Wednesday, April 28, 2004

oh i love this time of year
time for bike polo and riding the trail to explore and find sounds and the environment so auspicous for the rights of the inquisitive and blossoms and pollen everywhere and time for giving form to inspirations and sunny dinner parties and great shows and ladies ladies takin' care o' business and new phases of old projects and so much joy more alive more more
sparkle in my eye
that canary is 'bout to get 'et.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

i'll post a little photo diary of the dc shenanagins sometime in the next coupla days, but for now, some musings of a more personal nature:

should come as no suprise that what
rests between the lines
before the break of dawn
can not survive the riggors
of life in the light of day

....but it was in those hours
those days that i had more than hope to bare
i believed
i believed in the implausable
the question of love's possibility ran through me
adding weight to my head and limbs
rushing my cheeks with tears
and i chose to take the moment
open wide and embrace what was to come
and it was in those hours
those days that i saw myself in root
and knew from my marrow what i wanted
and believed i could know it dearly
and be brave...........

the fool has gained

appleblossom girl meets switch blade
to place a cutting of memory in the forground
just at the periphery
and to take another from the same branch
and place it on the river's path
so that she might watch it float and
pass away to some other time
some other place
sharp as she is wise detached lady:
her feet have found the same ground they knew yesterday but the veiw has changed

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

packing day today. overheard some dude working a coffee shop expounding on the relative emotional maturity of superman vs. batman who he said was " stuck in the emotional awareness of a seven year old". went to apply for a shit job today in some deli, had an interveiw even, but my heart fell through the floor the minute i walked into the place. this is not what i want. i want the job at prevention point as a needle exchange co-ordinator. i want to play by my rules all the time, every day. the only thing that makes sense for me to be doing right now is that. expunging my presance from the chaos that is the cobra command should prove to be a lightening experience, i look forward to being done with this place, i want no more of it.

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

last year the phenomena that occupied the front seat of my preoccupations was that of bodies moving through space, how the consiousness and physical dynamics of those bodies act upon each other, and what the outcomes of those affects were/are
this year my rhumenations have taken a different turn i think more about change of circumstance, and shifts in consciousness and how those alterations affect bodies in motion and their experience of movement.
now you know!
this would be indulging that part of me that delights in abstractions, which is being graciously allowed by that part of me which is stringently anti-intellectual.

predisposition desire control delay gratification release

Monday, April 19, 2004

friday, in the early afternoon charlie was out of doors. she was surrounded by the lush aromatics of her lovingly cultivated rose bushes, and accompanied by tony and traffic her two cats. her eyes were locked on the sky. a friend had called her yesterday afternoon to let her know that there would be a messege that would appear sometime between quarter-to-one and quarter-after that could be read from east to west. charlie, not one to miss a thing like that, waited patiently, her gaze redied with hawk like percision.
One plane grazed the sky and then another, both without any irregularity in their passage. She she noted this and continued to watch the sky. Then at approximatly ten minutes after the hour a 747 with a full passenger load, headed for southern california flew over the Las Vegas sky, and gracefully dipped its wing in the direction of the house on el robel, that had seen adopted sons come and go. A smile lifted the weathered cheecks of the woman, who's certainty and faith had been greeted with the promised nod in her direction. Pete the pilot was at the helm of that plane, one of the boys that had lived in that house for a time and still called charlie home, was very much alive, and doing well.

two days later a young woman, who twelve years ago had also lived in the cream stucco on el robel when she was an angst ridden adolescant stepped out of the house grown, barefoot and at ease in the warm blue heat radiating down from the sky. she curled her toes in the manicured lawn and then sprawled out lazily, her belly down on it's soft green carpet, those roses, pink and white, and yellow once again working their magical perfume into the candance of the breeze. she held a phone to her ear with one hand and stroked the blades of grass with the other. A broad grin, to match the glint in her eyes, lit her face. she was wrapped in conversation, in an effortless exchange with the man on the other end of the connection, they went back and forth, with stories and plans. Among other bits of information in discussion, she learned how he had earned his nick name, and they decided to honor their mutualy dearly departed with a poker game. Next month in another place once called home, where she had first been taught the in's and out's of five card stud, and had developed an initial understanding of the art of shrewd wager, and where he would, when summoned, drop everything to play a few hands with the one who had brought this unlikely but truly complementary pair together in the first place. in the midst of their exchange she had the distinct impression that had their not been busyness to attend to they would have gone on like this forever, with ease and candor, a couple of tough guys matured beyond the need to maintain the clench jawed faccade. Though, much wizened from the days when that was necesary, and sensitive to the vulnerabilities that become apparent in life lived after the brawl.
As was her way, in regards to deep feeling, she sensed the cavern behind her ribbs fill with the same light that filled her eyes, she had felt this before, like hope dotted out over bleak, and shady landscapes, but in this moment light was in the presence of light, and the differance between the two experiences was remarkable. in the days when her form would hold her from despair, and she felt like some lantern floating alone in the midst of desolation, and she knew that sorrows bite would consume her if she lost faith, but this light in the presence of light, unabashed and easy, glowed mellow, and only required openess to its benefits to maintain its integrity.

i have so many love stories
the family i always wanted
like being woken from a night mare
into the charmed space of a day dream
reality was desolation
reality is sustanance and shelter
i have so many love stories
each of them as unlikely as the next
{little girl
little girl
run home!
you know where to go.
woman you were a fool to offer the root
of your being as sacrifice
compelled as you were
by your desire for recognition
it was time lady,
time's room to breath,
and the education of experience
that was needed.}
i have so many love stories
and knowlege
joy has infinate variety:
a salvaged rose brought to a bush
rooted in rich soil ready for growing...........................................

mamma and me face to face
steel magnolias eat our dust
we take leaps and bounds
towards each other
i have questioned the wisdom of my
tenacity in the past
i woke from sleeping
she saw from blindess
wanted all the right things so bad
wanted all the right things so bad
i expose the wound
the heart is honest
i have questioned the wisdom of my
tenacity in the past
and see us flourish now,
just this once perhaps
we have not always been
we are now
features marked by points of genesis
we are now

Friday, April 16, 2004

Thursday, April 15, 2004

the magic of the day has hit
all systems are a go
apple blossom girl
take magnolia petals
into your mouth
let them ride over your palet
and see what comes
see what comes of what you've found

everthing with me is an indulgance. currently with the weather's dubious blessing i indulge that part of me that delights in being tucked neatly away from the complexities of being amongst other humans, in a quiet room with a cup of tea and a good read.

time and space for my mind to play
with no creatures of like kind
to mince around and posture me
i prefer
text to sub text any day
those who have spent years in the wilderness
often do
ideas and notions make simple lovers
it is easy to romance them
a challenge to embrace them
and in their variety and juxtposition
they arouse curiosity

now i dwell within the reach of man
phenomena no longer
ego now years released from
the charm of philosophical identification

i feel




as if i could be


fooled or bamboozeled


though in light of light
by any day
i would gladly play the fool
for the likes of intuition
those who have spent years in the wildrness
and return to tell the mysterious tales
of where, and who, and how they've been
often do
so long have they pondered
in luxuriant simplicity
the subject of truth

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

{i've gone off recently about hemlines, and the whore/wife dichotomy and where i see myself in that light. gentle reader allow me to clarify, it is only in as much as i've had to adapt to the confines of the social normalisation of the tyranical and inherently capitalist practices of social codification and comodification that i identify as a whore.}

There exsists in emperial american culture a dictate for all those who do not fit the extreamly limited definitions of class, gender, sexual preferance, and race to pay for the privelage of exsistance. The curancy used to purchase amnesty, institutional protection and social inclusion are not limited to cash or credit. Shaming, denile of civil liberties, and violance are also taken as payment. It's like some giant convoluted toll system, where the road of safe passage is far too narrow for everyone to travel and attempted obiediance is no gaurantee of a free ride.

A teenage girl { like i once was, once upon a time} who is consistantly cautioned upon leaving the house by her mother "Now, don't get picked up for hookin'" must adapt, must form some armor, integrate some understanding of the world she lives in, the family she comes from, and the cultural, emotional, and psychological factors that would give a mother cause to say such a thing to her adolesant child. So too must an imagrant deal with the institutional and cultural biases that can make that experience dangerously challenging. It is the process of forming these various levels of understanding ones social standing; the questioning of ones environment "Why are my requests for equal treatment being refused? What is it that causes others aparent rancor?" and questioning the answers to those questions, in order to discover what and how one thinks and feels about them that create this part of identity. My point is not that all identity finds its scource in suffering, far from it. My point is that the cultural conditioning that brought forth 'american emperialism" is rigged (suprise, suprise) to keep social and economic power in the hands of a few. This is documented fact and and my own experience.
{It's progress can be traced from the roman empire, through the roman catholic church, to western european feudalism, through to the slave trade, the formation the united states, down through current manifestations of crackerdom, and economic policy.
yeah, i know you're shocked, you can't belive that what i've just laid out could possibly be true, it's never crossed you mind before,you think i'm some kind of conspiracy wizard and you've just dropped your danish and spilled your coffee, because the starteling revelation of this was to much for you and you've been thrown into some kind of siesure. sorry about the coffee and the danish. Thereputic massage and rieke come highly recomended as treatment for the effects of trauma.}
How this affects the sense of personal dignaty of someone who does not meet the requirements proscribed to all those who would like to consider themselves memebers of scociety, that is a question of individuality.
So,put mildley, i don't like the cultural conditioning of american emperielaism. I don't want to live in a society where trans people who make the choice to have surgery are expected to "pay" for that privalage with, a series of instetutionalised humiliations, and exorbatantly high medical costs, or where wives are expected to purchase their good social standing by denying their own selves and most basic needs, or where a stripper has to pay for the "privalege" to work by laying out what sometimes amounts to two days wages for a floor fee, or where homeless people are expected to pay for the aborrition of even minor visiability with public humiliation, and violance.
THIS IS NOT OKAY!!! CAPITALIST SOCIALIZTION IS ONE OF MY MAJOR PET PEAVES AND ONE OF THE MAJOR CHALLENGES THAT FEMINISM IS GRAPPELING WITH TODAY. CERTAIN ROAD BLOCKS TO THE WELL BEING AND SELF DETERMINATION OF ALL PEOPLES ARE HANGING OUT IN THE WOODWORK OF INTERPESONAL MINUTEA. Which make self possesion, integrity and compassion three of the most valueble skills and qualities for activists to cultivate. Without these qualities, and the ability to foster the notion of self crituque, communities and individuals will find themselves ill prepared for the delicate work that must be done to promote change and maintain all that has been won over the centuries of struggle.

Gentle reader, i could show in a thousand ways how the house of cards is built. However i hope that these few examples will suffice to bring clarity to the statements i've made.
We make difficult decisions every day in regards to how we will deal with this facet of the american experience.
I have in the past chosen to pay. What i can attest to is that life is much better lived in a free state. It takes a lot to create an environment that is conducive to this. It takes real community,educational recources and dedication, but it all starts with the choice to refuse, reject and deligitimize the constraints and punishments imposed on members of greater society. This is the radical aspect of my stance, this is where things get interesting, because when people embrace the inherant neccesity of their intrinsic being, and their right to be treated with respect and dignity in a culture that creates such an overwhealming hostile environment to life and living, things change in profound measure. When anarchist and feminist communities operate on this level; they are living the dream, and making the exsistance of those communities culturaly viable.


Axi "zoom-zoom" Nue
a.k.a the Nympho-Feminazi of RBR

there were places in that small town where there were no side walks so mamma walked next to me in the street on our way to the soda fountain, i was taller than her 'cause i was femmed out like a fifties Q-t-pie-gone-vamp wearin' heels, but that didn't matter,'cause what mattered is that she had called me a whore and a hooker and a street walker in a hateful way when i was younger, 'cause she was sure i was gettin' more love from her husband than i ought to be gettin'. not that either one of us ever really appreciated his attentions all that much, to be wageing war on each other over them, in the first place.
but everthing was so confused and painful in those days, i hated her for it, for not seeing that what i was gettin' from him was as far from love as one person can give to another, and for being envious of me, and if i was a whore and she was a wife well then i hated all wives too, or at least held them in a certain degree of contempt.
but that is all back story because,while we were walking the gravel and pot holes of that little town together, talking, all the bile of envy and fear and shame seemed to evaporate from between us,and it was as if there had been a truce called, and the conversation that we had struggeled to have all the years after we left him finally had room to breath, to expand out in to the clear sunny december afternoon under that texan sky and live.
Upon arriving at the avenue of our destination Buddy Holly's voice arced out
from an old record player, as if to butterfly-kiss the cheek of our chocolate-malt-lazy-day moment. Affection was in the air, and it was good.


Monday, April 12, 2004

'sacrificial mother martyrs almost always give sustained care, even as they may mix this care with dominating,coercive behavior. many women(and men)confuse sadomachistic emotional terrorism with love. When females are taught to belive we are more capable of giving love than our male counterparts, we are embracing patriarchal assumptions.' ----bell hooks

now that i'm grown, now that i'm far from the heavy fist of hate, now that i've lived enough to have a chip on my shoulder and an ax to grind and found the methods and means to heal
and refashion the weapons i use into ones more suitible for my temperment, now ------
now there is a man who has neatly become my uncle, who loves me with a feircenss that leaves me astonished in its wake, i expect nothing,don't know to ask for more, have no history of this but it is what i longed for when i was a doe eyed heathen misfit, a green individual with my own back to get, my teamster daddy knows more about these things than i do. this is the vulnerable brink, the point at which the world falls apart, the moment before reconvergance, the death of ignorance.

Sunday, April 11, 2004

oh come child,oh come child, come rescue me, you have seen some unbelivable things........oh how time flys with crystal clear eyes..........................
-----Cat Power

wear a ring in my hair
as if i were the little girl
with a vow to be loyal
to the golden one
the super hero
and the lonely hunter
call me "Dama"
i hold them all
stand in between the tepid lines
regal and illigitamate
this bauble gleaming marker of
the family i built with bone
and hammer up against walls
what ever comes
what changes may occur
i honor my truest self
gold, silver and diamond sheild
a tiny charm
a little prayer
set amidst the wilderness
set on my lips in the early day

adornments here
are not what they seem.

my friend has just introduced me to a small free box of tiny weird crap. the lid reads WANTED. there is a tube of fucia lipstick which i have been encouraged to claim, why she encourages my flagrant disregard for good taste i will never know,a sticker that reads "Pigs are friends not food", a bouncy ball, barrettes, necklaces, earings, bubble wrap, chewing gum,a plastic fish, a turtle with a bobbing head,keys , a dalmation snap braclette, a half used bottle of perfume, a watch i don't really want to wear and some fancy paper that might be used as pliant template for a chapter of the story that is a series of moments that seem to be in no hury to reach the the jutted climax of american fiction and have more the quality of one of those russian plays with twelve scenes and four acts that never part ways with the afternoon or the bedroom or the era, but are charming, and leave one with the sensation of having experienced something worthwhile none-the-less.

Friday, April 09, 2004

it is official, i must move with a quickness, must stay out of
the environment that caused the illness. once moved there is lots of hope for speedy recouperation, simple old school remedies will do the trick, then there can be what i've been missing these months dancing and modeling and touch. i've felt ashamed.

Dr.'s orders:
2. fleas can't feed on human blood, they will bite but it can't sustain
therefore, if we can get you out of the flea environment we can fix

i tried everything, wasn't gonna' be run off by a bunch a 'lil insects, but they are a force of nature, and i am the one with the softest skin, no exoskeleton to speek of. sometimes the best form of self defence is running away. this is of coarse, counter to most of what i know about problem solving. i've moved all my life, i'm not suprised, what's one more?

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

the waves were moving in two directions
quadratics at work
each wavelette could have been charted, perhaps was by another
but not by myself, who simply looked on in awe
the wind was wild running and pushing bodies in motion every which way
and the trees
released their booty
sent out masses of helicoptors on missions
to find fertile ground for new beginnings
and it was bitter and wild and beautiful
greens clashed vibrantly
pink blush lilac brush strokes on petal tips
under clear and radiant sky
washed in the tonic of an unbiased sun
and it was bitter and wild and beautiful

then i submerged myself for a ten hour duration
and the waves were moving in two directions
over each other at a frantic pace
and the faces slipped by and spoken languege failed me
and all there was in exsistance
all was texture and light
and the whole of my experience landed on the pointed tip of a needle
and played catalyst to a comets tail of golden thread
with each stich erasing history
the way distance and time play with memory
the way i've been shaped or taken to shaping
climaxing into disapearance
the final glorious release of the finite
and the waves moved
over each other in favor of a giant writhing serpant
who knows no end and toys every instant with it's beginnings
and churns all matter around itself into a georgous volume of spirals and worm-holes
pathways to dimensions
unknowable but by way of experience

how was your day?

Friday, April 02, 2004

i'm waering a pinkdress Karen gave me, the hem goes all the way to the knee, the dress it totaly cute, empress cut, retro circa 1970's professional, but that hem it's too long, the fact that wearing a dress with a hem line that reaches the knee makes me want to shoot myself , is ridiculous. 2.5 inches folk, that's all it would take for me to feel like i was honoring my kind.
i know it's some warped assosiation i have with church ladies, or with my mom's specifically, she used to don the socialy acceptable knee length skirt or frock and she lived like she was fucking powerless to do anything but subscribe to the fucking bullshit that was her life, and yeah there's the whole wife and whore scenerio, and well, i've allways considered myself on the whore side of that coin, and wearing a wify hemline makes me feel like some fucking sell out or some shit. true this all true, and that it makes me feel emacsulated, yes that's right kids, emasculated, like my legs are two of the strongest parts of my body and showing them off is showing of my power, and knowing that even in heals this hem line would cut the visual short, makes me feel lopped off at the knees. This is bordering on absurd, if i don't watch i'm going to start downloading Dali shorts and quoting Warhol. fuck. good night.