Birthday Wish

Friday Feature

Look at this dapper-ass dude.
Pretty boss, right?

Today is Ghost's birthday! He's officially completed his first year of his thirties, and he's done a great job of showing what it means to kick ass and take names.
Not only did he get engaged to this gorgeous lady, but he's also halfway through his first year of an MBA.

As with Efederal, I think of Ghost as one of my best friends. I'm so blessed to have such close relationships with my siblings. Last weekend, Efed and I hung out with Ghost and two of his four boys, enjoying everything that comes with kids under the age of 8. Lots of fart and butt jokes, silly knock-knock questions ... the usual.
It was lots of fun and incredibly exhausting. I have no idea how he does it. No, really. I don't know how he manages school, work, four boys and being a loving partner to Michee. It amazes me he's able to hold it all together, and even more so, that he does it with grace and charm. I hope this thirty first year will be as boss as his thirtieth!

A Painter's Gift

Thursday’s Thought

Every morning, I wake up to this.

Without my glasses, I can't exactly make out the halo of golden truth that crests above her head, or the brilliant use of the shades of blue that the artist used to suggest the moon. But what I can - and do - see every morning is grace, joy and truth.
This painting, "Mi Corazon" is a piece done by David Gerena, an internationally known artist. I'm fortunate that my life path has led this amazing artist into my life, and even more so that I get to look at one of his amazing creations every day. 
The simplicity of this work is one of the major appeals for it. It calls to mind the idea that creativity - that is, the true mark of a creative, is something that, when done well, seems effortless. Flawless. Complete. I'm not sure how long Gerena worked on this particular painting, but I'm certain that if he's like most artists, the original sketch probably saw a few different incarnations before this finished product.
The other reason I just adore waking up to this painting is because it sets the tone for my day. It reminds me that even with the other gigs I'm hustling, writing is my true art and calling. So I might be fetching off to the gym, or to Dental World, but what resides in mi corazon, what keeps me coming back to the page every single day is knowing that one day, if I'm fortunate enough, my work will be on the bookshelves of my readers ... much like this painting hangs on the space of my wall. #perservernce #getaftergettingafterit #wordygirl

                                                                                                

Wordy Poem

Wednesday’s Word

Travel :

Intransitive

to go on a trip

to move from one place to another

to move in a given direction

Transitive

to journey through or over

to follow a course or path

to traverse

nope, not taking it.

direct route

links likeminded opposition

over old,

worn roads always

wrought knowledge & wondering

never leads to

              wandering, this 
                                 new trip

needsfollowedmovement from

place

to

place

(specific) directions offered without a

something-like object

              to blur the focus or lose intent.

or maybe travel is

(that implied rogue-object)

often snatched from

dreamscapes to search for

sweets & fruit              packed in wicker

baskets braided for journeys like

souls bleed

for space, through the in between

tinny sounds of

(courses&paths)

following flowing oaths written

intransitive & transverse

Creek Sitting

I read an interesting Op-Ed piece the other day in the NYT. In it, the writer was opining on the social implications of gratitude; namely, the idea that if one expects that, as humans, we’re not that awesome, then when something fantastic does occur, one is left with a feeling of awe and wonderment.

Gratitude is a theme that I return to in my life as frequently as I can. It’s as much as because I sincerely need the mental check from time to time, as because it’s an emotion that isn’t given enough credit. Sure, folks say they’re grateful for “insert whatever here” but I often wonder if they really ARE or if, like most of us, they’re just going through the motions of what they think is expected.

I try to live with a gracious heart. To see that there is some light in the everyday, and when I find it, to fully embrace it; to live it in such a swollen appreciation that (hopefully) one day I don’t have to actively consider being grateful. It is my sincere hope that at some point in my life, living with gratitude will have come so ingrained, that there’s no other way to live.

After the office on Monday, I went to French Park and hiked for a bit. The War with the Bugs was full on – this in Cincinnati summer after all, but I tried not to let it get to me. Instead, I concentrated on the squish of mud beneath my feet, the way the air smelled, the sounds of the leaves rustling. I hadn’t been back in the woods in years; it’s probably been since the last time I went with Willis and Twilite. My feet led me where my mind had forgotten and before I knew it, I was sitting on a muddy rock in this creek, not caring if I was messing up my dress with my feet in the cool water.

The moments I spent sitting there, thinking and expanding on this life I’m leading, were pure and as full of grace as I could muster after a long day in Dental World. GK Chesterson wrote that, “Thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.” Amen to that. I didn’t solve any of my pressing concerns while I sat in the creek, but I did come away with a greater sense of calm, a fresher mind, and a few bug bites for good measure.

open windows

Modigliani Monday

open windows

Livorno born, protégé of

distinction and discord

circus rider clutching to

stormy, tragic times

at 13 Rue Ravignon,

history presented over and

again with Picasso, Max Jacob,

Amadeo, witness to

difficult heroic moments as

sculpture retreated

spirit mysteriously equipped

defined with appreciation

for sensitive adventure,

Modigliani painted to live in

sentiment, erratic wasting

talent, his violent

living like a poet

Super Philosophy continued

Sunday's Snippet

Part 4/4. Refer to 05July, 12July, and 19July for the other parts of this short story.

Super Philosophy

“Which scene? There are only like a hundred with the two of them in an office.” Maggie looks at him blankly. Good Will Hunting is an old movie, out for years, and she hasn’t seen it in a while.

“When the doctor talks about the Super Philosophy. Remember, Robin says he thinks Matt is going through life without ever really getting to know anyone. That’s you. Is what you’re doing. Ya tebya znayu, I know you.” Dima pauses for in an inhale, letting the moment draw, the aftermath of the explosion. “You’re shutting me out. You shut everyone out. So fucking scared of letting anyone into your world that you push everyone away.” Blyad. Fuck.

            Forced to see her reflection in the openness of Dima’s words, Maggie knows he’s right. “And so what? I hide.”

            “But you shouldn’t, Kitten. Let me in.”

            “The folks who are in are already in. My door’s closed. Windows too. Besides, what’s it matter, Dmitri? This has just been a passing thing.” Maggie turns her back to him and pulls away the sheet-curtain. Cricket songs have returned. Somewhere, on the bottom of the hill, hipsters are calling out drunkenly to one another.

            “Maggie, look at me.” Maggie shakes her head, and hears Dima get up from the bed. He puts her arms around her shoulders, and rests his head next to her ear. “It matters to me. I love you.” Maggie whips around to look at Dima. This is not how she expected the conversation to go, and for once, she has no response planned. 

Saturday Summary

Saturday Summary

Last week was tough – my Saturday Summary was evident of that. But this week has found me a bit more placid, a bit more accepting. The Universe is still throwing me curveballs, but I’m learning to duck and weave with a bit more grace.

Deadline week always puts me in a bit of a panic. I mean, I write all the time, and generally have my material ready to go … but this week found me working right up until my words were due to Duval. This isn’t like me at all; I’m typically more focused and able to put an extra layer of polish on my work before sending it off. No matter, I’m a writer, I live to procrastinate, but still. It seems to suggest that my work is shifting in new ways. I’ve written about being comfortable in the schedule and routine that I’ve developed for myself and to a point, that still holds true. But holy shit – finishing my work the DAY OF is not what I have in mind.

So that won’t be happening again.

Also this week, I realized what’s wrong with the novel I’ve been writing this year. The error is so apparent now that I see it! And, I’m stoked to get back to my pages with a fresh approach. I know that the changes I want and need to make will end up strengthening the work overall. Hurray!

Tomorrow, I get the pleasure of kickin’ it fam style with Efed, Ghost, Michee and all of the boys. It’s going to be rowdy and intense, I’m sure, but it’s also going to be fun. We haven’t all been together since forever, so I’m hoping the afternoon is one of those that keeps on stretching out.

AnarchE

Friday Feature

I’ve written about the fact that I count Efed as one of my best friends. I’m doubly fortunate that she’s also my sister. It means that when we want to wear cat ears and go out, we can. It also means that I can lean on her for … well, everything.

Long before the thought of writing a daily blog entered my mind … hell, even before I’d be so bold as to call myself a writer, my Chmok was tapping away at her own blog.

Growing up, I looked to Chmok for inspiration in all things literary. She was the Editor in Chief of The Chatterbox, WHHS’s school newspaper, and was also the Editor for The Seven Hills Review, a Cincinnati based literary/arts journal. When I arrived at Walnut, I knew I wanted to follow in her footsteps. My reporting skills were subpar though, so my tenure with The Chatterbox didn’t last long. I did, however, manage to land an Editorship with Gleam. I owe my accomplishment to Efed. She showed me early on what one can do if one is tenacious and determined.

So Efed’s blog is pretty freaking awesome. She’s been at it a while, and details her experiences travelling and living abroad. The myriad adventures she’s had while visiting exotic locales and living in equally thrilling places translates so well to the page. Chmok is able to do this so flawlessly for one reason – she’s a natural born writer.

I get so excited when an email drops into my inbox altering me to a new posting. It’s always such a treat to read what Efed has to say. Not only does it decrease the distance I feel from her, since Germany and Ohio are far as shit away from one another, but it gives me insight into the way a mind of a true writer works – her syntax, sentence structure, effortless blending of hood-speak and high-brow English, pidgin German, fluent French and the other assorted languages she’s picked up along the way encourage me – even from afar. 

Full Circle, of Sorts

Thursday’s Thought

I used to think that grand displays of emotion were needed to show folks that I care. Like in order to let someone know they really matter, I thought that I needed to offer up tangible pieces of me. It’s no secret my heart lives on a pulley system, and it is easily pulled and swayed in myriad directions at any given time. This is why it’s easy for me to get behind causes and movements; I always want something better for the next person than that which might (or might not) have been offered to me.

This pulley system gets me into trouble sometimes though, too. It’s far too easy for me to become enamored with an idea, a perspective, an eventual … and then it consumes me. I’m guilty of this not only in my friendships and relationships, but also in the ways I approach my life. I’m a go big or go home kind of girl, and most of the time that works really well.

But the times that it doesn’t work make every single success pale in comparison.

I want to be a beacon of light for those in my world – someone to whom they look to for guidance and support, or a swift kick in the ass when it’s needed. And because of that, I’ve often over extended myself … saying yes, yes, yes at times when I should have said, “I love you but I can’t.” Maybe this is a maturity sort of lesson, or maybe I’m just to the point where I feel okay and comfortable saying no. I used to think that grand displays of emotion and action were the only thing that could prove to someone that I care, or that I’m committed, or that I want the best for him/her. Now I realize that it’s not those big showy moments. It’s the little ones, like sending my Chmok her first piece of mail at her new flat in Germany. Sending Ry motivating messages to Africa so he can see through the sand. When I was in my exile, I used to send my girls something just about every week … just to let them know I’m around and I care. I’ve been remiss in doing this lately, as much because I’ve been so holed up in the lab as because I’ve been trying to find my place in the world. Tomorrow, I have the pleasure and opportunity to reconnect with the Lovely Day One Ladies. And even though I haven’t been as present as I should have been these last few months, I hope they too believe it’s the little moments and not the big ones.

#justathought

Wednesday’s Word

carbohydrate:

            a substance rich in energy

            a substance made of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen

First known use : 1853

Fascinating, isn’t it that the human population went so many years without being able to define that which gives us energy and fuel to keep on truckin’? 1853 isn’t even that long ago. Okay, I mean, it’s long ago compared to when I was born but it wasn’t that long ago in the big scope of things. On a macro level, it’s really just a stone throw away from 2015, but ages from the dawn of civilization.

Why is it that it took us so long to even want to define the organic compound that allows us to function as humans? Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal back in the day when serfs were fighting off feudalism, or when warriors were waging battles against their neighbors. Maybe back then folks just ate what they ate what was on the table and didn’t consider it further.

Neither of those are likely scenarios, I know. The real reason that we didn’t define this compound for so long is because we didn’t NEED to … the idea of microscopically (pun intended) picking apart the macronurtrients that make our bodies work is a luxury, one that’s become more pressing as humans have been afforded the opportunity to spend more time thinking and less time doing.

On top of that, maybe no one really wanted to know why food worked. Maybe it was just easier for everyone to believe that it just did and they left it at that … And maybe this is one of the downfalls of our modern world. We always have to know why. Why this. Why that. Root causes. Intent. Possible outcomes. Progression. We spend so much time thinking about the intricate nature of every little thing that it’s so easy to miss the beauty of something simple like a carb. Maybe if we spend less time dissecting the individual and more time embracing the whole, we might find more joy, less stress, more presence and fewer reasons to bitch.

What Up, Universe

Tuesday’s Truth

Yesterday, I learned that a plan I’d put into motion won’t be coming to fruition after all. This is on the heels of some frustrating news last week. The combo has me feeling like either I’m not clear enough with my plans and intent, or the Universe is gently nudging me in another direction. There’s that saying, “If your key doesn’t fit, then it’s not your door.” Hard truth, but real talk. This is where my mind was today as I woke, said my prayers and moved about my morning.

So there I was in Loretta driving on 71, thinking about my path and my progress and what I can actively be doing RIGHT FUCKING NOW to make things happen. I was getting shitty with myself for not doing enough, trying enough, being enough.  And out of nowhere this X5 appeared.

Super fresh. Not fresh like my sweet Loretta, but with curtains and feet flashy enough to make anyone a little envious. I’m generally not a fan of Beamers; the car looked nice enough, but I’m generally a Benz girl. Give me CLK over an X5 any day. Coincidentally, Ghost used to drive an X5, which seems important to me for some reason.

I digress.

Point is, this X5 had vanity plates that said, “Prove It.” Dang.

I like to make plans; I like thinking about how I’m going to execute said plans; and I like it even more when the plans pan out. I’m a dreamer, through and through. I think what the Universe was reminding me this morning is that it’s all fine and well to make all the damn plans in the world, but until I jump my ass in the water, none of them mean shit.  I have to prove it. Boom.

Ry hit me with this quote today during routine Africa to Ohio email exchange. He knows that shit’s been a little frustrating for me lately, and he always had such perfect timing.

“Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty… I have never in my life envied a human being who led an easy life. I have envied a great many people who led difficult lives and led them well.” -Teddy R

(and yes, that’s how Ry attributed the quote as Teddy R. He’s cool like that)

seeking the horizon

Modigliani Monday

seeking the horizon

            after Portrait of Lunia Czechowska

soul laid bare, that

strange positon of

being without disguise

feelings etch on

wooden block, lines

drawn in earnest

timidity disappears,

Amadeo stands in

short sleeves, tangled

hair tousled, slipping between

Italian and sips of

brandy, soon he

forgets she exists,

reaching for bottle or brush

canvas eyes, gently singing

songs of his heart while

he lays siege to hers.

Raise your head,

he tells her; be strong

proud that the distance

you see is yours to find. 

Super Philosophy continued

Sunday's Snippet

Part 3/4. Refer to post from 05July and 12July for the earlier parts of this short story.

Super Philosophy

“This used to be fun. Now I’m bored.”

“Bored of what? Sey’chas? Right now? Let’s go out.” He’s always looking for a reason to go out. Dima used to be mysterious; interesting; everything that Maggie wanted. But now the chase is over.

“I don’t mean tonight, Dima. I mean this. Us.” He reaches for her, thinking Maggie is being playful and spills tea on her thigh.

“Damn it,” Maggie mutters, wincing at the pain. She gets up to look for a towel.

“Kotko, I’m sorry. Here let me help you.” Dima offers.

“Never mind, I got it.” Heading toward her dresser, Maggie refuses to give purchase to her emotions. Passionate piles of sheets and pillows line the floor, making her bedroom look more like a Moroccan tent than a Section 8 converted row house. Digging in her drawer for boy shorts and a tank top, Dima’s right to see her naked has been taken away. She’d planned to tell him to just fuck off; now she’s going to have to explain herself, putting a flashlight on all of the sticky feelings she pretends she doesn’t have. “You’re leaving soon,” she says, her voice catching on the conflict that’s been coiling inside of her.

            “Da, very soon. Two weeks and back in the mountains. When you visit, there’s so much to show you,” Dima says, unaware of Maggie’s tension.

            “I don’t want to see the Urals.”

            He shrugs his shoulders, the scar from a bullet wound that stars his chest catching in the candlelight. “Okay, to Moscow then. Or my family dacha. Wherever you want to go.” Dima blows on his tea cup and takes a loud sip.

            “No. You don’t get it. I’m not sobiryayetsya posetit.” Not coming for a visit. Not coming to see you. Not speaking English either, she realizes. “I … can’t. I don’t. I mean. This. Blyad. ” Maggie stops, the speech she’d been rehearsing now sounding flat and weak. “I need to be just a name on your list, like you’re going to be on mine,” she manages to blurt.

“A list, like a police list? Kotenko, what are you saying?”

Taking a deep breath, Maggie knows emotions come like meteors – slow on the approach and then catastrophic on descent. “You’re not in my plan. This isn’t the next step. You. This. Us.” Street sounds stopped silent; this is the moment of impact. Dima flicks his lighter and takes a sharp inhale of the French cigarettes he smokes, squinting and assessing her. Maggie makes her face impassive. She feels like a window and not a door – completely see through, no longer impenetrable.

Gesturing with his cigarette like a classroom pointer, Dima asks Maggie, “Have you seen the film Good Will Hunting?” She rolls her eyes in response. “So you remember, yes, the scene in the office with the therapist and janitor?” Dima ashes his cigarette cum pointer into Maggie’s tea cup on the floor and then recognizes what he’s done. It’s the same way she felt weeks ago when she realized that there could easily be a future with him. 

Learning

Saturday Summary

This week proved to be one long lesson in patience. I think I’ll leave it at that. 

My Interview

Friday Feature

So it’s no secret that music is what keeps me going. Over the course of this blog, I’ve written about my love of 4/6 time, 3/8 time and all the beats in between.

When I’m feeling like I’m in a funk, or when my creativity starts to wane a bit, I seek out new tunes. Listening to the genius of someone else usually gives me the kick in the ass I need to get back on track and attack my edits or revisions with zeal and fervor. 

As of late, I’ve been totally diggin’ this dude. Sick skills – lyrics that are on point, beats that match, and most importantly, a message that needs to be conveyed. He’s not just flowing about bitches and hoes (though there are some tracks about that on his albums) … rather, he’s approaching social issues like race and drug use in a progressive, fresh, and entirely unique way.

My favorite Rittz track right now is this one. On it, he tackles everything from his beginnings, how his family felt about him pursuing a rap career,

Yelawolf discovering him, and his hair. He offers this response to his name: “It’s obvious that I got named after the cracker/because I’m white, please next subject,” and with regard to trying to break out in the music scene in Atlanta he raps, “If you ain’t make the type of shit they play inside the club/then the strippers don’t dance and the radio don’t play you.” In simple language that’s clear to understand, this track not only addresses Rittz’s ethnicity, but also the fact that the music industry as a whole (and hip-hop specifically) isn’t about having a good message, but about what sells. He ends the track by saying, “Everybody’s asking all this shit about me/wondering where I came from/questioning my surroundings/and the same motherfuckers that dap me be the haters that used to doubt me.” Powerful words right there.

Props, Rittz, for making tracks that not only sound good, but mean something too. We need more lyricists like you. 

Butterflies and Cake

Thursday’s Tribute

Sometimes, unexpected joy comes in the briefest and simplest moments.

Today, I went for my mail, expecting bills and bullshit and was delightfully surprised to find a note from sweet Willis. It was an alphabet themed card that she’d taken the liberty of adding to, and it was just perfect. Everything I needed after the kind of day I had.

While it’s been comfortable to a fault to remain as isolated as I have been over these last few months, I know that it’s time to emerge. My work has progressed to the point that I’ve found a rhythm with my words; I can manage my time well and I know how to make it work – finally. It’s taken a while, and I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I’m content with the way things are moving. That’s not to say there isn’t more growth to be had, or dreams to achieve, but that I feel confident that I’m heading in the right direction. (Thoreau, anyone?)

Maya Angelou once said something like, Everyone remarks on the beauty of the butterfly, but no one thinks of the changes she endured. I’m not saying I’m a butterfly, but I sure as hell am no longer a caterpillar. If these months of lab work and quiet nights have taught me anything, it’s that everything I come back to – the memories I rely on to keep me strong and the folks who keep me going – are made in small sunlight summer moments like this evening.

Big ups, Willis. I’ll most certainly bake you that cake. 

Rocking Chairs

Wednesday’s Word

anticipate

… to expect

… to predict

… to act as forerunner

Anticipation is a bitch, and it’s largely contrary to most of the yogic and Buddhist teachings that shape most of my life. Expectations, predictions about events that might or might not happen serve nothing, save offering the thinker a chance to worry, to stew in options that may or may not happen.

Yesterday, I wrote about paralyzing fear and how the thoughts of future moments sometimes immobilize my present actions. It seems so logical then that this word, anticipate, has been on my mind all week. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with a little well-earned optimism, and knowing when to hope for something is a great skill. But when anticipation comes to naught, and one is left wondering just how and where things went off course, well, then it just becomes a wad of bullshit to be discarded.

That’s not to say that there isn’t truth in positive thinking, or that manifesting reality isn’t a real thing – it totally is. Refer to my earlier post about my Intention Board for 2015. 

Here it is, still hanging in my lab. 

I used a map of the Nati as my backdrop for the board, because no matter how far I travel, this will always be home. See the Random House logo? The Kenyon Review cover? The ever present clock that keeps me on target? I look at this board every single day, sometimes drifting off and staring at it so intently I’ve forgotten where I’ve stopped writing. It helps keep me on target and on track, so it’s beneficial. But to go so far as to say that I’m anticipating The Kenyon Review for 2015 is a stretch. I can’t expect something if I don’t work for it, and I can’t predict it’s going to happen if I don’t put in the time needed to make it happen. Rather, I can hope for it; I can stay humble and hustle hard for the dreams I glued onto this map and I can make sure that every moment of every day is in hot pursuit of these goals. But if I anticipate, that is, if I allow myself to get ahead of the progression of this path, then I’m just left standing on a corner, wondering what happened. It’s like Mama used to say, “Worrying is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere.”

An Open Appeal

Tuesday Truth

Sometimes I get really fucking scared. Not just in the middle of the night when I wake up reaching for my firearm wondering where I am and what’s going on; or when I’m walking to my car at the beginning of dawn and wondering if there’s someone lurking in the shadows. Those are scary moments to be sure.

But sometimes, when I’m washing up dishes, or tapping out the framework for a story, or almost-failing on an incline bench press and my mind has travelled and wandered further than the immediate moment, I get scared. The future, the present, the past – they all offer their own shades of fear. Of my past, I’m most worried that I haven’t learned lessons from the poor decisions I’ve made back then. It troubles me to think how much I let caution go to the wind on too many occasions; that I’m still standing, in one piece with all of my limbs, is a feat to be sure. Of my present, I worry I’m wasting my time. The fear that I’m not utilizing every single day washes over me from time to time … which generally encourages me to hustle up and move faster. Not necessarily the best thing to do when one is trying to learn the art of patience, or the notion that things happen as they should, on the accord of the Universe and not the ticking of my watch. And of my future – holy hell. My future scares me so much because it’s so vast, wide open, possible and endless. That thought alone can keep me up at night for hours on end. I think because I’ve lived relying on myself to propel me forward for so many years, my fear stems from not doing enough, not being enough, not trying hard enough to make something of myself. I know it’s irrational – a quick glance at my CV or my publication list, or hell, even this blog, shows that when I set my mind to something I can make it happen. And yet.

Yet still I find myself paralyzed with fear from time to time, wondering if these steps I’m taking toward the next phase of my life are really what will serve me best, if what I’m doing in my silent moments will one day voice my story; I fear that the unknown is so decidedly infinite that I’ll never really find peace. Maybe that’s the culmination of all of these fears.

It’s during days like these that I return to what I know best – tapping truths and lifting heavy. The mental space offers me clarity, sure, but it also offers me a chance to prove to myself that what I’m doing in this EXACT FUCKING MOMENT is precisely what I need to be doing.

#grownfolktalk

e Minor harmony

Modigliani Monday ...
His art continues to inspire me. I find myself studying his elongated faces, the harrowed look in the eyes of his subject. There is so much truth in these paintings. It may take a lifetime of ekphrastic work to write it all out.

e Minor harmony

            after Study for the Cellist, A. Modigliani

in blue light

my head bows to

the bright pluck

of these strings

to fingers, my

song sung like

I have no voice

because the avenue

is cold at dusk

and I have no coat

your arm goes

uncovered, my heart

remains silent

café sitting to

quiet the mystery

of wondering just

who you might be

to me, a cellist

Super Philosophy continued

Sunday's Snippet

Part 2/4. Refer to 05 July post for the beginning of this short

Super Philosophy

“Nu. Here, have a berry,” Dima turns to Maggie and puts a raspberry to her lips.

“I’m not hungry, Dima.”

“Really? You’re always hungry after sex.”

“And?”

            “And why can’t I sing?” Dima shoves a piece of cheese and Maggie’s refused berry into his mouth. “He knows I’m here. Just last week, I saw him when I was coming. He was leaving. Dressed in black.”   In January, his English was pidgin and fragmented. Now, in late August, it’s clear and crisp. Given his profession, the description of her brother’s clothes don’t surprise Maggie. But telling Dima about the work Leon does seems erroneous at this point.

            “Because I don’t want to wake him, Dima. Because this is his house. Because I said so. Okay?”

            Chewing over her answer and his snack, Dima walks to the window. Dope boys are probably posted on the corner; their promise of drug filled light the only brightness on the street. The kettle begins a slow dance on the burner. “America. What a country.”

            His voice, a low purr, tickles Maggie’s conflicted emotions; too many reasons to like him, to let him in, and just as man to keep him out. Self-preservation her strong suit, Maggie has decided that the timeline she’s set for herself is more important than sex or connection. Knowing that’s she’s only shown Dima glimpses of what he wanted to see and what she wanted to show, Maggie’s found a way to keep her real spirit hidden in the desert of her secret self, tucked in deep like the eyes of a Bedouin walking through the sand. “Nu, Kotko, tell me.” Kotko, kitten, Dima’s name for Maggie ever since he learned she knits. Kitten Knitter, he started calling her. The kettle sings shrilly and Dima hastens to silence it, pouring steaming water into chipped thrift store mugs.  Brushing past her in the doorway, Maggie smells the scent to which she’s become accustomed – a little sweat, tobacco, coffee. She forces herself not to react, but softens just a bit all the same. Dima pats a space on her bed, spreading out the sheets.

Fantastic Returns

Saturday Summary

Well this sure seemed like a fast week. It feels like I was just writing a summary and here it is seven days later. I guess that’s what happens when one is so focused and concentrated on what one is doing.

So this week.

This week marks THREE important moments.

Firstly, it was the birth and death anniversary of my mother. Her spirit has been around all week for me, and I’ve found myself seeing her in all sorts of signs that only I (or my siblings) would ever notice … mainly in the form of Joni Mitchell songs being played in the most random of places. This year marks the third anniversary of her death, and I told Ghost that every year it gets a little easier. While that’s true, it never really leaves my mind. On Friday, I offered her spirit prayers and lit a candle in her honor.

This week also marks the return of my Shaman, who has been sailing the seas and largely absent from my life during this last quarter. The return of said Shaman seems fortuitous, as I took a very real, concrete and permanent step toward a future goal. With the blessing of my Shaman, I attacked said goal with the zeal and vigor that I’ve come to expect from myself. I’ll know soon if my target made her mark, and then I’ll be able to disclose this plan!

Thirdly, this week the Universe offered me the most divine and unexpected gift. It was so random, something I didn’t seek and is such an amazing opportunity. In the presentation of this gift, I was and am reminded that staying humble and remaining grateful are the pillars to a successful life.

By and large, this week reminded me that even though I’m an island, and even though I enjoy my solo time, I’m actually part of an archipelago. My siblings and my dear friends with whom I can connect on a daily, weekly, or quarterly basis bring me such joy, such light and such truth that sometimes I find myself just completely baffled. I am blessed.

So now I’m off to hang with my good artist friend and see a new studio space. I’m bringing along a nice dinner (#macros, yo) and we’ll probably have an evening walk around Ludlow. 

"only poetry can save you now"

Feature Friday

Recently, I had the pleasure and honor of reading at Om Café with this guy and this gal.

Until our reading, we hadn’t met in person. We linked on Facebook at some point last year or two, and have slowly developed a friendship over pixels and a shared love of all things words. Over the progression of our friendship, I’ve come to learn that Az is not only a human with a fantastic name (I mean, c’mon, really, right?!) but he has an amazing perspective on life, how humans should interact and the ways in which the world can be made a better place.

I wasn’t sure what to expect of Az’s poetry. It’s hard to gauge how a person reads his or her own work; the inflection and presence that is commanded at the mic. Az runs Writers Knight Press, which aims to promote the notion that words belong to everyone.

I had the privilege (or terror) of reading first at Om, so by the time Az took the mic I was in full-on poetry mode. And whoa! This dude did not disappoint. A slam style poet, his work was resonant, poignant and socially minded – essentially, many things that my own work is not. Where my words are largely introspective and personal, the work that Az shared with us at Om offered social views on important social concepts including homelessness, religion and politics. I remember sitting back in my café chair, thinking how fortunate I am to have connected with Az, Writing Knights Press and the mission that he tirelessly pursues.

I’m now so pleased and thankful to count Az as one of my friends – not just as a fellow writer, or wordsmith, or one who attempts to change the world through voice, but because he’s really a kick ass human. Check out his blog and be sure to like Writing Knights Press on Facebook.

Driving Dreams

Thankful Thursday

I was driving behind a semi earlier today …

wait, let me back up – Loretta is back! And she’s as pretty as ever with a new bumper and o-my-stars how happy I am to be out of the Elantra and back into my Honda. Whew. I know I sound spoiled saying this, but I couldn’t wait to get my car back. I found myself not wanting to go anywhere because I didn’t want to drive the Elantra … and there’s really nothing wrong with the car at all; it drives and it has pep; Bluetooth, good gas mileage … but it wasn’t Loretta, it wasn’t tinted and it wasn’t mine. Plus, I work my ass off for my ride, so I think it’s only reasonable I wanted to have her back!

Anyway.

Right, so this semi was painted with sheep and was advertising some kind of mattress. I didn’t really pay attention to the brand (so the marketing is clearly working, right?) because I was so caught up in the saying on the back door. In big blue and yellow letters, the truck proclaimed that it was, ”Driving Home Your Dreams” with the ‘you’ being ubiquitous, of course.

What phrasing. The slogan caught me because I was driving that long stretch of 71 I know so well, heading north in pursuit of one of my dreams. Ironic that I’d find myself trailing a semi that was telling me it was doing the very thing I was ACTUALLY doing … and then it occurred to me …

Messages come in all shapes; the Universe speaks to those who are willing to listen. I turned off the Sho Beaz (super sick lyricist, check him) album I’d been listening to for the last hour, and just ruminated in my own silence, considering dreams and thankfulness and everything in between.

It gave me enough pause to thank the Universe, the world and the spirits that guide my life. Staring at those words was like hearing from a forgotten messenger; the more I considered them, the more impacting they became.

And so now here I am in the north once again, chasing this dream.

#thankfulthursday

Sine Qua Non

Wednesday’s Word

I came across this Latin phrase recently and was surprised that I couldn’t translate it. Even more, I was surprised that I had never run across it.

Sine qua non refers to something which is indispensable, an essential action, condition or ingredient. Originally a legal term, the origins of the phrase can be interpreted to include the idea that there is an action without which something could not be … or without which, there is nothing.

Talk about a boss ass phrase, right!? Since stumbling across it, I’ve started to consider those things in my life which are indispensable, essential … actions, conditions, ingredients that make my life whole, vibrant and well, live-able.

Obviously, it should go without mentioning that sweat session and my machine to tap out truths and words are essential ingredients that make my life tick. Conditions like sleep and feeding are important too. What’s stumped me with this phrase, in considering my life, are the actions which are necessary to keep things moving along as I expect and want.

This train of thought led me to examine what exactly and action is … and how good ol’ MW defines it. More so, I wanted to understand the root of the word. An action, according to Merriam Webster is –

(But wait. First, can’t you totally picture me completely geeking out over the etymology of these words? Pouring over internet pages, one link leading to the next, getting all sorts of linguistically excited? Yeah, that’s about how it happened!)

Right, so. MW defines an action as the fact or process of doing something, typically to achieve an aim. An aim can be interpreted to mean as having an intent to achieve. Well hmm. Word circle, what?! So, if an action is a process set about to something, and that something is an aim or a target, that means that there are so many things in my life, wait, daresay I use the word actions in my life that are motivated by the need and desire to achieve. This blog, for example is motivated by the idea that I can write a post every day for a year. Is it necessary for my life? Ehh. Maybe not.

(So at this point, picture me scratching my head, wondering exactly what sorts of actions are totally and completely, one hundred percent entirely necessary to and for my life. Right.)

After much thought, and some good old-fashioned Kundalini kriya meditation, I realized what is necessary for every single day is the capacity to love. To forgive. To enjoy the moments that these days have to offer. Sappy, I know, but when I examine it critically, this is the result I’ve achieved. It seems, then, that the sine qua non of my days, ultimately flourishes into seeking knowledge and understanding, knowing and appreciating intent and motivation. Zen, right. #satnam

Rerack. Reset

Tuesday’s Thought

Today at the gym, I was working chest and back with a little accessory arm work thrown in for good measure. When I wrote my workout, I chuckled at my set numbers, thinking that I’d probably have to amend a bit. I like to challenge myself, but I also try to be realistic, and I knew that I was being ambitious with expecting to hit 8x5 on my bench right after a hard back set of rows.

Throughout the beginning hour of my session, I focused less on what I was doing and more on why. As I’ve written, training has so much to do with my recovery as it does with finding the inner strength to set, crush and exceed goals. The exercises are now so familiar that I don’t need exact and immediate concentration on contraction and release of whatever muscle I’m working. This allows my mind a freedom that I’ve experienced on long runs and in Kundalini practice. It also affords me the chance to step outside of myself, to devoid the self of the body, and remove the ego from my movements. In this way, the sweat becomes pure for me.

This afternoon, I was able to enter that middle-mind space with relative ease, musing over my future plans and goals, and the ways in which the relationships I have with folks who are dear to me help me to see my value and worth. Ego continued to slip away, lost as I was in my thoughts and my music. I startled myself when I realized I’d worked through all of my workout without altering one single set and was on my second to last exercise – flat, close grip bench.

Last week, I failed on my incline bench. The week before, I also failed. So it was with some trepidation that I was attempting flat bench. It’s my least favorite exercise, mainly because it never seems to get any easier for me! It takes so much mental focus for me to perform well. Instead of tripping over myself and fretting, I turned up an old 36 album, and talked myself into such an upbeat mental space, repeating over and over that I was going to crush it. This is the month for #rerack #reset #repeat! And I have some lofty goals to accomplish. So. I started out with a weight that used to be my max. Got it with ease for all five reps, and decided to push a bit. Added five more pounds to start and got that too. Fuck it, I thought, as I added another five pounds. And guess what? I hit it. It was tough, but I got it. And I pr’d while doing it.

It’s fantastic what the body can do when pushed to limits. It’s even more beautiful when the body is so well trained that this can be achieved while the mind goes in search of another sort of bliss. After my compulsory handstand practice and super set of dips, pullups and pushups, I reviewed my workout. I didn’t miss a beat, made my sets exactly as I wanted, and walked out of the gym with a clearer understanding of what it is I do and who I do it for. 

of only one

Modigliani Monday

... a tribute to Modigliani, with a bit of cubist art, Picasso, and Frida love thrown in for good measure ...

Modigliani is said to have called himself a painter before he could hold a brush. His determination is inspiring ...

of only one

            after Kneeling Blue Caryatid, A. Modigliani

  

formal, she kneels

column to her

confidence, form

fleshy and soft

in places where

she matters most

concrete foundation

colliding her force

like those dreams

she sees glittering

in the morning light

head bowed

supplicant and

submissive to

her needs, owned

and held inside

hands stretched

above as if

she’s been waiting

for a crown to be

placed on her head

offering truth to
her only sky