a logical argument for morality that is not based on religion, and perhaps still a one-woman-show…. But a memoir first. Me seems like the best place to start. I went missing awhile. And I moved a lot. I’ve got a lot to recover and recount and reflect on….)
Stay tuned.
To you.
“And now, every day, I continue to work to know what it will take to have “a radical, transformative change” in this world, to understand the deeply material basis for a socialist revolution that can overthrow capitalism and the oppressions kept in place by that economic system—and to act in the struggle for that change—to act and to write as a poet. – Minnie Bruce Pratt
“and to act in the struggle for that change—to act and to write as a poet”
Thank you Minnie Bruce Pratt.
-_-
Thank you.
I thank God for poets.
Here’s a link to the article on Minnie Bruce Pratt. for anyone who’s interested ( http://www.poetryfoundation.org/article/243180?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=social_media&utm_campaign=general_marketing)
From the writing exercise at last night’s open mic…
December 14, 2011
(I’m trying to keep this blog intentional and good. I am working on LOTS in the background, just know that. But they’re IN PROGRESS, so in the meantime I’m sharing little bits of sunshine and good thoughts, etc, that I can squeeze into a managable time frame to share, here, now)
The prompt was to write a poem from the perspective of one of your body parts.
So here’s mine:
You switch me so often,
switch, switch,
like a twitch, unrested.
Why do you flap, flap those wings,
we go breezy.
Are you trying to tease me?
Are you trying to cascade me, gracefully, across surfaces outside us?
When we goin to the bus?
When we gonna lock onto nothing as the streets pass
each one like the next?
When we gonna fade into fog?
When we gonna gleam the next blog?
When we gonna stray, go away, come back a little rested?
Maybe when the moon has crested?
Why you cast us all over the place, beaming for space.
don’t we got enough already?
Can’t you just hold us steady?
I wonder, my keeper,
when you gonna close the surfaces to blue?
When we gone be done with the new?
When’s that last final test?
When we gonna
just
rest?
*****
My body part was the eyes. In the age of hyperreality, hypermobility, is it not practically impossible sometimes to just FOCUS on one thing for like, a LONG time???
I’ve been finding it so. In many realms. But some, I am finding it not difficult at all. Nearly effortless actually… That realm is writing. And listening to poetry performed or read with intention and feeling. And reading some various things, depending on topic and writing style…
And that date-r, the one from the museum… he joked via text message that I was bi-polar… lol
well, maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.
Maybe I’m just eccentric?
“Have you ever examined medicine and the labelling of illness from a sociological perspective sir?”
A late question.
But not really.
I think I know the answer and also I think I just wasn’t interested in asking…
Havent heard from said gentleman in maybe 2 weeks now…. ya…
Maybe he’s bipolar?!?!?
Or a no-shower?!??!
ORRRRRR
Maybe ya, I just don’t care to TRY at dating.
Doesn’t seem to make much sense.
and the conversation
was lacking.
NOW
to the page…
I have been kindergarten squatted…. and other ramblings
December 7, 2011
I have been kindergarten squatted.
JK
But really, I have been humbled by life shall we say???
And now, I am trying not to want so much. Though I have been trying not to want so much for a while, but this is in a different plane… a rhombus perhaps, lol
“Quit flipping words into poetry, Tawny”
“Okay.”
A confession – I have come down from “eternal bliss.”
This existence I was living , feeling inside of me, yes. A bliss like the sun kisses your face nearly each and every moment and lifts you through the atmosphere and you fly through the clouds untouched…
Even when you’re inside the house.
A comedown, from being blissfully in love, is interesting. Lol. And an interesting song by Bush – I heard it recently and I don’t think that was a coincidence. I made a “poetic” playlist this summer prior to taking an 8 hour drive solo. I needed good music. I wanted it poetic. So I made a playlist of all songs I felt were poetic. They all have great words. I’m a words person, not a beat person so much but I do have a heartbeat. I do like music that moves more with sound than words, I just prefer words, at the end. If I had to choose. And I try to keep mine real.
Try is the operative word. No one is perfect, everyone is flawed and these
are the ways
we live.
The Word Begins (also a dope show put on by the Hip Hop Theater Festival, look it up.)
But the word does begin. A lot. But breath first. Lol. Life takes breathing! And to do it well you must keep it your own. Or, if you want to survive long, live hard and well, make it meaningful…
To me, at least.
You must breathe intentionally.
I know, that sounds weird. But you have to be aware of your breath. Or, I find that I do. (My dad always says that: “be aware.” And then nothing else. His lessons are short. They’re often right though). Be aware of your breath, where it goes, when it’s quick, and when it slows. It’s your inner rhythm.
Actually, no, it is not.
It is a manifestation of your inner rhythm. The bass of the rhythm is the heart. (I now think of an AMAZING poem my friend Ham has which, the title I’m not sure of but I refer to it by the first line “keep in mind the bass is the heart.” What a poem! You should see him perform it sometime! It is fabulous!!! I dance to it, lol )
So, the heart begins. But then words begin: communication.
Co – “with”
Muni – as in municipality, ammunition – a municipality is a collection of people gathered for political purpose. Ammunition is something you use to harm others. They have somewhat opposite intentions, with the prefix, but essentially I think the word means “the bond.” As in the bond between people, whatever you want to call that. I often call it ‘reciprocity’ – but I love community, as an idea and as it exists, the sense of community. The feeling of togetherness with people. But however you fancy yourself thinking of it = that.
Cation – the act of. Or a process. (I think. I’m actually making this up, or thinking it up as I go. I think this is fun)
I actually just looked up “cation” and here’s what I found:
cat·i·on (ktn)
n.
An ion or group of ions having a positive charge and characteristically moving toward the negative electrode in electrolysis.
“a positively charged ion that is attracted to the cathode in electrolysis.”
And Muni:
mu·ni (myn) Informal
adj.
Municipal.
n. pl. mu·nis
A municipal bond.
It’s like magnetism. The pull, the force, the gravity of two or more things, or people, to each other. But people are often easily repelled or repel from each other. They so easily walk away. From conversation, from love, from anything really. Food even. Saying “ugh! I just don’t like the way it tastes!” As if life is just an experience to have in bliss. As if there is nothing better but that which pleases us.
So hedonistic, we are. Seeking pleasure always, and in easy and quick. Instead of doing what’s right, feeding our bodies what is GOOD for them. That which allows them to work best. And learning to like it or be happy or content with it. Knowing it’s not always going to taste lovely…
I sometimes wonder, “are people just trying to die soon?” “Do you just not want to live?” I watched this video recently of a tribe in Papua New Guinea and an anthropologist interacting and translating. Many of their people commit suicide often. When the anthropologist asked “why?” The man replied “We don’t want to miss each other.” I guess… I think either they believe that they’ll reunited in an afterlife OR they don’t believe that living is still worthwhile when they have to live with the pain of losing loved ones. Or… who knows! Maybe something else… I find this incredibly fascinating though!
People are very emotional in the U.S. and some very unemotional. Some seemingly robotic. We are a very, very divided people. I find myself uncomfortable and quite unhappy, frankly, being a robot. In having to put myself on ‘auto-pilot.’ But I have to sometimes. Like at work, unfortunately. When you get busy you just have to keep moving, to stay afloat. (I wait tables. but i find there, much more breathing room than the corporate world, for sure. So I’m sticking with it until something truly better comes along. Something kind of glorious perhaps… or not but… ya… whatever).
I find it sad that some people are artists and some are not and those who aren’t look at music or art and think “Man, how on earth did they even create that?!?!” That the onlooker doesn’t know that they could do it to, in their own way, if they wanted. A part of you goes to sleep when in robot… and that,
I do not think,
is good.
We have too much emotion work in this society. I think that’s why the masses are emotionally unstable. Or weird. Or can’t commit. Or leave. Because day to day life, work, all that b.s. has just become a performance routine instead of a fresh and honest breath each time. How to actually do that? I don’t know. If that’s even possible, EVERY time??? I have no idea. I sort of doubt it. Or even if it were possible I don’t know that it would be good. You can’t progress if every breath is always new. But is it. But it’s not. It’s the same as the one before. Just different.
I talk about breath and heartbeats because I think about my body a lot. Because I have a medical condition where literally my heart and brain messages don’t connect. So I have to pay attention to both, like I have to actively do it, in order to not faint sometimes. I have to try and want and will them to link up. Otherwise, I fall. On the floor. Or behind a sink. Or down some stairs… ya, it sucks… Sometimes it’s impossible to prevent it from happening. Or it seems that way in reflection. So it just happens. Luckily, not often though. Conventional medicine is good. Some of it.
I also have asthma – so that explains the breath.
A friend at work recently called me a fainting goat, lol. That’s actually quite hilarious. I had to lol. I still do!
So what, am I talking about? Where did I begin?
Ahh… the bliss! The end of it. The comedown.
Falling in love is kind of amazing. And I know. Because now I can say I’ve done it. I think I’d done it once before, sort of slightly. It was a lesser degree. But we shared presence, physically, more often so that is relevant. This was more like a dream. And an amazing one. Trust me, I have been dreaming often, lately.
But I’m up now.
Back to work.
Too much writing to do still and there are never enough days to tell all I want to tell but … at the end of the day, each day is meaningful, to me.
Just keep it movin.
(I’m going to be writing about a whole lot of things here in the future. Just in case anyone was wondering “where is this going?” It’s going all over the place…. Jsyk)
