Ode to Van Eyk's Mirror

All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain..we can be like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...

Valentine is done
Here but now they're gone
Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet
40,000 men and women everyday...Like Romeo and Juliet
40,000 men and women everyday...Redefine happiness
Another 40,000 coming everyday...We can be like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand...don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly...don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...

Love of two is one
Here but now they're gone
Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn't go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew then disappeared
The curtains flew then he appeared...saying don't be afraid
Come on baby...and she had no fear
And she ran to him...then they started to fly
They looked backward and said goodby...she had become like they are
She had taken his hand...she had become like they are
Come on baby...don't fear the reaper

grad school WHAT?

ok, i am applying to 3 grad schools, in order of favoritism:

1. UC Berkeley (of course! this is the place for me!)
2. UC Davis (closer to my homies in Sac, must remind myself that 31 is the new 21)
and finally,
3. Evergreen State in Olympia, Washington.


while i know people in cali, i do not know a soul in Olympia. i hear it's great though.

as long as i am on the west coast, i will be the happiest grad student in the world!!! :D (and i'll work my ass off too.)

now, what the hell do i study?

just a rumor

This mellow, sweet short-haired boy
Woman offers, pull up a seat.
Take in one symphony
We have just begun to battle.

Wrap your heel in bones of steel
Turn the leg, a twist of color.
Autumn waited hold it to you
In the colored came another.

[chorus]
Seven chinese brothers swallowing the ocean
Seven thousand years to sleep away the pain
She will return
She will return

This mellow, sweet short-haired boy
Woman offers to pull up a seat
Take in one symphony now
We've just begun to battle

Wrap your heel in bones of steel
Turn the leg, a twist of color
Autumn waited hold it to you
In the colored come another

Seven chinese brothrs swallowing the ocean
Seven thousand years to sleep away the pain
She will return, she will return

This mellow sweet short-haired boy
Woman offers to pull up a chai=r
Take in one symphony now
I guess we lost that battle

Wrap your heel in bones of steel
Turn the leg, a twist of color
Autumn waited seven seas
Swimming colored came

Seven chinese brothers swallowing the ocean
Seven thousand years the commune did reign
She will return, she will return, she will return!

fun is free

get me out of this town.

i won't say that i don't care where i go, because i DO care. i want to be surrounded with people a little more like myself, and i know that there are places like that.

right now, i am surrounded by expensive car people. i do not know them, nor their family legacies. i wouldn't dare intrude upon their empires, as they've stayed high above mine.

get me out of this town.

i know my neighbors by the cars they drive. i like my coworkers, but used to love them. some of the ones i loved are still there, but many have moved on. it's time i move on.

the towns nearby aren't quite the same, but i don't think i'm quite fit for them either.

sometimes it's fun to be that crumbling bastion of rebellion; that's when young people talk to you and think you're cool. it might be a novelty, who knows. but i'm not sure i want to stay around and fight all by myself anymore.

the greater northeast hates me. well, parts of it anyway. they already know me and they've already made up their mind. my grandmother used to live there.

my other grandmother used to live downtown, in center city. that was where i learned to feel my heart beating in my own body. she lived in the art museum district and painted.

but yeah, i think i need to go. before the deep freeze, anyway.

if my life is cut short...and so many young people are losing their lives these days...i want it to be in a place where i am happy, not lonely and freakish. not in a place where people like me are pushed out into oblivion. i've been through a lot.

i want to stop delaying happiness for myself. i don't know how, other than to wait for things to unfold themselves. i want a sensitive, colorful place to discover. i want a room of my own, just like this one but when i look out the window, it would be different.

to the writers on strike

do you think edgar allen poe had health benefits?

there are those of us not lucky enough to write for hollywood, or TV. some of us live in government institutions. some of us have mental disabilities. i have been diagnosed with a mental illness, to which my government says, "you're educated. find a living."

yeah, i guess i'm educated. "book-smart," as the tough kids like to say. when i get inspired, i write on my blogspot blog, or this one. maybe i should be paying shipping and handling fees to be sending my work in on paper somewhere. kill some trees. the truth is, my most worldly possession is my personal computer. i can only afford to live in my mother's house, and the things that inspire me are never going to make me millions of dollars. that's our economy right now.

the "fortune," then, is your audience, you jackasses. think about the girls and boys who scrabble around the newsstand at your local bookstore, cleaning up after all the patrons have feasted on your ideas, without purchasing a single magazine. yeah, think about us. and i'm sorry to be so bitter, but i want my MTV, i want my american dream too, even if i have seen the inside of some bad places, been on welfare, been homeless, and been left for dead or retarded by local legislature.

jezebel at home

last night in my car
i cried in fear that
you were the last one
who'll know me.

i'll be old maybe,
a real character in my neighborhood
like i've always been;
i've never had a single friend
in this neighborhood.

and i'll need someone, won't i!
to help keep me in line,
to cook for anyway,
to make silence
more sweet.

i remember anton,
the best neighbor i had.

i think of all the neighborhood black cats
like ink-spots, places to settle down
when you're tired and ready.


.




when i look in the mirror
will i find her there someday?
my very own "old laughing lady?"
laughin' right back at me?

chap on a stick

i'm soft, like a woman. and i'm free now...like a cowgirl. and i'm NOT locked up somewhere, and i have all my limbs and i can feed myself and have excellent urinary and bowel control, and i believe these attributes and more will enable me to ride off into the sunset, like a lady, darn it!


"go to bed," you say. stop doing your victory/misery dance all over the airwaves and just find some version of relaxation after...a night of...break-up-age. you. crazy. bitch.




but "you" aren't there to reign me in, or to call me crazy. no one is here but me, and i'm not lonely, and i'm no crazier than anyone else, and i think it's gonna be ok tonight.

lovely specimens

a ha! when i die, this blog will live on! hooo yeah! up yours!

while my bone-powder cools in a pauper's vault somewhere on the outskirts of the city, these illuminated holes will glow merrily, still. joy! ode to!

bravest, dumbest, most emotional, least obediant girl no more! at least i leave something to the non-existent forensic team who'll refuse funding towards my mysterious disappearance anyway. there ain't enough tax dollars in the world to see it through.

i have wasted my time and your time and will continue to do so! up yours!

the thought of my mortality is a great relief, i want to draw a thousand cartoons of my dead body, a skeleton wearing ear-plugs, the fashion of celebrating the ghouls that came before me, et.al, The Scream that was my grandfather, el dia de los muertos, somebody's serious samhain, a ridiculous poke in our slimy little eyeballs, you cannot find the answer outside of yourself so you might as well keep studying the world around you while you can touch it, while you can respond to it and while you are aware of your flesh-boat that glides you around in the big aquarium.

have a beer with the other kids and stare at lovely specimens, reach for them with your butterfly net. meanwhile stars explode and gasses do their thing and people dance dance dance in the cities and in the forest, which burns.

the general springs a leak

i wish i didn't have to talk.

singing would be ok, of course. and being with a lover...well, no. i'd rather not anymore. talk, that is. don't want to say "love," or "i love," or "i love you," since it's kind of sullied for a lot of people, including me.

instead, i wish a more colorful destiny for my tongue: tasting wonderful foods from around the globe, sipping precious water and slurpees, toking on a cigarette, making occasional raspberries at situations that make me angry, not saying "fuck" and "shit" so much anymore (how did they become so inherent in my vocabulary?). whistling at a bird. making animal noises. *pop* goes the weasel, and the lollipop song.

i don't wanna holler. i want to understand what it is to use my voice, what it really means. i know it's important, and i know i can make it sound educated, immature, ethnic, sexy, ignorant, siren-like (when i'm angry), and even a little sally kellerman-esque, when the time is right. i can do accents, i can do natalie merchant and even a bit of stipean vowels. i wanna sing work-songs, i would enjoy ridiculous vocal exercises. i can sometimes do eric cartman or butters.

perhaps this is my calling, not unlike sheila levine in Sheila Levine Is Dead and Living in New York. She gets to do voice-overs for children's records at one point, while looking for husbands.

but the most important time for me right now is silence. which is strange since i spent many months chanting "Nam myoho renge kyo". this was a great release, but i feel my next lesson is stillness, silence, finding wholeness from within and perhaps NOT using my voice, not so much.

wet t-shirt contest

check it out: boyfriend and i were sitting outside of 7-11 a couple nights ago when this tall weird dude leaves the store. i had my window open. the dude heads towards the car and proceeds to squirt his bottle of cold water all over my tits.

now, mind you, some girls really get into wet t-shirts, but i was so stunned and so furious that someone would have the audacity to just come up and do that to someone minding her own business. i got out of the car and shrieked at him from the top of my lungs, "What the fuck? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?" he made one more squirt at my head and began to jog away from my disturbingly obnoxious screaming.

i slammed back into the car and we proceeded to follow the jerk, who had that water bottle cocked and ready to smash bf's windshield. (not serious damage). the thug disappeared.

the best part of this whole story though, is that there was a cop right there, who told us he couldn't help us b/c there was a big accident on Rt. 1, and left. the state troopers showed up about an hour later.

i guess we were lucky. he could've had a gun when i leaped out of the car. boyfriend could've gotten in trouble for beating him up or something. sucks about the windshield.

i left that night feeling pretty strong though. strong of character. as though i were able to look out for myself.

glass locomotives

echo goes something like
echo goes something likesomething my go somethings like echoes lie something
like this:



it's a well-sodden season
already saying
what postcards say.

mortgaged black holes.

silken logic will either escape or strangle,
depending.




a string
of moments
of clarity
piles



shatters,
a procession of glass locomotives.



"Please remain seated."






build me a creature who:

chews neuroses
in trash-compactor mouth

efficiently peels back sweet skin-ripple

deflects all-weather eye glint
sees thru Crest-white smile and


is un-simulated in a storybook
but is sometimes on the radio



my god ain't a lawyer.
my god is the law.





[static]

as serious as your life

i'm about to say too much.

i've lost sight of what's important; i am no longer happy with these standards. they were never mine anyway, and i will not accept them.

i'm only beginning to fall. as always, i will be scooped up somehow, end up in a can of dolphin-safe tuna and daydream about lots of what you don't need to know. in the meantime, if i say something that doesn't make any sense, i apologise.

what's another loony anyway.

bite me, ugly betty

ok, who is totally sick of seeing that ugly betty chick everywhere? is she supposed to represent Everywoman or something? should my vagina sing out flappingly in praise of her sensible, down-to-earth, smart-but-sassy homage to us girls? is it NEWS that women can be smart? she certainly doesn't stand for MY demographic, i'll tell you that. come on...do YOU know any hispanic families who can afford braces for their children? and besides, they make her "ugly" on purpose because we're all supposed to realize that the true beauty is on the inside, gnarrf. well HELLO, i'm a dynamic, disenfranchised minority with dental problems too! jesus. put bald britney in front of me any day before this so-called salma-hayek-induced ingenue-construct. we all know that where there is "beauty," there is money.

feminism is rolling over in its grave, a grave originally intended for a beloved pet goldfish, just beyond the swing-set in a back yard in Maryland.

i wouldn't miss it

am i really that much of a heartbreaker?

oh well.

let us all adjust and evolve a little, then.

these words and pretty pictures are all impermanent.

and my life ain't gray's fucking anatomy.

love is never far away

think of me when it's cold outside

when you cannot see your reflection
in a frozen puddle,
can't go outdoors
with sandals.


think of us
when you're driving to the bay
with all the windows down,
the air smelling sweet and burnt
and the sea so clean and heady.


remember that you are our mermaids,
our faery kings and queens;


let all our wild horses run together
in dreams.

keep it under your yarmulke

well, i got the punch i requested.

i've just been accused of conducting myself wrongly while someone else was in a time of mourning, several months ago. i was accused of talking about my life for "almost an hour." petty of me, ok. but would you rather have a friend nearby, or nobody? is there a code of funerary behavior that i missed? did i NOT honor someone's life?? who can say?

dying is a process. you certainly cannot be dying forever. even if you're suffering, if you have lost someone dear, you still have the gift of life, of being able to interact and partake of this ethereal world. easier said than done, i'm sure.

you can live under a shroud, or you can try to release your pain. you can watch something green grow, or you can plant seeds of bitterness and guilt in others' lives...and watch THAT grow.

in the process of grieving and releasing your pain, i don't think you need to piss on anyone's face.

possibly un-clenching

there's a lot of dots that just aren't connecting for me right now.
-how did my room get this messy?

-why did my mother go to the store and stuff if she knew it was going to be too much for her? it scares the shit out of me when she gets like this.

-why do i only have $56 left for the week if i just got paid TODAY??

-WHY do i have Perpetual Teenager Disease (PTD)? is there a cure?

-i found a geographical location i like. i found a state of being, real friendships, a philosophy to follow. why can't i find a way to make it where i want to be, HOW i want to be???

-i need a good cry...could someone please come and punch me?

surprise, surprise

Franz Kafka Your Literary Style Is 33% Realistic, 100% Philosophical, and 83% Psychological!

Franz Kafka's literary style is so distinct that an adjective has been coined from his name to describe similar styles. That adjective is "kafkaesque". Your own writing, obviously, is kafkaesque. Kafka wrote very strange, horrifying stories. His most famous novella involves the transformation of a man into a giant insect. His works are not only fantastic and symbolic, but they are often very philsophical and thought provoking. Many of his stories are allegorical or metaphorical, focusing on the nature of spirituality and the absurdity of life. Not only that, but his work is often intensely cerebral, delving deep into the minds of his characters and examining their psychology and the motivations for their actions. Your writing follows Kafka's example by being highly philosophical, psychological, and surrealistic. Some stories you may enjoy: "The Metamorphasis", The Castle, The Trial, and "A Hunger Artist". The other literary styles: Edgar Allan Poe / Jorge Luis Borges / George Orwell / F. Scott Fitzgerald / Fyodor Dostoevsky / Herman Melville / Albert Camus

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on Realistic You scored higher than 99% on Philosophical You scored higher than 99% on Psychological

Link: The Literary Style Test written by saint_gasoline on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

fun in the fog

i decided to write (and share) the lyrics to my brand new R&B song.

please contact me if you are a recording artist and would like to help make this dream a hit.


-----------------------------------------------------------

"Come Settle For Me"
--copyright 2007 J.L.R.


[chorus]
Come settle for me
Come peddle it fo' me
When I'm paranoid and gossippy
Come meddle for me

Come settle for me
Build a shtetl for me
Hansel-and-Gretel fo' me
Let's settle it up.



Yo come and settle, babe you win 'da gold medal
For puttin' up with my shit this long
and watchin' over my screechin' kettle
You got some eyes
you know yo' beauty from trash
Let's be like water, no fight, just flow
You know
those mean plastic bitches is heinous
And that beauty ain't glam, it's subcutan'ous

[chorus]

You ain't just a flash in my Pan
i say we write our own Q'uaran
and make it each and every single illusory second that they say is time and
Blam
this high-art
is tearin' my shit to shreads and
puttin' holes in my Keds
so what I'm really gettin' at here is

[chorus]

This Old Menstrual Hut

who is joan of arc and did she really exist?
was she beautiful, or did she terrify people?

why am i a woman?

man seems the default, woman the classical deviation. i don't understand why. or what. i feel like i am MY woman, like sigourney weaver in that huge robo-suit she used to fight the alien(s). i feel as though i inhabit a young lady's skin but i'm pretty neutral inside, although i must admit that i do not trust most women. which makes me annoyed, until i realize that i probably shouldn't trust too many men either.


what a ridulous bucket of chum this all is. gender weirdness. intellectualism. competition. the reflexive need for life to surpass, not do what it wants.

winter diorama (with cotton balls)

aren't i just super? isn't everything i say SO poignant?? isnt' that why i write it; so the world may benefit from my frigging expertise??

i am so turned around right now, i couldn't pin the tail on the donkey. i'm losing bits and pieces here and there, and the oil that holds things is so dry and things become rickety and i can't rely on ANYTHING at all. i feel lost in a dizzying free-fall and i can't get a moment to steady myself to even know what end is fucking up.

everybody else feels this way too. i just have to be the one to whine about it.

throw me a fucking anchor here.

no, better yet...a compass?

all that jazz

posing and posturing are nothing if you are not familiar with dance.

when i was little i learned how to make my hands like falling autumn leaves. for some reason this memory of a ballet lesson makes me swell with pride, the memories of the days when my body was my tool for expression (and less of an obstacle).

thinking about madonna's "vogue" and how ridiculous it seemed to me at the time; how would isadora duncan have responded to "striking a pose?" ballanchine??

what about pulling a thorn out of your paw? what about brushing your shoulders off?

it's the fear of the construct of you that they've built; it's their Cardboard You that you're haunted by when you stumble down the halls furiously. but remember: it's theirs, and they can keep it.



and then there's always the music.

(cat stevens' "oh very young one will you leave us this time?" pops into my head)

those musicians; each song is a beautiful gift to us dancing ghosts who have lost our way.

and therefore, each dance becomes a story and a tribute to the metronomic thrum in our blood. unwinding the taut threads of imposed reality, working out the kinks of slave-marching, and sorrow into profound meaning.

the fantasy creeps

life before myspace

anyone remember?

remember when, if you met someone at a party or bar, you couldn't just look them up and request their immediate friendship and allegiance? ...and all the other scenarios in which human contact is no longer necessary?

i stay on myspace to keep in touch with friends across the country. local myspacery has been ok but has also gotten me into trouble on several levels, mainly just forging friendships with people who are out for their own ends. also, for someone who tends to reveal too much and expect the same wide-eyed honesty and allegiance, it's dangerous.

it's a double-edged sword, this internet of ours. i still just wish i was alive in a simpler time. i'd give all this techie-shit up in a heartbeat if i could be somewhere where people told stories and took care of one another (although in some scenarios i might've had to sacrifice running water, sanitation, modern medicine and part of my lifespan).

man is the charlie brown of all creation, doomed to never get it quite right.

legacy (create your own)

i just realized (or was informed, really) that i am able to control much of the "input" that makes its way towards my brain. seems so simple, but really, this is a great tip.

"some of them want to use you
some of them want to get used by you

some of them want to abuse you
some of them want to be abused.."

i always gave others the benefit of the doubt since i became a label, or a statistic...but i've reached a point in space and time where i'm realizing that the reality where i reside really isn't quite so askew.

i know that Nature herself is fierce and bloody and terrible...it's unrealistic to want for a world in which no violence will ever occur...no power-plays, no strangle-holds, no abuse-for-sport. i think that we have a choice though--we can either rally on this process (i.e. more blood! more guts! more consumption!) or we can help shit heal.

the key point is that we don't have to be a perp if we choose NOT to be a victim.

(speaking very generally, of course.)


i'm not about to tout moralism, or even humanism, for that matter. sometimes it's best to crouch indefinitely when surrounded by overwhelming amounts of chaos. resilience, then, is learned when one is able to identify when to crouch and when to stand up (and become his/her own superhero, if necessary).

maybe there comes a point in life when one wants to protect, or rescue, or shield others from what he/she has suffered. ideally, this is pretty swell, although many healers remain pretty damaged themselves.

when the cobwebs part, it is still only "you" in the mirror. no one can help you face that.