One wise-man

Forced off a boat
some two-years old,
Dropped like a Parcha
in freezing snow.

Known by any number of names,
"Ka-jermo", fuckhead,
asshole, wetback, spic.

Beaten raw like swollen fruit.
By the blue-eyed monster
who took up suit
By Busting lips and
long-lost roots,
With plenty of help
from the Sisters of Immersion.
and my grandmother's Icons

Under the watchful eye of
Saint "fill-in-the-fucking-blank",
Ol' Blue-eyes forced
one daughter into becoming a woman,
before it was time

His deep, brown eyes,
seeing more then they could bear,
turned to scotch and whiskey,
and salty air.

A wild Rocinante,
of black-out proportions,
with hell-bent fists,
that burnt like hot embers,
a heart bleeding with triste

Then comes the news of
her brutal murder...
over the TV static
and the water-hole's clamor.
14 year-old sister,
snuffed out in an instant.
No one say a word.
Blue-eye's a suspect.


28 years,
come and gone now
without even a sip.
Still hardened, but less now,
with loss of
vision

He seems to soften
with each new, inflection.
It seems time's not so static,
for anger's resignation.

Then two days before Christmas Eve,
cops get called to see my Aunt's
newly-bruised face,
delivered by the Prodigal son
of my maternal race,
who left Costa Rica
in a bit of a haste.

Exploited funds of
"third world" markets.
Fucked one too many,
until someone caught it,
Left tracks of questionable mud,
on Aunt's expensive
carpet.

So up she quit,
a man-made town,
dropped a baby in my lap,
some 120 pounds.
40 of that gone now,
she lay here beside me.
Two lives resurrected--
two slow deaths averted.

Sham and son
no sooner did follow,
tried to reclaim
what's no longer theirs now,
with banging and howls.

Sham proclaiming "do what is right!"
While "Auntie Resigned"
turned into "Fright Night",
Spitting Linda-Blair-style venom,
She sent shoulder-pads flying.
Left Annie, alone, shaken and crying.

But loyal is she, the one who is loved,
baby-girl stood by,
because she knew who's she was.

And underestimated is it,
that clear shot of Annie's,
Still got a good eye with
enough grit to bear it.

And a warrant lay out there
in cyberspace, still.
Plenty of dimes around now,
Many slots left to fill.

"if danger comes,
I'll be in your corner"..

drink again this Passiflora,
You see these nucleotides here,
are way out of order.
Some truth lay hidden,
Though Laius be dead now.

With a nod of the head
and a pat on the shoulder.
I struck up deal with a
forlorn father.
"Guillermo?" I asked.
"Yes, YOU are my daughter."


On Christmas Day,
the moon burst
big, bright and yellow,
Un milagro in Minga valley
with no bells or whistles,
No gold, no frankincense, no myrrh
and no manger,
Just some water-downed coffee
and enough truth to stir,

A swirl of elixir,
in both word and in gesture
reawakening the spirit
of this dying daughter...

Christmas is Off!

I've been disinvited.

You know why?

I found my Glamour Gals showcase in my Memere's attic a few weeks ago. I posted it in my albums. It's still in mint condition. Look at it!

Apparently, my Glamourousness has elicited the ire of a few of my "so-called" friends. You know, I just wish they would try and understand how hard it is to maintain such Glamour. It's 24-7, people. You think it's so easy. And being that I'm 3 inches tall and I live in a display case all day long, except for those rare moments where I get to have dinner with the Glamour Guy, when he's not round back doin' Glamour Cowgirl. And I'm not even allowed to eat anything. I just stare at the red table-cloth in a ketonic daze.

And let's not even talk about the arches in my feet---my heels haven't touched the ground in a good 12 years. This business is a full-time job and I really don't need all you haters hatin' on me.

It's Christmas time, dammnit and I deserve a little more understanding. You all think it's so easy at the top. You can all go straight to hell, I tell you! I don't mean to curse, but please stop taking pictures of me at Carl Junior's. That was a one time deal and it was an herbal cigarette, okay?

Sweeney Todd was amazing and made my boobs hurt.

So, yes. Nickole and Tina. Two righteous chicks. Nickole is a costume designer. Tina sings and acts. Both are also obsessed with Sondheim. We decided to "dress up" for the event like dirty, Edwardian-Victorian Filth. Well, Tina was coming from a show, so she was already dressed up.

I have a corset. I wore it. It hurt. I couldn't really sit right. I couldn't eat popcorn. My boobs were flattened and my other lady-parts were like "let me outta here"!..

Anyway, Sweeney was amazing. I give it props. They edited back a lot of the songs, of course. It's Sondheim. I first heard these songs when I was 13, thanks to Mr. Kelley, my very under-appreciated and daring 8th grade music teacher.

Depp and Bonham-Carter did a great job with the singing. The costume design was rad. Of course all of that neat cinematography u would expect from Burton.

But several movie-goers, namely the ones sitting behind us (why is that always the way), did not realize they were walking into a musical. Ya know, where people sing and stuff.

I was about an inch a way from telling them that "National Treasure: Book of Secrets" was down the hall and might cater to a meaner level of intelligence and predilections. One of them burped at the close of one important scene. And of course, the Borat jokes. By the way, Sacha Baron Cohen is a force to be reckoned with. Damn.

Anyway, they quieted down after the first slashing. Weren't expecting a sardonic, song-filled musical about revenge and canibalism, were you?

I never go to this particular theater b/c of these kind of antics.

Last time I went there was to see Hero and my friend and I had to walk out because several teenagers were mocking the subtitles. But since I get the fact that this particular musical is about the dangers of unbridled vengeance and anger, i held my steam. I couldn't breathe much anyway. Those Victorian babes did not have a fair shake, let me tell you.



I am tired of living in a cultural vacuum. I am escaping because I have and want to in March to more suitable climes. I pray to Lord Darwin to let adaptation commence. Oh, that's right. It already has. "What's the sound of the world out there?" the barber exultingly sings to her. "Those crunching noises pervading the air?/ It's man devouring man, my dear/ and who are we to deny it in here?"

Okay, so I don't want to overshadow what was otherwise a thoroughly delightful evening with two most ravaging lady-friends, so you can check the album labeled "Sweeney Todd" for your viewing pleasure.

Go see Sweeney! I'm about to watch the 1982 version with Lansbury--she's fierce!





Sweeney Todd can be interpreted in several respects. Stephen Sondheim believes it to be a story of revenge and how it consumes a vengeful person, while Prince believed it to be an allegory of capitalism and its selfish qualities. [1] Both themes are supported throughout the play.

Hal Prince: "It was only when I realized that the show was about revenge...And then came the factory, and the class struggle-the terrible struggle to move out of the class in which you're born..." Sondheim: "...what the show is really about is obsession." [5]
Thank you Mr. Kelley. The world needs more music teachers like you.

http://www.boston.com/movies/display?display=movie&id=10333

IMG_1902

IMG_1902
Originally uploaded by kristenelisabeth

I just wanted to send out a
heart-felt thank you to all
of the amazing people in my life,
both near and far.

YOU are all so dear to me and I can't imagine
life without you! You make me a better person.

I hope you have a warm and love-filled Holiday.

Here's a picture of my "christmas Tree"...!

Be good to each other!

Love and Light and Mistletoe,
Kristen
--
~Paz, Luz y Amor~

Karoake, the Solar System and Jesus’ posessions

I bought my nephew a Karoake Machine for his birthday and dragged Jenn with me on a journey deep into the woods of New Hampshire. Just to clarify, the first song is Amy Winehouse' "Rehab", but my youngest nephew felt it more appropriate to sing about the Solar System. And why not, dammit!?

So I suppose if Nashua belongs to Jesus, than it's only fair that Amy Winehouse belongs to the Solar System and not Rehab:

Viva Chile! Viva Neruda!

Pinochet: The monster is dead, leaving Chile deeply divided, again
Except for making it clear that there will be no pomp-filled, state funeral for ex-dictator General Augusto Pinochet, who died yesterday, the government of Chile's democratic, current president, Michelle Bachelet, has had little to say about the demise of the military strongman whose overthrow of the elected, socialist government of President Salvador Allende took place in 1973. That coup was backed by the C.I.A. under U.S. President Richard Nixon.
In Santiago, opponents of the former dictator cheered the news of Pinochet's death

UPI

In Santiago, opponents of the former dictator cheered the news of Pinochet's death
Pinochet ruled Chile for 17 years, torturing and killing thousands of his countrymen whom he regarded as political opponents. Among his abuse victims: Bachelet and her parents. Noted a recent report in the Santiago Times: "Bachelet was exiled to Australia and East Germany during the Pinochet regime and was briefly held with her mother at Santiago's Villa Grimaldi detention center run by Pinochet's DINA secret police force. Her father, a former general who supported...Allende's socialist government from 1970 to 1973, died while in the custody of Pinochet's forces."
With the news of Pinochet's death, both his supporters and opponents took to the streets of Santiago, Chile's capital, to mourn or to celebrate the passing of one of modern history's most notorious leaders. His admirers gathered at the hospital where he died and at the national military academy, where the ex-dictator's coffin was later left open for his fans to stop by and pay their last respects. His corpse will be cremated at the school tomorrow. In downtown Santiago, the general's opponents "celebrated [the] news of his death with champagne and confetti, but the party mood soured as a minority of the crowd lit fires and scuffled with the police, who responded with teargas and water cannon." (BBC)
No state funeral and no state rites, but the army can have him: At Chile's military academy, the ex-general's coffin lay open for fans to stop by and pay their last respects

AFP

No state funeral and no state rites, but the army can have him: At Chile's military academy, the ex-general's coffin lay open for fans to stop by and pay their last respects
"It's a carnival, it's a carnival! The general is dead!" Pinochet's opponents cried. His supporters countered with: "He wasn't found guilty! State funeral!", referring to the fact that their hero had died "in impunity," while still awaiting court decisions on charges of human-rights abuses and financial improprieties. (La Jornada, Mexico)
In one memorable news image, Chile's La Nación published a photo of a Catholic nun praying over the open coffin of the dead dictator - a chilling reminder of the cozy relationship organized religion often has with the world's most destructive fascist regimes and of the important roles that armed forces and established churches tend to play whenever ultra-rightists take control of a country's government.
Despite the thousands he killed and tortured, the old man had his admirers: Here, a supporter mourns the dictator's demise

AP

Despite the thousands he killed and tortured, the old man had his admirers: Here, a supporter mourns the dictator's demise
El Mercurio, a Chilean daily, reports that the dead dictator's son, Marco Antonio Pinochet, has criticized President Bachelet's government for not giving his father a state funeral. He also requested that only those who sincerely loved his father attend funeral services that will be conducted in his honor.
In one of the few public comments about the dead dictator voiced so far by a member of Bachelet's administration, Interior Minister Belisario Velasco said: "I believe that [Pinochet] will be remembered...as...a classic dictator of the right who seriously violated human rights and who got rich" during his years as leader. (La Nación)
Headline on an Argentine paper:

Headline on an Argentine paper: "What did Hell do to deserve this one?"
"He wasn't even a good solider," a La Nación editorial recalls of Pinochet. "Not only did he betray the president of the republic, but also his own comrades in arms who believed in him...." And in answer to those Chileans who, over the years, have suggested that Pinochet wasn't such a bad guy after all - including those who were lucky enough to flee the country by choice or, in some cases, too cowardly to stay and fight for democracy - La Nación adds: "What 'achievement' of his can compare to the thousands of murdered, detained and vanished, tortured, exiled,...[and] humiliated..." whose lives Pinochet destroyed? The paper answers: "None." But the fact that Chile survived the dark years of Pinochet's regime and has emerged prosperous and democratic, the newspaper suggests, are signs of a positive future. "Life has defeated the worshippers of hate. The survivors have triumphed. Never again Pinochet. Never again."

some things i will just never understand

1) Those bumper-stickers that say "This car climbed Mount Washington"....

Really? Are you THAT proud that you almost forced your engine to cease and wasted 5 quarts of oil as it eeked it's way up a mountain, fighting an unatural battle against gravity, with your foot on the accelator as you just sat there taking in the scenery. Are you really that proud of your laziness? If I can't make it up the damn mountain, I'm not going to punish my car as an alternative. If you want to buy something---why not bring your car in for an oil change instead of wasting it on such a stupid bumper sticker?

2) Credit cards that have an 800 number on the back that say "if lost or stolen" .. please call. Well, if I lost my credit card or someone stole it, that number is not going to prove very useful to me. Just a thought.

3) How come evil people often live long and fruitful lives, while people who speak the truth get to die? I guess I'll just never know.

We miss you, John.

If you are a band and I recently deleted you...here is why.

This is a repost from my original myspace blog:

I apologize, but it's time to tighten up the reins around here and I have, by more than half and probably then some. Sure, it was my fault but now you are clogging up my chi and I cannot take it anymore.

I was up to almost 1000 friends. I am that person that accepted every band request that came in, in the name of art. Art for art's sake, but NO MORE. I've turned to my better judgement--to the repository of my own personal predilections. Yes, I have those now and they know what they like and are tired of being silenced.

I've been sifting through the wine cellar that is my myspace friend list. I've sniffed and swirled your music, letting your tannin penetrate my eager nostrils. True, some of these were short, quick whiffs, but still, the point is that I've given you a chance before I red-x'd you. In fact, I probably hand out more benefits of the doubt than the Social Security office, but that's a story for another day.

I've been looking at your profile pics for 4 long years. Some of you haven't even logged on in all that time, some haven't even changed your profile pic. You just sit there, ogling me all day, sometimes when I'm not even home. Well listen up, Mr. and Mrs. Static-X, there will be no more waiting for Krizzle to do the next, circus trick. No more reproachful mocking of my daily high-jinks.

No more wondering "did that space-cadet lock herself out of the house again or is today's order another predictable, depressing poem about lost love? Think I'll log on, I need good laugh." WELL NOT TODAY, ubiquity. You've taken me for granted. I'm out.

Do you even exist and if you so, who are you? How are we connected, other than by this flimsy thread of high-speed internet connectivity? I feel so naked and exposed under the light of your absolute, unbarred scrutiny. I don't even know you! Yes, I know this is "myspace", a place for strangers to converge around each other's daily miseries, outbursts, sparkley tags and occasional celebrations, but this cyber-barbecue has gotten way outta hand. I've moved on to more tangible realities---namely, Facebook.

And I've called in reinforcements, as well. So stop fanning the flames, myspacers. So much voice and such little discretion. I mean, honest to God, I received a friend request from Quizno's last week. I am not KIDDING. Quiznos, goddammit. Something is wrong with this picture. It's a sad state of affairs when the fast-sandwich makers of America start reading your daily blogs and dripping their Aus jus all over your heart-felt, arcane, meanderings. GET OUT OF MY GARDEN, QUIZNOS! You're dribbling your pork juices all over my organic cucumbers. AND you are SO NOT 23 years old, from California and a Gemini. Stop taunting me with your toasty breads and layers of folded MEATS. Way to toy with my emotions! SICK.

So I thought a little myspace-fengshui was in order. That, and I upgraded to Pro on www.flickr.com, which is a nifty, little site that you might want to check out. It's more photog-friendly and has some great tools.

So, if I deleted your band, it is because you fell under one or more of the following criteria:

A) Your music is pure, unabated "ka-ka".

B) I don't remember adding you in my newfangled, manic myspace fervor three years ago. The proverbial mood stabilizers have since kicked in. You have to go.

C) The terms "nigga" "bitch" and "ho" are not presently in my vernacular, save for satirical hyperbole. Sorry, I am not THAT teacher. And if you feel the need to use those term in your lyrics, could you limit it to no more than 150 times in one song? Gracias. In addition, I already live in an economically-deprived area and I don't need to hear about how you're gonna "bust out your mac-10 and blast me". I have PTSD as it is going to the grocery store. That's not how I take my hip-hop. I have the Foundation, the Roots and Dead Prez. So thanks, but NO thanks.

D) You apparently thought you were "THE ONE" and also "THE ONLY" in addition to "WORLDWIDE" and you are clearly not. Bub-bye.

E) I love acoustic/folk/indie/rock just as much as the next gal, but Christ on a Cracker, could you please fade the introspective self-doubt down a notch or two? I'm emotional enough and I spend plenty of hours alone as it is, wandering through the fields, psycho-analyzing myself, wondering why the world is so effed up, how come my childhood sucked? Why am I in this field? Did I leave the coffee-pot on, etc?

Please write some more unpredictable lyrics or at the very least, add some synth to the mix. I'll even settle for some distracting noises. How about Ostrich mating sounds? Very relaxing from what I hear.

F) Same goes for some of you in the neo-soul/R&B community. I really do not need to hear another song about where you want to lick me tonight? Well maybe I do, but not 100 times over. Something risky? Courageous? different? I don't care. Lay it on me. I'll take it.

G) Your "motivational-speaker" looking pic tipped me off and it turns out you are selling vitamins, some kind of miracle elixir or better yet, can clue me in on the secrets of "how to get rich overnight". I'm much more interested in learning how to breathe, macrame or sleep. Gone Baby----GONE.

H) You recently bulletined a promo for the extremely low-budget "strip-club" (oops, i meant to say "premier urban gentleman's club) commercial you did and I'm not talking about you AT ALL, Fancy Ray.

I) My doom, black, grind-core, Metal phase has ended. Sorry for my fickleness. I was reliving my adolescence. It's over (for now).

J) My dog told me to delete you because you're "cheap".

J.a) (For the laypeople) I emailed you...over a 2 weeks ago about getting together or an otherwise important matter. I see you've read the email. I understand your busy, but you still haven't gotten back to me via phone, email or otherwise. I'm not a dentist. I don't pull teeth for a living. Peace out.

K) And lastly, I realized that your profile is host to a giant picture of you or someone you respect highly in a cute, little thong, "shakin' that ass"- "poppin' it like it's hot" and your last 20 comments are links to free ringtones and Coach bags. I am SO done with you. You should have seen this coming. Drop your key in the mailbox, please.

So there you have it. I've allowed my wine cellar to devolve into a broken-down, communal Winnebago and I need you to stop throwin' your used "scratchies" all over my dashboard. I love you all -- myspace or not, but I'm lettin' ya off at the next stop. We are all in this together, no matter what, so please do not be offended. It's ONLY a website and I know somehow you will find it in your soul to carry on without me.

Paz, Luz y Amor.

Eternally yours,
Krizzle

Sometimes you feel like a complete and utter senile-headcase

Tonight I arrived home to find my backdoor completely wide open...swingin' in the rainy breeze.

My first reaction was "WTF!??? Literally, I screamed the letters "W-T and F.

I cased the place. Laptop, check. Bass, check. Creepy dude with a knife, uncheck.

What? Huh? Then I hear LOUD knocking on the walls. Can't tell if it's coming from the basement or the tenant nextdoor. I run out to the bulkhead, phone and knife in hand, ready to unleash a heavy crescent kick to the face.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I figured it was the plumber or something and if so, had he let himself in? Cuz that would not be cool at all and I would be reading Mr. Roto-Rooter the Tenants Bill of Rights from Rote. Root. Roto?

Bulkhead was closed with leaves all over it. So I knock on my neighbor's door. She and her partner are banging stuff (or possibly each other--she was kinda sweaty) and she apologizes profusely to which i interject, explaining my whole mental lapse. And then she asks me if she can use my parking space tomorrow b/c she is moving......back to Maryland. I'm like "of course". But in my mind, i'm thinking wow..she literally just moved here in August. Oh well. Seasons change. People change. And then they move back to Baltimore, I suppose. Must be the crabcakes. I personally am having a fantasy about Nashville right now. Don't ask me why. I don't like country, but I like Tennessee. Not the part that still reminisces about the Civil War, but the other parts, like Nashville. This one time I saw a bear in the Smokey Mountains and I made Theron come out of the tent with me so I could pee. That was funny, because I ended up peeing too close to Kevin's really expensive tent and..well...I didn't get attacked by a bear! That's the important lesson here, kids.

And I honestly DO NOT recall leaving the door wide open and unlocked. I have to lock the bolt with the key. I mean, who forgets that?

Answer=ME.

Yea, in my sleep-deprived rush out the door with like 6 bags (minimalist by even my standards), a coffee, water, a kong, and a dog, it appears I forgot not only to lock my door, but also to close it. Yay, senility!

I'm told we peak intellectually at 20 years of age. So I guess I don't feel so alone in saying "it's all downhill from here, people!" And now I can exuse my own stupidity. It seems to work for lots of other people, why not me? It's my fucking turn!

Seriously. I need some Algebraic Algorithms or something. Cryptography, Symbolic Computation, Robotics? I'm not too sharp since I've not taken a class in over a year. I misspell A LOT. I prob. just mispelled "mispell'...and possibly "LOT".
I feel like a stoner who doesn't smoke pot. I feel like an Elder with a penchant for being 30-something.

But alas, I now have the satisfaction of knowing my neighborhood is fairly innocuous or just can't be bothered with my pittance of material aquisitions. My camera was with me, of course.

There is one little kid that rides around here on his bike all the time that is a little bit of a pest. Today I tried to take a photo of him, but he was wearing a mask. He's a cute little kid until he opens his mouth. The kid curses like a rodeo clown. I would curse a lot if I were a rodeo clown, too. I mean, at that point, it's fair to say you've earned it. You're in a clown costume getting chased by an angry bull. That's a rough gig, but I digress.

There it goes again.

And I did try out a crescent kick last night, missing Tina's face by an eight of a centimeter. I didn't mean it, Tina. I'm sorry I made you cry and crouch down in the fetal position, melting into a quivering ball of protoplasm. I will think next time before I unleash my Kung-Fu fury on you like that. I mean, sometimes I just gotta let out my inner David Lee Roth, you know what I mean? You know what I mean.

It's an incurable condition that cannot be helped. Don't even TRY to fight it.

You know why? Because I’m a superhero. I’m Batman. The End.

I love my nephews and Tina's sneakers and Chris' Tuna Casserole and Jazz and my new bass. Pow! Pow! Pow! POW! POW! POW!!!!!!

Guess i'm not the only one having Halloween withdrawals:

to the dude at daddy’s ..(not mick or glen)..feel free to kiss my derierre.

I went in there tonight to buy a gig-bag for my beautiful, new candy-apple-red bass.

I should have talked to Glen as planned, not you, you moron, but alas Glen was busy being a human being, unlike you, you complete ass-clown. But you asked if I needed help and I said "yes."

I should have known better when you said you "only had hard-shelled cases" that you were lying. You are a music store. When the fuck do you sell out of gig-bags? That's like going to the bank and there out of money. Are you serious? You can't be serious.

But here is where you really added insult to injury.

When I declined the purchase of the $115 dollar hard-shell case, (ultimately, because of you)...don't feign that maybe there's stock of gig-bags at another store, run over to your computer just to add levity to the charade , press one key and instantly discover that you actually do have gig-bags in stock....2 left in fact..in this store! Did the computer say YES, CAROL!?

And then you're all like "wow, i must have missed that before". You clearly have mistaken me for Sally Slopsocks who resides at 12 Gullible Lane, Totally Naive, Massachusetts. Nope. Not this Sally. In fact, you might have a retained a customer had you just been a tad more honest. No, not even the fact that you know my brother (who alone has leveraged thousands of dollars at your store) phased your little piddly.

So, bite me.

Here's what you were really looking at, you pig-face:



Then you run out back for 10 seconds and magically the 60 dollar gig-bag appears. It's like it was right back there all the time and you totally missed it! WONDERS NEVER CEASE! I guess the gig-bag fairy made an impromptu landing. I was really impressed in particular when that unicorn flew out of your ass, as well. Amazing trick!

And for the future, I will not be shopping at your establishment ever again, which is sad. You ruined it for everyone. It's like you let out a big fart and now the room has cleared. Nice job.

For anyone who is interested, I now by all of my gear and accessories on www.musiciansfriend.com. They are courteous and helpful and don't resort to used-car-salesmen tactics to make an extra 10 bucks in commission.

If you do, however, decide to still shop at Daddy's, ask for Glen. He is good.

Oh, and while i'm on this rant. it's amazing to me that some Americans still think Iraq is responsible for 911. And now you're just thinking we are way to deep into this war to justify, but at first you were like "yea, bomb those motherfuckers". Please stop eating in public restaurants. And while you're at it, now might be a good time to take a permanent vow of silence. At the very least, please become a recluse, so I don't have to listen to the sound of your brain cells pleading for mercy. Thanks a bunch!

mi profesor, Martín Espada and strange walk-in clinics

It's been a long time since I took Latino Poetry in 1998. Time has brought with it several jobs, several moves and several shifts, but Martín Espada is one of my favorite poets and will always be.

I got a chance to hear him read today. Here's a few of the pieces he read:

Jorge the Church Janitor Finally Quits

Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1989

No one asks
where I am from,
I must be
from the country of janitors,
I have always mopped this floor.
Honduras, you are a squatter's camp
outside the city
of their understanding.

No one can speak
my name,
I host the fiesta
of the bathroom,
stirring the toilet
like a punchbowl.
The Spanish music of my name
is lost
when the guests complain
about toilet paper.

What they say
must be true:
I am smart,
but I have a bad attitude.

No one knows
that I quit tonight,
maybe the mop
will push on without me,
sniffing along the floor
like a crazy squid
with stringy gray tentacles.
They will call it Jorge.


..>..>..>..>
..>



Alabanza: In Praise of Local 100

for the 43 members of Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees
Local 100, working at the Windows on the World restaurant,
who lost their lives in the attack on the World Trade Center

Alabanza. Praise the cook with a shaven head
and a tattoo on his shoulder that said Oye,
a blue-eyed Puerto Rican with people from Fajardo,
the harbor of pirates centuries ago.
Praise the lighthouse in Fajardo, candle
glimmering white to worship the dark saint of the sea.
Alabanza. Praise the cook's yellow Pirates cap
worn in the name of Roberto Clemente, his plane
that flamed into the ocean loaded with cans for Nicaragua,
for all the mouths chewing the ash of earthquakes.
Alabanza. Praise the kitchen radio, dial clicked
even before the dial on the oven, so that music and Spanish
rose before bread. Praise the bread. Alabanza.

Praise Manhattan from a hundred and seven flights up,
like Atlantis glimpsed through the windows of an ancient aquarium.
Praise the great windows where immigrants from the kitchen
could squint and almost see their world, hear the chant of nations:
Ecuador, México, Republica Dominicana,
Haiti, Yemen, Ghana, Bangladesh.
Alabanza. Praise the kitchen in the morning,
where the gas burned blue on every stove
and exhaust fans fired their diminutive propellers,
hands cracked eggs with quick thumbs
or sliced open cartons to build an altar of cans.
Alabanza. Praise the busboy's music, the chime-chime
of his dishes and silverware in the tub.
Alabanza. Praise the dish-dog, the dishwasher
who worked that morning because another dishwasher
could not stop coughing, or because he needed overtime
to pile the sacks of rice and beans for a family
floating away on some Caribbean island plagued by frogs.

Alabanza. Praise the waitress who heard the radio in the kitchen
and sang to herself about a man gone. Alabanza.

After the thunder wilder than thunder,
after the shudder deep in the glass of the great windows,
after the radio stopped singing like a tree full of terrified frogs,
after night burst the dam of day and flooded the kitchen,
for a time the stoves glowed in darkness like the lighthouse in Fajardo,
like a cook's soul. Soul I say, even if the dead cannot tell us
about the bristles of God's beard because God has no face,
soul I say, to name the smoke-beings flung in constellations
across the night sky of this city and cities to come.
Alabanza I say, even if God has no face.

Alabanza. When the war began, from Manhattan and Kabul
two constellations of smoke rose and drifted to each other,
mingling in icy air, and one said with an Afghan tongue:
Teach me to dance. We have no music here.
And the other said with a Spanish tongue:
I will teach you. Music is all we have.

from Alabanza: New & Selected Poems --> --> --> --> --> --> --> -->

..>

Martín Espada

A MAYAN ASTRONOMER IN HELL'S KITCHEN by Martín Espada
A Mayan Astronomer in Hell's Kitchen is the title of Martín Espada's new book. The title reflects the cultural and linguistic mix in which Espada lives, shuttling from his Puerto Rican heritage to Old Guard Connecticut.
The book begins in Puerto Rico with the poet's relatives. These include a dying grandmother and a cousin whose stock of miracle cookware fails to heat the family dinner. About his father in Brooklyn, the poet writes:
Sometimes I dream
my father is a guitar,
with a hole in his chest
where the music throbs
between my fingers
("My Father as a Guitar")
Espada also writes about a magically real politician ("The Governor of Puerto Rico Reveals at His Inaugural That He Is The Reincarnation of Ponce de Leon") and the mixture of foreign birds in a luxury hotel in San Juan:
The White cockatoo from Australia
twirls tricks with a hostess
. . .
the scarlet macaw of Brazil
yammers a joke about pina coladas
. . .
the peacock of India
skitters around the koi pond
. . .
the frostbitten turkey from North Carolina
thaws in the kitchen
("Ornithology at the Caribe Hilton")




Poet, Essayist, Editor & Translator

Sandra Cisneros says: "Martín Espada is the Pablo Neruda of North American authors." Espada was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1957. He has published thirteen books in all as a poet, essayist, editor and translator. His eighth collection of poems, The Republic of Poetry, was published by Norton in October, 2006. Of this new collection, Samuel Hazo writes: "Espada unites in these poems the fierce allegiances of Latin American poetry to freedom and glory with the democratic tradition of Whitman, and the result is a poetry of fire and passionate intelligence." His last book, Alabanza: New and Selected Poems, 1982-2002 (Norton, 2003), received the Paterson Award for Sustained Literary Achievement and was named an American Library Association Notable Book of the Year. An earlier collection, Imagine the Angels of Bread (Norton, 1996), won an American Book Award and was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. Other books of poetry include A Mayan Astronomer in Hell's Kitchen (Norton, 2000), City of Coughing and Dead Radiators (Norton, 1993), and Rebellion is the Circle of a Lover's Hands (Curbstone, 1990). He has received numerous awards and fellowships, including the Robert Creeley Award, the Antonia Pantoja Award, an Independent Publisher Book Award, a Gustavus Myers Outstanding Book Award, the Charity Randall Citation, the Paterson Poetry Prize, the PEN/Revson Fellowship and two NEA Fellowships. He recently received a 2006 John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation Fellowship. His poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The New York Times Book Review, Harper's, The Nation,The Best American Poetry. He has also published a collection of essays, Zapata's Disciple (South End, 1998); edited two anthologies, Poetry Like Bread: Poets of the Political Imagination from Curbstone Press (Curbstone, 1994) and El Coro: A Chorus of Latino and Latina Poetry (University of Massachusetts, 1997); and released an audiobook of poetry on CD, called Now the Dead will Dance the Mambo (Leapfrog, 2004). Much of his poetry arises from his Puerto Rican heritage and his work experiences, ranging from bouncer to tenant lawyer. Espada is a professor in the Department of English at the University of Massachusetts-Amherst, where he teaches creative writing and the work of Pablo Neruda.
So I picked up Alabanza (actually, he was giving away 3 of his books), which means "Praise" in English. He signed it for me and we chatted a bit. I told him when I taught high school English in Lawrence, that I read his work and work from his list of poets to my 5th grade-level readers and they loved it. It was those rare times that they actually quieted down and listened.

We read in both languages. It made my heart soar.

And then, because of all the stress of dealing with this slumlord, I've come down with a sinus infection. I was turned down at 3 walk-in clinics in Lawrence today because of my insurance. Not that I don't have insurance, just because my Primary Care is in Medford. Thought I would save myself the gas. I ended up having to go to Medford anyway, because they would have seen me, but I would have paid out of pocket and I had no cash on me. I'm sure the MD would have been more than happy with the cash. And, I'm not griping for my own behalf because I'm one of the lucky ones in this country with insurance and I had other options, but if you live the El Barrio and you're sick, then this is it. Maritza, the nurse who managed intake was more than welcoming albeit overwhelmed with sick patients. I thank her, even though it didn't work out. I would have paid the cash, but all I had was a check. She saw my book..."Alabanza..."! she exclaimed.



We are the richest country in the world. What have be become? This looks more like a place where one would go to buy used, plastic furniture than a health-care office.

So I say Alabanza! to you, Maritza, the nurse from the walk-in clinic on Franklin Street.

Tenga un bueno el fin de semana, Señora. Paz.
Hispanic Heritage Month 2007

Silence

When I was a young girl, I cherished words.

A door-to-door salesman came to the house and sold us one of those New World Dictionaries.

I wish I knew where that dictionary is now.

I highlighted the hell out of it.

Growing up, we always had books and vinyl records around.

We also had an aged encycolopedia collection.

One day our family cat, Mr. Whiskers, brought a snake into the house.

I found it days later in our collections under "Alice in Wonderland".

I found solice in books and records.

We always had Motown, and John Denver and Joan Baez and the Beatles.

Lately, with all of this election madness, bulletins, blogs, cell phones, voicemails, emails, snail mails, traffic, malls, road construction, talking, I can't help but wonder..is anyone still reading? Are folks still listening to records? Is anyone slowing down to speed up?

And I'm lucky if I can get eye contact from my nephew if he's got the game-boy going.

Recently, a friend described his perfect soulmate. He said "knows that Silence is Golden".

It truly is. Going inward is Golden. The only way out is in.

I need to do it more.

So I'll shut up now.

Enjoy.

Oingo Boingo, Scientology and Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory

Apparently, I was the only person on the planet that didn't know acclaimed film-score composer Danny Elfman was in/was 80's new-wave band Oingo Boingo from 1976 to 1995. Not until Mr. Eddy Dyer recently informed me of this tasty nugget.

What? Huh?

Christ, I watched enough MTV. I guess I just never put the two together.

I got to thinking. I know, scary. Danny Elfman is the uncle of Jenna Elfman and Bodhi Elfman, a well-known, celebrity-scientologist couple who somewhat recently went ape-shit on a director because he was wearing an anti-scientology t-shirt.

Well, knowing all the weirdness that has been reported about scientology, including Alister Crowley, Xenu (the dictator of the "Galactic Confederacy" who, 75 million years ago, brought billions of his people to Earth in DC-8-like spacecraft, stacked them around volcanoes and killed them using hydrogen bombs) and the death of Lisa McPherson, I remembered this fact!

Remember that Oingo Boing came out with that song "Weird Science"? No? Well, here it is in all it's spectacular 80's glory.

Now....

This is an e-meter or what I like to call "The Bad Decision Machine" not much unlike the "bad egg machine" that escorts Veruca Salt down the garbage shute.

*cues Willy Wonka soundtrack*..the non-Elfman version, of course!



{The central practice of Scientology is "auditing" (from the Latin word audire, "to listen"), which is a one-on-one communication with a trained Scientology counselor or "auditor". Most auditing uses an E-meter, a device that measures very small changes in electrical resistance through the human body when a person is holding onto metal cans and a small current is passed through them.[17]
The auditing process is intended to help the practitioner (referred to as a preclear or PC) to unburden himself or herself of specific traumatic incidents, prior ethical transgressions and bad decisions, which are said to collectively restrict the preclear from achieving his or her goals and lead to the development of a "reactive mind". In one form of auditing, the auditor asks the preclear to respond to a list of questions which are designed for specific purposes and given to the preclear in a strictly regulated way. Auditing requires that the preclear be a willing and interested participant who understands the questions, and the process goes more smoothly when he or she understands what is going on. Rule #19 of the Auditors' Code demands that an auditor makes sure that the practitioner fully understands the question[18]. Per the same Church policy, auditors are trained not to "evaluate for" their preclears; i.e., they are forbidden from suggesting, interpreting, degrading or invalidating the preclear's answers. The E-meter is used to help locate an area of concern. Auditing is not to be mixed with other practices[19].
Scientologists have said that they received benefits from auditing including improved IQ, improved ability to communicate, and enhanced memory. They have also said that they are generally more happy after auditing.[20]
During the auditing process, the auditor may collect personal information from the person being audited. Auditing records are referred to within Scientology as "PC (preclear) folders" and are said to be stored securely when not being added to during auditing sessions.[21] The Auditors' Code states that an auditor promises never to use the secrets of a preclear divulged in session for punishment or personal gain.[18] The Church maintains that its auditing records are kept confidential, although in one instance (16 December 1969) a staff of the organization authorized the use of auditing records for purposes of "internal security".[22] Supporters of Scientology assert that no actual violation of the Auditors' Code has been documented[23] and such a violation is a high crime under Scientology law.[24] Court Declaration, 1985: "5. The Court refers to GO 121669 for justification in saying that the clergymen-penitent does not apply for the time period during which Armstrong was a member of the Church. The Court refers to GO 121669 for justification for abolishing the clergyman-penitent privilege. Yet nowhere does the program call for a) external dissemination of the preclear folder or b) use of information against anyone." However, a California court ruling recorded that ex-members of the Church of Scientology knew that "…the Church has in its possession his or her most inner thoughts and confessions, all recorded in pre-clear (P.C.) folders or other security files of the organization, and that the Church or its minions is fully capable of intimidation or other physical or psychological abuse if it suits their ends. The record is replete with evidence of such abuse."[25][26]}

During the 1960s, Scientology was accused by the United States government of engaging in medical fraud by claiming that the E-meter would treat and cure physical ailments and diseases. A 1971 ruling of the United States District Court, District of Columbia (333 F. Supp. 357), specifically stated, "the E-meter has no proven usefulness in the diagnosis, treatment or prevention of any disease, nor is it medically or scientifically capable of improving any bodily function."[20] As a result of this ruling, Scientology now publishes disclaimers in its books and publications declaring that "by itself, the E-meter does nothing"[21] and that it is used specifically for spiritual purposes.}
These findings basically sum up my main problem with organized religions, in that they take myth, fable, metaphor and translate them into literal fact (aka pseudo-science). And I consider myself a spritual person and even watch some of these new-age guru's do it too. The point of mysticism is that it lives in mystery! It's not palpable.

So, if it is true that a machine can measure my bad deeds or say, that God will strike down upon me if i "sin" or that, I'm going to hell if I don't redeem myself..then yes, I am going to live in a very fearful state of mind, which renders me unable to create or act compassionately. Or, instead if I can understand what the core message is... that it's awesomely rewarding to do good deeds, even invisibly, and that they come back to me, that thinking/acting with compassion change my inner and outer landscape, then I don't have to live in this anectdotal, child-like fear----that we're not all really going to get stuck, like Mike Teavee in the Taffy Pulling Room with little oompa-loompas trying to redeem ourselves or in the 7th circle of Purgatory in a river of burning blood. Same difference, really.

Although, Oompa Loompas are kinda cool now that I think of it. And yet, we all know how Willa Wonka ends. Veruca, Augustus, Mike Teavee, Violet Beauregard et al return to their respective, spoiled lives and all the little nifty, scientific tests were merely a ploy to test the honesty of Charlie-the boy with the heart of gold. But since Willa Wonka is essentially based on the seven deadly sins, it be interesting to assign disciple-like names to each and every one, except that Eddy mentioned during the filming, they all had some huge midget-sex-orgy..or maybe that was the Lollipop Guild. In any case, I think midget-disciples is a fabulous idea, but I digress.

So there you have it. Weird Science=Scientology? This is all too much.

I'm seriously handing this over to the Gods of Cruel Irony.

"So shines a good deed in a weary world"---The Candy Man




Styx is a river which formed the boundary between Earth and the Underworld, Hades. Etching by Gustave Doré, 1861.


Augustus Gloop drowning in Mr. Wonka's chocolate river

Guido Daniele is amazing

http://www.guidodaniele.com/bodypaint01.htm

First tomatoes, zuchinni, a deer on the lawn, a rainstorm and a rainbow!!!

Well, I missed the deer on the lawn, but it was there!!!

My landlord's son was going ballistic and chased it back into the woods.

I didn't want anyone to call animal control unless it was a major threat to itself or others, cos usually they destory the thing.

But I did catch the rainbow and my first tomotoes!! People at the supermarket were actually talking to each other during that lightning/thunder part. Parents with their kids laughing as they got soaking wet.

Then I went over to the bank. Came out and noticed this beautiful full-arch rainbow.

So, myself and some guy were out in the parking lot trying to get good rainbow pics on our cellphones.

Yes!!!




Zoo-kinis


New tumate-uz


Greek Basil..

I got cukes too, but they're not shown here b/c they've only just flowered. This rain is doin' them hella good right now, though.

Interesting three hours...

went into town
on my 3 lugnutz (long story--don't let drunk ppl take a cross-wrench to your tires)
got lost
saw some homemade fireworks (quite good)
made way to maria and joes
ate some amazing food
had an iced coffee..watched the dorkedom of the 4th on the news.
with each year it seems the musical guests/hosts get worse
they played the overture of 1812, which commemorates the unsuccessful French invasion into Russia
and had craig ferguson as a guest host (who is scottish)
John (not-cougar-anymore) played that Ford or Chevy-commerial song
left before the chaos ensued
got home
safe.

Ghost foot!!!! Accidental art is fun.

I'm not sure how this happened, but..

I had Heather over for a movie. We were watching "Sick-o" and she kept yawning so I asked her if she would like some coffee.

I ground up some beans and was shaking the last bit of them out of the grinder, when the canister fell...coffee grounds all over the place.

Then, I accidentally stepped in it. Now, i was totally perturbed b/c i just washed the floor, by hand, last night and was ready to suck the stuff up with the vacuum,.but upon closer look Heath noticed this:





Now, I took these with my camera-phone and by no means was my foot still in the pile, even though it kinda looks like it in the last one. I dig the sepia one the best.

So there it is. I am the new M.C. Escher of Coffee beans! And yet another reminder that out of chaos sometimes beauty erupts if you take the time to look a little closer.

Blessings. Happy Independence!

3 songs....

Wild Harvest!!!

And Anathea's new, apricot ginger chutney!

It's been "decisioned" ?

I went into see my banker at Bank of America (pls. people, spare yourself the misery) because I got charged a bunch of overdraft fees like the first week I had the account. Long story--thought I was set up with overdraft protection---which I was---from my savings! Fancypants banking guy never explained what I had--asked him ten million times to do it the other way, but he was too busy I guess. I should preface by saying the only reason I decided to go to this bank is because they sent me a $75 gift certificate for moving. Sucker am I.

Anyhoot, I got the incredible opportunity to speak with the Bank Manager the other day. And let me just say, I would have had more success dealing with Carol Beer of Little Britain.







I think the people at this branch must snort heaps of coke all day or something, because both the orignial guy and the Bank Manager had nervous twitches and bloody cuticles. They both blinked way too much for my comfort level. Like really--every .1 seconds--blinking. Is that a condition?

In any case, the Bank Manager showed me the computer screen of the 100 or so dollars worth of erroneous charges, demonstrating that a refund is not possible because it's already been "decisioned". Is this some new word that banks use now to justify fucking you over. Like is there some goddamn Bank of America Sanhendrin at the top of the Bank chain that made this ruling during a private ceremony or something, so much so that this dude--the manager for chrissakes can't overrule it. At one point, I swear he punched the "Enter" key several times just to show me that "the computer says no"...and then gave me an long, condescending speil about keeping a bank register like I was 15 or something. I interrupted him midway and thanked him for his help. I seriously have not kept a bank register since I was maybe 11 years old and I opened my first account with 5 dollars at Arlington Trust--ya know the days when banks didn't change names every two minutes.

So I'm posting a pic of this poor shlub just cos I feel like it and I never got a refund. I hate corporate America. I really do. I wish I didn't have to participate in it. I suppose I could put my money in safety deposit box, but I need checks to write out rent and bills and all that crap.

row row row ur boat gently thru the birdshit & fuel, move the bunnycondo & have a boca burger!

tonight was reminiscent of several years ago that i tried to find myself in nature on newfound lake (no pun, seriously) at the Audubon society. i rented a canoe (by myself). i suppose the native americans didn't really invent canoes for loner-types like me, but always one to test a hypothesis, off i went.

let's just say, i was out there so long fighting riptides that the director of the center sent out two hikers to make sure i wasn't dead. every other minute it seemed some jackass would zoom by me on a jet ski or a huge, fucking yacht with some skinny, blonde chick tanning while i paddled my way into complete and utter frustration. but, out of necessity is born ..well, something, because i somehow got back to the dock..somehow.still not sure how, i just i remember sticking to the rocks and inching along.

this memory, of course, did not cross my mind when jivanna asked to go out in the canoe and i quickly volunteered my ginger-from-gilligan's-island services. i sort of fell into the canoe..as opposed to sitting in it, tried to stand up, felt it start tipping, sat down again..etc. This went on for a good five minutes. And Janga, noticing my struggle threw in one life jacket, which probably wouldn't even have fit my boobs, but i'm sure she figured that the10 year old would be more adept at saving her own life than the 30 year old, so why throw in two life jackets..yea, i think that was it. sad. really sad.

yea, canoes and me = not good.

give me something with torque, an engine..ya know. i jet skied once in Florida near shaq's house amongst alligators. i know it's not eco-friendly but all i ask for is a way to escape the torture of my own awkwardness when it comes to one of these things. i break stuff. .i can't paddle all that well and i usually tip the thing over. but somehow, i still have fun. maybe i like to challenge myself. or i'm just really used to total chaos.

such was the case with me and jivanna..a very intelligent, beautiful and amazing 10 year old. i think maybe i would like a child ..but to skip to age 10. i know 3 really amazing 10 year olds and she is one of them. i mean, she's smart enough to get it, but not too smart to totally get it..and yet, the angst has not set in. everything is still an adventure, even getting caught in a foamy frappe of green birdshit and boat fuel, which is exactly what happened. and it was totally hilarious. and sometimes it feels good to just go ahead, embrace life, and be willing to make a complete ass of yourself in the process. i know i sound like a trailer for a coming of age movie or an after-school special, but it's true!

jivanna was highly entertained at my complete ineptitude and the fact that i was dripping green, foamy birdshit on myself every time i had to switch hands with the paddle. i honestly don't know how the hell i survived 30 days in a VW bus cross-country, except that i do recall kevin kendall telling me i was like ginger from gilligan's island--in northern california's bear-country, a clove cigarette in one hand and an iron skillet in the other. i had never, ever, ever slept in a tent until that time in 1999. my parents were not outdoor, woodsy types. i tried skiing in my backyard once and did an involuntary split. i borrowed my brother's skateboard and hit a rock and went flying. then one time at nick maroun's , my brother insisted i get on the back of nick's four-wheeler. i obliged and without notifying me that he was about to zoom off, my brother jammed on the accelerator. i went flying backwards and i slammed my head on the cement. i stood up, picked up my pink headband, said, "i'm fine"..and walked home with a HUGE lump on my head, crying. another time, i was outside my pepere's playing and some kid, aiming at a tree with his lawn dart, accidentally got my head instead. my memere came out and told him to "fuck off" (first time i ever heard her swear). i walked into the house with a yellow dart protruding from my head, looked in the mirror and yanked it out like nothing had ever happened.

another time, i went to do a cannonball off my aunt's diving board and i didn't give myself enough distance and landed back on the diving board, hitting my knee. i remember hoping the knee injury would cause me to just drown because i was too embarrassed to come back up for air.

but on my cross-country trip, some sort of strange, survival instinct must have kicked in. find firewood, check. swim naked in a man-made reservoir in Nebraska, check. skin an alligator with my bear hands, check. okay, i wore a bathing suit. But looking back, even with the other foibles, that instinct was always there. i sort of just dust myself off and get back on the proverbial bull.

i should have prefaced this blog by saying that my mission was to help janga and kateri move a bunny hutch. i wasn't even sure what that was until i saw this damn thing. this was the most ginormous, freaking, bunny condominium i have ever seen in my life. it literally took 6 of us to move it and not easily (curses for not getting a photo). that was with the legs sawed off and without the stairs..yes, the goddamn thing had stairs on it. maybe like 5 feet wide with heating lamps and sliding windows..sort of like mini-bunny newpro windows. I was hoping Lady Elaine Fairechild from the Land of Make-believe would make a special appearance.

so jivanna says i'm her new best friend and it's funny, once u literally travel through dirty, shit frappe with someone, you can't help but have a bond. and then everything after that point was just super, bondy, fun time--a mutual love of pickles and more or less a contest at who can be the dorkiest. but i know this won't last. she'll find a new favorite next week and i'll be back to swimming in my canoe alone again...maybe i can train my dog to paddle. or, i'll ask lady elaine to help out. She's got special powers, ya know.




This was the first time I ever saw my dog swim. She is great in the water.


This is J with mama-Janga


This is Jivanna putting stars on my pup


This is my dog wearing star antennae while I drive to get bunny hutch


This is Dell, Mick and Brian setting up fire


Sunset


Sacred fire, pixelated cellphone pic


Swimming out to greet the Mama and her ducklings. I was so proud of her. *gush*

One of the many reasons my bro Jamie kicks ass

Last night at open mic, he covered India.Arie's "Brown Skin".

To clarify, this is a song written by a black female to a black male.

To further clarify, he performed this song to a group of caucasians. I mean, there was seriously noone of "brown" persuasion in THE place.

I call this "being secure in oneself". My bro is seriously the Daryl Hall of Northeast Massachusetts.

So for the front table of frat boys too interested in your Bud Lights to realize the lyrics, these are for you:

"Brown Skin"

Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and then:oh hey:

Where are your people from? Maybe Mississippi or an Island
Apparently your skin has been kissed by the sun
You make me want a Hershey's kiss, your licorice

Every time I see your lips, it makes me think of honey-coated chocolate
Your kisses are worth more than gold to me
I'll be your almond joy, you'll be my sugar daddy

Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and then:oh hey:

Every time you come around, something magnetic pulls me and I cant get out
Disoriented, I cant tell my up from down
All I know is that I wanna lay you down

Every time I let you in, abracadabra magic happens as we swim
Higher and higher finally we reach heaven
Come back to earth and then we do it all again
Yeah:..

Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and then:oh hey:

Skin so brown, lips so round
Baby how can I be down?
Beautiful mahogany, you make me feel like a queen
Tell me what's that thing you do that makes me wanna get next to you, yeah

Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and then:oh hey:

Brown skin, you know I love your brown skin
I cant tell where yours begins, I cant tell where mine ends
Brown skin, up against my brown skin
Need some every now and then:oh hey:

in the woods of massacusetts, i met a lovely, tibetan man

His name is Penpa Sering. He studied with the Dalai Lama and is truly one of the most gifted individual I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Please check him out.

And to add to my good fortune, I had somewhat murky directions to this organic farm (inhabited by 4 amazing cooks, artists, farmers, lovelies and a ginormous Saint Bernard who put his paw on top of my pup's paw) and somehow made it there with no so much as even a glitch. Thank you American Legion of Tyngsboro! Trying to explain to you people that I was looking for a farm in the woods was pretty hilarious.

On Tuesday, I met this lovely band at open mic night. The female singer is from NY and the guitar player is a Bostonian. They are very sweet and cool. Check them out: http://www.myspace.com/dagmartheband

And today, I found myself at the tail end of the Dorchester Day parade--i caught the last of the lovely men in kilts at the Banshee on Dot ave I was going to my friend's place where I caught up with old friends from my teaching days and met some new ones.

I topped the night off in Medford to see my friend's belly. She is extremely pregnant.

I wish I could post more but there's a battle between me and this wifi connection and I'm losing.

Love and Blessings to you all.

I leave you with four songs that have been superimposed on my brain this week..

Oh yea. One last thing. It's June and the heat just kicked on.


Pete Rock and CL Smooth


Lauryn Hill


Jeff Buckley


Talib Kweli

Michael Moore’s Revenge, dear friend w/ no insurance, wise consumers

Larry King is the King of awesome, and by "awesome", I mean awesome like old, stinky sock-awesome.

But the reason I'm posting this, whether you like Michael Moore or not, is because our healthcare system is severely fucked up. Most can agree on this. Good luck to you if you think this system is working. I think the best thing we can do is to shine a light on the problem, because it is a BIG problem, and problems don't get fixed by ignoring them.

That, and I just got off the phone tonight with one of my dearest friends who's just been diagnosed with breast cancer. She's been an RN for over 20 years and has worked per diem/agency for the past few years. Over the past few years, she has also not had ANY health insurance, nor does she have it now. My friend can now apply for medicaid because she is under 65 and her illness is expected to last more than 12 months, she might not have to pay premiums and /or deductibles with her plan. So, it's feels like a lot now, but a little too late. Christ, my dog, with the little 8 dollar premium i pay each month for accidental injury and sudden illness allows for more coverage than what my friend gets. This is a sad state of affairs, people.


So it got me thinking; how many regular check-ups and mammograms, etc. were passed over based on my friend's lack of insurance? And could even an ounce of preventative care have saved her from the state she is in now? What does this mean, on a larger scale, for all of the baby-boomers, with all of their illnesses, who will be the largest segment of our population soon?

And then, I became livid. VERY livid.

Because I love my friend and the thought of losing her over something that could have been caught early-on had the system she was working for and investing in, invested in here by way of health insurance.

And yes, it is now mandatory in this state. This glorified, last minute, hobbled-together Commonhealth care program. When you get a chance, shop around at the different plans and take a notice of astronomical deductibles. As the premium goes down, your deductible goes up, not to mention the copays and if you decide to go with the plan that covers RX, the gold deluxe plan or some such non-sense. And the premiums are less than privatized insurance, yes, but they're still hefty..and they no doubt get heftier as the quality goes up.

Someone's still getting richer. Several people, actually.

Livid, yes. Livid.


So the only advice I can offer this very moment, until we TAKE BACK THIS AWFUL SYSTEM, is this:

with this HMO-profit-driven system is in place, be a wise consumer. Get a second opinion. Hell, get a 14th opinion if you have to. Become your own advocate, whether it be mental or physical health services, ESPECIALLY mental health since private doctors are so beholden to pharmaceutical dollar bills. If you don't feel strong enough to advocate for yourself, find someone who can advocate for you, preferably someone who has a little pit-bull in her. Ask 101 questions...even if they get impatient with you. Research your prognosis, symptomologies and treatment options on the internet. Find other people who have used those treatments. The internet is your friend. I used it to research a detrimental procedure an MD wanted me to have, but thanks to a few kind strangers, it was narrowly averted.

And remember, just because it's an M.D. with a lot of power, consider him/her open for comparison-shopping. M.D. is also the initials of Mad Dog, that awful Malt Liquor that makes you sick. Just remember that mnemonic device in the doctor's office, when he's presenting his "opinion" to you. Just think, this person might be toxic.

This is the advice I gave my friend, (well, not the mad-dog part) when she explained that, during her first, 5 minute consult with an oncology surgeon, and (even though she's NOT YET had a biopsy) was told "you can assume you have malignant breast cancer--we might as well give you a mastectomy."

Well, I do know one thing about surgeons. The more surgeries they perform, the more money they make. I reminded her of that, but she, of course, was so shell-shock from the day's events, that she was unable to process anthing else.

So, sorry for the long bulletin. I just want people to know that there ARE ALWAYS options and they are never alone. Don't take one person's opinion for bond. There are as many varying treatments as there are prognoses.

And here's what I was getting to:

Following Monday night's heated exchange between Michael Moore and Wolf Blitzer on CNN's Situation Room, the Sicko director appeared on Larry King Live on Tuesday night and had his way with CNN's medical expert, Dr. Sanjay Gupta.















ps. Here is an example of a Commonwealth care insurance plan through the state of Massachusetts:

Your family size is: 1 (change)

If your current gross family income is less than $30,636.00/yr ($2,553.00/mo), you may be eligible for the Commonwealth Care program.

This only covers regular check-ups, treatment when you are sick or injured, prescriptions at your local pharmacy, vision care, mental health or substance abuse treatment, and, for some members, dental care. Commonwealth Care plans are offered by Boston Medical Center (BMC) Health Net Plan, Fallon Community Health Plan, Neighborhood Health Plan and Network Health.

Basically, with Deval Patrick's new system, Commonwealth Care, the higher the premium, the lower the deductible...etc and so on..so it's not really universal, it's more like "hey, it's available if you don't mind paying really high premiums and by the way, it's mandatory." So, it's sorta, kinda a solution..a better-than-nothing-system of sorts.


Click on this link to research more plans.

http://www.mahealthconnector.org/

For crying out loud...

do yourself a favor and see this movie:



Incredibly strange and beautiful picture about the life of photographer, Diane Arbus.







http://www.furmovie.com

some things i love about the city

1) you can lay down on a parkbench or a slab of rock on a beautiful day without EVERYONE assuming your a vagrant or homeless and calling the police
2) You don't have to drive 5 miles to get an iced coffee
3) People come in colors other than "white"
4) You can walk places or ride your bike instead of being ridiculously dependent on a car

Things I don't prefer about the city:

1) Going for a 15 min. Doctor's appointment at 1pm and not getting seen until 2:30pm. The betch even took her lunch break while I was waiting AND i was paying for parking. I LOVE MANAGED CARE! There's not a VISA/MC logo on the receptionist's window for nuthin!
2) People who create their own walkways and then get pissed at you when you almost accidentally run them over
3) Traffic, traffic and more traffic and people who can't drive, namely that 21 year old in Daddy's Escalade. Ya, you know who you are!
4) I'm not sure why inflation has doubled in the past 5 years, but no where, not even in the city, should a mediterrian roll-up from Au Bon Pain cost 8 fucking dollars.

That's all from my concrete slab today.

No where i. ...a type-o.but i'll leave it. it sounds cool


Currently listening:
Let It Die
By Leslie Feist
Release date: 15 July, 2004

Studying Stones

i am out here studying stones
trying to learn to be less alive
using all of my will
to keep very still
still even on the inside
i've cut all of the pertinent wires
so my eyes can't make that connection
i am holding my breath
i am feigning my death
when i'm looking in your direction

'course numb is an old hat
old as my oldest memories
see that one's my mother
and that one's my father
and that one in the hat, that's me
it's a skill i'd hoped to abandon
when i got out on the open road
but any more pent up emotion
and i think i'm gonna explode

there's never been an endeavor so strange
as trying to slow the blood in my veins
to keep my face blank
as a stone that just sank
until not a ripple remains
i am high above the tree line
sitting cross legged on the ground
when all of the forbidden fruit has fallen and rotted
that's when i'm gonna come down

'course numb is an old hat
old as my oldest memories
see that one's my mother
and that one's my father
and that one in the hat, that's me
it's a skill i'd hoped to abandon
when i got out on the open road
but any more pent up emotion
and i think i'm gonna explode

The Truth Shall Set you Free...

Current mood: aggravated

and then it will make everyone dislike you.

that is all, really.

I enjoyed this..maybe you will too..and if you don't, that's cool too

A Message From Caroline Myss

Greetings,

This past March Salon has had so many responses that we have decided to share it with the entire Myss.com Newsletter. Enjoy……!

Now that ENTERING THE CASTLE is out, I am on a book tour, which includes a fairly constant schedule of interviews. I thought I would share with you the most frequently asked questions about ENTERING THE CASTLE and "The Divine Miss T," as one of my dearest friends now refers to Teresa of Avila.

How did you discover Teresa of Avila, the extraordinary 16th-century Spanish mystic and saint who inspired your new book?

I knew about the life and work of Teresa of Avila as the result of my studies in mysticism in college, actually beginning in high school. I did not study her work as a high school student, of course, but all of us were certainly introduced to her as a great saint. But that was as far as it went until a few years ago. I have an educational institute called CMED (Caroline Myss Education) through which I teach two extensive programs that are divided into three seminars per year. During the second seminar of the course that was originally listed as INTUITION AND MYSTICISM, I had intended to teach a full day on the Christian mystics and a full day on the mystics from the Eastern and other traditions. I intended to begin with St. John of the Cross and his classic work, The Dark Night of the Soul, but on my way to teach I had grabbed, by accident, St. Teresa's great spiritual work, The Interior Castle. I thought, "It doesn't matter, I'll start with her." As I introduced St. Teresa, the individual, to the audience, I felt myself surrounded in silence. I couldn't hear my audience. It was as if I had entered a soundproof room. And then I heard the words, "Follow me, daughter." I knew instantly that St. Teresa was speaking to me. That was the beginning of our work together. We had an extremely subtle relationship, one that demanded prayer, silence, and isolation. Our communication was extremely subtle and very soft and rare, but like the most refined perfume, a small drop was sufficient to direct the outline, structure, and content of each chapter. Into my expanding relationship with Teresa I then wove my research about the spiritual struggles of the contemporary world, and the result is ENTERING THE CASTLE.

Why are this medieval nun's life and thoughts and practices relevant to our lives and spiritual practice today?

What makes great spiritual teachers great? Why does their work remain relevant for centuries? The reason is that they transcend the boundaries and limits of their own traditions and reach the level of cosmic truth – truth that applies to the eternal human experience. That is the nature of St. Teresa's work. For example, she addresses the human struggle with power, the need for recognition, the delicate struggle with the control one's family has over an individual and the need that individual has to break free in order to discover her or himself. I don't know any other spiritual teacher who even articulates that need, and yet I have met hundreds of people who struggle with the crisis of feeling divided between their desire to explore their interior life and still remain a primary nurturing figure in the family. Exploring your interior life, by the way, does not in any way mean that you have the desire to leave or abandon your family. Yet, that is so often the fear on both sides of the deeper spiritual experience: that an individual cannot have a rich interior life and a rich exterior life. This is simply not true. The ideal is to blend the two. By dividing the two, keeping your soul separated from your physical life, you create the endless suffering that comes from always searching for where you belong in this world.

In ENTERING THE CASTLE, you use the same symbolic image of the castle, which St. Teresa used, to represent the soul. How can St. Teresa's image of a medieval castle with many mansions be effective today?

The Castle was St. Teresa's metaphor for the soul. She was from the Spanish town of Avila, which is a castle town. It is still a castle town, surrounded by medieval walls in the design of a castle. The image of a castle is positively seductive to our imagination. It works and that's all that counts. The idea of crossing a drawbridge and closing that drawbridge to your outside world and finally being in an interior place where no one can find you is very effective. The Castle represents your inner soul, your deeper soul, the part of you that requires prayer, reflection, and the pursuit of self-knowledge to access. It's divinely seductive inner work.

You suggest that people are craving a breakthrough – a means to connect to a grounded, contemporary theology that they can practice every day. What are the means that we should use to do this?

Prayer, a devotion to contemplation and personal reflection, and an application of your interior life to the whole of your exterior life. That is, the Western person is fond of the God-in-their-mind, a rational concept of God that is accessible through books and seminars and discussion and perhaps group worship, such as church, synagogue, or mosque. But the type of breakthrough that I am referring to is a mystical breakthrough; that is, to move past a mental and behavioral relationship to God and into an experiential relationship with the Divine. That actually defines the mystic and the nature of a mystical experience – to experience the power and authority of the divine with complete abandon as opposed to defining the nature of God through intellectual definition.

What does it mean to be a "mystic without a monastery?"

Mystics are people who are called to experience life at the visionary level, to experience the power of God as opposed to thinking about it, or keeping it at arm's length because they fear it. Traditionally, mystics were found in monasteries or ashrams or, in earlier centuries, living as recluses in the forests or desert, like the Indian sadhus or the Desert Fathers. Like all ways of being, those mystics served the world effectively at that time. But times change and demand that all models and forms of human expression change their garb. There was a time when all Western women were more repressed and had to "wait to be asked to dance," so to speak, but that model is no longer effective. And there was a time when all men accepted war as a necessary evil, but now they see that they can resist and oppose it openly. Times change and ways of being in the world change to accommodate our changing times and the shifting patterns of chaos, both outside and inside of ourselves.

We are living at a time of great transformation. The spiritual awakening that began in the 1960s needs to mature to its next level, which is a deepening into devotion to a mystical practice while remaining an effective force in the world. And by that I mean remaining in your skin, in your role as who you are. Mystics knew how to channel grace through prayer and they knew the power of that. They knew how to receive guidance through reflection and contemplation; they knew how to share the gift of illumination with each other. These are great gifts of life and profound grace that we are capable of providing for each other and the world. This is what it means to be a mystic without a monastery. You make a commitment to your own interior illumination and through that discover the "sacred" part of your "contract" and the true meaning of your highest potential.

If we are craving spiritual experiences and encounters with God, why is it that we have such deep fears about the Divine and the ways that encountering God and our own Soul will change our life?

You can thank the Catholic Church, and many Protestant denominations as well, for the groundwork on that one, because they have done such an effective job of separating the authority of heaven and earth, body and soul, church and state. As a result, many of us still have a child's polarized view of God that goes something like this: "If I am good, I will be protected by God and that's all I really want. I want my things to be safe. I want a good job. I want my family safe. I want my health, and I want access to a few miracles in an emergency. In exchange, I will, on occasion, go to public worship and behave myself as best I can (within reason, of course)." At some primal level, most people are afraid – indeed, terrified –that getting close to God will result in the loss of their money and earthly goods, and will end up causing them untold physical suffering, not to mention celibacy. That's the role model from centuries of saints and monastics who did live lives of poverty and celibacy and physical suffering. But as I point out in my book, years ago sophisticated medicine, hospitals, and emergency rooms did not exist. During medieval times and before, everyone suffered from disease, not just those devoted to God. But those in the monasteries chose to respond to their illnesses as spiritual devotions and thus the association was born that God makes people suffer who enter into a deeper spiritual path. But for all our medical advances, people still suffer with illness and disease. Disease and suffering are a part of life, as the Buddha pointed out long ago. One need not be on a spiritual path to know what it is to experience depression, the loss of a partner, betrayal, or a devastating loss of one's finances. Look at the Enron crisis. You think all those people who were betrayed by that company suffered that experience because God wanted it to happen? That's ridiculous. Actually, that's just life.

How do we avoid being spiritually isolated after experiencing an encounter with the Divine?

Isolation is as highly misunderstood as are the consequences of a mystical experience. Mystical isolation does not result in an individual feeling that she is lost in a sea of confusion, or left to encounter life within the experiences of her own soul for the remainder of her days on earth. That is the outsider looking in through a terrified imagination. A mystical experience is a profound awakening to a cosmic truth in which that truth goes from being a mental idea to an animated force within your soul. Such an experience does not isolate you. It empowers you. A person can talk about healing in theory, for example, and he or she can even believe that people can be healed. And then there is the mystical experience of healing grace, in which you feel that grace running through your veins. In that moment, you understand how it is that people are healed. That doesn't isolate you. It empowers you and fills you with a depth of compassion that you did not know you were capable of feeling for another person. It requires a maturing prayer life to cope with the growing requests for help that come to you after that. Prayer is your support mechanism—and not petitionary prayer, but mystical prayer. I teach that in my workshops.

Why is this "spiritual life crisis" unique to this era of human evolution?

Many times during human history people could have said that they were living at a time of unparalleled change and it would have been true—for example, during the Great Plague or the beginning of the Nazi era. But the ingredients that make up our complex personal and social lives today present unrivaled challenges, and so, it's fair to say that we are in the midst of a Mystical Renaissance. Three factors come to mind. First, time has become the servant to timelessness; that is, we have entered the era of timelessness. We are now linked to the internet, to systems of communication that are essentially instantaneous – timeless. And people are addicted to this timeless medium. Timelessness is a characteristic of their interior self. Secondly, the speed of change has increased as has the breath and width of it, so to speak. All change is now universal. A change in Iraq affects the whole earth, as does a change in California or Washington or North Korea. Instantly the entire world is affected. All news on the Internet affects the whole. We have never been instantaneously affected by the whole of the world before. And third, we have evolved into the body/mind/spirit template, although most people only pull out that template at the doctor's office and remain unaware the rest of the time that they are, indeed, a walking-talking-functioning, multi-dimensional creature of consciousness. Yet, you are exactly that, a multi-sensory human being, who is now fully connected to a global system of information and energetic data, and who, for the most part, lives unaware of the impact all of that information has on you. Amid all of this energetic chaos, the practices so necessary for inner balance are completely missing—practices such as reflection and contemplation. Instead, we are offered therapy and tranquilizers in their place. Reflection is the practice of taking time to reflect on the information that has come into your body and mind that day and how it has merged with your conscience and your soul. How are you being affected by the new thoughts that have come to you that day? And how are your choices affecting you and the people around you? Are you able to live with your choices? Do they have integrity? Are they honorable? Did you take the time to pray before you made your significant decisions? And if you say that you didn't have time to pray before significant decisions, what does that tell you about your inner life and how you maintain your spiritual devotion and your priorities with God? It says that you don't take your interior life seriously at all. God, for you, is a crisis operation, a superstitious force to turn to when things are confusing. God is a panic button and nothing more.

What is the most effective way to meet your soul?

I wrote ENTERING THE CASTLE for precisely this reason, as a guide to meet your soul. The soul is a force that cannot be described; it must be experienced. Imagine that a newly married woman asked a mother, "But describe what childbirth is like and then tell me what it's like to love your children, because I have to know exactly what that's like before I have a child so I know for sure if I really want to have a child." Could a mother really find the right words? When I ask that question in a lecture, mothers laugh out loud because they know that unless a woman experiences being a mother, she can never know what it is like to love a child. She has to meet that child directly. The same is true for the soul. You have to enter your Castle, beginning with crossing your drawbridge and taking up the exploration of each of the seven mansions. The journey, I will admit, is not easy. In fact, it is extremely rigorous. Each mansion has many rooms, as I describe in my book. And that's where you begin.

How do Teresa of Avila's Seven Mansions of prayer relate to the human energy system and the seven chakras that you have described in ANATOMY OF THE SPIRIT?

The soul is build on a template of seven levels of power, and that is what St. Teresa's vision of the soul also embraced. Her division of the lower and upper mansions is similar to the seven chakras, in that the lower three mansions are the "worker-bee" mansions and the upper mansions are devoted to more mystical awakenings. Aside from that, there are no more direct comparisons.

As we enter our personal Castles, what will some of our most profound challenges be? And what will be some of our greatest rewards?

How typical to ask for the rewards before you even begin the journey. As for the challenges, the greatest challenge will be to defeat the power of your need to have God be a force of logic and reason in your life. The greatest challenge you will ever face is to confront your fear of being humiliated and come to understand the power of being humble, and to allow that power to lead you finally to surrender your life to God's direction for you. It's so ironic to me that most people assume that in surrendering to God, their lives will become miserable and not wonderful. That's just incredible. They have no idea that their lives will, in fact, become extraordinary. They cannot see that they have been living in a prison, held captive by a fear of being humiliated and the need for others' approval most of the days of their lives. The most profound challenge will be to get over the grip the earth has on you. In the language of the Buddha, free yourself from these endless illusions. St. Teresa calls them your reptiles. That freedom is your reward.

St. Teresa's instructions in the Seventh Mansion are to serve the divine through serving others. How can we use prayer and channeling grace to be of service in the world?

People have no idea how powerful prayer really is. After people have tried everything else in terms of medical interventions, for example, they often say, "Well, all we can do now is pray." If they really understood prayer, they would begin medical procedures with a prayer and then do whatever they can medically. St. Teresa wrote The Interior Castle as a guide of illumination to God through prayer, through learning how to rely on the ever-increasing depth of inner dialogue with your soul and God as the means to discover your profound capacity to become a channel for grace in this world. Grace comes in many forms: illuminated thought, a moment of authority, abundant compassion and courage, the capacity to heal and comfort another, visionary creativity. Grace has many, many forms and grace is meant to be shared, to be distributed to others constantly and under the radar, in silence, invisibly. That's the role of a mystic out of a monastery – to become a channel for grace in this world invisibly, to form circles of grace that gather for the sake of sharing their capacity to nurture each other in their spiritual lives, to share their gifts of illumination, to channel grace at a distance in order to heal others and this earth, and to bring forth new creative thought. This is a great calling and I know many, many people are emerging as mystics out of monasteries. Many are coming to study with me at CMED, because people need support as they venture into their souls/Castles. Even St. Teresa said that one should not go into the soul alone. You need soul companions. And the groups that bond as a result are profoundly bonded to each other because they come to know each other through prayer and a devotion to bring the best of themselves to each other and to the world. I feel very blessed to be doing this work and I am so grateful to all of these students, so very grateful. And most of all, I am grateful to St. Teresa.