beautiful, silly, and enigmatic
that was how he described me
but damn the boy was always
in front of a mirror
his reflection was all over the place
and his image captured
everywhere we went
by friends and acquaintances
with devices meant for proving
real life was real
he was the "it kid"
we met in cafeterias
and i loved him
but
everyone wanted to be near him
and i never got
why i was the one
that got to sleep
skin to skin
never got comfortable
every night of sleep
there was this constant
self-awareness
even in dreams
each shudder of his leg
each arm adjustment
i was so sure he
was going to leave me
i didn't sleep for that entire
winter
despite how warm his body
was then
he was bob dylan
in that city
rambling like he was
born that way
and i never fancied
myself joan baez
wanted to so bad
but couldn't see the
beauty he claimed
i steered us clear
of washington square
and when he tried to offer me
diamonds
i just saw rust
in the icy snow
splattered like
blood
spattered like blood
maybe my memories
are getting mixed up
like the time i got a concussion when
i was a baby and got a Happy Meal
in the emergency room
there was no snow there
just linoleum
both times
they asked me
if it was him
to take my time
to be sure
but his reflection was
everywhere
and he wasn't beautiful anymore
wasn't silly
like in all of the pictures
then he was just cold
and now still
enigmatic.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
following
following
one another
is a strange act
because the leading
always switches
or never is
catching eyes
across a crowded room
with the quick
look down
as if to say
"come get me."
she doesn't know
how to play coy
has never been
so shy
and so naked
at the same time
he has never
been in the presence
of anyone so alive
never had someone
so openly request
his presence
without words
but her eyes plead
and he thinks
he can believe
that she wants him
as much as he
wants her
not just press
against walls
want
but forget others
in conversation
want
eyes smiling
with even lips
want
hands in hair
without thinking
want
the kind of want that
feels like need
the kind of want that
feels like it needs
naming
but cannot be.
one another
is a strange act
because the leading
always switches
or never is
catching eyes
across a crowded room
with the quick
look down
as if to say
"come get me."
she doesn't know
how to play coy
has never been
so shy
and so naked
at the same time
he has never
been in the presence
of anyone so alive
never had someone
so openly request
his presence
without words
but her eyes plead
and he thinks
he can believe
that she wants him
as much as he
wants her
not just press
against walls
want
but forget others
in conversation
want
eyes smiling
with even lips
want
hands in hair
without thinking
want
the kind of want that
feels like need
the kind of want that
feels like it needs
naming
but cannot be.
a reflection
In one of my workshops today, we talked about eliminating the reactionary in workshop facilitation and stuff. So, one example that Caryn, the head of the Transformative Language Arts program here came up with was online communication... Hmm... reactionary? me? Possibly. Also, she pointed out the lack of context available in emails. Tone, body language, etc. All things I'm aware of, sure, but it was kind of like she said it just to me.
There were way more important parts of that conversation... you know, cultural appropriation, ethical considerations of beginning our practicum, etcetera. Sometimes it's easier to think about the unimportant stuff. I'm trying to decompress a little. It's cold up here, and I ran out of wine.
There were way more important parts of that conversation... you know, cultural appropriation, ethical considerations of beginning our practicum, etcetera. Sometimes it's easier to think about the unimportant stuff. I'm trying to decompress a little. It's cold up here, and I ran out of wine.
creation myth
flowers are feminine
but the earth is
hard
cold
like men are told to be
Eve laid down with the
earth
and Adam learned
jealousy
created competition
resolved to destroy
the earth
to have Eve for himself
Eve understood the
grooves
of the ground
walked with the rythm
of the earth's heartbeat
tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump
and Adam
even asleep next to her
felt his own pulse drowned
out by the sighs of
wind through trees
watched as her chest rose
and fell
with the subtle draw
of the moon lapping on the shore
He didn't understand
how Eve could
nourish the earth
worried
that she couldn't love him
and
the cool sand beneath her feet
didn't understand
that she and the earth
worked together to feed him
to make a bed for their love.
but Adam couldn't sleep
kept watching Eve's
collarbone
rise and fall
watching the shoreline
rise and fall
in sync
in tune
without him
so he built a wall
built a house
built Eve a bed
of wood and down
tried to woo her from the earth
but she tended the garden still
he hunted for her dinner
made stews of boar and beef
told her they wouldn't
need
the fruit anymore
but she tended the garden still
so he built her a greenhouse
tried to separate
earth from earth
told her the rain would
take care of the rest
but she tended the garden still
so he built a tower
locked her in it
as high into the sky
as far from the earth
as he could manage with
his two hands
he left no stairs for her escape
locked the tower
satisfied that he'd
separated his wife
from her lover
looked around and found
himself
alone
with a world he could not understand.
but the earth is
hard
cold
like men are told to be
Eve laid down with the
earth
and Adam learned
jealousy
created competition
resolved to destroy
the earth
to have Eve for himself
Eve understood the
grooves
of the ground
walked with the rythm
of the earth's heartbeat
tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump
and Adam
even asleep next to her
felt his own pulse drowned
out by the sighs of
wind through trees
watched as her chest rose
and fell
with the subtle draw
of the moon lapping on the shore
He didn't understand
how Eve could
nourish the earth
worried
that she couldn't love him
and
the cool sand beneath her feet
didn't understand
that she and the earth
worked together to feed him
to make a bed for their love.
but Adam couldn't sleep
kept watching Eve's
collarbone
rise and fall
watching the shoreline
rise and fall
in sync
in tune
without him
so he built a wall
built a house
built Eve a bed
of wood and down
tried to woo her from the earth
but she tended the garden still
he hunted for her dinner
made stews of boar and beef
told her they wouldn't
need
the fruit anymore
but she tended the garden still
so he built her a greenhouse
tried to separate
earth from earth
told her the rain would
take care of the rest
but she tended the garden still
so he built a tower
locked her in it
as high into the sky
as far from the earth
as he could manage with
his two hands
he left no stairs for her escape
locked the tower
satisfied that he'd
separated his wife
from her lover
looked around and found
himself
alone
with a world he could not understand.
maybe some other time
he tells her that he's
glad she's here,
no one else
calms him
the way she does.
it's a strange thing
to say to someone
he's only known
for 12 hours
she doesn't think so
or at least doesn't
think much of it.
she laughs
fills the room
without moving
they don't need to
move
here
there's enough to
do without it.
still laughing
she talks about
the last winter this cold
about the phone calls
almost unending
from the emergency room
the almost lost
loved ones
her tone is
surprising
and even she,
as the words
tumble from her lips
is wondering why she's
saying these things
to a stranger
through laughter no less.
he doesn't think much about it.
"teenage suicide... don't do it."
they conjure the scene from
Heathers
talk about cinematography
and how the snow
sparkles
in the moon
how they wish they could
capture it on
film
but know it wouldn't be the same
how they wish moments
like these could
last
but know it wouldn't be the same
she would not have sat
with him
in a crowded restaurant
in Boston
because he lives in LA
so sure is she
of this
and of the sanctity
of time and place
that goodbye kisses
hang in the air
like uncashed checks
because checks are promises
and she's already overdrawn.
glad she's here,
no one else
calms him
the way she does.
it's a strange thing
to say to someone
he's only known
for 12 hours
she doesn't think so
or at least doesn't
think much of it.
she laughs
fills the room
without moving
they don't need to
move
here
there's enough to
do without it.
still laughing
she talks about
the last winter this cold
about the phone calls
almost unending
from the emergency room
the almost lost
loved ones
her tone is
surprising
and even she,
as the words
tumble from her lips
is wondering why she's
saying these things
to a stranger
through laughter no less.
he doesn't think much about it.
"teenage suicide... don't do it."
they conjure the scene from
Heathers
talk about cinematography
and how the snow
sparkles
in the moon
how they wish they could
capture it on
film
but know it wouldn't be the same
how they wish moments
like these could
last
but know it wouldn't be the same
she would not have sat
with him
in a crowded restaurant
in Boston
because he lives in LA
so sure is she
of this
and of the sanctity
of time and place
that goodbye kisses
hang in the air
like uncashed checks
because checks are promises
and she's already overdrawn.
da-mn
So I have been in a mode the last couple of days where I have been very much wanting to write, and it's not that I have writer's block, per se, but just have been getting so much intense emotion, information, and self-awareness that it's like I need to digest a bit or it's just going to come out as projectile vomit... lovely, I know.
One thing that's awesome, is that apparently, Goddard College has deemed me unfit to live with a roommate. This works really well for me, because there's such a social climate here, and its VERY intense, so it's nice to be able to retreat. I know, I know... you don't believe that. It's true, I sometimes become overwhelmed by other people. I have definitely found a couple of people that I have felt incredibly easy with... and I don't mean sexually, though admittedly, I have been like a 12 year old boy the last couple of days, and don't get me started on this new faculty member... da-mn.
I mean everyone here is INCREDIBLE. There isn't a person here you could spend a half hour with and not feel transformed in walking away. There is a handful of people, though, that I have felt immediately able to be myself with. I was having dinner with this one guy the other day, and I found myself talking very lightly about really intense personal experiences, and telling him things that I just don't talk about anymore. It was weird, and kind of intense, but didn't feel uncomfortable.
I have also been thinking a lot about pushing my comfort zone. I have a kick ass work group, and a great advisor, and I think I'm going to be spending a lot of time this semester working on my writing voice. I'm really trying to push those walls out, and find out why I choose the safe spaces that I do. On that note, I think I'm going to apply to the Youth Media Council job, just to see. They are taking applications until February 6th, and I'm not going to lie- I don't think I'm ready to push 3,000 miles out of my comfort zone- but I do think that if I don't at least apply, I will wonder. So I might as well at least take that step.
I'm really starting to be present with my own system of decision making and judgement. Why do I make the important life choices that I do? How have I gotten to where I am? How do I think about other people? How do I choose companions? Do I want to cuddle just because its cold?
but i digress
One thing that's awesome, is that apparently, Goddard College has deemed me unfit to live with a roommate. This works really well for me, because there's such a social climate here, and its VERY intense, so it's nice to be able to retreat. I know, I know... you don't believe that. It's true, I sometimes become overwhelmed by other people. I have definitely found a couple of people that I have felt incredibly easy with... and I don't mean sexually, though admittedly, I have been like a 12 year old boy the last couple of days, and don't get me started on this new faculty member... da-mn.
I mean everyone here is INCREDIBLE. There isn't a person here you could spend a half hour with and not feel transformed in walking away. There is a handful of people, though, that I have felt immediately able to be myself with. I was having dinner with this one guy the other day, and I found myself talking very lightly about really intense personal experiences, and telling him things that I just don't talk about anymore. It was weird, and kind of intense, but didn't feel uncomfortable.
I have also been thinking a lot about pushing my comfort zone. I have a kick ass work group, and a great advisor, and I think I'm going to be spending a lot of time this semester working on my writing voice. I'm really trying to push those walls out, and find out why I choose the safe spaces that I do. On that note, I think I'm going to apply to the Youth Media Council job, just to see. They are taking applications until February 6th, and I'm not going to lie- I don't think I'm ready to push 3,000 miles out of my comfort zone- but I do think that if I don't at least apply, I will wonder. So I might as well at least take that step.
I'm really starting to be present with my own system of decision making and judgement. Why do I make the important life choices that I do? How have I gotten to where I am? How do I think about other people? How do I choose companions? Do I want to cuddle just because its cold?
but i digress
Thursday, January 25, 2007
my 5 month ago self was thoughtful
and new exactly what i was going to need to read today. at the beginning of this session of R&S, we all wrote ourselves letters to open at the end of the session. we got them back yesterday. i just finished unpacking into my dorm, and wrapped up catch up work to take the week off, and then i opened the letter.
the first page is kind of depressing, because it basically was just me knowing myself too well... like "I know you haven't actually started taking Italian lessons" and "manage your time better" blah blah blah. but the second page made my day. it is a list of things i "should do if i haven't already." i think its good advice for everyone (feel free to play with pronouns)
1. invite your sister to spend the night
2. take a nap
3. call your grandparents just to tell them you love them
4. ask out a boy you're afraid to talk to
5. buy an outfit that feels dangerous
6. give your all on stage
7. write a MYview column for the metro
8. go visit friends in NY
9. do something nice for your parents
10. look great for yourself
the first page is kind of depressing, because it basically was just me knowing myself too well... like "I know you haven't actually started taking Italian lessons" and "manage your time better" blah blah blah. but the second page made my day. it is a list of things i "should do if i haven't already." i think its good advice for everyone (feel free to play with pronouns)
1. invite your sister to spend the night
2. take a nap
3. call your grandparents just to tell them you love them
4. ask out a boy you're afraid to talk to
5. buy an outfit that feels dangerous
6. give your all on stage
7. write a MYview column for the metro
8. go visit friends in NY
9. do something nice for your parents
10. look great for yourself
if seatbelts were enough
this is a messy, messy first draft. yesterday was my baby sister's 17th birthday, and for some reason I could not get this conversation we had a long time ago out of my head. but there's a lot of things that i want this piece to convey that it just doesn't, so it needs a lot of tweaking. i'm trying to capture the idea that i don't know if i'm more unprepared for being a mother or being an aunt whose niece's mother is 16, and how unprepared i am to deal with the changing dynamic of that relationship as she grows into adulthood and 7 years becomes less of a distance all the time. especially since at one point, i seriously considered how it would affect my life for her to come live with me... so i guess that's a lot. but i'm pretty crafty. i can even sew.
i'm driving down park ave
and i notice she's not wearing her seatbelt
again
i gently pull the car to the side of the road
directional and all
because i have to set a good example
she knows this drill
but we repeat it anyway
and as i pull back into
traffic
we still haven't exchanged
words
just my silence
her pout
"em"
i say
mustering my best
older sister, wiser adult
voice
"there are just some things
you do to protect yourself."
"like not having sex without a condom"
my foot hits the brake
no- gas
so fast
we almost crash
thank g-d i made her put her seatbelt on
"exactly"
is all i can say
because that's
exactly
what i meant
and I don't know how she knows
and it scares the hell out of me
that the baby i practiced on
held like she was my own
isn't a baby anymore
and i cling to that role model
self in the rear-view
try to make sure my eyes
don't show her the
ept tests under the sink
the cross hatch marks
on the calendar
because i am the good example
i am the big sister
and i'm not supposed to do the things
i said i'd never do
not supposed to do the things i tell
her not to
i am the good example
and i always thought i'd be the aunt first
i'm driving down park ave
and i notice she's not wearing her seatbelt
again
i gently pull the car to the side of the road
directional and all
because i have to set a good example
she knows this drill
but we repeat it anyway
and as i pull back into
traffic
we still haven't exchanged
words
just my silence
her pout
"em"
i say
mustering my best
older sister, wiser adult
voice
"there are just some things
you do to protect yourself."
"like not having sex without a condom"
my foot hits the brake
no- gas
so fast
we almost crash
thank g-d i made her put her seatbelt on
"exactly"
is all i can say
because that's
exactly
what i meant
and I don't know how she knows
and it scares the hell out of me
that the baby i practiced on
held like she was my own
isn't a baby anymore
and i cling to that role model
self in the rear-view
try to make sure my eyes
don't show her the
ept tests under the sink
the cross hatch marks
on the calendar
because i am the good example
i am the big sister
and i'm not supposed to do the things
i said i'd never do
not supposed to do the things i tell
her not to
i am the good example
and i always thought i'd be the aunt first
manic depressives make good lovers. half of the time
she thinks about the day they met
with every detail she can
hold in her tiny hands.
the radiohead drifting in from
open bedroom door
the clouds of hookah smoke
the hot chocolate laced with
liquid courage
the hour it took her to
say hello
the five seconds it took
her to scald his leg with
"i've clearly already had enough to drink"
the weeks after are more
fuzzy
the late nights blurring into
early mornings
never sure which was which
until the sun interrupted
she never understood how they
made the night go away
so quickly
like he was on dub speed
the words faster
than chipmunks
but she always remembered
them
the next day
would write him into plays
and that's how she
remembers him
now
she forgets all of
the things that hid
behind the haze
of first love
the days without a call
the nights she couldn't
recognize him
because the bottle was too empty again
the apologies left with kisses
on discolored arm skin
the dna left on the
note she could never
bear
to open
the semester it took to
recover
from having nothing else
left of him
five years
and even though the
glue has come undone
on its own, she still
will not open it
if she did
she might have to
remember him
for who he really was
and what good are first loves
that way?
with every detail she can
hold in her tiny hands.
the radiohead drifting in from
open bedroom door
the clouds of hookah smoke
the hot chocolate laced with
liquid courage
the hour it took her to
say hello
the five seconds it took
her to scald his leg with
"i've clearly already had enough to drink"
the weeks after are more
fuzzy
the late nights blurring into
early mornings
never sure which was which
until the sun interrupted
she never understood how they
made the night go away
so quickly
like he was on dub speed
the words faster
than chipmunks
but she always remembered
them
the next day
would write him into plays
and that's how she
remembers him
now
she forgets all of
the things that hid
behind the haze
of first love
the days without a call
the nights she couldn't
recognize him
because the bottle was too empty again
the apologies left with kisses
on discolored arm skin
the dna left on the
note she could never
bear
to open
the semester it took to
recover
from having nothing else
left of him
five years
and even though the
glue has come undone
on its own, she still
will not open it
if she did
she might have to
remember him
for who he really was
and what good are first loves
that way?
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
hmmm...
I've been thinking about being a grown up a lot lately. Mostly about how I don't think I'll ever really feel like one. What's the most weird about that is that I cannot ever remember feeling like I wasn't a completely capable autonomous being. Like, how we coddle three year olds and try to do things for them. When I was three, I remember feeling like I was totally capable of doing anything and of taking care of myself. Twenty years later, I feel like I stumble more than I ever have in terms of capability. I depend more on my relationship with my parents than I have in recent memory, even when just for little bits of advice or highway directions.
Anyway, what I really meant by thinking about being a grown up, is that I've been thinking a lot about the fact that 25 is not very far away, and I'm almost half done with grad school and I'm going to be in a place to make big career moves when I have my MA. I'm also beginning to look at doctorate programs. Specifically EdD programs. Because, you may or may not have heard that I want to start my own school. Right now, not so qualified to do that.
Further than that, I've been thinking about why I want to start my own school. One, because I really like teaching, and I think our public schools have it pretty messed up. I'm pretty fascinated by educational theory, and ways to work cultural diversity training, media literacy education, and social justice work into primary and secondary education. Small class size, technology training, multi-aged grouping, and project-based learning are some other stuff I'm looking into.. but that's beside the point. I've realized, and I mean I guess I knew this, because it was a conscious decision I made, but it just kind of hit me that a big part of why I want to start my own school is so that I can educate my children, but also be working and be teaching other children. I don't want to put my kids in daycare or get a nanny, but I want my career too.
I've been pretty vocal about this, but I think it's bizarre in our culture that we separate adults and children so much. I feel so privileged to work in environments where children are a welcome addition to the dynamic. I have had 3 baby-filled meetings this week, which is probably the catalyst for this rant, and I love having them around. I mean, really, how weird is it that women are asked to CHOOSE between career and children. Screw that, I can create life in my body, I can do both. It's just been kind of weird to be thinking about these things in a life planning sort of way lately. Like, this is not far away big dreams stuff. This is in the next five years blah blah blah. And it doesn't freak me out that I'm thinking about it. Which kind of freaks me out.
Anyway, what I really meant by thinking about being a grown up, is that I've been thinking a lot about the fact that 25 is not very far away, and I'm almost half done with grad school and I'm going to be in a place to make big career moves when I have my MA. I'm also beginning to look at doctorate programs. Specifically EdD programs. Because, you may or may not have heard that I want to start my own school. Right now, not so qualified to do that.
Further than that, I've been thinking about why I want to start my own school. One, because I really like teaching, and I think our public schools have it pretty messed up. I'm pretty fascinated by educational theory, and ways to work cultural diversity training, media literacy education, and social justice work into primary and secondary education. Small class size, technology training, multi-aged grouping, and project-based learning are some other stuff I'm looking into.. but that's beside the point. I've realized, and I mean I guess I knew this, because it was a conscious decision I made, but it just kind of hit me that a big part of why I want to start my own school is so that I can educate my children, but also be working and be teaching other children. I don't want to put my kids in daycare or get a nanny, but I want my career too.
I've been pretty vocal about this, but I think it's bizarre in our culture that we separate adults and children so much. I feel so privileged to work in environments where children are a welcome addition to the dynamic. I have had 3 baby-filled meetings this week, which is probably the catalyst for this rant, and I love having them around. I mean, really, how weird is it that women are asked to CHOOSE between career and children. Screw that, I can create life in my body, I can do both. It's just been kind of weird to be thinking about these things in a life planning sort of way lately. Like, this is not far away big dreams stuff. This is in the next five years blah blah blah. And it doesn't freak me out that I'm thinking about it. Which kind of freaks me out.
Monday, January 22, 2007
and now's the time of year I get restless...
I would like to throw out there that I am NOT unhappy with my job or apartment or anything, but... I did get this in my mailbox this morning and man is it cold outside. I don't think I'm a California girl, but...
JOB ANNOUNCEMENT
Media Justice Organizer
The YOUTH MEDIA COUNCIL (YMC) seeks a Media Justice Organizer to lead our Grassroots Media Activism Program, including membership coordination, regional strategy and mobilization, public education, and national field building. The position is full-time. Salary $34-38K DOE. Full medical, dental and vision benefits, substantial vacation package, optional HSA, and quarterly personal growth stipend provided. Position is in Oakland, CA. Applications due before February 6th, 2007 for a position beginning March 2007.
To Apply: Please send a resume, cover letter, and writing sample to MJ Organizer Search, c/o Youth Media Council, 1611 Telegraph Ste. 510, Oakland, CA 94612 or Email to taishi@youthmediacouncil.org. For more information, please contact Taishi at 510-444-0640, x381.
Who We Are
As a leader in the movement for media justice and communication rights, the Youth Media Council believes that media and culture are critical tools for creating real justice. That’s why the Youth Media Council builds communications power and defends the communication rights of youth, communities of color, and organizing groups working for racial and economic justice.
Launched in 2001 to counter racial stereotypes and anti-youth bias in the news, YMC is a media strategy and action center dedicated to building a strategic and collaborative movement for justice by strengthening media strategy, capacity and action in California and beyond. The Youth Media Council works with youth organizing and racial justice groups in the Bay Area and other key U.S. regions to take action against media criminalization of youth and people of color, reframe racial justice in public debate, and transform the current media system into an inclusive public resource.
Principle Responsibilities
The Youth Media Council is looking for a skilled organizer, activist, or policy advocate who is passionately concerned about the impact of media bias on the lives and conditions of historically disenfranchised communities. Experience with strategy development, base building, and action planning, as well as past work with communities of color and/or youth is required. Primary areas of responsibility include:
Membership Recruitment and Leadership Development
∑ Develop and distribute recruitment materials
∑ Plan and conduct membership recruitment activities
∑ Develop and implement leadership development process, tools, and activities
Membership Coordination and Tracking
∑ Develop and implement annual membership plans, including events
∑ Develop and maintain tracking tools
∑ Maintain and track members in our database and online Action Network (ACT-Net)
∑ Write membership updates in bi-monthly e-bulletin
∑ Maintain regular and ongoing communication with members, both online and off
Implementation of Local MJ Initiatives and Related Materials
∑ Research and develop annual action plan
∑ Identify and build relationships with key allies in the region
∑ Identify strategic opportunities and carry out strategic action locally
∑ Maintain content for http://action.youthmediacouncil.org
∑ Engage ACT-Net members in local action
∑ Partner with the YMC Training Director to plan, develop materials, and conduct public education for local initiatives
∑ Document local initiatives through development and publishing
∑ Partner with the YMC Media Strategist to plan and conduct communications for local initiatives
Media Justice Field Building
∑ Work with local allies to develop concrete project plans for our national Media Action Grassroots Network (MAG-Net)
∑ Recruit and coordinate the membership of MAG-Net
∑ Represent the YMC in national and statewide media policy coalitions and networks including the Media and Democracy Coalition
∑ Represent the YMC at related conferences and strategy sessions
∑ Participate in related funder briefings and other fundraising efforts
The Ideal Candidate
Qualified applicants should have: at least 1-2 years experience with leading campaign or strategy development, base building and/or leadership development, and alliance building or network development, as well as a documented interest in media activism, media policy, and/or cultural organizing. Ideally, the successful candidate will have led or participated in planning and implementing at least one organizing or political campaign, have demonstrated success in making some concrete change, have a knowledge of media conditions in communities of color, and a willingness to learn. At least 3 years experience working with non-profit organizations is required. Other important qualifications include excellent written and oral communications skills, ability to plan and manage multiple projects, solve problems, work well in a diverse team, set priorities, and the ability to work occasional nights and weekends.
People of color, members of the queer/transgender community, and women are strongly encouraged to apply.
Guiding Questions for Cover Letter:
• What do you see as the role of media and culture in shaping conditions for youth/communities of color?
• What role would you like to play in engaging youth, communities of color, and other groups disenfranchised by media bias in the process of transforming our media system?
Position begins March 2007.
APPLICATIONS ACCEPTED BEFORE February 6, 2007. POSITION OPEN UNTIL FILLED.
Please visit www.youthmediacouncil.org to learn more about our programs and work.
The Youth Media Council is fiscally sponsored by the Movement Strategy Center (www.movementstrategy.org).
Oakland is a lot warmer than Boston.
JOB ANNOUNCEMENT
Media Justice Organizer
The YOUTH MEDIA COUNCIL (YMC) seeks a Media Justice Organizer to lead our Grassroots Media Activism Program, including membership coordination, regional strategy and mobilization, public education, and national field building. The position is full-time. Salary $34-38K DOE. Full medical, dental and vision benefits, substantial vacation package, optional HSA, and quarterly personal growth stipend provided. Position is in Oakland, CA. Applications due before February 6th, 2007 for a position beginning March 2007.
To Apply: Please send a resume, cover letter, and writing sample to MJ Organizer Search, c/o Youth Media Council, 1611 Telegraph Ste. 510, Oakland, CA 94612 or Email to taishi@youthmediacouncil.org. For more information, please contact Taishi at 510-444-0640, x381.
Who We Are
As a leader in the movement for media justice and communication rights, the Youth Media Council believes that media and culture are critical tools for creating real justice. That’s why the Youth Media Council builds communications power and defends the communication rights of youth, communities of color, and organizing groups working for racial and economic justice.
Launched in 2001 to counter racial stereotypes and anti-youth bias in the news, YMC is a media strategy and action center dedicated to building a strategic and collaborative movement for justice by strengthening media strategy, capacity and action in California and beyond. The Youth Media Council works with youth organizing and racial justice groups in the Bay Area and other key U.S. regions to take action against media criminalization of youth and people of color, reframe racial justice in public debate, and transform the current media system into an inclusive public resource.
Principle Responsibilities
The Youth Media Council is looking for a skilled organizer, activist, or policy advocate who is passionately concerned about the impact of media bias on the lives and conditions of historically disenfranchised communities. Experience with strategy development, base building, and action planning, as well as past work with communities of color and/or youth is required. Primary areas of responsibility include:
Membership Recruitment and Leadership Development
∑ Develop and distribute recruitment materials
∑ Plan and conduct membership recruitment activities
∑ Develop and implement leadership development process, tools, and activities
Membership Coordination and Tracking
∑ Develop and implement annual membership plans, including events
∑ Develop and maintain tracking tools
∑ Maintain and track members in our database and online Action Network (ACT-Net)
∑ Write membership updates in bi-monthly e-bulletin
∑ Maintain regular and ongoing communication with members, both online and off
Implementation of Local MJ Initiatives and Related Materials
∑ Research and develop annual action plan
∑ Identify and build relationships with key allies in the region
∑ Identify strategic opportunities and carry out strategic action locally
∑ Maintain content for http://action.youthmediacouncil.org
∑ Engage ACT-Net members in local action
∑ Partner with the YMC Training Director to plan, develop materials, and conduct public education for local initiatives
∑ Document local initiatives through development and publishing
∑ Partner with the YMC Media Strategist to plan and conduct communications for local initiatives
Media Justice Field Building
∑ Work with local allies to develop concrete project plans for our national Media Action Grassroots Network (MAG-Net)
∑ Recruit and coordinate the membership of MAG-Net
∑ Represent the YMC in national and statewide media policy coalitions and networks including the Media and Democracy Coalition
∑ Represent the YMC at related conferences and strategy sessions
∑ Participate in related funder briefings and other fundraising efforts
The Ideal Candidate
Qualified applicants should have: at least 1-2 years experience with leading campaign or strategy development, base building and/or leadership development, and alliance building or network development, as well as a documented interest in media activism, media policy, and/or cultural organizing. Ideally, the successful candidate will have led or participated in planning and implementing at least one organizing or political campaign, have demonstrated success in making some concrete change, have a knowledge of media conditions in communities of color, and a willingness to learn. At least 3 years experience working with non-profit organizations is required. Other important qualifications include excellent written and oral communications skills, ability to plan and manage multiple projects, solve problems, work well in a diverse team, set priorities, and the ability to work occasional nights and weekends.
People of color, members of the queer/transgender community, and women are strongly encouraged to apply.
Guiding Questions for Cover Letter:
• What do you see as the role of media and culture in shaping conditions for youth/communities of color?
• What role would you like to play in engaging youth, communities of color, and other groups disenfranchised by media bias in the process of transforming our media system?
Position begins March 2007.
APPLICATIONS ACCEPTED BEFORE February 6, 2007. POSITION OPEN UNTIL FILLED.
Please visit www.youthmediacouncil.org to learn more about our programs and work.
The Youth Media Council is fiscally sponsored by the Movement Strategy Center (www.movementstrategy.org).
Oakland is a lot warmer than Boston.
if there is a him
i want to paint him a world
where words don't hurt
where pores in fingertips
open to let the human experience
hiding behind art
into veins
pumping hard to his heart
red even without oxygen
because love feels
more important
i want to tell him that music
is everywhere
and everywhere is where i
want to be
because even though sometimes
new york
feels like the middle of the universe
there are so many other
unreachables
and the subway song
can take you lower
than delancey
and further than jamaica, queens
if you listen with something
bigger than your ears
the melody is a dance
like sex
but i like to sing along
so i need to know
the words first
and i want to read him
my favorite bedtime
stories
and show him that the oldest
art i know is
how to fold yeast
into dough
and stack the layers
like i'm building the
colosseum
i can't paint him into
a masterpiece
but there are no watercolors
like his eyes
so it doesn't matter
that my unskilled hands
would stumble over the
contours of his face
because he's already been
captured that way
and in song
and poetry
and on strips of celluloid
click click clicking away
through skilled projectionist
fingers
everytime someone tried
to project this
elevator starts too quick feeling
on to film or canvas or page or stage
it comes out in the same code
and the decoder ring doesn't come
in a box of cracker jacks
its in the corner of a smile
or the giggle between kisses
the foot resting on knee
for some reassurance
the half asleep arm
underneath lover's pillow
i don't have to write it down
for it to be art
i don't have to paint it
or make a mix tape
of people that have said it better
than me
but i want to try
because if woody allen
could make manhattan
and louis armstrong and ella fitzgerald
could dance cheek to cheek
if gustav klimt could immortalize
a kiss in layers of oil
than the least i can do is
write one little poem
where words don't hurt
where pores in fingertips
open to let the human experience
hiding behind art
into veins
pumping hard to his heart
red even without oxygen
because love feels
more important
i want to tell him that music
is everywhere
and everywhere is where i
want to be
because even though sometimes
new york
feels like the middle of the universe
there are so many other
unreachables
and the subway song
can take you lower
than delancey
and further than jamaica, queens
if you listen with something
bigger than your ears
the melody is a dance
like sex
but i like to sing along
so i need to know
the words first
and i want to read him
my favorite bedtime
stories
and show him that the oldest
art i know is
how to fold yeast
into dough
and stack the layers
like i'm building the
colosseum
i can't paint him into
a masterpiece
but there are no watercolors
like his eyes
so it doesn't matter
that my unskilled hands
would stumble over the
contours of his face
because he's already been
captured that way
and in song
and poetry
and on strips of celluloid
click click clicking away
through skilled projectionist
fingers
everytime someone tried
to project this
elevator starts too quick feeling
on to film or canvas or page or stage
it comes out in the same code
and the decoder ring doesn't come
in a box of cracker jacks
its in the corner of a smile
or the giggle between kisses
the foot resting on knee
for some reassurance
the half asleep arm
underneath lover's pillow
i don't have to write it down
for it to be art
i don't have to paint it
or make a mix tape
of people that have said it better
than me
but i want to try
because if woody allen
could make manhattan
and louis armstrong and ella fitzgerald
could dance cheek to cheek
if gustav klimt could immortalize
a kiss in layers of oil
than the least i can do is
write one little poem
What my friends think of me...
Last week, Kelli had a VERY belated birthday party, and had a great idea for a party game. She put everyone's name on the wall, and people wrote down the top jeopardy categories for them... here's my list. I'm glad I know what people think of me
CARA
1. BOOZE
2. HIP HOP
3. GHANA
4. Poetry
5. getting hot tattoos
6. being a cat detective
7. cutting hair
8. craigslist
9. “I have a crush on every boy!”
10. South beach
CARA
1. BOOZE
2. HIP HOP
3. GHANA
4. Poetry
5. getting hot tattoos
6. being a cat detective
7. cutting hair
8. craigslist
9. “I have a crush on every boy!”
10. South beach
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Abject Reality- First Two Chapter edits
XI
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Just what I had been afraid of. Two days before the New Year: 1997 and my best friend said I needed a new outlook, a new lease on life. So she dressed me up like a doll and dragged me off to the sketchy bar on the corner that we usually reserved for late night amusement from the comfort of our own third floor porch. Now she’d abandoned me to a club full of rabies-ridden college boys for the one halfway decent catch in the whole place. So much for fake Ids. On top of that, now I had to fend off the advances of one of these frothing-mouth assholes.
“Why? So I can feel obligated to let you walk me home? No thanks.” Before I could stop the words from slipping past my lips, Adam met my eye. He was supposed to be in London for the semester. He was supposed to be out of my life. I was supposed to be over him.
“How have you been Janie?”
“Sorry. I’m fine. How are you?”
“Well I’m a bit taken aback by your allegation, but other than that not bad.”
“I thought you were going to London.”
“I’m leaving in a couple of weeks. You know, I wouldn’t expect you to be here.”
“It was Carrie’s idea.” I tried not to inhale too audibly, but deeply enough to restore my shaken confidence. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re doing well. I should be getting home.”
“Let me walk you.” He grinned mischievously.
“I think I can manage the one block. Besides, you didn’t buy me that drink.”
“Well then why don’t you let me?”
I winced, knowing that I would let him. His bright blue eyes pierced right through me still, and there was always something about the way his glasses sat on his Woody Allen like nose that pulled me into unorthodox fantasies. A friend of mine once told me that there is a fine line between endearing and repulsive. I don’t know what it is about Adam that kept him on the endearing side, but a mere half an hour later we were back in our familiar routine: laughing, talking, flirting, touching. I pleaded internally with myself to stop, but the message was intercepted somewhere in between my mind and my fingertips, which were inching their way toward Adam’s carefully worn in jeans. I used his knee to steady myself as I leaned closer to him.
“I’d like you to walk me home now,” I whispered, slightly slurred, and regretted it before I’d even finished.
I woke up the next afternoon with a massive headache and an empty bed. When I went into the kitchen to scrounge up some nourishment, Carrie was sitting at the table with a mug of hot chocolate and a disapproving look on her face. I grimaced back, wincing through the pain.
“Oh, don’t give me that.”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s all over your face.”
“Hey, if you want to fuck yourself over again, that’s fine. Just don’t come crying to me next time he sneaks out in the middle of the night, non-committal bastard.”
“Hey, I’m the one that broke up with him.”
“Rightfully so. He wanted the best of both worlds. You to cuddle up with, and any other girl he could get-- and he’s a charmer-- to fuck on the side.”
I sighed. She was right, and I was in no mood to argue a losing point.
“Do we have any ibuprofen?”
“Top shelf.”
“Thanks.”
I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I knew he was leaving in two weeks, and he’d made it very clear that nothing I had was enough to make him a one-woman man. I wanted to think that maybe he’d changed, but that was impossible, we’d only broken up a month and a half ago, and his psychosis was too far embedded to solve in six weeks. Mine as well is apparently going to take years of therapy. I still can’t even look at another guy without instantly comparing him to Adam.
So I let my charade go on for two weeks, each night hoping that he’d stay until the morning. Maybe we could go for a jog or I could make pancakes. Read the paper together over breakfast and coffee, and go back to bed just to hold each other a little bit longer... But every morning I’d wake up to find that he’d carefully untangled himself from my sleeping death grip and made a safe and speedy escape. Three days before he left for London, I caught him in the act.
“Where are you going?”
“Babe, I have to finish packing. I’ve got tons left to do before Sunday.”
“You’re going to pack at…” I glanced at the clock. “Four thirty in the morning?”
“I have to get some sleep.”
“Why can’t you get some sleep here?”
“Because it’s not familiar. It’s not my bed, okay?”
“You’ve spent nine out of the last twelve nights here.”
“But not to sleep.”
“Yeah…”
“Oh come on, Janie, don’t pull this.”
“Don’t pull what?”
“You knew what this was, you knew I was leaving.”
“Yeah, but…” He was right, but there had to be something. Didn’t he feel anything at all? “Don’t you
feel anything at all?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“For me.”
“Janie, you know I care about you.”
“But not enough.”
“What’s enough?”
“Enough to spend the night. Enough to stop sleeping with other girls. Enough to miss me when you’re gone for a whole semester in fucking London.”
“Do you think I won’t miss you? Do you think I haven’t missed you? The month that we spent apart was hell, but now I remember why I didn’t stop you the last time you told me to fuck off. Why I didn’t come after you when you got on that train.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I care about you, but we fall back into this too easily. This co-dependent shit isn't good for either of us.”
“Co-de-fucking-pendent? You think I’m co-dependent? Fuck you Adam. Get out of my house.”
“I was on my way, if you’ll recall.”
“Good. Have fun in London.”
“I will…” He turned on his heel, then paused a moment. “You know, I haven’t slept with anyone else
since that night in the bar.”
“Wow, congratulations. You kept your dick in your pants while all the little freshman girls were home for break.”
“God, Janie... I just... wanted you to know that. Goodbye.” And he left, without ever turning around or meeting my eye.
I
I remembered the first time I met him. It was easier than sleeping then, to just reminisce. Sometimes thoughts are all you can get. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with the idea then the person… sometimes it’s better, no fuss no muss, and there are nights that I look forward to those quiet moments between awake and asleep. Sometimes… sometimes I worry that I could be content with that. I wondered if maybe I was sub-human. Co-dependent??? Was I really co-dependent? Well he’d been gone three days now and I was still sleeping with his shadow, careful not to roll onto his side of the bed, where he couldn’t be bothered to sleep. Nine days of not sleeping there, and his imprint still remained. I was tempted to stack pillows there to sleep a little better.
The first time I saw Adam he was in the cafeteria, talking with a group of sorority girls. He was always surrounded by girls. It never seemed threatening somehow, though, as if I were being silly to even imagine that he would think of trying to nail any of them. Of course that’s how he nailed me… he snuck right into my comfort zone, and he didn’t even want in. He didn’t want me so bad that I couldn’t sleep at night without clawing my pillows and wishing they were him.
We met our second semester at school, at a party at a mutual friend’s house. “Mutual friend” is a rather vague detail. It was one of those girls that we both would say “oh yeah, I remember her,” but would never really be bothered to call up and see how they were doing. Even now, I can remember distinctly the vibrant colors of the apartment, the Pulp Fiction and Trainspotting posters adorning the narrow hallway between the bathroom and the living room, the prayer flags in the kitchen, Radiohead's “Fake Plastic Trees” pouring out from an open bedroom door. I cannot, however, remember her name. She invited Adam to the party because she wanted to nail him. That was not to be. In fact, I’m almost positive she never slept with him. That night, specifically, I know she did not, because I did. Not screwed, not shagged, not fucked… but for the one of the few times ever, slept with him—next to him at least, on the lounge sofa in our freshman dorm after staying up all night talking.
Despite having spilled most of my tequila laced orange juice on him (and the vague-nameless friend’s sofa), I was feeling a pretty heavy buzz. Enough of a buzz to want to take him back up to my double single and have my way with him. I held myself back then, somehow, between spilling my dinner and my thoughts and dreams, and after about a pack and a half of Parliament Lights we knew more about each other than anyone else at that party.
I knew that he was a chain smoker for one, but rarely when not in my company. I had the same affliction with him, and as such, much of our early relationship revolved around wildly flailing cigarette-laden hands in the middle of the night on one empty quad or another. We found a common ground in entertaining each other, and told rich stories of former “loves,” (neither of us really had any idea what that word meant), miserable classes, and unbearable roommates. We shared books, movies, music, and food. Soon, our middle of the night deviations led into daylight excursions to share in each other’s many passions. I introduced him to the wonders of tofu, and together we dipped into the many neighborhoods of Boston and Cambridge, seeking out the hole in the wall places that everyone talked about but no one seemed to know how to get to.
We toured the world in one week. Monday we went to India for Samosas, Tuesday we had Pad Thai in Thailand, Wednesday to Greece for goat cheese and spinach quiche, Thursday to Italy for wine and dessert, and Friday night we had sushi in bed with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. That night we made love for the first time while I introduced him to Sarah Vaughan. We had Summertime in the dead of New England winter and never fell asleep that night, just sat on the steps of our dorm, smoking our Parliament’s and staring silently at the full moon. We’d never run out of things to say to each other, but somehow none of them fit into that moment. It was big enough with just the two of us, inches apart, feet grazing each other lightly, as though making sure of each other’s presence.
When the sun came up he went back to his room and napped for the day. I went back to my room too, and stared at the ceiling for many hours. I made a list of all of the books, and movies, and albums he had recommended to me, and made him a list from me. I read Sexual Perversity in Chicago, watched Fellini’s 8½, and went to Newbury Street to rifle through crates looking for an old Nirvana bootleg. When it started getting dark out, I took a pill that the girl across the hall had given me to help with studying and a shower, and figured he’d be calling soon. He was sitting on my bed when I got out of the shower, and we spent the next twelve hours locked in my bedroom.
Two weeks earlier, however, on our first official date, both of us had acquired a nervousness that prevented us from even reaching for the other’s hand in the theatre. We had dinner at a hip café just across the river in Cambridge. It had recently been revamped, painted bright shades of cantaloupe and honeydew, as the formerly dark green cave-like walls were no longer “in,” the mourning period for grunge had officially been ended. We ate and drank quietly, as though we’d run out of things to say after sharing so much the night before. He was the perfect gentleman, holding the subway door so that it didn’t close on me, and then offering an old woman that got on with us a seat that could have easily housed both of us.
We decided to see what was playing at the Brattle Street Theatre, and caught this French film all the kids in my film class had been talking about. I was glad that he didn’t try to kiss me, I was so wrapped up in the movie, which turned out to be every bit as good as the too hip kids in my classes were saying. Two hours and three Kleenex later, we were on an empty late night train back toward campus. He finally got up the nerve to lace his fingers in between mine, somewhat unsure of himself, but I was sure enough for both of us. I rested my head on his shoulder, and could have fallen asleep right there. My mother always told me that was when I would know it was right. I was sure that Adam was “the one.”
We stepped off of the train into the deserted station next to our school, and in my three quarter length skirt and vintage shoes, I felt like Vivien Leigh under the skilled guidance of an older man. I was so lost in my own dream world, that when my heel caught in a subway grate and I lost my balance I almost missed him sweeping me safely into his just strong enough arms. In that perfect moment we shared our first kiss and I surrendered any chance I had of ever getting out unscathed.
We were much too much for each other right from the beginning. It was foolish to think that either of us would be bound to the other anymore than we could be anyone else. Looking back on journals I’d written at the time, I know that I was just that foolish. I believed in love for a brief moment, and that it really could conquer all, even two neurotic minds, manic depression and a fledgling speed habit. Then again, at 19 we all think we can have the world. It truly is that year, that odd year where nothing seems to change, that it all really does, right behind your back while your waiting with bated breath to be a grown up. It’s like when you’re 13 and all of a sudden you have hair where you don’t seem to remember it being. It had to have grown at some point, but it seems to have just sprouted up out of nowhere. My infatuation for Adam seemed to grow overnight and after I, foolishly, tried to trim the unfamiliar growth away, it quickly returned, more feverishly than before.
The first month that we were together was, I assume, much like anyone’s first month together. All we wanted to do was have sex and gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. Despite neither of us being virgins, we seemed to be under the unflappable impression that sex had never existed outside the context of “us.” It was our very own special discovery, our dirty little secret, and for a month I didn’t even tell Carrie that I was seeing anyone.
Our freshman year was my first time away from home, but like every other 19 year old in the world, I was sure that I was more grown up then the rest of them. I had my own dorm room (my roommate had left just late enough to secure me a single for at least one semester), a clear cut path to my dream career, and the perfect boyfriend. All of my pillars were in place, and I felt like a strong, solid structure. This was also around the time that I had started getting into pills. Some people call it crank, speed, meth, which I guess makes me a speed freak, but to me, it was Desoxyn, and to my naïve 19 year old mind, it was just something to help me stay up and study from time to time. Soon time-to-time became a daily ritual, and that’s where it got messy, and the girl across the hall with ADHD was no longer able to satisfy my need with a fraction of her weekly meds.
Two weeks after our first kiss and our first night together, Adam surprised me by taking me to see my favorite band, which I’d tried to get tickets for months earlier, at no avail. I remember, It had been a particularly neurotic, first month kind of week where I questioned everything about us and whether or not we would make it because he had three solid days of exams, so I didn’t see him and barely heard from him for that time. On the afternoon of the third day, at which point I was religiously checking my voicemail every hour on the hour in case I’d somehow not heard the phone ring in my nine by twelve high rise cubicle, he knocked on my door.
When I answered the door, he was wearing the same thing he had been three days earlier, and despite the fact that it was rumpled, messy, didn’t match, and smelled of three-day-old dorm room, it is still my favorite memory of him. That night answered any questions I had about us. As was customary of crowded club shows, we held hands to weave our way through the crowd without losing each other. Once we’d found a place, he rested one hand in the small of my back (it fit just right, like the two pieces were molded to fit together), and the other on my left hip, leaning a bit so that his chin rested just on the top of my head. He said I smelled like candy. He made me feel sexy and interesting and wanted and loved, and that was what my fragile writer ego needed. Similarly, his stage-hesitance (he wouldn’t call it fright, he wasn’t afraid), was eased a bit by a few encouraging words before and after a play reading or a stand up routine. I even set up all of my stuffed animals one night so that he could practice with a real audience. That night, at the club with it’s purple swirling smoky lights and clove cigarette air, we were the only one’s there. Crammed in to regulation like sardines, we felt like we were at our own private show. Speaking strictly for me, it was the most perfect night of our young lives.
In reality it was one of the many stages we shared. We were both performers, both artists, and both required too much attention to pay enough to a lover and ourselves. We liked the attention we were able to give each other for a short period of time. An affair of such intensity cannot last for long, however, and soon we were plagued with more troubles than our lack of experience had equipped us to handle.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Just what I had been afraid of. Two days before the New Year: 1997 and my best friend said I needed a new outlook, a new lease on life. So she dressed me up like a doll and dragged me off to the sketchy bar on the corner that we usually reserved for late night amusement from the comfort of our own third floor porch. Now she’d abandoned me to a club full of rabies-ridden college boys for the one halfway decent catch in the whole place. So much for fake Ids. On top of that, now I had to fend off the advances of one of these frothing-mouth assholes.
“Why? So I can feel obligated to let you walk me home? No thanks.” Before I could stop the words from slipping past my lips, Adam met my eye. He was supposed to be in London for the semester. He was supposed to be out of my life. I was supposed to be over him.
“How have you been Janie?”
“Sorry. I’m fine. How are you?”
“Well I’m a bit taken aback by your allegation, but other than that not bad.”
“I thought you were going to London.”
“I’m leaving in a couple of weeks. You know, I wouldn’t expect you to be here.”
“It was Carrie’s idea.” I tried not to inhale too audibly, but deeply enough to restore my shaken confidence. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re doing well. I should be getting home.”
“Let me walk you.” He grinned mischievously.
“I think I can manage the one block. Besides, you didn’t buy me that drink.”
“Well then why don’t you let me?”
I winced, knowing that I would let him. His bright blue eyes pierced right through me still, and there was always something about the way his glasses sat on his Woody Allen like nose that pulled me into unorthodox fantasies. A friend of mine once told me that there is a fine line between endearing and repulsive. I don’t know what it is about Adam that kept him on the endearing side, but a mere half an hour later we were back in our familiar routine: laughing, talking, flirting, touching. I pleaded internally with myself to stop, but the message was intercepted somewhere in between my mind and my fingertips, which were inching their way toward Adam’s carefully worn in jeans. I used his knee to steady myself as I leaned closer to him.
“I’d like you to walk me home now,” I whispered, slightly slurred, and regretted it before I’d even finished.
I woke up the next afternoon with a massive headache and an empty bed. When I went into the kitchen to scrounge up some nourishment, Carrie was sitting at the table with a mug of hot chocolate and a disapproving look on her face. I grimaced back, wincing through the pain.
“Oh, don’t give me that.”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s all over your face.”
“Hey, if you want to fuck yourself over again, that’s fine. Just don’t come crying to me next time he sneaks out in the middle of the night, non-committal bastard.”
“Hey, I’m the one that broke up with him.”
“Rightfully so. He wanted the best of both worlds. You to cuddle up with, and any other girl he could get-- and he’s a charmer-- to fuck on the side.”
I sighed. She was right, and I was in no mood to argue a losing point.
“Do we have any ibuprofen?”
“Top shelf.”
“Thanks.”
I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I knew he was leaving in two weeks, and he’d made it very clear that nothing I had was enough to make him a one-woman man. I wanted to think that maybe he’d changed, but that was impossible, we’d only broken up a month and a half ago, and his psychosis was too far embedded to solve in six weeks. Mine as well is apparently going to take years of therapy. I still can’t even look at another guy without instantly comparing him to Adam.
So I let my charade go on for two weeks, each night hoping that he’d stay until the morning. Maybe we could go for a jog or I could make pancakes. Read the paper together over breakfast and coffee, and go back to bed just to hold each other a little bit longer... But every morning I’d wake up to find that he’d carefully untangled himself from my sleeping death grip and made a safe and speedy escape. Three days before he left for London, I caught him in the act.
“Where are you going?”
“Babe, I have to finish packing. I’ve got tons left to do before Sunday.”
“You’re going to pack at…” I glanced at the clock. “Four thirty in the morning?”
“I have to get some sleep.”
“Why can’t you get some sleep here?”
“Because it’s not familiar. It’s not my bed, okay?”
“You’ve spent nine out of the last twelve nights here.”
“But not to sleep.”
“Yeah…”
“Oh come on, Janie, don’t pull this.”
“Don’t pull what?”
“You knew what this was, you knew I was leaving.”
“Yeah, but…” He was right, but there had to be something. Didn’t he feel anything at all? “Don’t you
feel anything at all?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“For me.”
“Janie, you know I care about you.”
“But not enough.”
“What’s enough?”
“Enough to spend the night. Enough to stop sleeping with other girls. Enough to miss me when you’re gone for a whole semester in fucking London.”
“Do you think I won’t miss you? Do you think I haven’t missed you? The month that we spent apart was hell, but now I remember why I didn’t stop you the last time you told me to fuck off. Why I didn’t come after you when you got on that train.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I care about you, but we fall back into this too easily. This co-dependent shit isn't good for either of us.”
“Co-de-fucking-pendent? You think I’m co-dependent? Fuck you Adam. Get out of my house.”
“I was on my way, if you’ll recall.”
“Good. Have fun in London.”
“I will…” He turned on his heel, then paused a moment. “You know, I haven’t slept with anyone else
since that night in the bar.”
“Wow, congratulations. You kept your dick in your pants while all the little freshman girls were home for break.”
“God, Janie... I just... wanted you to know that. Goodbye.” And he left, without ever turning around or meeting my eye.
I
I remembered the first time I met him. It was easier than sleeping then, to just reminisce. Sometimes thoughts are all you can get. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with the idea then the person… sometimes it’s better, no fuss no muss, and there are nights that I look forward to those quiet moments between awake and asleep. Sometimes… sometimes I worry that I could be content with that. I wondered if maybe I was sub-human. Co-dependent??? Was I really co-dependent? Well he’d been gone three days now and I was still sleeping with his shadow, careful not to roll onto his side of the bed, where he couldn’t be bothered to sleep. Nine days of not sleeping there, and his imprint still remained. I was tempted to stack pillows there to sleep a little better.
The first time I saw Adam he was in the cafeteria, talking with a group of sorority girls. He was always surrounded by girls. It never seemed threatening somehow, though, as if I were being silly to even imagine that he would think of trying to nail any of them. Of course that’s how he nailed me… he snuck right into my comfort zone, and he didn’t even want in. He didn’t want me so bad that I couldn’t sleep at night without clawing my pillows and wishing they were him.
We met our second semester at school, at a party at a mutual friend’s house. “Mutual friend” is a rather vague detail. It was one of those girls that we both would say “oh yeah, I remember her,” but would never really be bothered to call up and see how they were doing. Even now, I can remember distinctly the vibrant colors of the apartment, the Pulp Fiction and Trainspotting posters adorning the narrow hallway between the bathroom and the living room, the prayer flags in the kitchen, Radiohead's “Fake Plastic Trees” pouring out from an open bedroom door. I cannot, however, remember her name. She invited Adam to the party because she wanted to nail him. That was not to be. In fact, I’m almost positive she never slept with him. That night, specifically, I know she did not, because I did. Not screwed, not shagged, not fucked… but for the one of the few times ever, slept with him—next to him at least, on the lounge sofa in our freshman dorm after staying up all night talking.
Despite having spilled most of my tequila laced orange juice on him (and the vague-nameless friend’s sofa), I was feeling a pretty heavy buzz. Enough of a buzz to want to take him back up to my double single and have my way with him. I held myself back then, somehow, between spilling my dinner and my thoughts and dreams, and after about a pack and a half of Parliament Lights we knew more about each other than anyone else at that party.
I knew that he was a chain smoker for one, but rarely when not in my company. I had the same affliction with him, and as such, much of our early relationship revolved around wildly flailing cigarette-laden hands in the middle of the night on one empty quad or another. We found a common ground in entertaining each other, and told rich stories of former “loves,” (neither of us really had any idea what that word meant), miserable classes, and unbearable roommates. We shared books, movies, music, and food. Soon, our middle of the night deviations led into daylight excursions to share in each other’s many passions. I introduced him to the wonders of tofu, and together we dipped into the many neighborhoods of Boston and Cambridge, seeking out the hole in the wall places that everyone talked about but no one seemed to know how to get to.
We toured the world in one week. Monday we went to India for Samosas, Tuesday we had Pad Thai in Thailand, Wednesday to Greece for goat cheese and spinach quiche, Thursday to Italy for wine and dessert, and Friday night we had sushi in bed with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. That night we made love for the first time while I introduced him to Sarah Vaughan. We had Summertime in the dead of New England winter and never fell asleep that night, just sat on the steps of our dorm, smoking our Parliament’s and staring silently at the full moon. We’d never run out of things to say to each other, but somehow none of them fit into that moment. It was big enough with just the two of us, inches apart, feet grazing each other lightly, as though making sure of each other’s presence.
When the sun came up he went back to his room and napped for the day. I went back to my room too, and stared at the ceiling for many hours. I made a list of all of the books, and movies, and albums he had recommended to me, and made him a list from me. I read Sexual Perversity in Chicago, watched Fellini’s 8½, and went to Newbury Street to rifle through crates looking for an old Nirvana bootleg. When it started getting dark out, I took a pill that the girl across the hall had given me to help with studying and a shower, and figured he’d be calling soon. He was sitting on my bed when I got out of the shower, and we spent the next twelve hours locked in my bedroom.
Two weeks earlier, however, on our first official date, both of us had acquired a nervousness that prevented us from even reaching for the other’s hand in the theatre. We had dinner at a hip café just across the river in Cambridge. It had recently been revamped, painted bright shades of cantaloupe and honeydew, as the formerly dark green cave-like walls were no longer “in,” the mourning period for grunge had officially been ended. We ate and drank quietly, as though we’d run out of things to say after sharing so much the night before. He was the perfect gentleman, holding the subway door so that it didn’t close on me, and then offering an old woman that got on with us a seat that could have easily housed both of us.
We decided to see what was playing at the Brattle Street Theatre, and caught this French film all the kids in my film class had been talking about. I was glad that he didn’t try to kiss me, I was so wrapped up in the movie, which turned out to be every bit as good as the too hip kids in my classes were saying. Two hours and three Kleenex later, we were on an empty late night train back toward campus. He finally got up the nerve to lace his fingers in between mine, somewhat unsure of himself, but I was sure enough for both of us. I rested my head on his shoulder, and could have fallen asleep right there. My mother always told me that was when I would know it was right. I was sure that Adam was “the one.”
We stepped off of the train into the deserted station next to our school, and in my three quarter length skirt and vintage shoes, I felt like Vivien Leigh under the skilled guidance of an older man. I was so lost in my own dream world, that when my heel caught in a subway grate and I lost my balance I almost missed him sweeping me safely into his just strong enough arms. In that perfect moment we shared our first kiss and I surrendered any chance I had of ever getting out unscathed.
We were much too much for each other right from the beginning. It was foolish to think that either of us would be bound to the other anymore than we could be anyone else. Looking back on journals I’d written at the time, I know that I was just that foolish. I believed in love for a brief moment, and that it really could conquer all, even two neurotic minds, manic depression and a fledgling speed habit. Then again, at 19 we all think we can have the world. It truly is that year, that odd year where nothing seems to change, that it all really does, right behind your back while your waiting with bated breath to be a grown up. It’s like when you’re 13 and all of a sudden you have hair where you don’t seem to remember it being. It had to have grown at some point, but it seems to have just sprouted up out of nowhere. My infatuation for Adam seemed to grow overnight and after I, foolishly, tried to trim the unfamiliar growth away, it quickly returned, more feverishly than before.
The first month that we were together was, I assume, much like anyone’s first month together. All we wanted to do was have sex and gaze longingly into each other’s eyes. Despite neither of us being virgins, we seemed to be under the unflappable impression that sex had never existed outside the context of “us.” It was our very own special discovery, our dirty little secret, and for a month I didn’t even tell Carrie that I was seeing anyone.
Our freshman year was my first time away from home, but like every other 19 year old in the world, I was sure that I was more grown up then the rest of them. I had my own dorm room (my roommate had left just late enough to secure me a single for at least one semester), a clear cut path to my dream career, and the perfect boyfriend. All of my pillars were in place, and I felt like a strong, solid structure. This was also around the time that I had started getting into pills. Some people call it crank, speed, meth, which I guess makes me a speed freak, but to me, it was Desoxyn, and to my naïve 19 year old mind, it was just something to help me stay up and study from time to time. Soon time-to-time became a daily ritual, and that’s where it got messy, and the girl across the hall with ADHD was no longer able to satisfy my need with a fraction of her weekly meds.
Two weeks after our first kiss and our first night together, Adam surprised me by taking me to see my favorite band, which I’d tried to get tickets for months earlier, at no avail. I remember, It had been a particularly neurotic, first month kind of week where I questioned everything about us and whether or not we would make it because he had three solid days of exams, so I didn’t see him and barely heard from him for that time. On the afternoon of the third day, at which point I was religiously checking my voicemail every hour on the hour in case I’d somehow not heard the phone ring in my nine by twelve high rise cubicle, he knocked on my door.
When I answered the door, he was wearing the same thing he had been three days earlier, and despite the fact that it was rumpled, messy, didn’t match, and smelled of three-day-old dorm room, it is still my favorite memory of him. That night answered any questions I had about us. As was customary of crowded club shows, we held hands to weave our way through the crowd without losing each other. Once we’d found a place, he rested one hand in the small of my back (it fit just right, like the two pieces were molded to fit together), and the other on my left hip, leaning a bit so that his chin rested just on the top of my head. He said I smelled like candy. He made me feel sexy and interesting and wanted and loved, and that was what my fragile writer ego needed. Similarly, his stage-hesitance (he wouldn’t call it fright, he wasn’t afraid), was eased a bit by a few encouraging words before and after a play reading or a stand up routine. I even set up all of my stuffed animals one night so that he could practice with a real audience. That night, at the club with it’s purple swirling smoky lights and clove cigarette air, we were the only one’s there. Crammed in to regulation like sardines, we felt like we were at our own private show. Speaking strictly for me, it was the most perfect night of our young lives.
In reality it was one of the many stages we shared. We were both performers, both artists, and both required too much attention to pay enough to a lover and ourselves. We liked the attention we were able to give each other for a short period of time. An affair of such intensity cannot last for long, however, and soon we were plagued with more troubles than our lack of experience had equipped us to handle.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
time travel
so i was looking through some old notebooks tonight, reminiscing. mostly laughing at myself for being so whiny and thinking that stupid boys were really amazing (and I'm pretty sure most of the high school notebooks and chapbooks are in boxes in the study, so we haven't even REALLY delved in yet). nonetheless i did find this gem of a poem in my notebook for my junior year of high school english. it has a lot of notes from my teacher about not handing things in on time and not actually doing the assignments and maybe being better organized between plays, stories, and poems, but my grades are pretty good. anyway, so I wrote this April 14, 2000, when I was just shy of 17. i'd like to stress that i barely kissed boys at this age, but from reading this, if I was my daughter, i'd be concerned.
untitled (i never titled things back then)
I'm not the girl you want me
to be
the type to walk down the aisle.
I don't enjoy afternoon tea.
A midnight snack I can handle
as long as its quick and sweet.
Daylight bothers me
I hide in the shade.
The dark is comforting, like a
childhood blankie.
I sleep alone
unintentionally deliberately-
a product of my subconscious.
I climb in and out of windows
with ease.
I wear skirts like jeans
with t-shirts and sneakers.
I don't spend more than 5 minutes
on hair and makeup
and I never have time
for breakfast.
untitled (i never titled things back then)
I'm not the girl you want me
to be
the type to walk down the aisle.
I don't enjoy afternoon tea.
A midnight snack I can handle
as long as its quick and sweet.
Daylight bothers me
I hide in the shade.
The dark is comforting, like a
childhood blankie.
I sleep alone
unintentionally deliberately-
a product of my subconscious.
I climb in and out of windows
with ease.
I wear skirts like jeans
with t-shirts and sneakers.
I don't spend more than 5 minutes
on hair and makeup
and I never have time
for breakfast.
Friday, January 19, 2007
juggling sucks
I failed at my new years resolutions. That is, I didn't make a very important one. I realized yesterday that the most important resolution I should have made goes a little something like this: "slow the F down and stop trying to be everything to everyone." I have come to the conclusion that I have a really annoying personality trait that makes me try to do way more than humanly possible and not ask people for help until its too late. So I (a) look like a flake to everyone because nothing gets done as well as it could if I applied a normal amount of time/commitment/energy (b) get migraines (c) justify destructive behavior as a way to de-stress from over-commitment and (d) am kind of a scatterbrained mess and live in a sea of to-do lists. Needless to say I had a long day yesterday.
So I'm starting over. January does not exist. I leave for Vermont on Thursday, and when I come back it will be February already. So I have a list of things to do in the next week so that I won't be playing catch up when I get back from a week of work vacation. In fact, I made a list for each of my identified stress areas (work, home, financial, "extracurriculars," and relationships) so this will be an interesting week. But February 3rd, I will wake up ready to go back to work, in a clean room, with a balanced checkbook, a reasonable to do list at work, resolve to stop acting like I'm still in college, and on track to pull off V-Day.
I need Kelli's book of affirmations.
So I'm starting over. January does not exist. I leave for Vermont on Thursday, and when I come back it will be February already. So I have a list of things to do in the next week so that I won't be playing catch up when I get back from a week of work vacation. In fact, I made a list for each of my identified stress areas (work, home, financial, "extracurriculars," and relationships) so this will be an interesting week. But February 3rd, I will wake up ready to go back to work, in a clean room, with a balanced checkbook, a reasonable to do list at work, resolve to stop acting like I'm still in college, and on track to pull off V-Day.
I need Kelli's book of affirmations.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
silent saying
My body language
is a dead giveaway
you just need to learn the words.
I can be a little confusing
if you're not fluent.
The words for
"I could love you if I let my guard down"
and
"You repulse me"
are only syllables apart.
Click your tongue the wrong way
and you'd get it wrong...
like how Cinderella might have worn
squirrel fur slippers
I get lost in translation.
There is no Cara to English dictionary
though I've been told that
"Cara time" is 45 minutes behind
eastern standard
despite a shared geographic location.
"Cara logic" defies any law you can think of
even gravity
because I fly in my dreams.
and sometimes my stomach gets that
elevator starts too quick feeling
around you too.
I walk in my sleep and my
leg wakes me with a start
confused at why it doesn't
go anywhere.
But it's just you
holding me in the dark
and you might think that
my back to you is cold.
But it's just that my shoulders
are thicker than my ribs
and I want to put some
distance between
you
and my heart.
Same reason I hug you quick and
run away
Same reason I would rather write
you a poem than call
won't make eye contact in a crowded room...
I'm still working on that dictionary
so for now, let me translate-
If I didn't care what you thought
I'd bat my eyes without a blink.
I'd let my hips brush against you
as I pass.
I'd yawn just to see if I could catch you
looking my way.
Trust me baby, if I didn't want your
arms at my waist
I could put them there.
If I didn't want to kiss you
I could throw you against a wall.
If I didn't care, I could wrap
myself around you like a blanket.
But like I said, my ribs are thin
and my breastbone ain't much
thicker.
So I don't think it would take that
long for your heart to coax mine
out of hiding
and get them all tangled up like
the cat's cradles I could never figure out
And baby
you could do a whole lot
more than break it
if you pulled away first.
is a dead giveaway
you just need to learn the words.
I can be a little confusing
if you're not fluent.
The words for
"I could love you if I let my guard down"
and
"You repulse me"
are only syllables apart.
Click your tongue the wrong way
and you'd get it wrong...
like how Cinderella might have worn
squirrel fur slippers
I get lost in translation.
There is no Cara to English dictionary
though I've been told that
"Cara time" is 45 minutes behind
eastern standard
despite a shared geographic location.
"Cara logic" defies any law you can think of
even gravity
because I fly in my dreams.
and sometimes my stomach gets that
elevator starts too quick feeling
around you too.
I walk in my sleep and my
leg wakes me with a start
confused at why it doesn't
go anywhere.
But it's just you
holding me in the dark
and you might think that
my back to you is cold.
But it's just that my shoulders
are thicker than my ribs
and I want to put some
distance between
you
and my heart.
Same reason I hug you quick and
run away
Same reason I would rather write
you a poem than call
won't make eye contact in a crowded room...
I'm still working on that dictionary
so for now, let me translate-
If I didn't care what you thought
I'd bat my eyes without a blink.
I'd let my hips brush against you
as I pass.
I'd yawn just to see if I could catch you
looking my way.
Trust me baby, if I didn't want your
arms at my waist
I could put them there.
If I didn't want to kiss you
I could throw you against a wall.
If I didn't care, I could wrap
myself around you like a blanket.
But like I said, my ribs are thin
and my breastbone ain't much
thicker.
So I don't think it would take that
long for your heart to coax mine
out of hiding
and get them all tangled up like
the cat's cradles I could never figure out
And baby
you could do a whole lot
more than break it
if you pulled away first.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
I am an evil genius...
I always knew, but now quiz farm confirms it...
You scored as Evil Genius. Your an evil genius! People better stay out of your way or its straight to the gas chambers when you take over!
What are you?(evil genius, ninja, etc.) created with QuizFarm.com |
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
life on marinate
I really like using the word marinate as a verb outside the venue of food preparation. So I've been letting somethings marinate lately, and trying to kind of slow myself down a little (not working so well, but I'm using time more efficiently). So last night I decided to not do anything with my evening that I could not do from the comfort of my own bed... hey, eyes up here. So I can't do one thing at a time. I have to be using at least 2 senses at once or I get kind of antsy... unless I'm asleep. Anyway, I decided to take a look at this novel I wrote the summer I turned 20 and see if it was even worth editing, which is a project I've been meaning to take on since... well, the summer I turned 20.
I don't know if its because it's semi-autobiographical and I can recognize some of the moments in it, but I got really into it. I think I'm actually going to suck it up and pull out the red pen. The weirdest thing is that I haven't looked at the thing in almost a year, and I used a lot of similar imagery and phrases in recent poems that I used in the book. Specifically things about stoplights, and spaces between shoulders and collarbones... like literally exact quotations. I have some weird wiring in my brain.
My favorite line though is this: "What's your real life plan?" A real life plan is like your back up, for if you don't get to be a rock star or a novelist or in the wnba (what can I say, I was an ambitious 13-year-old.). It's funny to me now, because the main character's real-life plan is being a novelist... if making movies doesn't work out. I still have to wonder how much I've really grown up since I wrote the piece, though. I love what I do, but I'm not going to lie, I love meeting people I think are really cool and finding out that they already know my name ALMOST (ok, not quite almost) as much as I love talking to 16-year-olds about hegemony. So I don't know if I have a real-life plan. But I am pretty impressed with the storytelling skills that I had at 20, and seriously feel like I need to get back to honing them.
I don't know if its because it's semi-autobiographical and I can recognize some of the moments in it, but I got really into it. I think I'm actually going to suck it up and pull out the red pen. The weirdest thing is that I haven't looked at the thing in almost a year, and I used a lot of similar imagery and phrases in recent poems that I used in the book. Specifically things about stoplights, and spaces between shoulders and collarbones... like literally exact quotations. I have some weird wiring in my brain.
My favorite line though is this: "What's your real life plan?" A real life plan is like your back up, for if you don't get to be a rock star or a novelist or in the wnba (what can I say, I was an ambitious 13-year-old.). It's funny to me now, because the main character's real-life plan is being a novelist... if making movies doesn't work out. I still have to wonder how much I've really grown up since I wrote the piece, though. I love what I do, but I'm not going to lie, I love meeting people I think are really cool and finding out that they already know my name ALMOST (ok, not quite almost) as much as I love talking to 16-year-olds about hegemony. So I don't know if I have a real-life plan. But I am pretty impressed with the storytelling skills that I had at 20, and seriously feel like I need to get back to honing them.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Deeply Embedded Neurosis
I remember it like it was a childhood memory... mostly because it is... Yes, it is approximately 3:45 in the afternoon, a couple of days before Valentine's Day 1993. 10-year-old Cara is walking home from school after staying after to work out the last details of the Valentine's Day dance that she and a few friends have convinced the Principal to let them have from 3-5pm (before the big kids dance). Across the street, walking parallel to her route, is Anthony, the boy she had a crush on for all of 4th and 5th grade. He yells for her to come over, where he is standing with another boy in their class. When she gets to their side of the street he says:
"So... I heard you wanted to ask me to the Valentine's Day Dance."
My response?
"Well, you heard wrong!"
Then I turned on my heel and walked back down the road down to my house. Why did I do this, you may ask? To be honest, I'm not exactly sure. It could be that I'm too proud to make myself the more vulnerable party in a conversation. It could be that I also kind of thought his friend was cute. It could have also been that I was too thrown off by the possibility of being asked to a dance by my crush that my only response was... well, a near violent outburst.
In any case, to fully understand the history of Anthony and I, you would have to go back to the Valentine's Day before, during our 4th grade year. I really, really liked him. So I traded my brother a couple of my valentines, which I think were Saved By the Bell, for a couple of his Ninja Turtle ones. I gave Anthony one with Michaelangelo, my favorite turtle, on it. It said something like... "cowabunga... you rock!" on it. Did I mention that Michaelangelo was my favorite turtle? So I was sure that Anthony would understand that I really, really liked him. Except then I was a little worried that he would know that I liked him (I'm not really sure what I was going forwith this gesture). So then I wrote something like, "not! you make me want to puke!" on the back side of the card, and then a little heart and my name. Yes, yes, there may have been some mixed messages sent that day, but I never could have expected the response that I received.
That day was the only day in my entire life that I ever had to be picked up by my mother and sent home early. Yes, I made the boy cry. I guess he might have liked me back, but you know, I wasn't entirely sure, and I didn't want to deal with the rejection. 9-year-old girl hearts are very fragile. Apparently so are 9-year-old boy hearts. Ok, so that doesn't really explain any better the near violent outburst in the fifth grade, and I can't say I either really understand either interaction. I would like to say that my tactics have changed in the near fifteen years that have passed since these incidents took place, but I find myself still running hot and cold, throwing rocks at boys, and telling men that I think are smart, cute, and funny that they are stupid and ugly. Why do I do this? I don't really know, but I think it may have started back in the fourth grade.
"So... I heard you wanted to ask me to the Valentine's Day Dance."
My response?
"Well, you heard wrong!"
Then I turned on my heel and walked back down the road down to my house. Why did I do this, you may ask? To be honest, I'm not exactly sure. It could be that I'm too proud to make myself the more vulnerable party in a conversation. It could be that I also kind of thought his friend was cute. It could have also been that I was too thrown off by the possibility of being asked to a dance by my crush that my only response was... well, a near violent outburst.
In any case, to fully understand the history of Anthony and I, you would have to go back to the Valentine's Day before, during our 4th grade year. I really, really liked him. So I traded my brother a couple of my valentines, which I think were Saved By the Bell, for a couple of his Ninja Turtle ones. I gave Anthony one with Michaelangelo, my favorite turtle, on it. It said something like... "cowabunga... you rock!" on it. Did I mention that Michaelangelo was my favorite turtle? So I was sure that Anthony would understand that I really, really liked him. Except then I was a little worried that he would know that I liked him (I'm not really sure what I was going forwith this gesture). So then I wrote something like, "not! you make me want to puke!" on the back side of the card, and then a little heart and my name. Yes, yes, there may have been some mixed messages sent that day, but I never could have expected the response that I received.
That day was the only day in my entire life that I ever had to be picked up by my mother and sent home early. Yes, I made the boy cry. I guess he might have liked me back, but you know, I wasn't entirely sure, and I didn't want to deal with the rejection. 9-year-old girl hearts are very fragile. Apparently so are 9-year-old boy hearts. Ok, so that doesn't really explain any better the near violent outburst in the fifth grade, and I can't say I either really understand either interaction. I would like to say that my tactics have changed in the near fifteen years that have passed since these incidents took place, but I find myself still running hot and cold, throwing rocks at boys, and telling men that I think are smart, cute, and funny that they are stupid and ugly. Why do I do this? I don't really know, but I think it may have started back in the fourth grade.
Friday, January 12, 2007
particles
i feel so broken.
maybe that's why my chest
is so tight
my shoulders so tense...
my body is desperately trying
to hold itself together.
i roll my neck
pull back sore shoulders
rotate hips to stretch
my torso-
and it works.
momentarily
but as soon as i stop
the tightness returns
the tension takes back over
because it's not a physical ailment.
it's this gripping fear that leaks
over every inch of my muscles
paralyzing me
and making me desperate to move
simultaneously.
my right half wants me in a wheelchair.
my left half wants to run like my life depends on it
and it thinks it does.
left side saying:
"girl, get the hell out and start
over again. this one's not worth it
either."
right side, through sleepy eyes, whispers:
"i can't go back to the drawing board.
it takes so much to erase a whole page
and i'm damn near exhausted."
and they can't agree to disagree on
alone
because damn it's nice to have a warm
body in your bed
and someone to say goodnight to,
to believe your lies until you feel bad
enough to tell the truth
who's polite enough to wait until
after you tell them
to say they knew all along.
a second plate to wash,
someone to tell you that your ideas
are crazy- but do it anyway
they like you that way.
i'm right handed.
so yeah, the gemini in me
wants to pack up and leave
with some dignity
but the cancer homebody
can't get out of bed.
she wants a sparring partner
just as much as the twins
but
she's not thinking about
how much fun it can be to
discover a new person
inch by inch.
she's not thinking of how special
you can feel when a man goes
out of his way to stop by your office
just to see your face.
she's not even thinking about how
nice it can be to kiss without asking
if its ok.
she can't remember those things.
she wallows in the moment, remembers
only the tragedy
the fingertips moving away
the icicles left as excuses.
how many days it takes
for a scent to wear from an
old sweatshirt.
and she's feeling a whole lot older
than 23.
and she wants someone that makes
her feel like a kid again.
someone that makes her feel like
she's in a cheesy independent film
where no one dies of cancer at the end.
someone that will make her dinner at home
and let her pay when they go out.
someone who takes her to bookstores
AND amusement parks
and understands that sometimes she
wakes up at 4am to write a chapter
that won't get out of her dreams.
most of all, she wants to know that
that person is out there.
maybe that's why my chest
is so tight
my shoulders so tense...
my body is desperately trying
to hold itself together.
i roll my neck
pull back sore shoulders
rotate hips to stretch
my torso-
and it works.
momentarily
but as soon as i stop
the tightness returns
the tension takes back over
because it's not a physical ailment.
it's this gripping fear that leaks
over every inch of my muscles
paralyzing me
and making me desperate to move
simultaneously.
my right half wants me in a wheelchair.
my left half wants to run like my life depends on it
and it thinks it does.
left side saying:
"girl, get the hell out and start
over again. this one's not worth it
either."
right side, through sleepy eyes, whispers:
"i can't go back to the drawing board.
it takes so much to erase a whole page
and i'm damn near exhausted."
and they can't agree to disagree on
alone
because damn it's nice to have a warm
body in your bed
and someone to say goodnight to,
to believe your lies until you feel bad
enough to tell the truth
who's polite enough to wait until
after you tell them
to say they knew all along.
a second plate to wash,
someone to tell you that your ideas
are crazy- but do it anyway
they like you that way.
i'm right handed.
so yeah, the gemini in me
wants to pack up and leave
with some dignity
but the cancer homebody
can't get out of bed.
she wants a sparring partner
just as much as the twins
but
she's not thinking about
how much fun it can be to
discover a new person
inch by inch.
she's not thinking of how special
you can feel when a man goes
out of his way to stop by your office
just to see your face.
she's not even thinking about how
nice it can be to kiss without asking
if its ok.
she can't remember those things.
she wallows in the moment, remembers
only the tragedy
the fingertips moving away
the icicles left as excuses.
how many days it takes
for a scent to wear from an
old sweatshirt.
and she's feeling a whole lot older
than 23.
and she wants someone that makes
her feel like a kid again.
someone that makes her feel like
she's in a cheesy independent film
where no one dies of cancer at the end.
someone that will make her dinner at home
and let her pay when they go out.
someone who takes her to bookstores
AND amusement parks
and understands that sometimes she
wakes up at 4am to write a chapter
that won't get out of her dreams.
most of all, she wants to know that
that person is out there.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Sometimes Humor Helps
| Cara Lisa Powers was the cause of the apocalypse. | |
| ... afterward, Cara Lisa Powers went to the movies alone. | |
| 'How will you be remembered in history books?' at QuizGalaxy.com |
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
garland of men i probably shouldn't have kissed
I don't have a title for this garland yet, nor do I really think I'm going to do anything with it. But it was a good exercise.
1
Sometimes the moon can intoxicate me
but on that night, I think it was the beer-
pulled down my defenses and killed the fear.
We started in a circle under a tree
but that moment, it was just you and me.
The others in the room I didn't hear.
You were my biggest wish my thirteenth year.
I kept my eyes open so that I could see.
Wanted to ask you to "be my boyfriend."
Now, I still remember your phone number
but the space between each call grew more, so
we lost touch after our eigth grade year's end.
Lost my chance, couldn't feel any dumber.
I don't ask for a reprieve, I just go.
2
I don't ask for a reprieve, I just go.
I did not mean to break your heart though I
noticed it took a whole lot just to try.
When you kissed me goodbye, I just felt low.
Your biggest joy was being my "beau."
Took two months to ask me out, you were shy
and afraid I wanted another guy.
You were patient and let me take things slow.
My father, he loved you like his own son
(but not a son-in-law). We were 15
So our parents just let the "race thing" go
sure that, so young, we hadn't found "the one."
That wasn't why I left, I still feel mean,
crawling out of my skin sometimes, you know.
3
Crawling out of my skin sometimes, you know-
that's how I felt when I was around you.
Yes, sure, at 16, that my love was true
but still always afraid to let it show.
You'd play games like "push her down in the snow."
Then there was that time when I threw my shoe.
Never got serious with me and you
You thought it was funny to call me a hoe.
I pretended that we could be an us,
something more than a quick fleeting second.
I wrote bad angsty schoolgirl poetry
and always sat next to you on the bus.
Can only think that you liked the attention.
I close my eyes so I don't have to see.
4
I close my eyes so I don't have to see
your hands in my hair, your mouth on my lips
surprised by the movement in my own hips.
I never imagined this- you and me.
You were kind of my first discovery
felt like I could give my best friends some tips.
Felt drunk, though I'd just taken a few sips
like I had found a whole new way to be.
You were notorious for doing this.
I wasn't looking for anything more.
We let go of each other happily.
I don't regret our time, that night, our kiss.
It wasn't hard walking you to the door.
You said I entrapped you easily.
5
You said I entrapped you easily
I thought that was the lamest line I'd heard.
We made no sense- a pot head and a nerd,
but I thought I could make you right for me.
I didn't want you, you didn't want me.
For us to be more than friends was absurd.
When you kissed me I couldn't find a word,
there was kind of an electricity.
In the days after things started to change
just for me though, and not for you
closed my eyes, tried not to let anything show.
For a time thought I had you in close range,
think I just wanted something that stayed new.
Held your hand, though I knew nothing would grow.
6
Held your hand, though I knew nothing would grow.
I appreciated the attention.
I shouldn't have acted on the tension,
but in your eyes I had a special glow.
Worried that you saw a higher plateau,
I scrambled to stop my own ascension,
but you anticipated the rejection.
When I said "I don't" you said "I know."
Just the same we stayed in touch through the years
only a little awkward around friends...
it was like it never happened, you know?
I even went shopping with you at Sears,
thought then that our friendship could make amends.
So sure, you thought you had me at hello.
7
So sure, you thought you had me at hello
and then, not so sure- "was it good for you?"
Had to know it wasn't good for me too.
I think you shouldn't have to ask to know.
In terms of smarts, you had me toe to toe
and I would say we had chemistry too,
but when I left I didn't feel blue.
Funny how you can reap less than you sow.
Don't know what kind of a girl you thought I was,
but pretty sure it wasn't who I am.
Who knows, maybe you accused me rightly,
no regard for the what if, or because.
You were only a "wham bam, thank you ma'am-"
came quick, made up by holding me tightly.
8
Came quick, made up by holding me tightly.
Watched the Transformers movie as foreplay
and you left before the first signs of day,
kissed me on the forehead very lightly.
Was self-conscious of my hair- unsightly.
The morning was dark and it was grey,
on my porch, my mistake there on display.
You said you'd call me later, politely.
Lover, I never did regret that night.
I'm not saying I wanted more from you.
Yes, I was happy after the door closed,
remember watching you walk out of sight.
Knew you wouldn't call, didn't want you to.
You made me feel beautifully exposed.
9
You made me feel beautifully exposed
like an open book or reading my palm,
and around you I never could stay calm.
There wasn't a day that I stayed composed.
This floweret, I wrote, my heart enclosed.
Your kiss hit me in the chest like a bomb
then like that, you were over like the prom.
Wondered if my love was misdiagnosed.
I hated you for at least a year
couldn't face that we were only playing.
So mad at myself for letting me fall.
I'm proud and I don't like to shed a tear,
so sometimes I still find myself saying
You didn't mean much, we had fun, that's all.
10
You didn't mean much, we had fun, that's all.
Honestly, you didn't mean anything,
but you were just there, waiting in the wing.
My roommate woke to find you in the hall.
I'd already gone to work at the mall.
I slipped out without saying anything.
You were this silly nineteen year old thing.
I, at 21, too mature to fall.
I was like Mrs. Robinson to you,
and you bragged to my little brother's friend.
Yeah, we had fun, but there wasn't a spark.
I was the envy of high school girls too,
not a pedestal I liked to ascend.
I'd lie to tell you you hit the mark.
11
I'd lie to tell you you hit the mark,
but you did come damn close several times.
We didn't talk at all, we were like mimes,
hiding from the others in the dark.
You put me in drive when I planned to park.
You'd been flirting with women past their primes.
We were there, and things just happen sometimes,
and I know that I was just a checkmark.
Yeah, we didn't exchange information.
Woke up on the other side of the bed,
slipped out of the hotel while you still dozed.
But you were a nice little vacation.
I don't remember anything you said.
I should learn to sleep when the bar is closed.
12
I should learn to sleep when the bar is closed.
Or at least, I should go home by myself,
lock the door and put my needs on a shelf.
Instead, closed the bedroom door, you enclosed.
More than sleep happened. I wasn't opposed
since I drank a bottle of rum myself,
something else I should have left on the shelf
or hidden in locations undisclosed.
We were a mess- all arms and legs and mouth.
I don't even remember who kissed first
but I know my roommate heard through the wall.
My expectation of restraint went south,
and you seemed so practiced and rehearsed.
Yeah, I never expected you to call.
13
Yeah, I never expected you to call...
Saying it now, I know that it's a lie.
I really never thought you'd be that guy,
a big nose, glasses, and you weren't that tall
but conversation made up for it all.
You had me at "Sports Night" like I was high,
even had two drinks that I let you buy
and held your hand so I wouldn't fall.
Those are two things I never do,
but with you that night it just felt so right.
Walking around the North End, through the park,
I could have stayed there the whole night with you.
The sun came up and ended the night.
You sure did look beautiful in the dark.
14
You sure did look beautiful in the dark,
not to say that you didn't in the light.
Didn't plan on taking you home that night.
For the flame, you have to follow the spark.
You were taken by every remark,
never had a girl like me in your sight.
Least that's what you said, though it sounded trite.
I'm an artist, and you a business shark.
It could have never worked, I'm too stubborn.
Stayed up together until the twilight,
you saw something I didn't see in me.
It's not like either of us left lovelorn
but I liked you there under my skylight.
Sometimes the moon can intoxicate me.
15
Sometimes the moon can intoxicate me.
I don't ask for a reprieve I just go,
crawling out of my skin sometimes you know.
I close my eyes so I don't have to see.
You said I entrapped you easily,
held your hand, though I knew nothing would grow.
So sure, you thought you had me at hello.
Came quick, made up by holding me tightly.
You made me feel beautifully exposed.
You didn't mean much, we had fun that's all.
I'd lie to tell you you hit the mark.
I should learn to sleep when the bar is closed.
Yeah, I never expected you to call.
You sure did look beautiful in the dark.
1
Sometimes the moon can intoxicate me
but on that night, I think it was the beer-
pulled down my defenses and killed the fear.
We started in a circle under a tree
but that moment, it was just you and me.
The others in the room I didn't hear.
You were my biggest wish my thirteenth year.
I kept my eyes open so that I could see.
Wanted to ask you to "be my boyfriend."
Now, I still remember your phone number
but the space between each call grew more, so
we lost touch after our eigth grade year's end.
Lost my chance, couldn't feel any dumber.
I don't ask for a reprieve, I just go.
2
I don't ask for a reprieve, I just go.
I did not mean to break your heart though I
noticed it took a whole lot just to try.
When you kissed me goodbye, I just felt low.
Your biggest joy was being my "beau."
Took two months to ask me out, you were shy
and afraid I wanted another guy.
You were patient and let me take things slow.
My father, he loved you like his own son
(but not a son-in-law). We were 15
So our parents just let the "race thing" go
sure that, so young, we hadn't found "the one."
That wasn't why I left, I still feel mean,
crawling out of my skin sometimes, you know.
3
Crawling out of my skin sometimes, you know-
that's how I felt when I was around you.
Yes, sure, at 16, that my love was true
but still always afraid to let it show.
You'd play games like "push her down in the snow."
Then there was that time when I threw my shoe.
Never got serious with me and you
You thought it was funny to call me a hoe.
I pretended that we could be an us,
something more than a quick fleeting second.
I wrote bad angsty schoolgirl poetry
and always sat next to you on the bus.
Can only think that you liked the attention.
I close my eyes so I don't have to see.
4
I close my eyes so I don't have to see
your hands in my hair, your mouth on my lips
surprised by the movement in my own hips.
I never imagined this- you and me.
You were kind of my first discovery
felt like I could give my best friends some tips.
Felt drunk, though I'd just taken a few sips
like I had found a whole new way to be.
You were notorious for doing this.
I wasn't looking for anything more.
We let go of each other happily.
I don't regret our time, that night, our kiss.
It wasn't hard walking you to the door.
You said I entrapped you easily.
5
You said I entrapped you easily
I thought that was the lamest line I'd heard.
We made no sense- a pot head and a nerd,
but I thought I could make you right for me.
I didn't want you, you didn't want me.
For us to be more than friends was absurd.
When you kissed me I couldn't find a word,
there was kind of an electricity.
In the days after things started to change
just for me though, and not for you
closed my eyes, tried not to let anything show.
For a time thought I had you in close range,
think I just wanted something that stayed new.
Held your hand, though I knew nothing would grow.
6
Held your hand, though I knew nothing would grow.
I appreciated the attention.
I shouldn't have acted on the tension,
but in your eyes I had a special glow.
Worried that you saw a higher plateau,
I scrambled to stop my own ascension,
but you anticipated the rejection.
When I said "I don't" you said "I know."
Just the same we stayed in touch through the years
only a little awkward around friends...
it was like it never happened, you know?
I even went shopping with you at Sears,
thought then that our friendship could make amends.
So sure, you thought you had me at hello.
7
So sure, you thought you had me at hello
and then, not so sure- "was it good for you?"
Had to know it wasn't good for me too.
I think you shouldn't have to ask to know.
In terms of smarts, you had me toe to toe
and I would say we had chemistry too,
but when I left I didn't feel blue.
Funny how you can reap less than you sow.
Don't know what kind of a girl you thought I was,
but pretty sure it wasn't who I am.
Who knows, maybe you accused me rightly,
no regard for the what if, or because.
You were only a "wham bam, thank you ma'am-"
came quick, made up by holding me tightly.
8
Came quick, made up by holding me tightly.
Watched the Transformers movie as foreplay
and you left before the first signs of day,
kissed me on the forehead very lightly.
Was self-conscious of my hair- unsightly.
The morning was dark and it was grey,
on my porch, my mistake there on display.
You said you'd call me later, politely.
Lover, I never did regret that night.
I'm not saying I wanted more from you.
Yes, I was happy after the door closed,
remember watching you walk out of sight.
Knew you wouldn't call, didn't want you to.
You made me feel beautifully exposed.
9
You made me feel beautifully exposed
like an open book or reading my palm,
and around you I never could stay calm.
There wasn't a day that I stayed composed.
This floweret, I wrote, my heart enclosed.
Your kiss hit me in the chest like a bomb
then like that, you were over like the prom.
Wondered if my love was misdiagnosed.
I hated you for at least a year
couldn't face that we were only playing.
So mad at myself for letting me fall.
I'm proud and I don't like to shed a tear,
so sometimes I still find myself saying
You didn't mean much, we had fun, that's all.
10
You didn't mean much, we had fun, that's all.
Honestly, you didn't mean anything,
but you were just there, waiting in the wing.
My roommate woke to find you in the hall.
I'd already gone to work at the mall.
I slipped out without saying anything.
You were this silly nineteen year old thing.
I, at 21, too mature to fall.
I was like Mrs. Robinson to you,
and you bragged to my little brother's friend.
Yeah, we had fun, but there wasn't a spark.
I was the envy of high school girls too,
not a pedestal I liked to ascend.
I'd lie to tell you you hit the mark.
11
I'd lie to tell you you hit the mark,
but you did come damn close several times.
We didn't talk at all, we were like mimes,
hiding from the others in the dark.
You put me in drive when I planned to park.
You'd been flirting with women past their primes.
We were there, and things just happen sometimes,
and I know that I was just a checkmark.
Yeah, we didn't exchange information.
Woke up on the other side of the bed,
slipped out of the hotel while you still dozed.
But you were a nice little vacation.
I don't remember anything you said.
I should learn to sleep when the bar is closed.
12
I should learn to sleep when the bar is closed.
Or at least, I should go home by myself,
lock the door and put my needs on a shelf.
Instead, closed the bedroom door, you enclosed.
More than sleep happened. I wasn't opposed
since I drank a bottle of rum myself,
something else I should have left on the shelf
or hidden in locations undisclosed.
We were a mess- all arms and legs and mouth.
I don't even remember who kissed first
but I know my roommate heard through the wall.
My expectation of restraint went south,
and you seemed so practiced and rehearsed.
Yeah, I never expected you to call.
13
Yeah, I never expected you to call...
Saying it now, I know that it's a lie.
I really never thought you'd be that guy,
a big nose, glasses, and you weren't that tall
but conversation made up for it all.
You had me at "Sports Night" like I was high,
even had two drinks that I let you buy
and held your hand so I wouldn't fall.
Those are two things I never do,
but with you that night it just felt so right.
Walking around the North End, through the park,
I could have stayed there the whole night with you.
The sun came up and ended the night.
You sure did look beautiful in the dark.
14
You sure did look beautiful in the dark,
not to say that you didn't in the light.
Didn't plan on taking you home that night.
For the flame, you have to follow the spark.
You were taken by every remark,
never had a girl like me in your sight.
Least that's what you said, though it sounded trite.
I'm an artist, and you a business shark.
It could have never worked, I'm too stubborn.
Stayed up together until the twilight,
you saw something I didn't see in me.
It's not like either of us left lovelorn
but I liked you there under my skylight.
Sometimes the moon can intoxicate me.
15
Sometimes the moon can intoxicate me.
I don't ask for a reprieve I just go,
crawling out of my skin sometimes you know.
I close my eyes so I don't have to see.
You said I entrapped you easily,
held your hand, though I knew nothing would grow.
So sure, you thought you had me at hello.
Came quick, made up by holding me tightly.
You made me feel beautifully exposed.
You didn't mean much, we had fun that's all.
I'd lie to tell you you hit the mark.
I should learn to sleep when the bar is closed.
Yeah, I never expected you to call.
You sure did look beautiful in the dark.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
can't put you down
it takes a long time to learn a new language
but babe
i learned you quick like
riding a bike and never
having to put the training wheels on
i don't know how to describe you without
similes
because everything reminds me of you
try me
give me any noun and i can trace it back to you
in six degrees of separation...
something you said or some little
quirk
that i just picked up on
and the typical ones won't do
your eyes are not like oceans
or even chocolate
but your voice melts me inside a little
every time
there's this gentleness that disarms me
and i've got no one liners
no cynicism, no hyperbole
but there's poetry in every step
once i collect myself
i try to take notes for later, but
i'd rather hold your hands than a pen
you make me beautiful
and i've always been pretty
or cute
and yeah, I'm a little cute around you
you make me want to giggle like i'm 13
i have to remember to breathe
when you touch me
because my autopilot dies
like by holding my breath I can will this moment
into forever
there's something about discovering you
that makes me forget that someday
i'll know how it all turns out
like maybe we could be a good book
without a last chapter
i can't hold that last page in my hand
and that feels damn good right now
i'm not even tempted to peek at the ending
but i've been taking it with me everywhere
reading before bed
on the T
in between emails
while walking to the ATM...
trying not to finish
but to know a little more
each time
like a bottomless bowl of ice cream
with no stomach ache
or a song you can't get out of your head
but aren't sick of yet
or like you adding another hour to a night
i was sure had ended already
adding another page
that i can't stop reading
wakes me in the middle of
the night
like a good movie
right before bed
and you're so new
so unblemished by familarity
a football field of virgin
snow
for me to stomp all
over
with another one waiting
next door
you've got a fence up
but i've been shopping
for some wire cutters
and i'm breaking in after
dark
making some snow angels
and a mess
just so you remember
that you've got a co author
but babe
i learned you quick like
riding a bike and never
having to put the training wheels on
i don't know how to describe you without
similes
because everything reminds me of you
try me
give me any noun and i can trace it back to you
in six degrees of separation...
something you said or some little
quirk
that i just picked up on
and the typical ones won't do
your eyes are not like oceans
or even chocolate
but your voice melts me inside a little
every time
there's this gentleness that disarms me
and i've got no one liners
no cynicism, no hyperbole
but there's poetry in every step
once i collect myself
i try to take notes for later, but
i'd rather hold your hands than a pen
you make me beautiful
and i've always been pretty
or cute
and yeah, I'm a little cute around you
you make me want to giggle like i'm 13
i have to remember to breathe
when you touch me
because my autopilot dies
like by holding my breath I can will this moment
into forever
there's something about discovering you
that makes me forget that someday
i'll know how it all turns out
like maybe we could be a good book
without a last chapter
i can't hold that last page in my hand
and that feels damn good right now
i'm not even tempted to peek at the ending
but i've been taking it with me everywhere
reading before bed
on the T
in between emails
while walking to the ATM...
trying not to finish
but to know a little more
each time
like a bottomless bowl of ice cream
with no stomach ache
or a song you can't get out of your head
but aren't sick of yet
or like you adding another hour to a night
i was sure had ended already
adding another page
that i can't stop reading
wakes me in the middle of
the night
like a good movie
right before bed
and you're so new
so unblemished by familarity
a football field of virgin
snow
for me to stomp all
over
with another one waiting
next door
you've got a fence up
but i've been shopping
for some wire cutters
and i'm breaking in after
dark
making some snow angels
and a mess
just so you remember
that you've got a co author
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
