desire

A consistent urge to utter

forgive me
forgive me
forgive me

And a consistent whisper in return

of course
of course
of course

A source of exoneration.
A place to adore and to repent.

Something like a bow.

the desire to confess
to be known utterly
and to still hear
yes.

don't need no

 Seems legit.

One girl's contribution to the class potluck:

out of context

me:
-That place was magic to us.  Magnetic, still.
-And ordered pizza?  I think that was the first day I tried on skinny jeans.
-Took 3 naps today.  Ate two corndogs.  Gonna go read about wolves for awhile.  LIVING.
-Is this what will become of us?  These concerns?  These fixations?
-And bouncing around in slow motion!  It's almost unbelievable.  Almost.
-Are you thriving or surviving?
-Yeah, ouch.  It hurts.  Sorry in advance.  Proceed with caution.
-Little by little.  maybe maybe.  Try try try.

them:
-Lightning strikes.
-There is no such thing as growing out of a mole.
-We will come back to this place.
-Do you want a banana?  I've seen you eat a lot of bananas.
-If your farts were visible would you still fart in public?
-Deal
-Don't leave without hotdogs.
-Yeah.  Struck a nerve.

loving is a dangerous thing to do

loving is a dangerous thing to do

even in small amounts

every expansion and every release

comes with a stronger contraction of doubt

this is the best that i can do-

considering all

(considering all)

words that have been rehearsed and said

are very easy to say again

and the deeds, they speak for themselves

but then

an uncomfortable descent

(Morrison knew)

a reckoning with some rusted memory box

an urge to apologize 

incessant chattering, clarifying nothing

lonely for the lie

for all of my attempts

my best won't be enough

again

the offering is exhausting  

giving away your tells
opening up your insides to an unforgiving,

harsh light scrutiny

(repulsive)

it's hard to remember what

it feels like, now

to have laid it all bare and to still be there

or how it ever felt right before

rusted

rust and grey- a winter array

you knew that this was coming

resting consuming investing clothing stepping growing saving asking looking toning cutting watching moving knowing

a critical voice wakes me up in a panic

from some happy dream

not sure quite how to get myself there anymore-

what i like from your face, what i trust in your core

not sure quite how

when there's nothing at stake

when there's no keeping and nothing to lose

i don't know how to believe 

that someone's words might match their deeds

so i won't assume and i won't wager,

keep myself safe from all those

obvious dangers

let's not even talk about next year

it is still in between the head and the heart

but it's nothing like a home

go to bed and wrestle that subconscious part

tomorrow, wake up alone

defeat

Seems like everyone's feeling a little defeated around this time of year.  A pressure cooker of obligations in every walk of life.  The students are two scantron bubbles away from insane, and I'm about one cafeteria meal away from joining them.

Today I had to exercise my Mandated Reporter title based on what a student wrote in her warm-up exercises.  I can't remember ever having to do that before- at least not to this extent.  When I read it, everything slowed right down for a second- and then everything sped up.  A rush.  A life saver thrown to sea.  Please, don't be too late.

I'm not sure how to even feel.  I feel a lot.  I don't know what that means.  I could have identified a bit of melancholy, but I had no idea of the extent.  Some people bear the weight so silently.  

I thought of her for the rest of the day.  And on the drive home.  And throughout the evening. I wonder if she's ok right now.  Wonder if she gets a break from it sometimes. Wonder if it will all pass with time.  Wonder where anything begins or ends. 

The reality is-

hers is a very solitary struggle.  so very inside.  somewhere words don't reach.  

some harsh and tempting depth.

But the other reality is-

sometimes you need other people to lift you up a little while you try to want to swim.

come on

Throw yourself into an all-giving ocean. Name it after a hurricane. Drift awhile on some new wetness. Thrash around longer than you should just to defy the drown. The tide comes and goes. It'll always go.

Linger
Longer
Then
less and less

Sn  a  p

Ssssssssssnake
$79.99
Sssssssssshhhh
Esssssssssssss
No need to
Ssssswallllooww

Hisssssssssssssss

Hollow words

Coiled somewhere snug
Safe, stifled and starving
Release it up my sleeve.
You've really got a
Hold on

Hollow
Is it me
(you're looking)
PLAY

Come on.

the past is prologue
he said that once, to her
and now there's a baby baby
and some could have but didn't.

A prolonged production of the most important part.  Proper then primal. Prepare. Postpone. Perform. paddle paddle paddle. Process, perhaps.

This is all foreplay.
This is all foreplay.
This is all.

close

i have a sense for poison, now.
a recognition in a tone.
a calculated mystery.
a silence where there should be sharing.
a rush of words to cover some shame.
an eagerness to be pleased.
an excuse for not pleasing.
those voids- - -
black holes of adoration.

even now, finishing arguments.
honest conversations with the walls
and a fist locked firm around some old vial.

riots in some middle state.
people losing lives and friendship and security.
we watch from the coast with eager, hungry eyes.
follow the minute-by-minute just to know how safe we are.

my blood runs too- safe and contained
watching smaller dramas unfold
watching from some safe seat
like a voyeur for heart violence

there is a draft in here
in need of an edit

this doesn't deserve another grappling poem
romancing the poison
exonerating the pain
it all feeds the vacancy
that should be left to starve dry

the cycle
the magnetic shift,
i want to be separate from it.
another swearing off- - -
another experiment with dosage- - -
another confrontation with evidence- - -
the same heartbreak with another face- - -

i look for the reminder.
remember remember
there is no yours or mine anymore
there never was a mine

carve that cave out of old, scribbled pages.
fodder for some pyre
it's your funeral,
and every word seems to [be the] last.

not even words.  not words or visions.
some poison in the blood, still running red.
still habits to break.
still an empty to leave unfilled.

close. close. close

we were close
but to no end
close, but not as in almost

close to closing
some wound
some vein too connected
to the source

wild thoughts on dark nights
but morning brings light
mourning brings light
eventually.

tell me

"Wild Geese"

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things. -Mary Oliver "the kind steeped in books, with a curious eye, a digger, someone unfond of the common question.  a rarity, not a kind of person at all, but a singular example of personhood."

found

i found this gem in the back of a student's notebook left behind from last year.

the risk you take

when you let international students choose their own poem to recite, and you include Bukowski on the list of author options...

battle anthem

there is all this to do
at the start
who am I
who am I not
who might I be
for you with you to you after you
where does the line of the I stand firm
and where does it topple over
to stretch to something wider
and when does a stretch mean a break?

(threaded bare
tears streaming down the sides
bring the pain
bring the pleasure
two's company
THREE's company
I'm ready for anything
prepared for nothing
you'll have to take me as I am
take me
take)

"until there's one you can't ignore"

what is wanted here?
what do any of us truly want that we can even name?
acronyms to infinity
cut to the chase
dial it back
double check
before you send
there are no promises to make

(There was never time. That was always the reason offered. Never time for old and new.  But now there seems to be. Now there's time and now you do. There wasn't time for me and you. You must have been done long before I knew.  And there I was still trying. Still holding on after you were through.)

"you are a warrior, so stop your worrying."

I fear I am too ready.
Noticing too much
Accepting too little
from clashing, crashing voices.
Entertaining a shore full of crabs
at the edge of a shallow pool
where I and so many have stood before,
where so much overlaps.

(So what I understand is... you're meant to busy yourself with fulfilling things until someone comes along that you value so much that you're willing to set aside some of those fulfilling things to make room for them... and then you try to fulfill each other for a few years and at times you succeed and at times you fail and eventually you resent them for the space you lack for other fulfilling things.  Do I have that right?)

"what I want, I feel, is some rough kindness."

let's just say yes
let's just run amok-
see if we're still laughing
after a few cold months.

The Museum of Tolerance

"i always feel like such an outsider when i walk down the streets here" she says
almost every time she visits
it's after labor day and she's wearing white.  she has no idea that there are rules.

on a grey tuesday, we go to the museum of tolerance
this was her only real goal for her visit- the only place she knew she wanted to go
fifteen minutes into the tour,  she leans over to me
"what does antisemitism mean?" she asks

the part of me that, three years ago, would have judged her so harshly for being so out of touch with the world- for her inexperience- would have been so embarrassed about her ignorance-
now burst at the seams with a sort of compassion
that is new

Her voice was so curious.  So genuine in her desire to understand.  So innocent.

She's aging.  We both know.  She says.  I watch.

She is slower to react.  Slower to acclimate to her surroundings.  Slower to recover from a coughing fit.

And also

Slower to judge.  Slower to snap.

We are resting this week.  Together.  Resting our eyes like seniors in a home.  Resting our minds from the racing outside.  Resting our hearts from having to say anything too deep or too serious.  We are just being together in a way that feels more together than it's been in many years.

"what do you want to eat tonight?" she asks
"i don't know, something light."
"ok, let's get chinese food."
and she believes, truly, that chinese is a light dinner option.
"because it goes right through you," she says.  and i just laugh and laugh and love her despite and love her because.

We see the world in two different directions.  I can laugh now.

we are listening to a holocaust survivor  (her reason)
and she is nodding off in the seat beside me.  fighting it, but still

and he is happy as a lark- wearing orange argyle socks and a page-boy cap-
talking about seeing babies thrown up in the air and shot- being found out because a woman
he was hiding with had a big butt that wouldn't fit through a wall- cracking jokes that no one but me would chuckle out loud at- everyone so somber- he had survived and he could laugh-
how he'd gone from hiding to working the German Underground- layers of identity- nearly killed four times

stranger than fiction, this life

moved to America and offered his hand in marriage to a woman
if her father would give him a free pastrami sandwich

and she sat behind me, helping him finish his sentences
repeating questions when his hearing failed
his story so carefully preserved along side hers
in pictures
and memory
and the telling
and retelling

one survivor's lot in life
so many lives
so much death and
so much living

my mom comes out from showering now
"did you understand everything we heard today?"
...
"why did they hate the Jews so much?"

she's still thinking about it.  she's still trying to make sense of it.

and i am too- and i am humbled-
 i am a daughter turned mother-  student turned teacher
with so much to learn
about love and compassion
and living

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174555

thoughts upon waking: sequel

They say that in dreams, teeth represent control.

Last night I was in the backseat, my dad was driving me to the B's. Three of my teeth came out.  They came out easily, all at once. There was a lack of panic in my reaction. I wasn't upset. In fact, I felt relieved that we could turn around and go to the dentist instead of the B's because I didn't want to go visit them anyway.  I sat patiently during the drive, holding my teeth in my hand.  My dad, the worrier, was more concerned, but even he didn't seen too bothered. He knew a good dentist.  I later noticed that some of my bottom teeth were loose and wiggling too.

When we stopped at the house and I looked in the mirror, I didn't think the gap from the teeth looked all that bad. Maybe even cute in a quirky way. I figured the other teeth would eventually shift over and make up for the absence.

This bodes well for letting go gracefully.
This bodes well for making peace with the gaps.

Grow grow grow.

dat moment

1.   Can the English writing people of Earth please agree to stop using "dat" for "that"?  When did that become a thing? It makes my innards shriek.

2.  2 chocolate chip cookies for dinner. Feeling myself lately.

3. This weekend I got out of my head and into my body, and it's astonishing how easily all that anger melted away. All that was boiling was caused by a speck.  All that incited has been dissolved.

4. Who are these instagram wonders who eat fancy eggs and drink the fanciest coffee served on perfectly crisp tabletops and linen every goddamn day? Who are they, where are they, and how do I get there?

5.  AND ALSO, let's just clarify that a moment is generally an ephemeral, very brief occurrence.  Let's stop saying "that moment when" you worked a 70 hour week or "that moment when" you try and try and nothing ever works.  Those are not moments.  Stop.

6.  and also too- man, the little hiccups of rage.  the little wishes that i never capitalized.  i wish i had called you out- to your face.  been less like butter, so ready.  So eager to hear a soft word spoken. wish I'd been less quick to shoulder blame that was not mine, and less inclined to offer justification that i don't believe in.  i wish it would do any good at all to be true.  to be harsh.  to be honest.  to be as openly disappointed as i feel at times.  i wish i had been less quick to accept apology for doing what you've always done when faced with uncomfortable situations- avoid.  it's always only made it worse- harder than it has to be.  i was never going to like it- really.  of course not. but i do judge. with reason. they are patterns.  she is a vapid, beautiful, vulnerable and young choice like so many others.  but I need to divorce my wishes for you. They are not (were never) your wishes for yourself.  and it is no longer my business to judge (though I do).  it is no longer your lot to know my thoughts (and so i make good and refrain, mostly).  it is no longer your onus to care (what weight.  what freedom).

peaks and valleys

nobody's surprised when patterns repeat

sad, maybe

but not surprised

there were lessons learned there

and there are lessons i'm learning still

stomach

I don't really understand how gummy vitamins work.
How is it all in there?
How can we be sure that it is real at all?
A cup of broccoli in a fruit chew.

I do this thing.
A perceived good.
From a fear of unwellness and unknown terror
I buy supplies.

"you should date him," she says
and it feels like a choice between never and forever
a web wound tight, a comfort or a crime
should maybe

a label is a promise
that takes a sort of faith
but I've seen eyes gazing out from behind the curtain
starved and full of shit

looking for that
easy swallow

imperative

I HAVE come to bury Love           

     Beneath a tree,

 everyone's best friend died today,

In the forest tall and black

     Where none can see.

apparently.  he died in a hotel in mexico

I shall put no flowers at his head,

     Nor stone at his feet,

while i am toe to toe with my own grief.  

my hollow haunt. My real life ghost

For the mouth I loved so much

     Was bittersweet.




deletedeletedeletedelete




I shall go no more to his grave,

     For the woods are cold.

who stopped midsentence and left abruptly 

I shall gather as much of joy

     As my hands can hold.

when something young and shiny stumbled by

on the other side of the road

I shall stay all day in the sun

     Where the wide winds blow, --

and i'm headed back to the graveyard

(stay away, there's nothing to say) 

But oh, I shall cry at night          

     When none will know.

his bad form reduced to a dash

a freedom and release

a proposition in my hand




deletedeletedeletedelete

open

 

I need to leave these here.  We open tonight, and the impact that that process of the past few weeks has had on me just starting to sink in. I feel very... grateful.  And vulnerable.  And appreciated.  And emotional.

I want to live always in this state of flow.

Deliberately and engaged.

learning yearning

The vision nearly stopped me in my tracks.  Aesthetic excellence enough  to worship.

And then she spoke.  Oh my god, when she spoke.  All spells were undone.  All magic, lost.  The youthfulness that poets praise, she warped to disaster.  Hardly recognizable.  Sloppy.  Something not brimming with curious yearning but fraught with gross need.  Falling all over herself.  Slurring words at 9:30 pm.  A spectacle.  An embarrassment to beauty.  Something to tolerate, rather than to adore.

The ghosts have all gone hollow.  Nothing to fear and so little to envy- a quiet sadness in the graveyard.  I'm learning yearning anew.  An older longing.  A controlled draw. Steady, now.

Steady.

struck

Full brimming full.  Moved with the pulls of a thousand magnets, a thousand crests all beating to that same tide, graceful swings between delight and desire- sex and solitude.  The same streets, a year later- the same squalor sans the desperation.  Streets are directions, not deserts, and faces are curiosities, no longer lethal.  (Sometimes they even glow.)

Old men remain old men.  I'm afraid there is no cure.  They were once young, just as desperate but less pathetic.  To find, after all the experience, that the most you can hope for is pity.  Maybe a kind look or a lucky gust of wind.  But to find yourself in that state with the same mad desires of youth.  Burning without fodder.  (I accepted the gift, a necklace, out of confusion and naivete.  The idea that he had bought it with intention,  for me.  The idea.)

I saw her ex last night.  Thin.  Haunted.  Tortured like he was from the start. Balding Poe in a beanie.  I never liked him much at all, but in my middle school yearning for acceptance from people I don't even like, I tried to make good and to focus on his redeeming qualities.  Or fabricate them... it's hard to tell. When I talked to him, he couldn't hold a sentence together.  It was like talking to the aftermath of a man.  And when I wished him well and walked way, I couldn't believe how removed I felt.  A shrand from a laughable past.  Walking away from the pyre... not one ember plume spoiling the sky.  (His trove is what broke any desire or attempt at respect.  Misogynist to the core.  You go ahead and wear those heels, beautiful.  You go on.)

All in the state of waiting.  The next bell. The next check.  The next encounter.  The next tragedy.  The next lover.  The next quiet hour.  Fall is a soft sobbing wrestle with the hunger.  No one hears, but plenty know.  Don't make me say it.  The longing for chamber music.  A fire in my belly and every word aflame. (But it gets so dark so early.  I've said goodbye before I knew I was leaving.  I am a step ahead of you.  Of myself.  A glass of water before the hunger pangs. Anticipation rich.)

known

We knew so many couples over the years through shared ceilings or floors or walls.  It seemed that some never made love, others never fought at all. At times we would bring the balance with carelessly loud love and sobbing, urgent arguments. Over time, we quieted too. Love became quieter, fighting gave way to silence. Careful acts of keeping words back.

I saw - last night with a new passenger. Probably going somewhere that I wouldn't even want to be. But regardless, it left me feeling vulnerable. Replaceable. Uncomfortably human.

Replaceable, despite my knowing better. But also, too, in truth.

Anxious dreams. Undone deeds. Unspoken words. Unknown ends. Uncontrollable others.

"so nothing's changed," - would say. maybe. probably. i'm losing that voice now.

"come on, i'm not that bad. i'm not as callused as all that," - might say. maybe.  perhaps.

I am losing my arm mass.  I suppose there is strength in definition.

define me sometimes.

to know true terror:  face a series of empty calendar days
with a conflicted and yearning heart.

all of the moment.  give me a month.  give me a minute or two.  temporary flashes of grief.  laid to rest.  limbo.  seeing myself through that open window, those first days that felt so impossibly free.  - is going, again, somewhere I don't want to be.  old thoughts.  old stories.  old bricks for familiar walls.

but can't I say, "good for - and company.  good for - and good for me."

?

all of it, so temporary.

in grey

break a man by filling him up.

a quiet mind and an absence of comparison

talk to me talk to me talk to me

this changes everything
changes nothing

heart handles
& novelty

men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men men man

(maybe it's too late to say goodbye. can i try again?  another chance to say the end?)

let's talk about leagues.  leagues and degrees of separation.

talk to me talk to me talk to me
(& a quiet mind)

the truth is a moving target

resist or qualify superlatives.  you are my favorite (right now).  you are the best (in that one particular way and in my limited experience).  the most and the least and never forever always will take on a grey state with a few years' blur.  most less most.  least more than least.  never retracted.  reversed.  the whole pedestal aflame.  the whole mountain now cavernous and ringing with echoes.  the exhaustion from the excavation will be staggering.  you could sleep for weeks just to (attempt) to forget entirley.  you will deem it a shared blame- maybe out of clarity, or perhaps extreme fear.

and in the end, clarity in the grey.
clarity for today
& a moving target.

adulthood

A few weeks ago when I walked up to my car and realized someone had dented the side without leaving a note, I was surprised at how quickly I reached acceptance.  It was almost instant.  There was nothing I could do to undo it, and no one to blame.  I patted myself on the back for such perspective with special satisfaction.

It's getting harder, though.

I dropped my phone and cracked the screen a few weeks ago.  Got it replaced for $80.  Then a week later, I dropped it again. It's less shattered, but it wrecked whatever's below the glass.  The color fades in and out as weird lines appear at random. It'll cost close to $200 to replace.

Sherman got into his second (and last) fight requiring a VET visit.  $500 later... He's back to ok.

Bought a $400 ac unit and leave it on constantly out of necessity.  The bill is $200 a month and it's still 90 degrees in the middle of the day.

Pour $400 into the car at the start of summer to keep it going.  Check engine light on the way home today is going to cost me $700.

I just don't know how it's ever possible to get ahead.  Ever.  I fantasize about a life where money is no issue.  Where setbacks can occur without breaking me.  Where I don't always have to be nervous about the next disaster.

I work hard.  Even with the extra income from photography, I haven't been able to put any money whatsoever into savings. None.

Did I miss something?  Am I living too lavishly?  Should I stop being social and joining friends for dinner and events until I can get back to a stable financial place?  Should I stop investing in myself and my business?  It just makes me so sad.

Sitting here in a bar full of old men waiting for the loner car to come in with a tear running down my face because I just don't understand where I could do better.  Or more.  I don't know what I'm doing wrong in adult living to constantly feel like a 12 year old waiting for allowance.

skinsink

And to think that after all that time and concern, that they were lessons I didn't really need.  To think that experience would amount to the same ennui.  To think that, even at finest offering, it would be revealed as even more secondary than I already knew it to be.

 It's not the skin that stays. Sometimes some other magnetism remains. But the skin, the skin is all the same. A temporary escape. A moment of drowning. A panic and a relief.  Seeing, in an instant, the entire story play out. Anticipating the end even at the inception.  Your face full of disgust when it's me at your door (the last time). The regularity of a back turned toward me (i looked for you, but could not find you). All bound up in the same moment when you're pulling me in for those first times.  The deep taking in of scent.  The words we say in the beginning that feel new every time (they are all the same).  The calculated energy required to remain aloof and yet immersed.  A nascent yearning, fulfilling and fulfilled.  A wild thrashing of waves,

but the same emergence back to shore.

It's not the skin that stays. The skin is wrapped up in habit and decay.  Maybe some new way to die.  Some new generosity.  Some new delightful pain, but the act is unchanged.

Sometimes
Only
Sometimes strange magnetism remains.

like us

Girls like us all cut our hair.  You could strike a match off of those new-found cheek bones.  You could drop a quarter down those eyes and never hear it hit bottom.

Girls like us, we all cut our hair.  We're all the same.  You can find us anywhere and our worlds are always entirely brand-new.  We've all got some quirk or need or fragile point of view.  Some animal or affinity for fine wine.  Accidentally independent and asking without asking.

And we'll grow it back eventually.  Out of rebellion or defeat or some holy combination.  We'll grow it back to disappear into.  Grow it back  when it's not good enough to be ourselves anymore.  Grow it back so there's more to play with, more to tease, more to pull when he doesn't seem to see you anymore.  It will be a long, drawn out resignation and, in the end, a victory.

Girls like us all cut our hair.  You can look for it like a marker.  Some flag of readiness.  An opening of the blinds. You'll see it in the wit and wonder.  The big-eyed curiosity.  Easy to laugh.  Clumsy.   You saw her in me.  You'll see me in her too.  You'll find this kind of girl in every girl that you find.  She's the same and her world is always new. When I see them, I recognize them too.

And someday it will feel like they have nothing to do with you.

more and less

Then-
Feet intertwined under sheets
A desperate plea
Reading, half clothed, in the living room
An embrace, a racing heart, a release
Caves
The green light and misplaced longing

Now-
A glimmer and a glean
Halls full of adulation, hours full of purpose
Long walks home
Mouth full of drought
Lost weight
Found strength
There is no shortage
But there is still that loss

Then-
A gallery of
Places you are not
Europe again, but through a lens
A face on the border of your special day
Paid
More and more and less and less

come, spring

Bare limbs and a cold wind howl.
A winter vacancy.
In a land covered in seeds
Branches still reach for old leaves.

So

S:  So, I just found out that our groom today is the brother of Bradley Nowell.
me:  I don't know who that is.
S:  The lead singer of Sublime.
me:  Oh, so he'll probably be here.
S:  No.  He's dead.

Out

I go walking
After midnight
Lord knows what I'm searching for
But it's not where I left
In my bed
In my head
And the stillness doesn't stick,
Not yet.

four hours

As of today, I'm four hours stronger.  Which means I've taken 4 hour-long classes at Barre Releve.  Which means I have spent four hours staring at my body making awkward, ungraceful shapes in the mirror.  Four hours of frantic motion in absolute disbelief that I am that person in the mirror.

How did it happen?

I have an immense capacity for incredible fidelity to illusion.  Maybe it's my religious background.  My imagination.  My parents' divorce.  Who knows, but I tend to believe the BEST about myself and others until it becomes undeniably false.  In my mind, I was only a few 20 minute work-outs away from the racquetball shape I rocked in undergrad.  In my mind, the fact that none of my pants from a year and a half ago fit was just some accident of the laundry or a big dinner.

But being forced to look at myself for an hour- lost like a chubby buoy in a sea of other bodies in yoga pants- made it impossible to deny that the best self I imagined myself to be was buried under about 15 pounds of flabby flesh.

/////

The unfortunate reality is that, just as the extra mass creeps on so slowly, it takes time to wear off as well.  Even after changing bad eating habits.  Even after hours of movement.  Even after being painfully aware of the baggage that you no longer want- it's not so simple to shed.  I don't know how long it will take.  One side tells me that after 30, bodies are just bent toward decay anyway and that I'll never be in tip top shape again.  But the other side knows that it's possible.  That people work for and achieve amazing levels of fitness all the time, and that I can to.  I'm counting on it.

But I also don't want to become one of those people whose whole life has to center around their next workout or meal in order to sustain their shape.  I'm not willing to funnel 70% of my energy on something as fleeting as appearance.  But there's got to be a middle.  There is a middle.

//////

Thanks to the time I've had staring at my awkward shape, I've also learned that I've been walking incorrectly my entire life.  Most of the ballet positions require your chest to be perpendicular to the ground.  I can't tell you how unnatural that feels to me.  It feels like work to stick my chest out- shoulders back. I distinctly remember Dr. Janet Schroder telling me at a little kid check up, "make sure to stand with your shoulders back, the boys will like you more."  But somewhere in the vast stretch of middle/high school where I not-so-patiently waited for breasts, I must have decided that baring my flat chest to the world wasn't doing much in the way of advertising.  My shoulders caved in, and I somehow developed a walk with my chest angled forward- bent and determined toward whatever direction I was headed.  It's my mom's walk- forehead first. Going places.

But oh, how I wish I had listened.  Not for the attention of boys turned men- but for my own body.  My own spine.  My own sense of space and ownership of my form.

So I've been trying to relearn walking.  It's painful.  I don't even know if it's possible to retrain yourself after 30 years.  But it feels good to try.

So instead of shoulders bent toward some concrete destination, they're here now.  Straight up and down.  Wherever I am.

However I am.

Here.

heavy rest

heavy tonight
pull of melancholy
from no source

just some echo

from a distant surface

there is no why

and nothing pleases

in a turn
all that can excite
suddenly will not

after experience

is a quiet hour or two

a fruitless reckoning

a necessary pause

shadow/substance

Remember when I used to be comfortable taking selfies?  I think the last few years have brought in a bit of confusion for me there.  When I got the DSLR, phone quality photos just didn't do it for me anymore... and it's nearly impossible to take a decent self portrait with the Nikons without some serious forethought and set up.  So I just sort of stopped.  I disappeared behind the lens and documented to excess the rest of my world.  It sort of came in conjunction with a disdain for the way that so many women use selfies.  In my mind, selfies became directly related to cries for attention and a gross desperation for affirmation.  Even now, when people write flattering things on a profile picture, I feel weird about it.  As if affirmation of my looks points to my insecurities.  I don't know if that makes sense outside my head.  What I do know is that it's quite a bit distorted at its core, and I'm hoping to get it sorted eventually.

But I sort of miss having some sort of record of myself over the years.  Maybe if I had kept a better one, I wouldn't have packed on these uncomfortable extra pounds.  Who knows.  But in an effort to try, I'm doing a photo shoot trade with another photographer in a few weeks.  To get over the weirdness of being in front of the camera.  And to see myself again.

And on a somewhat related note- this post by Amanda Palmer ABSOLUTELY resonates with me.  At first I felt conflicted about it.  Don't I, on principle, loathe every single woman who posts pictures of themselves in their underwear?  But hey wait a minute, why don't I loathe this at all?  And it started this whole chain of thoughts.  I think that the complicated parts of my last relationship made me quick to see other women and bodies first as threats.  It was an act of self preservation, really- to size others up that way.  But I HATE IT.  I hate that thinking.  It becomes a sex negative, puritanical, limiting mindset that is the opposite of love and freedom.   Anyway- I think Amanda Palmer presents such a body positive, authentic glimpse of herself that I love it.  I love that it captures the moment so unapologetically.  I love that her body is what it is.  And to me, this is light years away from the types of underwear shots that bother me so much.  With a little distance from the relationship, I'm starting to find that the women's images that are so obvious looking for a certain type of sexual attention that used to cause me so much anxiety, not just seem a bit pathetic.  Nothing to lose sleep over.  As obvious and shallow and often beautiful as they appear to be.  And that's fine.  Bodies are beautiful.  Desperation for attention- not so much.  I hope to find some balance beam in between.

Speaking of bodies- I've been making strides toward getting back into  shape.  The thing is, every step closer to where you want to be makes you realize how far away you are- and have been- for a long time.  How did I let myself get like this?  I joined a Barre Workout class and was HUMBLED.  I had visions of being a natural dancer who by some cruel accident had just never been exposed to the dance world.  Ummm... no.  Black Swan I am not.  I nearly passed out somewhere in the 35 minute area and generally wanted to die.  But immediately after, all those endorphins showed up to bat and I felt invigorated and motivated to keep trying.  So I will.  So far, the general rule is eat less and move more.  It's working so far.  Just more slowly than I'd like.

A quick tribute to my companion of late.  Pictured here- en route to SF (aka AWAY) and a complete and utter fail at duck face.  No idea.  I'm thankful for D's consistency in my life.  We may have been situational friends at first, but the years have seen us through all sorts of shifts and stops and starts.  At this point, even if just by proxy for so long, we know each other pretty damn well.  And I'm really grateful to have such a good go-to for company/ distraction/ getting into not-trouble.

Speaking of companions:  My coward.  My fighter.  My boy, Sherman, is finally restored after a nasty fight left his paw gashed open.  He's back to being good company and generally annoying.  

I missed them stupidly much while I was away.

Kevin Arnold, after strumming his first three chords on an electric guitar.

 Kevin Arnold, after kissing Winnie Cooper for the second time in one summer and referring to himself as "a man on fire."

Is it possible to overdo it with The Wonder Years?  I'm thinking no. I had a little panic the other night when I realized I'd reached the end of the season and I wasn't sure if there were any more.  I'm nearing the send of Season 5- and I just was relieved to see that I'll be watching straight on through Season 6 as well.  It's been my background editing company.  I have to say, the casting in this show was CHOICE.  And I wish, much like Angela Chase's internal monologues, that I could have Kevin Arnold's grown up monologues narrate my days.  His voice is comforting like Dan Savage or Mark Maron to me.

My nephew sleeps mouth open like me.  Is that hereditary?  Sorry dude.

And in terms of my freedom...

It's funny how the very same thing both hurts and helps.  The freedom.  The hindsight.  The foresight.  Meeting ghosts.  Licking wounds.  Relapses.  Echos and memory.

I've been doing pretty well.  A lot of walks.  A lot of healthy choices.  Some temporary, unhealthy choices.  Playing guitar again and remembering how much of myself I find in there.  Realizing how my core hasn't wavered- and I'm able to see some of it clearer now.  Not knowing what you want can feel a little like freedom, I suppose.  It's enough to float on, at least.  Now I have a better idea now of what I want.  Not the every detail, but the core mass of it.  The shadow of the substance.  And I know it with an impassible certainty that only experience can deliver.  I'll let these days and months play me and play out, and I'll keep my eye out for the substance.  I'm in no hurry.  Nothing if not patient.

Ignoring the video part of it, here is a link to what I know myself to want now:  

Wealth

I look forward to the giving.

Only

4
.

lost & found

i went to the city.  i didn't find that picture
and the ache felt far away.
 now i'm in the country
& there's some comfort in the rain.

i'm hanging up my well-worn badge.
i've looked and found for my last time.
now i know that i can say never
with utter peace of mind.

and now

grief.

deep.

goodbye goodbye goodbye

piece

like breaking a plate
already cracked
it came with little surprise

in the space in between
there is room
for poetic sentiment

and the pieces that are
where the whole once was
will find a new reason to be

piece of time
piece of heart
piece of mind

her

1. i'm watching "her" for the third time and it still matter so much in so many ways.  it's so hard to watch.  and so comforting and true, too.

 "the past is a story we tell ourselves"
and the way it feels to be the only one in the world for awhile
the reason and the purpose
and how that changes
inevitably.

2.  i quit my 3 day juice cleanse early.

i felt awful yesterday.  today- day 3- i was holding out hope that i would feel that "radiant" glow that was supposed to kick in.  but i didn't.  i felt miserable and unfocused and fatigued.  and i wasn't sure why i was doing it anymore.  i have 3 more full bottles in the fridge, and i just stopped.  i just stopped and ate nachos with my friends.

i was all set on finishing regardless of my miserable state, come hell or high water, because i'd spent so much money on the damn things.  it was a really hard reality to accept that something i'd spent so much on could maybe not be that great for me afterall.  that it might be better to cut the loss.

thoughts.

patterns & trends.
another year.

there will be nights

you will get older every year

find yourself repeating the same phrase patterns

you picked up somewhere once

and kept

"seems like we were just here"

and i'll say that again next year

standing in that office with keys in my hand

even though you're older

and your life is full

-nearly shining of full-

there will still be nights when the whole world is asleep

and you are not

times when you need to work and you can't find the drive

times when you need to stop working and you can't remember how

some things you never get right with age

today i finished watching the final episode of cheers.  

began at the beginning and just watched on through

napped through some

only listened at times

but i was there

and when the ending came, it almost surprised me.  

it took a sudden reflective turn

old characters returned and left again

and then the credits rolled a final time.  

i had gotten so used to next episodes.

i have an early memory of cheers.

six years old- kindergarten-

curled up on my babysitter's lap while she and her husband

-mike the firefighter-

watched their grown up show "cheers"

my sister and i were the only kids left

my parents were late to pick us up.

i remember it for the novelty-

they were never late to pick us up-

they were never the kind of parents who were late 

or unusual in any real way 

until you grow up 

and comb through memories with a fine toothed comb

but who has time for that, really?

older every year.

five for friday

1.  My life is full to the brim and I'm happy as a clam.  I could, however, use a nap.  Tired this week.  Excited for the year to come, though I wonder how I'll juggle a busier photog life with the usual school gig.  One more year.

2.  I picked up A BOOK this week.  Power to me.  The Elegance of the Hedgehog.  It's just right.

3.  A humble opinion whisper-screamed toward the world of photography:  ENOUGH WITH THE FLOWER CROWNS.  They've had their day.  Over em.

4.  The cultural shifts I've witnessed even since teaching here are pretty incredible.  I'm thinking especially in terms of sexual/gender stereotypes.  I wonder if the ubiquitous presence of social media in the lives of my students' generation has the effect of speeding up social conversation and, therefore, change.  It's hard to stay as isolated and ignorant to larger social dialogues if you're plugged in.  Makes me feel hopeful.

5.  Started working out last week.  A few youtube workout videos a day.  The variety is good, and the short time commitment is key.  Feeling better so far.  My bloated/pregnant-looking pooch is finding its way back to tolerable.  Soon my pants might even start fitting again.

Motivated.  Hopeful.  All good on all fronts.
Over & out.

quick quick

A few thoughts in a row:
1.  I listened to a This American Life podcast about France, and was pleasantly surprised to find out that I'm not the only one who doesn't get what's the big deal about Paris.  I don't get it.

2.  One year old crawler shoots with new clients-> exhausting. nerve-wracking, knee-bruising, non-favorite, hopefully satisfying.

3.  The whole idea of taking a bunch of pictures posed with the camera holding little signs with quippy or cutesy messages -> stop it.

4.  Robert Downs gave me permission to not get set in a particular style.  & he has that permission to grant.  i like his life... and i think i can have that too.

5.  only 5 more days with each class.  and 90 research papers to grade in between.  everlong.

6.  neighbor toni and i seem to have come to some sort of treaty agreement regarding cat turf.

7.  throw backs because i'm too lazy to upload the other ones from my phone right now.

weird religion shit:

ol' olive: 

a touch of misanthropy, but in general warmth and shimmer

this rant was all much longer in my head in the shower

rant 1:
there's this whole video called "Look Up" about how everyone is obsessed with their phones and as a result, family structures and the ability for people to make eye contact in real life are all rushing toward obsolete.  because of phones.  because people aren't really living when they're on their phones all the time.

hold up.

these articles or videos or whatthefuckever almost ALWAYS make have a good chuckle with themselves for pointing out the irony of their medium.  "look! i'm chastising you for using social media ON social media!" please refrain from handing out clever badges quite yet.  you are not the first to note this irony (thrilling word, isn't it?).  instead, you are like a smug pack of right wingers who hire Santa to bring the christ back in to christmas.  just stop already.  your dinosaur best friend is dead.  technology is here to stay.  stop telling people that they are bad parents or teachers or friends for spending time with their phone.  stop threatening humanity with nonsense about the next generation's dwindling ability to share feelings or genuine conversation.  where was that concern when whole generations of men were taught that being a man meant shutting up and grunting?  it seems like when it comes to voice and people's right/ability to communicate effectively, there's a lot more at work here than the use of technology.

surely these cutey little videos are the brain children of people who've had bad experiences in the technology department.  your lover traded your eyes for the screen one too many times.  your girlfriend totally didn't hear your joke because she was sending a text.  whatever.  i know there's a real and hurtful side to being on the other end of someone who doesn't show moderation.  but the problem is not the phone, pals.  it's the part about knowing moderation.

the whole "look up, you're not living in the present when your head is in your phone" argument is bullshit.  before i had internet access on my phone, my head was buried in a book just as often as it is now.  i have always relied on some means of excusing myself from direct engagement with the world.  as an introvert, it's really really necessary for me to have those sorts of outs.  and reading a novel or reading an article on the internet or even taking an asinine buzzfeed quiz is not necessarily escaping in a negative sense so much as it is engaging the present in a different way.  & random tidbits found on internet surfs fuel real life conversations pretty darn frequently.  people end up boding or connecting in "real" life over things they discovered while they were "looking down."

technology is a thing, humans.  neither good nor evil.  it is a tool.  use it in moderation.  the end.
stupid:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7dLU6fk9QY

Rant 2:
i'll keep this really short because i haven't checked my phone in about 15 minutes and i can't go much longer.

sometimes the artists who "put on" the artist crown with the most pizzazz are really just on drugs.  and shitty artists.

same goes for writers.

i don't know why it shocks me every time, but it does.  there's this whole build up where you're getting to know the person, and they speak in old soul tones or they look really eccentric and talk about all of these projects and schemes.

and then they share your work with you.

and then you find that you can be an actress
when it's called for.

abe

1.  passed the pasta
2.  weeds:  season 7
3.

wedding bells rang

well, swell.  yesterday I shot my second (first-time-bigger-scale) wedding.

10 hours,
4,008 pictures,
and 3 deodorant applications later-
i'd say i did alright.

:-/ =
-unrealistic expectations.  i really should have had a second shooter.  it's hard to do anything well when you are expected to do everything.
-"photo booth" shots are quickly becoming my least favorite request.  hire a friggin photo booth if you want someone to stand in one place and take pictures of the exact same thing for a few hours.  plus- in a wedding type context where there's so much going on, getting a pic of every single couple in that setting is stressful and impossible.  even if it's only 30 couples.  it's like herding cats and it takes my time and attention away from the couple.  never again without some serious conversation about expectations first.
-uncomfortable and intoxicated older men.  they get grabby.  they get vocal.  they seem to feel entitled.  sure, dude-i-don't-know, grab me around the waist and talk to me from 5 inches away about some totally unrelated and unimportant topic.  sounds pleasant.  it's happened at the last two events where alcohol was flowing.  it's gross and unpleasant.
-i quoted myself WAY too low.  i vow to never have to learn that lesson again.  about 8 hours in, i started thinking about all the extra time i had spent preparing for this day- visiting the site twice, meeting with client, etc.  i hadn't included any of that in my pricing.  when i woke up this morning, every muscle in my body ached.  don't get me wrong, i like that kind of exhaustion and that sort of event- but it has value.  my time and energy are worth more.
-lighting.  still not a fan of flash.  still more to learn.  not enough time with my current job situation.
-people who tell you to take shots.   it's always well intended, and always unappreciated.   "take a picture of the moon in between the palm trees like that."  "um, no.  the moon will be a little blurred dot."  as antithetical as it sounds, capturing what you see isn't really as simple as snapping the button.  so many things have to be accounted for- including a lot of things i'm still learning about.  and sometimes cameras allow for bringing out things in the photo that aren't even noticeable or interesting to the naked eye.  people don't know.  they mean well, but they just don't know.  


:-)=
-i love that generally everyone is happy and smiling and in great spirits at weddings.  everyone's looking dapper and feeling the love.
-i got to sit with "the help" for dinner.  i liked it.  i like the behind the scenes worlds of events like this.
-sugar cookie take-aways
-it was a really touching ceremony
-no "nightmares".  i couldn't sleep last night before i had uploaded the pics safely on my computer.  it probably would have saved me time to delete some duds on camera first, but i just couldn't rest without knowing that the transfer would work out alright.  and it did.  no complete blurred moments missed.  maybe a few couples i didn't grab, but i'll figure it out.
-photo-shop heaven.  lots of shots to practice with and no urgent time crunch to take away the fun.
-if i can do this much as just myself with only my one main camera, imagine what i could do with 2 cameras slung around my shoulder and a few more lighting tools!
-VIP were at the event and will eventually see the pictures.  good for name circulation and future everythings.
-i didn't once feel inadequate or incompetent.  yay!

a little this & that

quick and unthoughtthrough state of the union.

business is booming and i love it.  there are times during event shooting where i could just set down my camera for a few minutes and weep for joy.  i've had experiences like this before, but they are rare and have never been this definitive.  to feel like i am doing exactly what i want to be.  what i'm good at.  doing something that makes me feel most me.  it's powerful.

after all of the changes of the last decade, i don't claim to know myself if definite terms anymore.  but i KNOW photography.  i know it to my core.

so a helluva resounding YAY and weepy joy tears to all that.  enough to get me through these annoyances:
1.  because i have yet to make the leap to full time photog, i'm essentially working 2 full time jobs. frustrating and exhausting.  i'm handling it well, but i can't help but day dream about how much more i could do with all those extra hours and surges of energy.  someday.  a man a plan a canal. pandemonium.

2.  I AM MY ONLY ADVOCATE FOR THE WORTH OF MY TIME.  people offer things like "good exposure" as compensation for HOURS of labor and time spent away from... whatever else i would be doing.  netflix or cats or eating nachos or whatever.  VALUABLE TIME.  i'm past the point where i feel good about shooting things for free, and a part of me just hoped that my client base would also make that transition.  instead, i just fielded a mssg from a past client wanting me to shoot an event for $50 and 2 meal tickets.  ARE YOU F'ING KIDDING ME?  When all is said and done, that would probably amount to $5/hr.  My time is too precious to be offering favors.  the PLUS SIDE is that i am very quickly bursting out of my peoplepleaserbornandraised skin.  i will have no problem saying a polite NOWAYJOSE to that.  none at all.  i think a past me would have accepted and tried to convince myself that it was somehow worth it in other nonmonetary ways just to make the client happy.  that girl said sigh-anara sometime over the last 6 months.

3.  i still take criticism very personally.  a man just emailed me about how he was having trouble ordering a picture from my site, and that he had tried a number of different platforms and methods and that "Next time, maybe you need to change your service provider."  OK DUDE, I'LL GO AHEAD AND SCRAP MY ENTIRE WEBSITE THAT I'VE BEEN ADDING TO FOR OVER A YEAR BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T ENTER 2014 AND FIGURE OUT HOW TO OPERATE A GODDAMN VIRTUAL SHOPPING CART.  I'LL GET RIGHT ON THAT.  it's the tone that gets me.  the "you need to".  the offering unwarranted advice on how i can be better.  but the PLUS SIDE is that by the time i had finished driving home and scarfed down half a tray of nachos, i was in a calmer frame of mind to think through his message.  i was able to read it as a man who was frustrated because he couldn't figure out how to get what he needed.  he was taking it out on me but he was really mostly frustrated with himself.  so i called and met the gruffest old man voice eva with compassion and understanding.  by the end of the call i had killed that gruffbutt with kindness and i'm pretty sure he's making me a BFF bracelet to send me in the mail right now.

holla.  2014 is all sorts of radical.

all praise and glory

the keys to the kingdom looks like a 30 day trial of amazon prime.  the sky opened up and the glory shone down in the form of scandal (season 3) and mad men (season 6).  technology, i praise your name.  goodbye world of people productive and brunching before noon.  hello, weeks of emotive entertainment.  alleluia.

where does it hurt?

It's hard to say exactly where the pain is felt-
a phantom limb of sorts.
It feels like a physical ache, but only after.
To place the pain would be fix it on
memory or hope
something not inside or outside
mixed up in past and futures
and felt presently
in no real way
that can be
identified
so as to
mend.

b/w

1.  i took a very long walk today.  

i thought it was strange that the birds seemed to separate themselves by color.  

2.  new neighbors 

3.  

4.

sound

turned

i do not believe that the act of giving is always to be praised. to give up. to give in. to give when you should not. to bend in ways that do not allow for straightening out again.  these days when every punctuation mark takes on some 20 layers of meaning.  the  presence or the absence of a particular inflection can be devastating. (She is speaking in codes again, she is speaking in that way.)  And this is no game of madlibs with some other voice filling in the cues for reconciliation or destruction, this is a game of One.  This is a game of one, and a page quietly turning.

this is important.
feel it all. 

testing

chatty cathy asian eighth grader

taking her placement test

who, during the break, informed me all about her figure skating career

who, during the math test, had to ask me what a can of tuna looks like

who, at the end, asked permission to make her math scratch paper into origami

you go right ahead 

high five

1.  things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world; whatever, i'm going dancing.  went saturday.  danced a little last night.  would again if i could again.  i dare say it is impossible to be overwhelmed or unhappy while dancing.  you just wiggle it all away.  and on that note,  i REALLY want to work for myself sometime in the not too distant future so that i can maybe sleep in a little after my 31 year old body wiggles past midnight.

2.  i think Don't Trust the B... in Apt 23 is so great.  just really so great.

3.  saw "her" again.  laughed and cried still... sometimes my eyes welled up at just how beautiful the shots were.  that movie makes me want to take photos.

4.  last night james and lauren gifted me with a DELICIOSO jar of spicy pickles that i set on the passenger seat floor of my car while i went to j's holiday work party.  when i returned in a heavily alcohol and karaoke state of 3 a.m. giddiness, my mind spun.  i reached down to pick up the jar and realized that the juice had a leaked out.  I prepared for full panic mode, but was SHOCKED and OVERJOYED to find that the jar had been perfectly resting on a smushed box of kleenex, which had absorbed nearly all the pickle juice.  praise ye, pickled gods.  praise ye.

5.  not sure.

down low
too slow

iphone treasure trove

Camp Patton following little ol' ME?  day = made 

i am not a mother and i am not catholic, but i just LOVE grace and her family and her writing voice.  i snortle at Conversations with Julia and Julia Styles every single time. 

They just couldn't justify springing for the whole roll of border?  Is this evidence of the tight budget?  A faculty room mystery.

true dat (remember when people used to say that?  it's uncomfortable).

another faculty room mystery.  this little gem showed up after christmas break on the give-away/free table in a package.  no takers.  today i took it out of the box to inspect it a little more closely.  it makes my brain hurt so bad.  i just really don't understand.