ALIEN PLANET OF LESBIAN LOVERS

SHE lived under the delusion that SHE was the Queened Princess of an Alien Planet of Lesbian Lovers. All the rules SHE lived by and all her behavioral responses provided evidence of this. Much of my life centered on helping her live out this fantasy, painful as it was to me. Besides, my Catholic guilt forced me to accept the proposition that sacrifice nourishes and purifies our soul.

Still, I was not so locked into my servitude that all other devotions were excluded. I met Sue May as I was attempting to crawl from the claws of the newly crowned Queen from the Planet of Lesbian Lovers. But I kept losing energy in my battle to escape. When I came upon a new route, the Queen would crack her whip, blocking me. I could not break through.

I was lost in the spheres locked between fear, time, and oblivion when I met Sue May on the F train. I was carrying my sports jacket, an attaché case and a shopping bag while balancing a coke in one hand and my shades in the other. I sat down next to Sue May, also known as, The Speaker From The House of Discreet Charm, and proceeded to reorganize myself. My jacket slipped from my hands and I gripped it tightly to prevent its fall. As I grabbed it to crush it closer, I heard a highly toned, cultured voice, "exx, exxcuse me."

I turned and looked her in the eye, "God," I exclaimed, catching sight of my hand clutching her knee in my peripheral vision. "Sorry, I thought that was my jacket." SHE smiled the way Speakers from that House do, completely disarming me, compelling me to do her will. So I offered her an early dinner, as SHE was wont to do.

Sue Mai thought SHE was Speaker of the House of Representatives from a small mid-western state where manners meant everything. The Speakers from this house pretended to live in a time when discreet words and charm, and all behavioral nuances were aimed at serving the vast quantities of man's needs.

YES! But behind that sweetly beckoning smiling face, and in perfect rhythm, was the firm grasp of her delicate hand. It was hard to see that Sue Mai possessed the same determined sharp focus of energy as the Queened Princess. And I realize now, that both were bent on making the world, and especially me, think of nothing else, but meeting their needs. At the time I never realized this. I don't mean that the thought never entered my mind that I was allowing them to control me.

But of course now in retrospect, I realize that I have realized this many times. But then, I was just so much Under the Influence. I have always lived Under the Influence. It's that way because I have always loved women, holding them in the highest regard. And I kept searching for the one for me. Not just the one for me, you understand, but the one who would save me from the Queened Princess and serve my needs.

Now I had the Newly Crowned, Queen Princess from the Alien Planet of Lesbian lovers in conflict with Sweet Sue May, Speaker from the House on Discreet Charms befitting maidens from places like Kentucky and Tennessee. Sad to say, they couldn't get along at all. There was just too much conflict of interest. Both were invested in controlling my subconscious.

For the Lesbian Queen, I preformed sacrifice upon sacrifice, submitting to her will, making her wish my command. I lived under her delusion that this would provide peace to her Alien Planet of Lesbian Lovers and to me.

Meanwhile my sweet and tame Sue May exerted her control by doling out her loving commands, their sole purpose to provide her pleasure. I devotedly applied myself to make her every wish my command.

All for naught. Between the two, there was no respite. The Queen and The Speaker hated each other. But the truth was, that didn't matter. What did matter was, that ultimately, between the two, I was left with no energy to serve myself.

so much to do

I've been thinking, there's tons of writing on my computer, some for years that I've never shared. I'd like to post some of that stuff too and will begin tonight with one piece.

MORE ON JESUS ND BEING JEWISH

Am I proud to be jewish -
I am and I’m not,
I don’t know I guess

I’m proud of being jewish
because being jewish means
to be educated & literary
in certain circles,
you know what I mean
I know they had tough jews
my father sat on the cusp of that realm
on the outskirts of the jewish mafia

nd ... I suppose...I’m as liberated -
nd as free as one would want to be
or can imagine to be in this society
or any other, again, I suppose
But you asked me
Am I proud to be a jew

I am but when people make disparaging remarks
such as jews are cheap
or you killed jesus
jesus please forgive me;
I wasn’t born yet to suffer for ur sins

so I ask you; if jesus died for ur sins
then forgive me please
and if he died for mine
forgive me again please
but remember jesus is my forefather
and I do follow his path
being an upstart and all
runs in my family
saying what I mean, and doing what I say -
follows jesus also and is why he died for our sins
Isn’t it?

Jesus was an upstart and so am I
our big and honest mouths get us in trouble
So much time wasted arguing & fussing
when we’re all visitors here of our own demise.

is the world going crazy or is it me

If you don’t stop asking so many questions
I could begin to think you’re a cop
I can’t think up the answers that fast,
Are you the prosecution or what
Do you want answers to your questions
Stop looking into my eyes so deep
What are you trying to see
I’m trying to see the I in you
It may be the same as the I in I
Can’t you see I’m trying to bring something to fruition
And it only takes some more preparation
I’m searching for direction
It’s making a huge impression on me
How many decisions did you say I have to make
No, I’m a grown woman I don’t need permission
I don’t care about your trepidation
I’m searching for liberation
Haven’t found it anywhere
It’s not as clear as it used to be
I thought I was so aware
It isn’t always fair either
Too many discussions
Deliberations on the same old themes
Wars & losses, poverty and gasoline prices
Dresses & designers, writers & artists
Vacations & lives, returning home again
Our time and space is limited,
We’re here on this earth to enjoy life do
What we can, our minds so full of clutter
the glimmer the shimmer outside
draws in to the glow
mostly it’s all show
sometimes we can’t see what’s right in front of us
I couldn’t see that book that’s clearly right
There on the bookshelf where you left it before
after we looked and looked;
neither of us could see that book right there on the shelf
right there on the shelf
looked once then twice we saw nothing
Looking through the glass pane window
Should I should go in or wait out here
Alone in the rain of my life
The drops glistening on my skin
Should I join the crowd inside
Watching diamonds in the rough
Watching is never enough
I’ma go rearrange the universe
give me a moment or two

A Freudian Slip ...

Do you suppose - it’s an accidentally on purpose mistake - a Freudian slip? Do you want to throw rocks or count sins, and then who’s will you count first, yours or mine?
Inadvertently 5 years of saved emails were erased. I can’t understand how these things happen in our cyber world lives. I use a convenient excuse. It happened as a side effect from my most recent software upgrade. These upgrades appear while I’m on the computer no matter what I’m doing. Soft grade available here for your computer. Click here for more information or to upgrade now - I’m instructed.
As the result of my last upgrade, my computer desktop divides itself into pretty little pixilated boxes, slowly disappearing as I click on various parts of a document, website or photos, so I can finally get my desktop back. You see how far this has progressed that the computer screen has become my virtual desktop and is where I store everything. As I click on the pixilated boxes, my document slowly appears like magic out of nowhere.
Now do you think it’s inadvertently or purposefully that I’ve deleted emails stretching back over 5 years. They have sublimely and subliminally disappeared forever, gone in a millimeter flash of one second, 5 years of stored memories. In my universe my mails have disappeared from society’s grip.
I want the solace of a moment of silence, a reprieve from the stampede of your judgments stalling my way. Do you think that’s why I tossed them coincidentally, transcendentally removing the spirit of lost words to whence they come?
Yo, it’s rough on a sister out here. My neighbor says to me as I pass her by, “Nice to see you. People don’t make their judgments of important life events on temporary situations.”
“Good to see you too,” I said. “I’m so glad it’s an existential society.”
“What?” she said, mouth agape.
“You know,” I said, “we have the power to recreate ourselves continuously.”
“Oh," she said, I don’t get it, your life is so unreal to me, like a story.”
“I know, I said, “I’m so blessed to be living it.”
“People were different back in my day,” she said authoritatively.
“So glad to have entertained you,” I said making my way back into my lonely apartment hiding space.
I am back to my original thesis; do you think I deleted 5 years of emails accidentally on purpose? I feel like I’ve erased 5 years of my prior life. And really, don’t tell me. Is it that easy? Don’t be offended now when you say to me don’t you remember and I tell you I no longer remember some long forgotten email I’d previously valued which is now destroyed and only exists in some alternate cyber universe.

LET ME INVADE YOU

People grope at the shaman in me My eyes mirror yours I interpret your feelings into words Words you can’t say emerge from me Give me your hand to make the pain go away Don’t get scared when you see what I do Mostly I put me in your shoes Your feelings resonate and jive with me I absorb & neutralize your negativity Filtered by a pure white light to glimpse the other side of a long winding tunnel I seek out the gory of your story like a vampire devouring blood Those in need find me I’m there for the taking I know your story instinctively You pretend you’re hunky dory but I see you Compulsively grasp your inner need It’s all transitory anyway Let me provide shelter from the storm Peace, freedom from anxiety Let me invade your dreams, your psyche Relieve you from burning sensations, the flame inside I can heal you … invade the space inside you ~ your solitude, Heal your inner glow your flow Make you drowsy, thirsty for my spell You’ll be healed by my garden of secrets if you let me touch you I will heal your wounds, the sound as My energy courses through your veins the holiness of the moment we embrace Harmony fills the empty space Replaces your resistance Let me heal you with my inner light Nuture your might to get it right I can’t resist your grasp, your pull I will help you…

SPOT OF BLEACH

This dress is older than my son
5 years older, to be exact.
I bought it from the Indian shop
down by Columbia University,
made of light cotton muslin
nicely fitted about my waist
a bright fuchsia, opaque
my body outlined in the sun
falling gracefully from my hips,
down my big legs.

A spot of bleach fell on that dress today
leaving a white spot in its fuchsia wake
That dress reminds me of Sharon
who had more than I ever had
or ever needed, or could even dream existed
And I had been around, she less than me
But she was more widely traveled
in more fortunate circles than me

Still, I thought she was my friend
even when she said, “I can’t help it,
I’m jealous of you in that dress!”
“Why?” I said, “You have so much more
than I could ever hope for or dream of ...”

“It doesn’t make sense,” she responded,
“Somehow, you look prettier than I,
even though you’re not as slim,
as tall, as Anglo,
as cultured, as educated as I
I can’t figure out
why you look prettier than I”

Sharon, whose tarot cards I read,
two dark knights appearing ahead
one reversed, whose pursuits
I told her to reject

Sharon, whose need for company I met
at 3 a.m. while my husband coughed
bitterly in the room next to mine
when she refused to go home

Sharon, who told her tales of woe
about her latest love, her foes,
her rape when she left N.Y. for Florida
and returned to seek my solace
I thought she was my friend.

A spot of bleach fell on this dress today
Still I don’t wish to let it go
Perhaps a crocheted flower
will cover that bleached out spot
I could just throw that old dress out
I wish I could my memories
that cling like the smell of death

And I wonder if that’s how long
it takes to let go
Why even when we begin anew
the old never lets go ...
Miles of old lives travel within
our thin, threadbared own

I DONT' GET IT

If one was well enough to do everything that one needed to do to get the relief that one needed, then one wouldn’t need the help that one was attempting to get in the first place, would he?
Life is a Catch 22 of the universe.
He said, “I don’t understand why you keep on helping him.”
“I want to,” I said, “It’s a feeling I have to want to. What difference does it make to you?”
Meanwhile we waste time on bullshit. Suddenly it hits me how controlled our lives are. What served as warnings years ago has now come into play. We ignored the critics of our forefathers back in the day.
We’re tracked by GPS. Our cell phones and our credit cards are tracked. Their usage tallied and compiled daily. We’re forced to pay more than our share of taxes while the Masonry lead our government, their symbols lurking everywhere. Taxes were never meant for the small working class man like you and me, yet we pay our taxes every day, day after day.
Some refuse to see the small insidious ways we’re controlled by society and our jobs our families, our conscience which finally takes their place.
Now even Facebook and MySpace take charge and overwhelm me with enough rules to spin my head. Either I add too many or too little friends. They have trouble deciding. I’d think that adding friends would be a boon but Facebook and MySpace employees become dictators in another virtual reality.
It becomes more and more difficult to understand the world I’m living in.

INFATUATION

He’s an infaturation
a soft warm breeze
blowing by and maybe
now my husband blurts out
you want to hear
everything he says

then continues in his
rapid staccato speech
maybe now it all
seems so interesting
an interruption
in the flow of your life

Later, my husband adds
on to his diatribe, and tells
me I will tire of all the new
things my new love confides
which now make me feel so good

After all, he said, you’re tired
of your best friend’s shit
and everyone else’s
I replied, yeah I guess so
So I’ll probably get tired
of him too after 30 years or so

You know what I mean
he says, smirking in
response to my smirk
you’d be happy too
if Billy Collins made
you his protege

Yes I would I said
But I’m not Billy Collins

TWO MINDS, ONE HEART by Joy & DubbleX

I don’t have my own mind I said
Whaddaya’ mean he asked
You inhabit my mind I said
That’s a really good line he said

You inhabit my mind
All the time Joy thought up this line
Joy thought up this line so I typed it in
This computer of mine

It’s not just a line I said
You inhabit the deeper regions inside my head
How do you say that word, hypothalamus
I’ll look it up in the dictionary

My thoughts of you are extraordinary
Because you’re extra-more than ordinary
I want to lick you like a strawberry
A love like this longs for poetry

Our love breaks the laws of humanity
Humility and sanity creating a whole
New meaning for the word boundaries
As we dance through our life in poetry

Your life is my idea I say
I show him my tits in play & say
This is performance poetry at its best
I’m here at your behest
This is only the beginning test
Our lives have become an unfinished poem
Put your worries to rest he replies
We’re here today as mother earth’s guests

Not Everything Fits

We need a small plastic bin to fit all those loose wires in
The loose wires of our lives; how we live in sin
According to the laws of some men
Hey take ten, who made you fit to judge
I’m not in your league and your pledge to change humanity into fixed little square or round pegs doesn't slide with me
You can't make me fit your dimensions
I'm not an item of suspicion to be under investigation for a crime I didn't commit

One size for all, none fit me
I 'm not under your regulations

sorry I'm not part of those guidelines
I know who I am I am who I am I know who I am do you
I’m not bootleg, I'm for real

Don't try to make me fit one of your square or round pegs
I’m not under your domination
Seek another nomination to fit your criteria
Don’t pretend I’m inferior

I'm good, I'm good...

I know who I am who I am who I am

Nearby Sprain Park

view from my window

SPREADING WILDCAT FIRE

Caught on fire ~ sizzle with desire
Cause havoc when I prance cross city streets
Barely escape slaughter as I
suddenly appear out of nowhere,
the sun gleaming in my hair
You barely miss me as I spin past your fender
You smile and wave goodbye
And are glad for I
Suspend the silver gloom around you
Momentarily the
Sunshine of my heart beats
Scarlet on top purple beneath
My true colors
For you I throw in some sunset red
I tattoo myself on you
Winged fairy of time
Imprinted on your soul & memory
I raise your energy
The twitter stops
Nervous laughter
I speak my first line
Only fool falls asunder
Lightening strikes twice
And Jill came tumbling after
Jack fell down
It's beyond the fruits of my labor
She probably meant to save him
Either that or she wanted his crown
I surrender…
I learn to connect to unconnected to survive to live
In ways I couldn’t see how to before this

STORM SEASON

I’m in the rainy season of my life
Each day storm clouds gather
threateningly in the dark sky above

Rainfall in light misting then heavy sheets fall,
Big snowflakes appear midair and disappear on the wet pavement
This is the beginning of my winter of content, I’m not sure yet

The sky simmers red in between imminent storms
then mingles with purple after sundown
Upheaval seems the norm today

Tomorrow brings warm southern winds
leaving again a shimmering steel gray sky
bringing calm in its wake as I begin the winter of my content

Double Helix & Ira Lightman's public art works

Ira Lightman made an initial text art for a sheet of glass, then Dan Civico remade it as a wave of glass, and oak to get the 3D of it all. Dan took Ira's acetate printout, literally cut that up with scissors and made a much LESS symmetrical shape that Ira had then to rework the text into...

Turns out water in a river makes just this double-helix motion. Uncanny.

Photos by Eddie Galvin

Lost Landscape by Nabina Das

Bamboo flutes
That my father had played once
The leather-jacketed book
That had always been a prop on my table
The Borgeets from the Namghar
In sticky caramel noons
My teacher’s voice across the blackboard
That death silenced and
My mother’s rosebushes of hope.
What remains when blue hills weep
Or the red river goes into hiding?
Even the goddess watches from the hilltop
Squirming at slow blood oozing from
Deep coves of deathliness that
Neelachal never for once has known.
What dies when new words are born?
Not the wounds, not the burning shame.
I wonder if I still should paint
Those paddy fields, peacocks and skies
With my brush of golden taint.


I don't usually post other people's stuff but for some reason felt like deviating from that pattern, so I did.
Dunno just did? Click on title will lead to more of Nabina Das' work.

Autumn Breezes

My eyes need to rest on soft colors of nature
Soothed by blues & purple flowers with green leaves
I need to see maple trees turning red,
Queen Anne’s Lace runs rampant round here

I’ve born enough fruit to stay violet for the rest of my life
My eyes need to rest on soft colors of nature
Larkspur, Baby Blue Eyes, Forget-Me-Nots & Borage
Orange Bird of Paradise flanks the entrance to the nearby park

Exhorts me to see
Flowers before the winter breeze steals them away
From my window all I see is the steel gray hardness
A light silver sky glinting so brightly it makes my eyes squint

The farmer from Iowa tells me the cornfields all brown now
Yet inside my head
I long for chartreuse & kelly green Iowa cornfields
Swaying in the breeze
I examine velvet blue bells in the grass as I tread them beneath my feet

I feel a poem coming on like an urge to eat something sweet
A craving to see something beyond these city streets
Simultaneously the sun breaks through the harsh steel gray sky
Beckoning me outside to greet New York City streets
So many flowers spring to life in fall

Fuchsia Shooting Stars along with Saint John’s Wort & Violets
Ah, finally my eyes rest as I fest them upon a flowering dogwood tree
Scarlet tipped leaves & white blossoms
A final hurrah before the white blossoms scatter the ground
Autumns’ last blooms before fall’s first freeze

all photos courtesy of Joy Leftow unless otherwise noted

FLOODLIGHT REFLECTION

Full moon, suspended
Dangling, florescent,
golden ball, I worship thee,
viewed in your entirety
You're like my loves
Scintillating,
while they last.

Wanting a love to endure
not wax and wane like moons
Disillusioned
by desires
for love to burn eternal.

My love and I bathing in
the golden glow of moonbeam
cast upon us like a floodlight
Lie in her circle of luminesque
our bodies still and in repose
naked, arms and legs intertwined.

Motionless bodies captured
in a circle of stagelight
like a fawn caught in flight and
suddenly stilled at twilight

one leg lifted,
ears cocked
lithe body poised
frozen,
like a still life.

Floodlight reflection
cool
hot
white

photo courtesy of DubbleX

TUPELO HONEY

JoAnne is one tough broad,
Italian Irish descent
from the Northeast Bronx
Through sacrifice and dedication
JoAnne is now a nurse at
Presbyterian Medical Center

This is her story
bout a methadone baby
born addicted
on JoAnne’s ward
This boy had tupelo
honey colored skin,
and hazel brown,
almond eyes
Birth mama’s blond and curly haired
A blue eyed Nuyorican
Daddy is a dark skinned African

Mama named the baby Shonequon
The nurses called him “Sweet”
Sweet’s a boarder baby who
lived on the ward
for 2 and a half months
BCW tryin to decide
what to do with that tiny
methadone addicted baby

Now me amiga esta sin ninos
she has no children
e quiere uno mucho
she wants one very badly
so she fell in love with Sweet
talked about him constantly

JoAnne said,
Sweet is cryin all the time
He holds his body rigid
his cryin is so fitful
Kindled by the pain
cause Sweet’s addicted to meth
and this is how he sounds
eeehhhhhh
eeeehhhhhh
eeeehhhhhh
eeehhhhhh

Sweet’s tiny fists
are always clenched
his spindly arms crossing
his scrawny chest
This baby can’t relax!
He’s got a monkey on his back
Sweet’s addicted to meth

The Doctor confides
he wishes he could
keep Sweet tranquilized
cause he’s screamin so fretfully
eeehhhhhh
eeehhhhhh
eeehhhhhh

JoAnne loves to nurture Sweet
She embraces him reverently
comforts him with
the rhythm of her heart
she whispers soothing sounds
cajolingly,

her voice falls like soft waves
caresses tender hollows
of his frail anatomy
her soft warm breath
glides down his velvet neck
Sweet responds with purring sounds

JoAnne’s gentle devotions
linger on
like a mango blossom’s scent
fragrant on a breeze
Sweet watches her giddily
clinging with his
tightly gripped fists

Yesterday Sweet smiled for the
very first time
JoAnne bragged
as though he were her own
Sweet, my boarder baby
is delayed in his response
and yesterday was the
first time
God graced me with his smile

Her eyes rimmed with blurring droplets
Dewdrops silhouette
I love him, she said
I want him to be mine
Even though he’s HIV
and surely won’t survive
I want him to be mine

Child Welfare lets his Mama visit
she hardly came at all
Daddy was there
mostly every day
but he was always drunk

Today they let her come and
take my Sweet away
Honey, JoAnne said,
This baby’s in a lot of pain
he suffers from anxiety

You don’t have to hold him
24 and 7,
but you need to let him
see your face
smiling, talking
into his

Sweet’s Mama answered
I know mucho more than you do
let me tell you somethin’
You don’t know what I been through
All my kids are born on meth
and that’s the way it’s always been


The baby started fussin’ then
his spindly arms
clenched across
his scrawny chest
eeehhhhhh
eeehhhhh
eeehhhhhh

Sweet opened up his eyes
and focused on JoAnne
reaching out his scrawny arms

But Mama reached the baby first
and took him from his crib
Esta te quieto, nino
she said as she rocked him
dispiritedly
to her methadone beat
Esta te quieto, nino

It’s gonna be okay Mama said
Grandma said she’s gonna help,
She’s carin’ for my other five
My oldest girl’s gonna be there too
And like I told ya,
All my kids are born on meth
And that’s the way it’s always been,
but we know how to get by.

Bits & Pieces

Poetry is like life in that it develops its own processes & changes form over time recreating itself over & over again, like we do in our lives. I return to older works and either recycle or recreate using pieces, thus I create a new poem from old work.

I don’t know if it’s the physical mental or emotional anguish that’s worse. I’ve had all 3. Do you know which is worse? Does it matter if I have a preference or choice? Do I get to choose this time?

Ira Lightman's public works

Ira Lightman had a call out (on his facebook page) for people to read his 2 columned poetry. Ira is a surrealist dada-ist artist, his work encompassing these forms & more. He takes on a great many artistic & intellectual projects that become well known in UK & sometimes are spotlighted on the BBC news. You can turn off my auto player at the very bottom of this blog :~) & turn on his player here in this post to hear our voices.

LIVING THE POEM

I observe U creating the drama of your life
Playing people as though they were instruments
Instinctively knowing the keys to their rhythms
Examining each key hypnotically
Studying how each key responds to your touch
Philosophically reporting your observations & thoughts
I get caught up in watching myself watching the I & I
U stroke each note lyrically, responsively
Using that special touch while making me keeper of your rhythms
Your memories and words become stories
Tales to be told about the before and after we became I & I
Like a poem waiting to be written challenging the one already read
I watch U play the blues leaving the U I know behind
I wonder where Ur going and who U will be
You’re playing the game of living
Tuning the world to the rhythms of your life
Each chess move counters another chess move
Am I a pawn in Ur life or someone else’s
I don’t have time to analyze this
U fine-tune the guitar chords exhorting beats from my heart
Ecstasy runs thru my veins with each melody your hands produce
I watch the world thru your eyes
Isn’t that what poets philosophers & all artists do
Translate words images and ideas into thunder
Mimic & play with our world gone asunder
Turn ideas into screenplays, turn words into books
Turn words into hypotheses in our attempts to produce & create
A safer more productive world for humanity

A rose by any other name...

What does a Siamese cat have to do with poetry & a book give away? Read on to find out!
Leave a comment in the blog to be put in a draw for 3 giveaways of my book, A Spot Of Bleach & Other Poems and Prose.
Folks I am not a traditional writer. Strangely enough DubbleX & I had the following conversation this morning.
DubbleX said about Cleo, my cat, "She's an unusual Siamese."
"She is," I agreed. "She's officially called an exotic oriental short hair."
"I don't understand," DubbleX said.
"The reason for that," I explained, "is because The Cat Fanciers' Association hasn't decided that flame point Siamese ought to be included in the designation Siamese. This in spite of the fact that the flame point has all the same points as every other Siamese cat. She has bright blue eyes with a pointy face and flame color shading on her back deepening as she matures. My cat is an outcast among her own kind. Born to a tortoise point Siamese mother bred to a exotic oriental flame point male. Thus flame point Cleo is not called a Siamese. "
"That's funny," DubbleX said.
"Funny how?" I asked.
"The way you tell the story," he says "plus it reminds me of your poetry."
"Explain," I say.
"Well," he says, "You said there are poets out there who criticize your narrative style & the way you write and they don't consider your work poetry."
"That's true," I said. "Because my poetry tells a story, and is not all about the metaphor."
"I like the way you write," DubbleX said. "Your words have an impact, they make me feel & experience things. They make me think too plus I understand them. I don't have to work hard to interpret what you're saying. I like the way each poem tells a story."
"Yes, the impact is what counts. Sometimes though the impact makes people so angry that they hate my work. You don't know how many times people have told me I'm not a poet."
"They're wrong," said DubbleX, "You are a poet. You have your own style with your own rhythm and energy. Not everyone can see. Your poetry combined with your energy reminds me of sitting, listening to the blues."
I thought about this conversation more as the day wore on. I thought about how this related to my entire life, I'm an outcast Jew, an outcast poet, and now I have a cat named Cleo who is an outcast Siamese flame point cat who is called an exotic oriental cat.

Blog Give Away

I woke DubbleX this morning with a Cinnabun paper bag in my outstretched hand. "Pick one," I directed, "it's for our blog give away". DubbleX picked Mr. Bernard Alain's name on a folded sticky note out of the bag.
Mr. Alain is the winner of last weeks blog give away. I will be contacting him directly!
Thanks to all who participated.

Tattoo me

Thought some of you might enjoy seeing my alter ego tattooed on my upper right shoulder. There are many symbols included in this tat. Take some time to examine the symbols. Myke Maldonado (friend & artist) from Dreamland.com & I combined our efforts to design this. It took 4 trips & approximately 12 hours to complete. Click on the photo for a larger pic.

Live & Let Live

I learned in my maturing process that it is the overcoming of obstacles that simultaneously causes me the most pain and pleasure. Sometimes when I’ve done what I feel I’m chosen to do, it causes problems for others around me. We cause disappointment and suffering to our proclaimed friends, our appointed guardians, our children, any of the people we know in our flow of life. Sometimes my words make people squirm. I’ve also discovered life has a flow with friends too. Sometimes there is a flow of everything I know. Various flows happen to me daily. Mostly I see, sometimes I don’t.
It is my nature to jump first and ask questions later. This life long habit has caused me problems but like most humans when I err it is on the side of trying to do the right thing. Very often in my leaps of faith I have helped other people. I’m not bragging about this; it is my nature to be helpful and I’ve always done it. I consider it my inborn talent and strength. It is this nature that made me become a social worker and writer. I accede that under most usual conditions most humans will try to do right thing. Spike Lee’s movie was his device to make us wonder what is the right thing to do?
When I decide I must do something my decision may cause someone near to me pleasure or pain. Likewise any choice I make may cause me pleasure or pain. I don’t make decisions in a vacuum. Neither is any choice going to give me one hundred percent pleasure or one hundred percent pain. So everything must be weighed out like a chore, a balance scale of life when I make choices. Most of all I am a survivor filled with hope and desires for my future.
When I progress, I feel pleasure in becoming unstuck. Think about this. What is the alternative to moving ahead? The answer that strikes me here is death. The primary obstacle to moving ahead is to remain the same with all your sorrows and regrets, or you move ahead with a different set of sorrows and regrets. Life contains all; pleasure, pain and hope. Hope keeps me going. Sometimes it’s not about wrong or write (please forgive the pun, I can’t help it.) and it’s not a matter of sorrows or regrets. Sometimes life is about moving ahead. Sometimes it’s about sorrows and regrets. Sometimes life is for living and not being still. Sometimes I meditate and like to be still. Sometimes I meditate and like to be in motion.
I write of a different type of movement, not a parallel movement but a movement that leaves old things behind to begin anew - using new building blogs (forgive another pun). New can strengthen my spirit when old ideas crumble. Spiritual nourishment is ideal.
Sometimes I meet someone and feel a special pull. I don’t know what the pull means and I must decide how to respond to that pull. I may decide this is meant to be but perhaps this decision is an excuse to move in the direction I want desire or need. Some people inspire, some people relate, some do both. I am still that jumper who is a known chance taker. Many people have told me I’m a blessing in their life. I assume they say this because it’s true. Seers have called me a reborn fallen angel. I strive constantly with my power and the talent I was born with. I’ve nurtured my powers (talents included) with love and dedication. My powers have grown. Making wrong or right choices can build my power too. I must live with my choices and always move forward. I value that place in my life and in your life where we strive towards betterment. It is this common striving and our connections to one another, that make us human and makes life worth living.

Blog Give Away

I've seen other people have giveaways on their blog & every time I've seen it I've thought, ooohhh that is so cool! I decided to do one too. If you sign in to my blog and leave a comment, I will take a scrap of paper - write your name on it, mix them all up & pick one out of the bag. I will then ship this beautiful -still-in-shrink-wrap-brand-new-book- to you. This will happen when there is a sufficient number of people to mix up several slips in a paper bag to keep it fair .

The Beautiful Struggle: Street attitude from South Africa's Townships (Hardcover) by Mlamli Figlan (Foreword), Per Englund (Photographer)

The book sells at Amazon for $22.76 & can be yours for the price of a blog check.

Enjoy!
Much love ~ Joy

Friendship

The world continues to become more anonymous with online networking. I have an entire set of contacts on fb & elsewhere who I will probably never meet in person . Contacts I nurture to promote myself & DubbleX & sometimes other writers too. I give myself credit for this networking because before me DubbleX had never been published. He told me before I worked with him no one else had ever encouraged his writing. I have faith in his writing. I got his first poem published before we actually became a couple. D isn't the kind to bother with submitting or reading things. He works more on the creative instinctive side. Perhaps it is my personality that is better suited to networking combined with creative pursuits. D still insists he is happy to have me submit his things but he's already very busy. This makes my busy life even more busy. I try to manage my time to get everything done that needs doing. 

You'd be shocked if you knew all the shit I pack in one day without even mentioning daily vacuuming & cat littler cleaning plus all our other daily routines. This morning when I opened my internet mail there was a letter from a woman who began as an internet contact. She was searching for a cat. I had recently rescued one so I invited her over to see the black and white beauty. At that time, over three years ago, when I met her she was going through a lot. When I took her home with her new cat it seemed like her apartment was in shambles. I worried that she didn't have food or the fortitude to care for an animal. I showed up several times with soup & bread I had made in addition to some cat food. 

Surprisingly over the next few weeks my friend's condition improved. My friend, Niambi, began to clean up & throw out the unneeded garbage filling the small space in which she lived. She told me the cat helped her to rearrange the order in her life and that he'd actually guide her in what needed to be done. Niambi, needless to say, is also an artist. We actually performed together in a show I put together called the The Art Stroll, which takes place up in my neck of the woods. Since Niambi lives in Harlem which is generally included in our area, I was able to include her. Niambi is primarily an actress and singer but she also writes. As proof of this I am including in today's blog the poem I received from her this morning which got me to do what she wanted. I called her immediately. I am sharing it here because it is a good poem & also to show how our lives get so complicated we forget how important keeping in touch is to those around us who care for us & depend on our contact. GIVE ME SOME CONTACT by Niambi Steele I just wanna know one thing-- do you ever speak on the telephone anymore Or has that part of life become too much of a chore Duly noted is the genius of your epitomes and metaphors But Jesus Christ I wanna get back to the used to bes and gone befores I know that isn't fair to your new found sense of discoveries and recoveries But have a heart for us old farts that still live in our reveries and miseries Some of us just want our friends to be a familiarity Not a new design on a runway like a freaked out fashion week. I want to be part of your joyous new discoveries But it’s hard to imagine someone who remains such a mystery. I've never even been introduced to the new man in your world But every time I turn around I'm forced to meet him in the words he's learned to twirl. I'd like to meet him at a gathering meant for more than just you two I feel so out of place meeting him through you The world I live in is populated and free The world you live in seemingly has no place for me... ... and I feel it every time I get electronic, cyber sonic word windfalls Instead of incoming, purposeful, personal phone calls.

CLITTER-CLATTER OF CITY NOISES

The sounds outside pull me, grate at my insides
My line got lost in the breeze, the sound spread wide
By helicopter blades whirring busily by
The noise becomes louder in my head
Assaulting my senses engorged and fed
I feel the sound right here in bed
It bursts in thru my open window
Along with politics, sex, lies & videotape
Everyone watching everyone creates, mouths all agape
I keep telling you – we’re all in this together son!
Everyone trying to emulate innovate
Be different yet somehow stay the same
Men in hard hats drilling on the rooftop
Facing me, I want them to stop
I run downstairs but there’s nowhere to go
There’s no escaping the sound inside my head
I can’t escape the crazy lady downstairs from me
Mornings I lay on the floor to stretch and hear her talk radio loudly –
Consistently persistently working it’s way up to my head
This same woman had the nerve to come to my apartment and yell
At us on a restful Sunday afternoon watching a quiet movie
Her banging disturbs me;
I was enjoying the movie smoke signals
On the door insistently banging annoyingly cloyingly
Banging me I throw the door open finally
She stands before me talking about noise
I tell her never to darken my doorstep again
She’s another schoolyard bully drunken with power
About an unforeseen abuse
It only happened once
Samoa jumped up & down from couch to ground
DubbleX said Samoa did it once then again & again
Samoa told Daddy it was so much fun
Then Godzilla loudly invaded our space
Once is once too many
My senses are assaulted daily

THAT FLAIR by dubblex & Joy

Room for exploration
want to touch every part of your body
like I was running for president
your body is the nation
want all parts of you to vote
for my sexual sensation
I saw something there
beyond the clothes you wear,
that sexy glare
something there you were unaware
you possessed this flair
wanted to share this brown skin
with your fair short red hair
and matching trim
so fine and fair that short red hair
I had to get to know you better
And I can’t figure out why
Whose ticket do I have to pay
To get to know which play
Comes next in this game
It can’t always be the same
I won’t always be this tame
I can catch this moment of fame

I GOT MAD SKILLZ

I crochet colorful dread caps for my love
Make them perfectly fit to his head
Especially made to hold his dreads
I do macramé write poetry & prose
Became a macramé expert after only one day
I match & coordinate color schemes naturally
stitch my own clothes
make things with my hands

Cuz I got mad skillZ

I throw foods together to make a feast without meaning to
Create a variety of dishes to please your palate
Make U hungry for food & me
Before you know it you’re addicted to me
Cuz I make sex like a whore in or out of bed
Like a sex machine never running out of steam

Cuz I got mad skillZ

I hit you up with words
Words powerful enough to make you feel things you don’t want to feel
My words sting & thrust, make you laugh
My words resonate with you

Cuz I got mad skillZ

Like an alchemist I use words to create something from nothing
When you hear my words you know you exist
You may want to escape the page real fast cuz
I draw reality from dreams & write with new themes
I heal wounds with the power of my words

I can be what ever I want to be
And do what I want to do
I will give you a fresh start in life becuz
I carry diamonds in my heart
Which I share & instill in you

Cuz I got mad skillZ

DECIMATION AT BEST

I expect changes
The sudden flow of colors this coming fall
Not better - not worse, a different perspective. Better or worse…
Let it satisfy humanity to say with jealousy that happiness is our common striving – our goal-
Let it be further said everyone complains
The leaves have turned red - they’re turning orange then gold
Rains come as they’re expected to
The storm whips the leaves off trees with a fast blowing breeze
Winter revisits again the tops of trees without leaves
Leaves disintegrate - turn to dust
A barren world all - about me,
A strange world - mothers have to find new ways to procreate
Men’s sperm count has found a way to degenerate
Yes I know about Charlie Chaplin
Not every man is he
The world has turned to dust
Compared to what it used to be
Our American natives
Our forcefully immigrated slaves
Our citizens descended from prisoners given refuge here – in a brand new land
What do you think those forefathers would say if they saw how we all are
Hostages to gas & electricity
The evening meal destroyed
By addiction to
TV; video games night & day
The simplicity of our lives drowned out by the missile wars
The noise of airplanes high above; the train roars by
Lord - give me peace from the insanity
From wars about religion, crimes against children,
Control of resources on foreign soils
Perpetual invasions
Give me peace from this agony
The world spins out of control
Where are the common goals
The I & I – our wants matter less & less
Generations continue
Mother earth is destroyed
No one loves her anymore
Drowned in hostile fluids created to abuse mankind,
Makes our forests and animals disappear
Her oil removed from her intestines
How long can she suffer this abuse
Will we humans ever be content to leave well enough alone

Sometimes I forget...

Sometimes I forget that it's nice to post things in several places for people to see. I posted my interview with What Makes Poets Tick on our profile with the wikipedia link and am also going to put them here for you to peruse.

RAINY SEASON

I’m in the rainy season of my life
Each day the dark sky above
threatens to storm clouds gather
The rainfall begins as light misting then gets heavy,
big snowflakes fall and disappear on the wet pavement
This is the beginning of my winter of content, I’m not sure yet

The sky simmers red in between imminent storms
then mingles with purple after sundown
Upheaval seems the norm today
while tomorrow brings warm southern winds
leaving again a shimmering steel gray sky
bringing calm in its wake as I begin the winter of my content

15 minute of fame

An open moment to eternity
Fastidious & attached as I am to so many tremendous moments
I live in the day Warhol predicted
An open heart mends wounds
Are you for or against
On their side or mine
Is it them or is it us
Or is there even any us anymore
Who is us anymore anyway
I don’t know
An open wound
A bleeding ulcer seeking to be healed
A headache that covers wide world news
& closer to home news too,
All news is bad news
Except the rescued puppy thrown in to control you
A news forecast makes everything worse –
See what happens if you ignore the news a week or two
Act like you’re on Pluto
Ignore my bleak forecast of doom
All of us doomed as we all are anyway
The more you do - the more gets done
When you stop doing there’s no more to do
Another open wound
Always the dream remains of
Another go-round

What? What you say?

I said to DubbleX & he fully agreed, "when there's nothing left to do I stop doing. I guess that's why I keep going - because I'm caught up in the struggle to maintain a life. If there's no going there's no life."

The History of DubbleX & I

Thing is we met we were at our lowest ebbs. We were both sad about many things. DubbleX had his sad things. I had mine. I’ll tell how we met.
We met at Louder Arts downtown. Honestly – I know this sounds conflicted because I’m a very friendly outgoing person, but it’s difficult to push myself out the door to go read anywhere. I had wanted to go to Louder Arts for so long it was now silly. That’s me – all bottled up in my fears & anxieties. You know writers. Mongo called me & invited me to gay night. I said OK.
Mongo and I met at Au bon Pain. He says, “You’re gonna love it.” I’m skittish, a new venue I’ve never been to before. Hell, I have the bear with me – a teddy bear so I’m safe. We’re seated and this big very tall brown-skinned dude with dreads stands to my left gazing at the seat on which parts of me and my belongings are spread. Being the friendly type I bustle my big ass over a few inches to make room for the big brown dude with dreads. I got my shit together and put it on my lap.
I caught him looking at me.
“Hey,” I said, “I’m Joy.”
“Is it your first time here, Joy?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Mongo took me here tonight. I always wanted to come before but somehow I never got here.” Then I explained the whole gay theme poetry night as Mongo had explained it to me; that you first read a gay poet’s poem and then one of your own.
“Nobody ever talked to me this much here before,” he said.
“Oh…really,” I said.
“Why’s that?” I said, “You shy?”
“A little,” he said his eyes penetrating mine.
“I like your dreads,” I said flirtatiously.
“You do?” he said acting surprised.
"What?" I asked because he was staring at me so strangely.
“No one’s ever said that to me before.”
I was like where’s this dude been if he’s never run into anyone like me.
“They really look sweet. Can I touch them?”
He stared at me for a long time – his eyes holding mine. I felt him in the pit of my belly.
“You didn’t answer,” I said our eyes still holding.
“I …I,” he stammered, “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“Oh … Really,” I said. I was touched - like - where’s this gem been hidden?
“OK,” I said. “So can I touch them or not because you still haven’t answered me. I’ve always wanted to touch dreads but never had the opportunity.”
“Sure,” he said, “If you wanna.”
“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want‘a,” I shot back, reaching over to touch his dreads while he bent his head slightly towards me to provide easy access.
I let my hands feel the coolness. I squeezed to feel the springiness. I held several coils in my hand. He looked at me through his dreads. I looked back. I closed my eyes for a moment to feel. I opened them. Dubblex was watching me through the lens of his glasses. I stared back smiling. We kept quiet mostly after the show began.
It was fun. I read one of Mongo’s poems. He gave me a few to choose from. Mongo’s poetry is cool. He has many styles. I read one of Mongo’s then one of mine. What’s most cool the about the Louder Arts thing is the rule. I particularly like it that no one is permitted to take up more time than allowed. I really appreciate that feature and find it very respectful to all the rest of us poets waiting our turns.
Afterwards Mongo, DubbleX and I were chatting. Mongo says he walks to his place from here and it’s not far. DubbleX and I are looking at each other because neither of us has said yet where we live.
I say, “I got a long trip uptown,”
“Probably not as far as me,” he challenged.
“Oh … really,” I said, “Where do you live?”
“Inwood,” he said. “Do you know where that is?”
Mongo laughed because he knows I’m from the Heights.
“I live up there,” I laughed too. “I need to take the #1. What do you take?
“I take the A usually but if you take the #1, I’d rather ride with you.” He said
Mongo and I looked at each other then bear-hugged.
DubbleX & I split Louder Arts & talked the entire walk/ride uptown. I handed him my card. it’s nice to partner up for readings. Sometimes people call, sometimes they don’t. It’s a sometimes world.
DubbleX called me the day after we met. I was out but my man at the time picked up the phone & gave me the message. DubbleX called the second day as well. I was home. He told me very personal things about himself and I immediately responded, “I’m a social worker with a lot of skills, let me help you.”
Don’t ask me to tell you what possessed me to say that. Suffice it to say that helping people is part of my nature & is the reason why I went to get my masters in social work in the first place. I had been doing it my entire life anyway.
I’ve reflected & written tons of poems about my life since before I met DubbleX & how things are now. Somehow it boiled down to me being hostage to my expectations. It’s all mixed up for me. To make a long story short, the two of us decided to take that leap and live & grow together.
DubbleX has managed to be more productive than ever before. He says his hair has never grown this fast before and attributes its fast growth to our relationship as he does his sudden productive artistic growth. Should I argue with genius?
Let me tell you – this has been one hell of a trip for both of us. Things have never been the same with either one of us since that day we met. Mongo says it’s his entire FAULT; he takes CREDIT it for it all!

I rescued a baby pitbull today

Things have been a little rough the last week. Since last Tuesday I have been in terrific pain. I have acid reflux & hiatal hernia plus I've always had a very sensitive stomach. Put that together with eating tainted fruit and see what you come up with. I ate a container of fresh figs and a couple were molded. I threw those out. But you know how it is with fruit, if it's not clean... Yes, I did wash it but mold can travel through it. Because of that I pretty much laid up all week & cried from the pain. Friday I went to the doctor, but she had no clue. She gave me Aciphex which gave me a severe headache. I looked it up online and learned that headache is an allergic reaction to it. Today I saw the specialist who is going to do a colonoscopy and endoscopy at the same time in October. (Yuk) He gave me Prilosec which I tolerate better.
After I finished at the doctor, I picked up DubbleX at his job so we could go to the gym together. We went to the gym, did our workout, then drove home and parked the car in the lot on Tenth Avenue. On the way back to the apartment, we walked through Isham Park where you have to walk up hundreds of stairs. Partway up I heard a rustling in the bushes. I asked DubbleX to stop and hold my bag for me. I couldn't believe what I thought I saw. I went into the bushes and there was this gorgeous pit bull puppy about 3 months old. He was all white with big floppy ears and a long skinny tail. He had several black spots and inside the black spots were orange spots. The puppy was affectionate and sweet. I love pits whose tails & ears are intact. The poor thing seemed hungry in the bushes eating leaves and chewing on sticks, so I decided to let him chew on me instead.
I went and got him. A man stopped to talk to us and gave the baby a can of cat food which he gobbled up. The dog had a small collar and leash on. We walked down to Broadway, stupid me thinking his owner had lost him. He was a good dog and stopped to piddle along the way. The big dude seated in front of the bar rolling his stoogies said some guy walked up to him said "hey you want this dog for free?" and when he said no, the guy continued walking up and down the street asking several other folk if they wanted the dog. When no one took the baby, the guy just took him in the park and left him there.
I began calling dog people I know, but no one wanted the baby. One woman said maybe. She agreed to see the dog. As I walked towards her apartment to meet her, she called me back and said she changed her mind because her landlord wrote her a letter warning her that although he was sorry her dog died she better not get a new one. By that time I was in front of her building and she looked out the window to see the pup. She oohed and ahhed about his beauty while leaning out the window talking to me on the phone.
Some young girl came out of the building with her family. She got very interested in the pitbull & said her cousin was looking for a baby pit, because she already had a grown pit and wanted a companion for her. She called the woman and the woman came down to meet the dog. When the woman saw how beautiful and young the baby was (he sat and wagged his tail while she examined his teeth) she couldn't resist. Denise and I hugged and she told me about her other dog. Luckily for DubbleX and our three cats, Denise decided to take Mr. Gorgeous home after all.

I AM ME I THINK I AM BECOME THE ME I WANT TO BE

I am a woman of great mind & desire blended with creativity
I am a woman who's survived much
And lives with my dreams
I am a blend of us all, although I may not be the part
you hold dearest to yourself
I am your wildest dreams & fantasy
I can be me or you or who you want me to be
I could be you and step inside your shoes too
I’d rather be me inside of me
Then you inside of yourself
I’ll do me & you do you
Then we’ll both do fine for ourselves

No Contest but check Michael Moore preview: Election Guide 2009

I cried last night after I got over the shock of who McCain picked. I cried because I'm still not convinced that there's not some deeper underlying conspiracy theory here. I cried because I'm also still not convinced that Obama will really win. Of course he has my vote.

Yes, I know you've heard it all, but how do you explain it that the one president we had who was Catholic was killed? How do you explain that the Freemason symbol adorns our dollar bills and that every president we've had has been a member.

I cried because I read Michael Moore's Election Guide and saw the truth written there.

The Democrats appear to be professional losers. They are so pathetic at their ability to win elections they even lose when they win! Al Gore won the 2000 election, but for some strange reason, he didn't become the President of the United States. If you are unable as a party to get the landlord to turn over the keys to a house that is yours, what the hell good are you?

Do we all remember our outrage & impotence back then. And Katrina??? How many Katrinas & 9/11's do we have to suffer before we get it.

How many Democrats does it take to lose the most easily winnable election in American history? Not many. Just a few "close advisers" to Barack Obama who tell him a bunch of asinine stuff and he ends up listening to them instead of his own heart. As the party hacks in the past two elections have proven, once they get the candidate's ear, they rest of us might just as well go all van Gogh on ourselves with ours

If Obama is going to listen to his handlers who want to take care of the "Michelle" problem, they're eliminating the charm of his campaign. If he begins to discuss how he is going to deal with the Iran Israel problem with punitive methods, he falls into the trap of agreeing with the scum we're trying to rid ourselves from. Four more years of McCain is four more with GW Bush.

Here's what Obama said: "The danger from Iran is grave, it is real, and my goal will be to eliminate this threat."
and
". . . Let there be no doubt: I will always keep the threat of military action on the table to defend our security and our ally Israel. Sometimes there are no alternatives to confrontation."

Why he would say this is obvious, he's trying to gain supporters from the Republican side. But then why would the Republicans pick an imitation when they can have the real thing.

Hope is all I'm left with; that & the desire to create a better world to leave to our children tomorrow.

Self Publishing - check links to Dan Poynter & Danny O. Snow

These two guys, Dan Poynter & Danny O. Snow, have been running a website and publishing books about self publishing for the longest. If any of you writers out there (and by all indications there are a lot of you) are considering the do's and don'ts of self publishing, these guys have it down to a science. You don't have to buy their book. You can read them online and subscribe to their website for free. They only send their newsletter to subscribers who they have plenty of. Their tip of the month makes sense too, that if you have a book that will be in production during October, November or December, use a 2009 copyright date so it won't look like your book's outdated when January rolls around. As Robert Brewer said in one of his hints, don't bother to self publish at all until you have a decent number of your poems published elsewhere, both online and paper books.
Check these dudes out if you're going the way of many others to self publish...
Holla!....

Survived The Accident

On Tuesday afternoon a city bus ran right into the rear end of my beloved Prius. Although there's a slight dent my rear brake & signal light are intact. Only the outside bottom shield of the rear light is cracked a very little bit. I picked out the plastic and put book tape over the crack so I can use it until it's replaced without it shorting out from any possible rain storm.
Can you imagine we fucking got hit by a New York City Transit Authority Bus and neither of us was hurt. The bus was picking up and discharging passengers on 135th & Riverside and I was in the 3rd lane making a left when the bus swerved out at too fast & at too much of an angle. He just smacked my beautiful black Prius in the ass. Dig this - only a slight dent. Some people may whine about this pain in the ass, but hey, that's all it is, a pain in the ass. It's not a major life problem, it's my car. The fortuitous omen about the event is that DubbleD & me are safe & sound, not a scratch on us. Pain in the ass is the $110 I have to pay to put a new light because even though only the cover is damaged on the outside shell, the entire light fixture must be replaced. Replacing the light means total removal of the fender. Can you imagine? Simple becomes complicated. Isn't that the way of life?
Hey I have an angel looking over my shoulder because by now I should've been dead a dozen times. I am fortunate to be here today to share this with you.

"Psss Let Me Tell You A Secret!" (girls only)

All right I'm gonna reveal the secret. The time is sworn. Today I had some time off for good behavior after a fully loaded built in drama. No thank god it didn't concern the baby mama. But on to more important girlie talk.
I'm coming down off my writing spree where I've been writing about writing & reading, writing poems or articles & interviews, & writing my novel. I have to come down from all that to talk plain girl-talk shit.
The other day, Vanessa Martir, one of my homies, told me where to go to buy my next bra. She said, "You've got to visit Victoria's Secret when I complained about my recent & unsuccessful bra search. Thank you Vanessa. I found some really cute bras and now I'm waiting for my coupons so I can buy more of them.
Can you believe it gals that before this I didn't have a clue as to how to make my tits look like a shelf. Then this gal helping me at VS says, this is our shelfari bra. Anyway this was great fun but annoying too. It took a lot of work to find the perfect bra with the perfect fit, but I admit I am now sold, VS is the place to go.
I had to try on about 8 bras before I found the one with the perfect fit. From there it went fast and suddenly I had 6 perfect fits. I decided to only take 3 because of the special coupon deal that came with the credit card application. Through all this DubbleD waited patiently for me. He got busy with his poetry and likely just forgot about me when I suddenly reappeared. He was relieved and hungry to see me in my new clothes which he deserved after all that patient waiting.
I can't believe I'm writing about this but what good are secrets if they're not shared. Psss, it's my secret 2!!!!

thinking reading & writing

My characters come alive when I write them and very often I am acting entire scenes out while writing ... or so it would seem to anyone watching me. This is great for writing dialogue because when you speak your characters' lines you know when they ring true.
DD says he never did this before but by watching me he observes how it helps me. I do this with my narrative poetry as well. I love friends with keen ears too. I like to read to people from my book or new poetry. Either. Somehow either way - I'm not exactly what you expect me to be. I've been compared to post modernist and confessional style poets but the truth is, at the time I was being accused of following or imitating them, I had never read Ginsberg or Sylvia Plath. I was too busy writing 10 to 30 page term papers several times each term. I didn't have time for much else besides being a part time mom. Back then, I didn't do a lot of creative writing except for my journals. I went to Columbia for 8 straight years to get a B.A. & M.S.W.. Before that was me & my GED.
It's kind of amazing when you consider that drop out Joy became the ivy league drop in and now has two masters degrees. Colombia is tough and competitive - I kid you not. To maintain a 3.3 average is a full time job. After I finally graduated and settled into a J. O. B., I began writing again. It's hard out here for us poets and writers.
The point is that sometimes it's a deterrent when you really are difficult to pigeonhole. When you sound truly like you and no one else - it's harder to fit in anyplace. People say they want creative and unique because that is what we're all trained to say. The truth is sometimes the feeling you get from reading someone and feeling uncomfortable can be ok too and has its own power. Not everyone can love me or you or anyone else's work. Some people are naturally more controversial and colorful. It's the way life goes. "Explore ... Search for more, no more prisoners of war..."
Celebrating page 170 on my grind plus maintaining this blog and writing poetry too...
Oh and I forgot and working on the magazine and two anthologies!