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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

Monday, October 31, 2005

maybe I've been in a small town too long

but I thought "Prime" was a pretty good movie.

Sunday, October 30, 2005


is I woke this morning with a feeling in my back like I'd been punched, hard to tell if it's the way my bed rests on old bricks or something internal. Breathing, esp. in yoga, has felt compromised. Truth is I'm not sure my house is properly insulated; I'm not sure I'm properly insulated for the coming winter. Truth is I traveled a long way and sometimes wonder where I am, how much of my heart came with me. Truth is I watched the sky turn pink over the train tracks by the Hudson and want the right person to share it with me and I don't know if I'll ever find that again. If I ever had it. Truth is I read Plath's prose today and recognize her polartactic, strange and selfish genius, the Rosenbergs and new shoes in one sentence. I want someone to talk about it with. Had goldenly fried fish next to Jeremiah at the red dot counter and felt only partly home. A man followed me for a block...don't worry I'm not going to bite you baby, you're a tiny little thing...
Truth is I'm a little too alone, and this feeling is a little too familiar.

this is kinda hot.

Saturday, October 29, 2005


Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words `EAT ME' were beautifully marked in currants. `Well, I'll eat it,' said Alice, `and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens!'

She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, `Which way? Which way?', holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.

Quod latet arcand non enarrabile fibrâ.


H E R B O Y F R I E N D .


- - - -

-Does something always have to be wrong?

-I'm so sick of you twisting my words around.

-Nothing makes you happy.

-Maybe we should just break up then.

Friday, October 28, 2005

I'm not psychic

just very very attentive.

Thursday, October 27, 2005


an image by artist Carlos Ferguson the light changes if you select it.


Reading the blogs of people from the world I left behind has become like reading about angelina and brad and jennifer, (and perhaps now vince; I've been weaning). A sick fascination with people I'm finding it increasingly difficult to respect, who become self parodies in their well matched narcissism.

Here: the night is quiet and full. I plan to continue to prioritize the inner life and leave the stamps and staples for daylight. I have a yellow envelope with my ms. with the scribbles and notes from my current favorite poet on the planet. I have a strong body, a car that runs, an intact soul. I have orange and yellow leaves on my dashboard. I have some time. I have my body back, its wells of sadness and exaltation, its will to live and love despite, it's fearlessness and dark mystery. You keep your season less mirrors and elbowed ambition. I have a long life to swim.

Saturday, October 22, 2005


Sat around a fire with strangers. One said I looked scared. Woodsmoke, unanswered questions. Dark chill, warm port. Dogs that bark and bark their outraged question. Night that tugs. The man that shares my home puts on a hood. See ya. I didn't mean to tell you anything. I love you for answering my call. Pouring something that smells like fresh apples. Stink of lonely woman. Something desperate in her hands.

Friday, October 21, 2005

maybe I'm pre-menstrual

but this morning, driving on 9G, listening to npr, when Allen was making his plug for their endless fund-drive and said on national radio that we impeached Clinton but kept a man in office who lied to us and sent our children off to war, leaving a huge international mess for future generations to contend with, it made me cry. They were tears of gratitude, just for someone actually saying that on the radio.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

that feeling again

of missing someone I've yet to meet

Wednesday, October 19, 2005


and autumn light


I told him that I was born with wandering must have been very hard for you to find anyone....

Monday, October 17, 2005


This picture comes up if you google aggression or injurious behavior...

Saturday, October 15, 2005

francesca woodman

I don't care if it's a cliche'; this is the image I want to be the cover of my book

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Take A Look At Yourself

The rain's relentless. The train, the wind, the dog eats four fortune cards: Dead End. Separation. Take A Look At Yourself. I am gathering information. He is sending me information about information. Not answering questions. Despite the circles the world demands I drive around and around, I am lucky. The night cradles me. His face leaned in. I'll tell you about taboo.

Monday, October 10, 2005


why do they always want me to be on top?


At the Muddy Cup. A pearly white cat asleep on my brown velvet jacket on a red velvet chair. A hot patch on my back in pain from running out on the flood with bags swung over my shoulders and zipping into the city, sleeping in Carmen's bed, surrounded by vivid paintings of old movies, Brazil, angry babies. My bed creeks on its bricks. A new friend calls me "assertive" but doesn't run away. Some part of me keeps my eye on San Francisco from across the country. Teenagers in chairs by the window break their world down into who knows "Jason" or "Amanda" and what they did when. Ambition is just a paste over the truth, which is a green glass diamond found under a yellow chair in the basement.

Friday, October 07, 2005

or not

It was a gesture, I'm over it. Walking in the rain wearing a perfume called happy. Making a playlist with Fiona Apple's new songs and Bowie's Five Years. Finding the hidden movie screen on the blue stage. Typing with 2% battery left. Wearing tight jeans, thinking about protein. Following a scent, an idea. Smiling at the beautiful old woman in orange stealing cheese. Asking what you mean as I walk on train tracks in Jersey. It's a hunch. There's pages and pages left. I'm wiry and brave. You don't get me, and

it is an honor, to get me.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

the birds

today my students talked about horror movies--the images that are cemented in their heads, and they debated whether the images would be there regardless of cinematic suggestion. one girl argued that she wouldn't be afraid of birds if weren't for hitchcock, and another insisted that birds are fucking scary. after, I read an article about red-eyed vireos, American redstarts, warblers, common yellowthroats and rose-breasted grosbeaks; 400 birds in total killed by TV tower wires.

Monday, October 03, 2005


The town is summoning itself, like winter's the dark truth we've been avoiding. I go on a night walk: Hey babe, you looking for weed? No. Good. Three paces later: you lookin' for the hard stuff? A big screen in the half moon shows men wrestling in mud. Nobody's touched pac-man in years. An old friend tells me about falling asleep at the wheel and I think he's talking about consciousness. No, I'm just talking about falling asleep at the wheel. In college this man said: you don't smile much. I imagine you might be kind of ruthless. The man across the street has real home things, a desk, slippers, the paternal glow of a lamp. Where is that thread you keep finding yourself at the end of? What was it you said about love, that proclivities might not be the best course of action. A love story is a story afterall, with structure, climaxes, good and bad endings. My friend taught a class about how any story is like the cat in the hat: there's a situation; an outsider comes in and fucks everything up. This happens repeatedly until something changes. The question is can you put the house back together again. The question is what do you do the next time your parents are gone, and something knocks at the door...

Sunday, October 02, 2005

where are you going, where have you been

This morning in the bakery I ran into a man from New Orleans, "vacationing" here before he's allowed back in. I knew him fourteen years ago.

He asks what it's like to live here, says he lived here years ago and found it terrifically lonely. It's a nice town to walk around, but you have to have someone to walk around with.

Slept in a strange room last night. Woke up a man I don't know to ask what the word is for when you have the physical sensation of being displaced.

Disoriented? He said and rolled over.

I still don't know how to do things in real time. Maybe there is someone out there who's not afraid.

Saturday, October 01, 2005


came in the mail with a package from J, who thinks, rightly, that blogging is disturbingly narcissistic, along with my deposit and a note, just in time. this morning I broke the beautiful old bulb upon waking and the birds are making some wild furious sound up above. Will there be a time when I don't feel perched on the edge, muscles flexed to take off? There is something sensual reawakening --I'm ordering the right food, picking the right color paint, following a map of the senses with a faith in my body. She has forgotten you. It is a new dark face that slides in when I crossover. All that drama can inprint on the cold mind, the pride, ego, but this dusty angel skin has officially shaken you loose.

He kept saying he'd be not enough, and that's right if you need the waters to be contained like a small pond. I'm looking for someone to hold my hand who isn't afraid of swimming in oceans.

Friendship. Maybe that would be possible. The mind does miss--I do want to talk about stories. But maybe it 's his pride that makes that impossible. I want the friend at the end of the day who has made steak in front of the west wing and will hear my teaching stories. I want to tell someone about my observation the other day, how my students came through for me. Even the one who sits and the back with a smirk. We were talking about "Where Are You Going Where Have You Been?" and after reading the description of the architecture of the burger joint, he held up a ballpoint image and said:

"I drew it, and I think it looks kinda like a church."

I need a new subject. Today I'll walk in a new town with a new friend. I'll roll down the roof; I'll pay my rent. We'll see.