September 25th, 2001 I wrote this many months ago. Already, in just two weeks, September 11th, 2001 is a symbol. Like an American flag, the media, the president took it away from me. I wanted to grieve and yell my anger and fear until the delicate glass cage around my heart broke. It was my country, a skyline I remembered and a way of life I rarely questioned, which changed. I wanted to know in my heart that these were real people who died. Maybe I want to know that it was real people who killed. This was, above all, original, the truth inches from my face. But the papers took it away. Alredy, preparing it for the textbooks of future generations, they have simplified and distanced it, manicured and co-opted it. It's a day I remember. They say it's a day that will never be forgotten. That day, I was numb. The world felt at a distance, like I was seeing it all from just below the surface of water. They say As the nation mourned this tragic loss of thousands of innoccent lives... I'm afraid for those still no less alive, no less innoccent, in Afghanistan. They took my greif and fear, reducing them to headlines: senseless tragedy, Attack on America, God Bless America, Innoccent Lives, Ready to Serve, Assault on Democracy, Attack on Civilization, terrorist, terror, mourning, Our Country, Our Freedom, defend our freedom, defense. This will not be a war, they say Only fanatics wage "holy wars", and God is behind us every step of the way as we work to destroy them. 10 reasons why it kicks to be single (A Valentine's Day Special) 1. silence
2. no one can peg your sexuality for sure
3. you only have one person's issues to deal with, not two people's
4. you can learn how to think you are beautiful without another voice to
tell you so
5. it's ever so much easier to keep your pronouns straight ("/I/ like raw
octopus" as opposed to the rather cryptic "/We/ like raw octopus.")
6. you can ridicule your love-struck friends without risk of being called
a hypocrite
7. you don't find yourself identifying with cheesy songs on the radio
8. flirting without guilt or hurt feelings
9. you can learn who you are when you are simply you, on your own, inside
and out
10. you can write cynical commentaries like this
december 7th morning waking yellow sun on yellow walls reflected and ivy green and trailing down a polished back of wood awake at once and smiling I had a letter from a friend safe in my back pocket I found by accident and in a blue notebook you say you love me and so little bursts of new green leaves shot down through my limbs and my heart stepped out of its steady rythm to dance for one breif moment and so I got home skipping (flying) instead of walking close to the ground bound to my shadow my arms are tired but when I think of lying down I know I want to see the sky lying at my feet and above me (covering me) I don't want a ceiling stealing between me and every single star have you been to Colorado well I know a mesa where I could live and be as good a person as I'll ever be because you can see the stars a billion years away (ago) I read once in a book that the stars the stars are tips of light stretching out from the galaxy of another time from suns which are dead for all I know but are they dead? there's still a light there and it's right above that mesa where I once watched 37 shooting stars blaze bright fierce fast across the sky and made a wish on every one god fell through the cracks of religion one day but you can still drink up the beauty anywhere nov. 21st walking in the rain liking the drama of being a draggled figure with wet pant cuffs and cold hands under a night sky liking the wavering reflections of orange streetlights in the running gutters and rippling puddles laughing at the surface of my throat it could become crying in just a minute trying to learn how to breathe again to settle some calm over my cold skin november 1st '01 against my will i remember february or was it march when your heart begins to scream and will not stop do you mark it on a calendar do you try to remember? i remember holding a dishtowel in one absent hand arrested in the motions of life (which continued around me in that pale dream of life) sitting on a cool sun-covered porch my voice a tidal wave that tugged and strained my chest i screamed and the sun was still there i screamed and my own hands were still there against the hollow little cabinet of my chest i screamed now i forget with effort and without but you have no right to speak so casually of destruction my nightmares live and breath--with painful patience--in the dark corners of your words and your sentences i damn them i have lived through february but not by my own strength, which did not save me by my own strength which could do nothing for you beneath the layers of life you draw breath, eyes, memory October 24th, 2001 Mr. Henri-Pierre do you know I love your voice? your gentle, soft sweet syllibant "S"es the way the "R"s roll off your tongue like little bouncing waves, or the sway of flamenco skirts the diagonal chocolate slant of your syllables you say your name so fast it sounds like alloneword as if you were writing it on a velvet night sky with a glowing glowing sparkler. Mr. Henri-Pierre, I like your voice! please just keep talking I want to fill my pockets with your vowels and consonants. March 2000 fashioning a day So you've been inside the house too long. It's spring, a beautiful day to be outside (or maybe it's grey and winter, sometimes it doesn't matter) and you want to be out, hear the birds singing, smell the exhaust fumes and the rotting leaves in the park. What to do? Here's some ways to have a beautiful time. Make a date with the world and make up your own rules; it's like Calvinball...the only rule is to invent as you go, and the aim is to have the most fun and to snatch up chances for whimsy, beauty, fulfilled curiosity or new horizons. Here are some ways to do this (but don't forget to invent your own)! Sometimes you want to dress up and sometimes it doesn't matter at all. Sometimes you want a bag/backpack[1] to bring along. Sometimes you want to be prepared and ready, sparkles in your hair, or ready to go the instant the idea strikes you. When you're ready, go out your front door[2] and choose a way you haven't walked since you were a little kid. Or else, take the same route but change your perspective[3] of it. I like to have a mission.[4] If you have a car, it is fun to throw your favorite tapes into the glove compartment and take off down the road. Road trips are especially fun with friends. On days like these, the universe often plays along, putting your favorite songs on the radio, making the sunset glorious and crimson, slipping you backstage, nudging branches laden with fresh fruit through fences and within your reach, summoning the good street musicians out onto the sidewalk, bringing out the foxes and the owls to cross your path as you hike, turning the rising full moon a harvest gold, throwing clues and gifts down in your path. Fashioning a day is really like living it as fully and as magically as possible. In a whirlwind of sparkles and opportunities, snatching at each possibility and suggestion, or more quietly, accepting the gifts that flow in and celebrating the beauty of the world. (the "be here now" idea.) These days can be lived alone, or shared with friends. Follow your mission, your instincts, the direction of the wind, the sound of the street musicians in the square. Duck into doorways, take free samples, climb into hollow trees, call your long-distance lover on a payphone. When you come back, lie in your yard (if you have one) and look up at the sky. These days are really like making up a poem, but even more, they're like playing imaginary games. When you look back on them, they're like stories. They last longer than other days. Here's what it's like, it's like making a painting, and putting onto the canvas all that you want to see, all the beauty or dark skies or strange things or picture-book characters you can fit, with your favorite colors. Begin when the time is right and the world is beckoning. This page is dedicated to my friends Margaret & Denise the yesterday which made me write this [5] [1] /bag/backpack/ if you bring a bag, bring magic in it. be prepared [2] front door dance out the door. kiss the knob. mark it X with a pencil like ali baba's clever maidservant. leave flowers behind for your family or roommate or lover to find while your out. the exit doesnt have to matter tho. run out onto the sidewalk wave to your house. bring a bobbin of thread & tape the end to the door so you can find your way back. be original, if it matters to you. [3] perspective change your perspective by bringing along a manual camera and focusing on familiar objects. crouch down and look at a building youve always seen standing up. climb a tree and look down at something thats always seemed tall. look up at everything. look down, look to your left and right. glory in detail. wear platforms. spin until your dizzy & see how things change. [4] miSSiOn your mission can be anything. hopping a city bus and going to the museum to sketch yr favorite grecian statue. going to the library to see if they have a children's book you havent read since you were 7. walking 3 miles to steal a sweet-smelling red rose from somebodys garden. going to the corner cafe to see if that cute gal/guy is still working there. taping copies of yr poems to streetlights. seeing if you can get to the top of a tall building. asking for a free candy from the hardware store. finding an obscure hiking trail. bringing soup to a friend. walking to the park and rolling down a steep hill like you did when you were little. riding yr bike out into the country to take photographs of the trees on the roadside. buying the really good potstickers from across town. taking the subway to the river so you can sing "suzanne" to the water & the knocking boats. be open to distractions, red herrings, diversions, alterations, curiousity and changing of whim. alter your mission if you feel like it or start off without a mission and let it suggest itself. or float along, missionless, open to all points of the compass. [5] my yesterday
yesterday was when i decided to make this page. i went to san francisco for the day to the palace of the
legion of honor with my sister. on the bus there i sat in my seat and watched the sun concentrated on the
hills, glancing off of new tree leaves, the towns, the railroad tracks with the rainbow of graffiti on the
warehouses beside them, the clouds in tiny wispy white puffs floating across the blue sky, while i listened
to ani difranco & tori amos on liz's walkman and moved my pen over my notebook as if to write, but
never let it touch the page.
we met up with a friend of a friend in the city & took a MUNI to the palace of the legion of honor, talking
to eachother. i smiled at the little kids and the old women and opened the bus window to let in the air and
the sun streaming down between the buildings. at the palace of the legion of honor we crawled down a
hillside and pooled our food, and ate lunch looking out over the dark blue bay, the white sailboats, the red
bridge, and the tan and emerald hills beyond it. we slipped into the museum for youth fares and went
down the marbled stairs to see the traveling georgia o'keeffe exhibit. i moved my face close to the
paintings to look at the painted white stars, stepped back to let the color wash over me, passed some
paintings by, stopped at others to stare at their clean lines, and come back again and again to look at my
favorites. i read georgia's quotes but not their interpretation Thank you Franny & Becky! ;) Ohh Rosie! I love this page! Keep writting! *hug* Franny Wow. I am in total awe. Your first two poems sent shivers down my spine. Absolutely wonderful. Keep writing please! ~The addicted to your poems Becky~ beeeeautiful, my love. they're absolutely...yeah..wow. i lovelovelove you my darling rosemary. thanks rosie. the whole page is lovely of course. i've always admired how effortlessly perfect your images seem. and i really needed to be reminded about why being single is the way to go! :) ~jenny
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it is never just "war": a word that implies the unpleasantness of twin towers, burning, blood and bodies and bombs
