Monthly Archives: October 2009

Photos of A, pt. II

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Photos of A, in the library

A and I spent Monday afternoon in one of those private rooms in the library, taking photos. I also got a couple of her outside. It is so wonderful to have someone willing to take time to let you shoot them (with a camera!) 😉

Words have been silent of late. Working on putting together what will hopefully be three full mixed-genre manuscripts by Spring / graduation. Here’s hoping I can then publish them! 😀

Meanwhile, here I sit with my egg sandwich, contemplating what happened to me this morning in a meeting with my philosophy professor. She recommended I read  A. H. Almaas, physicist-turned-mystic.  You know when you meet someone and you know you were supposed to meet them? That’s how I feel about her. Though I in no way need to take an extra course, let alone in philosophy, I know there’s a reason hiding somewhere.

And, panicked as I may feel for not having written anything of substance in days, I am trying to see this time as a period of “putting-together.”

Though, I feel I may have something to say about silence, soon.

Here’s some shots from Monday:

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Dear, Damn I Miss the Cactus

Dear,

I couldn’t write so I clipped metal paperclips in various places over my body. Think of the monks that used to find bits of pebble and stone to put in their shoes. Things like that. People walk by and wonder why I look the way I do, or why there are bald spots on my head, why grouplings of hair, like stranded bouquets, lie around in the library, waiting to grow. I don’t know much about monks, but if they didn’t shave their heads, they may have pulled out every last one of them. Maybe visions, maybe light tunnels.

My uncle believes in aliens. I thought I’d grow wild if I spun in a field, dizzy for believing in something lightyears away. There was a schizophrenic once who said God could see us via the rays of the sun, and the sun had spoken a language to him since he was born. Do all children wake, hearing moon-whispers? Man in the moon, build me a boat, cast me down the river Jordan, that sorta thing.

So I must look ridiculous with metal clips stuck to me, clamped on like ducklings. Hold still long enough and each one is discernable. Maybe like the sun, speaking in a language, through my body, a kind of ecstacy.

Someone asked me, maybe it was in my head, maybe they were real, why I’d pinch myself ten times over.

Wanted to revisit the cactus field, I’d say. Or stray from being lonely.

There was a man, today, walking a street, thinking he could taste my body. I said this out loud, but maybe to no one, maybe an ant or a mouse who took a hole in the wall for morning prayers.

Anyway, this man, thought he loved the heals of my feet, or an image of me in Spain, talking to one of the locals about real estate, after ordering a dish consisting mainly of olives, wearing a new pair of stockings. He thought about teeth and a cathedral, Mass and the stockings together.

I wouldn’t consider myself completely over the idea. And the mouse, saying his prayers, knows this.

What are you doing with the paper clips? he asks.

I got them out to pinch myself, I said.

Why would you do that? He asks, picking up one to try on.

Better than pulling my hair out, I said.

Six dozen, half the other. OUCH! How can you do that? he said.

If you get a lotta skin, it’s not so bad.

Under the weight of what the dinner party tries to lift, a loneliness vibrates like a whirlwind through a desert. And cacti can hold secrets like God-hasn’t-split-the-great-grain-wood.

So, the man in my head. Do you remember my lists? Gather together. The ant and the mouse, the walk and Spain’s sun-rays.

An image pushes through. Like each pinch, a ducking clamped to a bit of me, their beaks devout.

I bet if monks picked pebbles as lovingly as God, there would be visions or light rays in dreams so unbelievable, no one would need pain to ground their body to earth. 

The dinner party wouldn’t carry the weight, each other’s loneliness, and the man in my head, you remember him? He would be the one fastening the clips when I couldn’t write.

Hold still, he’d say. Another five prayer beads.

Look at the ant and the mouse, I’d say. So devout. So sad they can’t sing.

Anyway, I wanted to revisit the cactus, the filed where, if I fell, the earth-knives would do all they could to make me forget, watching the sun set dirty and God-damn, I miss you.

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after little sleep

Rejoice in the leaves and sunshine, in dark under mushroom bellies where a lull drags on and minutes stick to things, when all the body wants is to know itself, know it will not be forgotten; rejoice in love-hangers, suit-cases full, in sorrow deserts, silent’s dwelling ground–rejoice in-between–this is what a flock of imaginary birds said to me, ruffling my hair–I thought of You.

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25 Rotations

It is my birthday! I finally got a Sarah Lawrence Sweatshirt as a present! I’ve wanted one since I arrived last year.

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Now, time to wander NYC in the cold, thinking of things to write down.

On another note, I just keep looking at this photo I took of my friend, Megan, in August. Something about it. Thought I’d share:

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Schizophrenic Man Play / Reading

My friend, Anto, and I decided to have fun and read what I have so far on my script. 🙂

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“She wanted to be everything”

I.

In a darkening, out of
a field’s mouth, once,

every word scattered–
coyotes, ears on fire,

toward You– heart-drums
beat one another until

the crops erupt into light-
headed daisies, furious

You made them love air.

II.

I had a dream. Two birds came
through my window. I looked up

the meaning in my Book of Symbols—
Spirits are trying to commune with me.

Good. I need my chest to break open,
and not by my hand—

I’ve thought of breaking the seal.

III.

The belly of a coyote searches
for the ropes it once knew.

Twisted with joy, hang–
barbed-wired and singing–

the intestines. Hold on,
don’t ask if they are whole, separate:

Listen!

When the seal breaks, death
knows where to find Me.

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