The notebook

it has many features.

6-20-2011

Manifest destiny is a wooly mammoth, a dodo bird, a saber toothed tiger.
Manifest destiny is the space between a woman's breasts. 
Manifest destiny is heroin, cocaine, opium, hashish, and rum. 
Manifest destiny is an oasis filled with flowers, and shade trees, manna and spring water. 

manifest destiny is your infant child learning to focus on your smile
manifest destiny is a toddler crawling towards the horizon

Manifest destiny is a lawn mower filled with shards of glass. Manifest destiny is a set of gold teeth. Manifest destiny is a one way Greyhound ticket and a flask of whiskey. 

What is the call of the wild? What is the name of your daughter? What is the name of your son? Where did we put all our hopes and dreams? 
Who came over in the middle of the night, and stole the last of our salted pork? Who left like a thief in the night while I slept? 
Where do the souls of all the prairie children go? 
What does one call the sickness that possesses the heart and entrances the brain? 
Who stole my dreams? Who stole my last piece of cake? 
What do you get when you cross a coyote with a bull? 
What's the name of that bar in New Mexico where the tequila is on the house? What's the name of that steak house where the kids eat free? What's the name of that city where nobody dies? 

Intervals and the basement kitchen

I'm sitting in the basement kitchen. It's cold and there is snow on the ground outside.

I'm eating a pasta salad and waiting for my water to boil.

14 hours later.

I'm sitting in the basement kitchen. It's cold and there is less snow on the ground outside.

I'm roasting beets on the stove top.

20 minutes later.

I'm sitting in the basement kitchen. Drinking a cold beer.

I'm waiting to turn the beets.

35 minutes later.

I'm sitting in the basement kitchen. I'm waiting to turn the beets again.

The cold beer in my mug is gone.

I cup my eyes with my left hand and release an audible sigh.

68 minutes later.

I'm sitting in the basement kitchen. I just ate some roasted beets with caramelized onions and feta.

I am drinking a cold beer.

48 hours later.

I'm sitting in the basement kitchen. I'm waiting for the lentils to boil.

The sound of a basketball is heard in the distance.

It's not New York's fault.

It took me months to miss New York. I had to leave, travel to many cities, cry in different places- feel bitterly alone, incurable sadness, and utter hopelessness in order to miss it- my home. I should be mad at you really. How dare you die in my hometown? How would you like it if I was found in a Riverside ditch? Would you still enjoy your jog up a mountain? How long would it take you to love your home again? Forgive it? Visit it, and maintain a pleasant demeanor? I guess we'll never know, now will we? 
I get these sudden glimpses of you. Moments from the past. Your eyes, your smile, your ridiculous sayings flash through my mind. It's sudden heartache. I imagine that this is what migraines must feel like. Flashes of sudden pain- uncontrollable. I grab my temple. My heart is broken over and over again. My eyes squeeze shut. 
Accidents happen everyday and I forgive you. 
Of course I forgive you. 
I'll love you endlessly.
And I'll love New York, flaws and all.  
What else can I do?
Your death remains a mystery. I have to forgive you, as well as, every last possible suspect from Brooklyn or beyond. Every last motorist that drives like a douchebag- I forgive you. 
I also have to hold myself accountable for any shitty driving I do on my part from now until forever, and then I have to forgive myself. I also have to forgive the BQE. I have to forgive everything.                  
Everything must be forgiven. 

A clearer head, a better day.

So, I've been thinking about my last post a lot, and I realize why it's been such a tough week. We are here in China doing a training exchange with traditional Chines opera performers. They are so physically adept. The acrobatics they know are beyond amazing. I realize that you would have had so much to offer, and receive from this experience, where as I feel like a stick in the mud who can barely do a back bend, or a passable cart wheel. People are flipping themselves all over each other, and I just wish so bad that you could be participating because you were the skilled one! You moved so well! And me... I'm just funny, and maybe, well, I think that's all. Just funny.
I get so mad at you for dying. "Look what you could be doing!!!" I say, exasperated into the air- at you, hoping that you can hear me. 
And all this baby business is absurd. I don't want a baby. I want our baby. I wish we were having a baby.
I want things that I can't have, and it makes me sad. I want our black haired daughter with her dad's beautiful eyes. I want our son, with my excellent sense of humor. But no, not possible, so I get upset, and negate all the wonderful things I've done, and all the wonderful people I've been lucky to meet since you left me that stupid June night, and it's not fair. 
Knowing now why I've been such an emotional wreck all week makes it all bit more bearable, and that's good. Not great, but good good good.

I'm in China...where are you???

Today is another day. Tomorrow is another day. Day upon day. Week upon week. The sun goes up, the sun goes down.  The world keeps moving. Your absence is astounding. Being in a foreign land- away from diversions- people, alcohol, weed, and a kitten- makes me remember all too well how much I absolutely miss you. I miss your love. I miss your affections. I miss being your girl. Sometimes I want a baby. Is that crazy? Why does your absence make me want to have a baby? I don't know. Maybe I don't want a baby. Maybe I just want you. You wrote me letters. I liked your letters. No one writes me letters now. I wish you could write me a letter. I'm depressed. I am venting to you. Hopefully next time I write I'll be in better spirits. Can I tell you a secret? (You are not the only one I miss.) I believe my heart is big enough.  

I'm trying my heart out!

Baby, I want to raise money for you.
We have a lot of work ahead of us.
This is what I'm listening to:
Chelsea Hotel # 2

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were talking so brave and so sweet,
giving me head on the unmade bed,
while the limousines wait in the street.
Those were the reasons and that was New York,
we were running for the money and the flesh.
And that was called love for the workers in song
probably still is for those of them left.

Ah but you got away, didn't you babe,
you just turned your back on the crowd,
you got away, I never once heard you say,
I need you, I don't need you,
I need you, I don't need you
and all of that jiving around.

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
you were famous, your heart was a legend.
You told me again you preferred handsome men
but for me you would make an exception.
And clenching your fist for the ones like us
who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,
we are ugly but we have the music."

And then you got away, didn't you babe...

I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best,
I can't keep track of each fallen robin.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
that's all, I don't even think of you that often.
 
I think of you quite often. Every second is shared with your image. I refuse to let go of it whether I choose to or not. You are there, and I love you. I've been creating quite a commotion as I tackle this self employment thing head first.  I've been acting quite impulsively, as usual, but this time everything seems a bit more serious and weighted. It's quite exciting, and I find myself embracing uncertainty with familial ease. It's how I've been operating for over a year now, so I'm glad I'm getting better at it. Anxiety levels are at normal, and overall quality of life feels above average. The machine guns are lowered, and the guards are taking a well needed smoke break.

But not for long. They've got work to do. 
 

Another outburst from perhaps another life...

I'd like for the part of my brain that apparently has a rhythm and blues section in it to turn on more consistently. We could have a neo folk album just in time for the holiday rush. We'd make a fortune. 
I'm thinking millions of dollars.  


http://soundcloud.com/ciao-frau/you-go-gurl