Questa notte e per te

Buonanotte fiorellino, good night little flower...there seem to be quite a few little flowers I have said good night to this year. Who and what are these flowers? They could be people for whom I must set the sun of my affection, or hopes that have become frustrations, a flower that has become a weed in my mind.

Sometimes we encounter a lovely flower and for a while it blooms beneficially, we water it tenderly as the little prince watered his rose, we listen to it, care for it, we might even draw it a sheep to keep the Baobabs away. How often is that rose a rose that by any other name would still be meant to stay in the garden after days, months, years have passed? The Garden of Eden will always be a confusing place, full of posers and half breeds, snakes and lilies, apples and poisonous fruit.

I revel in the wisdom of my 16 year old sister. While my gift is imagination hers is wisdom. She was born with it, as healers, psychics, and witches are fabled to be born with certain powers she was born with an innate understanding of the social world. My eyes are perceptive but innately naive. Hers are innately wise. I am always seeking the greater truth, always fiddling in the bowels of the clockwork, looking for the switch, but I think in some way she was born with her hand on it.

Can she describe that magic button? Probably not fully, but she can tell you what it does...the symptoms of power are fascinating, spasms of reality unknown to the blind - blinding to the sighted. There is an illness in this world, a disconnect, there are few with whom I can speak so as to be heard. When I talk I feel like I am either speaking to those who half-hear me or to those that think they have already been/there done that merry go round of thought, or I am listening to others who are repeating everybody else, a collection of monkeys with whom I am acquainted, all monkeys and geniuses with little in between. I am also speaking of the confusion, the "anomie," the identity disorder of modern society in which everyone is grasping for easy answers, buying into this or that religion, car, pack of cigarettes, drug, false prophet, etc. (And perhaps we are all monkeys and geniuses, gyrating between repetition and insight, inspiration and regurgitation.)

All right, buonanotte fiorellinos, amores mios, back to coffee and keyboarding and daydreaming about fall, fall.

On people, expectations, brains, sex, etc.

The usual issues...I'm going to bed too late once more. It's simply clear that I need to cut men out of my brain as a concern (if that is at all possible,) because most of the time they are not worth thinking about.

Let's see, let's focus on the good stuff again: my study - analysis and final article, my poetry, friends, seeing plays in New York, more art, more shows, more goodness. I've blogged it so it must be official. Also health: I'm joining the Columbia gym damn it, time to move those little legs - plus they found that exercise is the only effective prevention for Alzheimer's and memory loss, the dentate gyrus in the hippocampus (a brain region significant for memory,) actually regenerates after a work out!

It's official and wonderful: I will be a professional geek at Chicago next year, YES. Yay!! I want this. Focus, happiness, goals, life...the rest will fall into place like a silver chain around the neck of a beautiful woman.

artistic masturbation

In honor of today I'd like to say: Boo.
I'm going to make poetry and music with a jew.
He plays on his flute and his guitar verrry nice,
could I be the Ali G to his Miss Piggy?
Alter ego puppets making sweet poetry,
out in the park, on a bench, on the grass?
In a tree, on a plane? Could it be, super jews?
Making juice in New York, so sweet, so sweet,
tangerine delicious, I'd like to eat that richness,
mmmm...
--------------------------------------------------

That was just a warm up, friends. I can't give you the good stuff only the appeteasers. I'm concerned about copyright - what if someone decides to be me?

Happy Sunday-ness.

March on

Dear random readers: I almost completely neglected you, this entire massively moving, marching, thumping, month. No, I will not neglect you.

Let's see: did I fall out of love? Not entirely, but the future Dr. Mar will be ok.
Did I fall into some kind of unusually more-defined future-ness? Kind of.

Is cross-examining the things that stick out of the back of my consciousness like a bunch of assembled busy bodies telling me "Hi I'm problem Grad School." "And I, I'm Mr. Man of Not Your Dreams but you need to talk to me, tell me what you're gonna do." "Hello I'm the voice of reason and grandmotherliness and everything will be ok." etc, kind of interesting? Sure, it stimulates me on a slow Friday when the over-priced starbucks caffeine runs out and there is not much I'd like to pretend to do while sitting in my little office. Bad girl, yes.

Schizophrenic self-conversations aside, I'm gonna go grab some lunch with a side of sanity.

Later humans. :)

The Wrong Chardonnay

I was at the Greek Kitchen today enjoying a chicken souvlaki dinner, (it's just down the street from my new home,) and decided to try some Greek chardonnay. Big mistake: yet another chardonnay that tastes more like apple juice than wine. Where oh where is the good New Zealand stuff? Mostly in New Zealand, though I've found a few imports....

The chardonnay may be shot, but my job hunt is not. I'm starting work at Columbia on March 10th. I just accepted the job offer - thank God. I plan to march in pretty triumphantly and enjoy my own little office - I'm going to be in charge of the new doctorate of nursing, there appear to be heaps of responsibilities involved to keep me busy, and yay for amazing university benefits and free tuition!

My Boston weekend was intense/awesome/fun, the snow seems to have found its way down here from there, I'm going to walk down the aisle in Olivine (an olive green color that the bridal gods created,) as a bridesmaid in August, I'm trying to use these next few free weeks productively, and really it's all pretty bitchin'. ;)

Happy Vaginal Thursday tomorrow, eat lots of chocolate, a friend of mine is making me brownies, what better way to cope with all the hearts.

Manhattan witchiness

Like clockwork on the 4th I write again. Almost like I planned this...visit. I am living in a "haunted" apartment and I like it. At least this one comes openly smothered with history, murder, love, sex, kick ass vintage furniture - the works. I like it. Bring it on ghosts, I have a bit of spirit of my own. Anyway, the wonderfully loony landlady is dancing to classical music in the kitchen, I moved out of South Brooklyn three days ago and feel beautifully autonomous and happy with my new dwelling, and today I'm starting to feel settled, yay.

Listen to The Pierces if you haven't, I'm loving them, and we're cohabitants of the same witchy Manhattan soup now. That's their whole shtick: witchiness. Same with the women I'm living with now, but they're good "witches" and I'm glad they're on my side. ;)

I'm drinking a stout that was brewed with chocolate.

I'm going to jip you on this post and cut it off right here. I will come back again in February month of love or loneliness or apathy and write again, make it up to you.

Brooklyn mochas and reflections on cities

I'm sitting in a Brooklyn cafe called K-Dog and drinking one of the best mochas I've ever had...it must be the chocolate they use in this mocha, it tastes like they mixed high quality hot chocolate with espresso, mmm.

As I sip this I'm applying to more jobs, getting ready to check out apartments, etc. The internet connection at Totya Rita's (the family friend I'm staying with in Brooklyn,) is pretty on-and-off as I'm pilfering it from some neighbor, and I have begun my exploration of Brooklyn cafes with free wifi. There are none directly in Rita's neighborhood, as it's located in the bowels of Brooklyn, not far from Brighton Beach. What can you find there? Orthodox and Hassidic Jews, Russian food stores, random junk stores, and if you happen to be heading home at 5am (I don't really recommend it, I did that on New Year's,) there might be strange men cat or more like dog-calling at night. I say dog, because when I think of cat-calling I think of harmless Parisian stalkers who might pester and follow but never do a damn thing about it. The men in NYC have much more of a sense of desperation about them, so little girls beware, look local, and walk fast. After that night I started to look up pepper spray vendors, but really it's much better at most other hours, even at 1am it's less creepy.

A little black boy just came up to me and popped his head at my computer screen, he startled me and I pulled my computer to me and recoiled scaring him away too in the process. In the past two days I've noticed that these little clean bohemian cafes seem to be a safe haven for kids in Brooklyn. Earlier this little boy came in and used their phone to call his mom because he didn't know where she was, and yesterday a little girl came into a different cafe on the other side of Prospect Park and sat in a booth doing her homework - she must have been only 8 or 9 years old. Brooklyn is certainly a weird mix of religious, hipster, and dirt poor people from every continent. I never had a chance to take such a close look at it before and see the socioeconomic problems of America so vividly. Capitalism is at it's best and worst in this city. The struggling, the dreaming, the successful, the hopeful and the hopeless. Of course the faces on the trains are typically incredibly tired and sagging - but still people are moving here, always moving.

Ok, I have to be a little more productive now - and I'm seeing my first prospective apartment tonight - it's in the East Village, wish me luck.