Monday, September 15, 2014

Dream A Dream For Me Lover

I dreamed this two weeks ago.
I am with Missy, my young grad school buddy.  She’s with a new boyfriend, someone I never met before. I recognize this as strange in my dream, knowing she's now married with children. Bob, my boyfriend, Missy, and my son, Joey are all there together. Bob is with us yet seconds later is rapping to some chick about 15 feet away. I walk towards them, but when I get there, Bob’s disappeared into thin air. 
“Where's Bob?"  I ask.
Joey says, “In the store, buying beer.”
         Missy and I are walking together downtown on Broadway alone. We’re on our way to visit my Dad down on 162nd street. It’s a long walk from Sickle Street (Close to Dykeman Street) in Washington Heights.
This is before Washington Heights became Hudson Heights, before gentrification. For me it will always be The Heights.
Missy and I are strolling slowly, talking, taking our time.  We run into Alan Abel, the big 'Get Even' Scam Man Prankster, Bob had introduced me to.
I say, “Hi Alan, how are you?”
Alan says, “Hey, how’re ya’? You’re the woman involved with Bob, that young English fellow I met you with in Oxford?” Alan is speaking while pulling out all these clothes from somewhere. I can’t figure out where they’re coming from. 
Missy says excitedly, “Lets share everything.”
“Excellent,” I agree, forgetting my concern about where the stuff is coming from.
I pull out a tight colorful skirt. I feel Missy’s eyes on it. I say, “Oh Missy, that wouldn't fit you, you're too big.” I realize I spoke without thinking. Missy's not big anymore plus I'm worried I hurt her feelings. I quickly say, “Oh you're not big anymore.” Too late, the words are spoken.
         Missy, Alan and I wind up in my apartment’s home office. Alan is using my fax to make copies. I remember Bob putting cellophane wrappers on the roller that holds the fax paper. Later he refills with paper. I can't remember why Bob was using cellophane but suddenly realize Bob’s trying to trap me into doing something sexual with Alan. He is using cellophane to create a tracking record on fax.
Alan continues to make copies using the fax machine.
Alan says, “I really appreciate you letting me use your machine this way.”
I smell something funny burning inside the fax.  Suddenly the copy button pops up and out of the machine.
I say, “Oh shit Bob warned me about how careful I have to be with this fax.  He gave me this long list of do's and don'ts. Repeated over and over, ‘don't use white out, no scotch tape either, don’t touch buttons,’ and truth is I’m guilty and he’ll say I broke the fax.”
         Alan focuses on me. Alan says, “How much do you care about this Bob guy?”
“I'm crazy about him and can’t understand why he makes me unhappy. I wonder if any man can give me what I want or need.”
         Missy cuts in, “Do you both feel the same about faithfulness?”
 Alan tells Missy, 'No, the real problem is she has not found anyone to meet her needs or make her happy.”        
Alan turns to include me, “But, why aren't you faithful?” 
“You mean unfaithful because I'm hanging out with you here?' 
Right beside me suddenly is some guy standing there who wasn't there a second before. Someone I’ve never seen before.
I defend myself, “Oh, we don't have sex. And although I've been unfaithful, I'd much rather be faithful, but somehow, when I get unhappy I also get unfaithful."  I pause and take a breath. 
         "Is that it?" Alan said. He smiled slightly, added in his strong pretend English accent, "Well, that's all right then, some people are unfaithful just for the hell of it."
         "No," Missy said, "There's more to it than that.”
Alan has his mind made up. He starts making lists of the pros and cons about my relationship with Bob. Instead of reading the lists, I watch him feeding the lists through the fax to make copies. I see he's taped relevant and matching stuff together to better organize themes. I get worried about the fax.  
“Alan” I say, “you will break the fax putting paper through with tape.”
         Scene switches again. Alan and I are sitting together on rocks at an outdoor garden. We are completely alone and isolated. Alan moves closer behind me. The waterfall, rocky, slippery, with lush wild flowers, granite rocks glinting, mesmerizes me. Beautiful, and wild, yet tended to. I want to climb down but it's about a five-foot drop. I worry if I can’t get down I won't be able to climb back up without help. I stand there enjoying a familiar rapture, Alan’s powerful energy combined with the moment’s tranquility. I am enraptured yet captive.
         I feel Alan’s body pressing against mine. His growing erection presses against my butt. “I want you to be mine,” he said. "Even though I’m crazy beyond what you’ve ever known before, I believe we can make it.” He leaned in, bent his head.
         Dizziness overcame me, hunger clawed at me. My stomach lurched with fear of getting involved and let down again, and still I raised my lips to greet his.
         Eyes wide open, gazing deep inside mine, hurt inside the hunger’s so deep, I feel my womb throb with desire.

Thursday, September 04, 2014

Moodiness

If only I weren’t lonely
If I could be satisfied
If I didn’t know you
If I believed you wouldn’t have lied
If I could be sure you really tried
If I could take your word
If you didn’t sabotage our love
At every turn
If only I hadn’t been burned
So many times before you
If I only had eyes for you
I know in my heart you were never true
Still can’t seem to stop myself wanting you
Still can’t stop feeling so lonely and blue
Can’t stop wanting to hear the sound of your voice

I gave up on you and me
You left me alone
Felt like a clown for wanting you
For believing your pretenses
For believing you were demure
For our ephemeral dalliance
For our creation,
An Elysian delight
Crushed by epiphany
Crude awakening
To halcyon fantasy
Surreptitious whispers
Feel so down
Feel like a part of you is with me
Feel a need to have you with me
Even if life with you could never be
Dreams survive in my head



Kind of reminds me of If by Rudyard Kipling written in 1943 which is still very valid today.


+Enrico Miguel Thomas

*  Enrico called me "The white female Tupac" which I consider a great compliment!


+Brad Eubanks 


Monday, August 04, 2014

Spit Poetic Love and Life’s Shit Splits


Be the love you want to give
Give love to live life
Let love dissipate strife
Let love give and get love
Love who you’re with
If you can’t be with whom you love
Give it all you’ve got
A pep talk on love
Be who you want to love
Wish you’d stop shoving me away
A voice from above
My true love
Live the love you want to give
Be the love you want to get
See love I give
Give love I get
Be the love I see
Give the love I want to be
Can’t control thoughts and feelings that come through me
Can control what I do about them
Can’t be who you expect me to be
Can only be who I am

I am talking to the framer, Igball, when artist lady interrupts my flow.
Artist lady says, “Hey wait, you’re speaking about the artist guy, the one with the scars across his face.”
Oh my, I say to myself in my head.
Aloud I reply, “He’d be so angry to have you define him that way, ‘by scars that line his face.’”
“How’d you meet?” asked Igball.
“I went to meet him to watch him paint. Guards chased him away from the sidewalk where he painted. I wanted him to paint where he wanted to, and he asked me to speak to the guards. So I spoke to them to protect his rights.”
“Another guard came to talk to me, not the one who’d chased Enrico away. He said, ‘I saw you earlier painting on the street when I came to work. I recognized you by your scars.’
“Enrico went off. ‘You recognized me by my scars. How are my scars relevant to this situation? Now I know you’re violating my human rights.’ I didn’t see his scars. I looked into his eyes. His eyes looking back into mine mesmerized me. It wasn’t until the guard pointed them out that I saw his scars.”
“Oh I do hope you won’t tell him what I said,” artist lady said, “I just wanted to identify him. He’s very beautiful.” She said, “Gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. Then I went home and cried all night.”
I listened to her, looked in her eyes and died a little more inside.
“You’d cry more if you were me,” I said.  “He has a mean streak. He told me, ‘Blame my parents who abused me.’ I want to report his father and mother for abuse but every state has different laws, and in Los Angeles, it’s too late to report. They got away with it. I hang out with him and he gets angry very easy, every little thing sets him off, becomes an offense. If he heard you now he’d get very angry like he did when the guard said he recognized him by his scars.”
“Well, please don’t tell him,” she pleaded.
I wrote it all here instead.
Igball stared in my eyes and saw me, ‘the me’ who I feel I am.


Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

She wished she knew
But she hasn’t got a clue
What she did
When all is said and done
She didn’t even have fun
She’d fooled herself
Believed sex made them closer
He complained continuously
They’d had sex too soon
Like there was a rulebook to follow
On time limits before sex

Plenty of time had passed
In her eyes
Three times a week for four weeks
Six hours each time
Hold hands; tell stories at French Roast,
Walk empty city streets at 3 a.m.
Sometimes, she’d drive him home
He’d hug her tightly, 
Chastely kiss her forehead
Press his groin to hers

Truly she had no clue as to what set him off
Clearly sex made him vulnerable
Afterwards he pushed her away
Picked arguments, and
Communication went astray
He proceeded to insult, belittle and ridicule her
Like her ex-husband used to do

She wrote him a note, “I wish you well,”
He wrote back he wished her the same
“Fundamentally,” he explained,
“I wanted us to get along.
We’re both highly sensitive creatures
And without meaning to
We push each other’s buttons.”
She decided
He was hazardous to her health
Sex for him creates distance, not intimacy
She’d label him
Toxic after sex
If she knew before
What she knows now

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Three Women

My skin is porcelain tan
I’ve been beaten robbed and raped
Because I’m not as strong as a man
I have wandered the world in search
Of fulfillment, can’t find
peace anywhere
Born and raised in Italy’s ghettos
I learned how to play a hand as good
As any man
Dealt cards in the best casinos
in big cities everywhere
My plate is bitter,
I’ve got constant jitters,
not a quitter
I’m tough as they come
My name is Rosa

My skin is rosy
Born in a concentration camp I survived
I never knew my mother
Soldiers came from England
Gave me chocolate from their hands
Sister Ruth held my hand
Said I had blue eyes like my mother
I escaped the holocaust but I’ll never be free,
I’m slave to fears and misery
Afraid to see beauty, afraid to sleep,
Toss, turn, trapped in rough seas,
refuse to weep, my life in a heap
The days run blue mystical,
Fast, hard rains fall
Blinding like sparkling stars
My name is Ruby

My ancestors left Spain
I’m a woman of color, black hair, black eyes, olive skin
My family came to the new world in 1492
Before they slaughtered all us Jews
Persecuted for religious beliefs,
The new world provides no relief
Punished for the sins of my fathers
I tell them I’m Jew not Roman
Confused they persist in rebuking me,
Call me Christ killer
My name is Gypsy!




I dunno, you be the judge as to which version is better and tell me below. I want to know.

Three Women (oops my bad - still editing)

My skin is porcelain tan
I’ve been beaten robbed and raped
Because I’m not as strong as a man
I have wandered the world in search
Of fulfillment, can’t find
peace anywhere
Born and raised in Italy’s ghettos
I learned how to play a hand as good
As any man
Dealt cards in the best casinos
in big cities everywhere
My plate is bitter,
I’ve got constant jitters,
not a quitter
I’m tough as they come
My name is Rosa

My skin is rosy
Born in a concentration camp I survived
I never knew my mother
Soldiers came from England
Gave me chocolate from their hands
Sister Ruth held my hand
Said I had blue eyes like my mother
I escaped the holocaust but I’ll never be free,
I’m slave to fears and misery
Afraid to see beauty, afraid to sleep,
I’m too busy counting sheep
The days run blue mystical,
Fast, hard rains fall
Blinding like sparkling stars
My name is Ruby

My ancestors left Spain
I’m a woman of color, black hair, black eyes, olive skin
My family came to the new world in 1492
Before they slaughtered all us Jews
Persecuted for religious beliefs,
The new world provides no relief
Punished for the sins of my fathers
I tell them I’m Jew not Roman
Confused they persist in rebuking me,
Call me Christ killer              
My name is Gypsy!

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Comment published in New York Times

I wrote a response to Thaddeus Rutkowsky's article and my response can be found here below. Yay!

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/07/20/one-degree-of-separation/?comments#permid=12354242

Sunday, July 13, 2014

There They Stand, Watching Me Watch Them

He jumps up, says she’s abusing him
Grabs his shit, runs through the door
Everyone watches
ALL EYEZ ON THEM

Bona fide great pride, all pretty and perfect outside,
Suburbia defined and redefined
Inside created a great divide
Live in a world of Jekyll and Hyde. Good gone,
Erased in time, lives in a lie cocoon. How can I judge?
Your boy Paco tells stories that make scary seem good
“A very bad person,” said Judy determinedly
Judy deals with rapists and killers

You give Motherhood a bad name
Denial and avoidance is your leisure
You brag about Paco on your Facebook page
Enjoy the fruits of your glory
Raised with hate, he could’ve been a terminator
But turned to art instead
He despises you for not protecting him
Chose to protect his father who maimed him
For that, he’ll give you up for lent
Ugly passion, you’re poison to him

Stood there and watched; shit beat from him literally
Leave Facebook messages, ‘My Paco’
Be assured, accomplishments he made were in spite of you
He should’ve blocked you on multimedia long ago
An object fit to reject
Bitch, let me break it down
Don’t contact him
He won’t contact you

Outing you is the best I can do
I officially out you for your abuse, neglect,
Your surrender to sadism
Witnessed and personally done
I out you, I do
Out you, I do
I out you, I do


It is the best I can do …do …do…

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