I left dear Manhattan.
Manhattan was a lovely busybody man.
He was beautiful but he stressed me out a bit
and he never cleaned up after himself.
I then had a sweet honeymoon with northern California.
She was pretty and sweet tempered.
I had lunch at Google, yes you Google who designed this blog interface
and I drank lots of Napa wine and looked at pretty bridges and paintings
and whimsical things.
2 days until blast off - Fort Collins seems to be an appropriate military launching pad.
Chicago awaits. I'm coming, dear sir.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Fast, fast, slow
I am loving the chance to connect with another human being. Between these moments of connection I have been trying to learn spss statistics so that I can get something done for my research study like a mofo. Once I start grad school, there will be NO TIME.
Life is funny, love is funny, but connection is much needed, and my heart is a squirmy, confused little animal.
Weddings, and birthdays, and more weddings. Parties, parties, new york, new york, new york.
Monogamy, or something like it, has re-sprung itself on me like a hair rooted in the skin of my life. Shave it, tweeze it, but it always grows back.
Less than 2 months left of office drudgery, thank you sweet jesus. And then I can be a full professional nerd at last.
Though I may still be confused about men and love, and about how to deal with myself as a passionate woman always looking for a worthy vessel for that passion...at least I can appreciate human goodness. This wedding-studded summer makes me consider what I want. As my friends walk down the aisle and promise themselves to each other I see that this promise, this faith, this promise to struggle for as long as they both can in this complicated, fucked up, convoluted human existence in which nothing will ever be "perfect" is more beautiful than any fairytale.
Life is funny, love is funny, but connection is much needed, and my heart is a squirmy, confused little animal.
Weddings, and birthdays, and more weddings. Parties, parties, new york, new york, new york.
Monogamy, or something like it, has re-sprung itself on me like a hair rooted in the skin of my life. Shave it, tweeze it, but it always grows back.
Less than 2 months left of office drudgery, thank you sweet jesus. And then I can be a full professional nerd at last.
Though I may still be confused about men and love, and about how to deal with myself as a passionate woman always looking for a worthy vessel for that passion...at least I can appreciate human goodness. This wedding-studded summer makes me consider what I want. As my friends walk down the aisle and promise themselves to each other I see that this promise, this faith, this promise to struggle for as long as they both can in this complicated, fucked up, convoluted human existence in which nothing will ever be "perfect" is more beautiful than any fairytale.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Metamorphosis vs. Stagnation
Woman is a place. Just read Angier's Woman: An Intimate Geography, a wonderful book, which did much a few years ago for my envisioning of female sexuality and selfhood.
People are places. Therefore home is likely to be a person. Like you or I, or the combination thereof.
Groundedness is far more based on self-understanding and comfort than latitude and longitude.
People morph more quickly than places, more like frogs or butterflies, but like places in that we keep our foundations. The groundwork, all those geological layers unavoidable - certain volcanoes and tsunamis uncontrollable.
Is that not modern life? We are all either constantly in transition to becoming something else, or we are stuck - and then yes, there is a category of people that seems pretty content with its status quo.
The pressure to morph, the need to morph, the flapping of wings against the gauze, and then flight?
Death, rebirth, the rising of Frankenstein - rejuvenation, artificial rebirth, identity creation/recreation, we are our own creators?
Identity order and disorder: construct a city in your mind, construct yourself, deconstruct/reconstruct yourself, clean up the mess, the facades, the fake buildings (like in one of those old western flicks) - your self should not be a movie set, your city should be thriving full of warmth, nourishment, people, movement. I want people to empower themselves, to take control over the rotting buildings, to spring fresh life from the neglected earth.
"There's a chair in my head/On which I used to sit/Took a pencil and I wrote the following on it"
-K's Choice
People are places. Therefore home is likely to be a person. Like you or I, or the combination thereof.
Groundedness is far more based on self-understanding and comfort than latitude and longitude.
People morph more quickly than places, more like frogs or butterflies, but like places in that we keep our foundations. The groundwork, all those geological layers unavoidable - certain volcanoes and tsunamis uncontrollable.
Is that not modern life? We are all either constantly in transition to becoming something else, or we are stuck - and then yes, there is a category of people that seems pretty content with its status quo.
The pressure to morph, the need to morph, the flapping of wings against the gauze, and then flight?
Death, rebirth, the rising of Frankenstein - rejuvenation, artificial rebirth, identity creation/recreation, we are our own creators?
Identity order and disorder: construct a city in your mind, construct yourself, deconstruct/reconstruct yourself, clean up the mess, the facades, the fake buildings (like in one of those old western flicks) - your self should not be a movie set, your city should be thriving full of warmth, nourishment, people, movement. I want people to empower themselves, to take control over the rotting buildings, to spring fresh life from the neglected earth.
"There's a chair in my head/On which I used to sit/Took a pencil and I wrote the following on it"
-K's Choice
Monday, May 5, 2008
Sprung
Twilit, happy, silly, floaty.
The season of love and baby-making makes me smile. New York smelled like the country yesterday. Overwhelmed by spring-ness I suppose.
I like where I am right now. I like who I am right now.
I've been meeting so many people lately. I've gone out a lot, gone on a few so-called dates, but mostly enjoyed myself with good people. I don't think I want to tie myself down right now, monogamy can wait, sorry suitors. Life's too good for haste at the moment. ;) (I think.)
Yay for the rebirth of earth. I always liked Ceres, though the mystery and power of Artemis inspires as well. I'm pulling my arrow taut this spring and aiming at the moon.
(Howls, smiles, goes back to work.)
The season of love and baby-making makes me smile. New York smelled like the country yesterday. Overwhelmed by spring-ness I suppose.
I like where I am right now. I like who I am right now.
I've been meeting so many people lately. I've gone out a lot, gone on a few so-called dates, but mostly enjoyed myself with good people. I don't think I want to tie myself down right now, monogamy can wait, sorry suitors. Life's too good for haste at the moment. ;) (I think.)
Yay for the rebirth of earth. I always liked Ceres, though the mystery and power of Artemis inspires as well. I'm pulling my arrow taut this spring and aiming at the moon.
(Howls, smiles, goes back to work.)
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Haunted hearts and pithy shorts
Walking home last night, my head abuzz with the stars of Tribeca, (the series of shorts, "Cold Feet" was pretty swell,) the hollywood and international actors/filmmakers were exactly in life as you see them on screen - no surprises, but oh the rapture of the flesh - my own life became cinematic for a minute.
- - -
I came upon a box of love chocolates from my past, near my front steps. They were staring up at me from the sidewalk, the plastic torn open by a bum, who-knows-what chocolaty creep crawlies spilling out. He must have rummaged through the garbage bins in front of my apartment building, upended the bags, discovered the lusty chocolates, left the torn box body like a sad little carcass for me to find.
I ended up talking to a hollow voice mail system for a moment, a loved voice explaining his unavailability to the world. For the best? Don't know. I proceeded to call an old friend, to bitch and screech and rejoice into the night. Until I passed out, of course.
Good morning.
- - -
I came upon a box of love chocolates from my past, near my front steps. They were staring up at me from the sidewalk, the plastic torn open by a bum, who-knows-what chocolaty creep crawlies spilling out. He must have rummaged through the garbage bins in front of my apartment building, upended the bags, discovered the lusty chocolates, left the torn box body like a sad little carcass for me to find.
I ended up talking to a hollow voice mail system for a moment, a loved voice explaining his unavailability to the world. For the best? Don't know. I proceeded to call an old friend, to bitch and screech and rejoice into the night. Until I passed out, of course.
Good morning.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
To monks, nuns, and ascetics
Today I wrote a letter to someone who is rather preachy with his Buddhism. This is my response to him and to monasticism in general. Marianna the Prophet-much? ;) Warning, the content you are about to read is itself preachy, serious, abysmally long, and full of helium. Beware before you take on this acid trip.
PS: Oh yeah, it's also biased, argumentative and probably overly confident and cocky. Forgive me, I would like to be the first to admit my flaws galore. On the other hand, I do believe in the way in which I try to live, and I am not sorry about that. Take it with a grain of understanding, this is my blathering blaaah-g after all.
About your monastic longings:
I appreciate that the skills you have acquired through meditation are useful for controlling yourself and I realize that I myself could benefit from such an ability - I overreact to life sometimes, and yes I see the value in your ability to separate yourself from your surroundings, to float above it all and be at peace with the world. That's a great skill to have, one that I could have used while growing up with my mother - I turned to poetry writing instead. It helped, but of course only afterwards, not during the horrible fights, the skandali we used to have. (In fact, the more I think about having such a skill, the better it sounds because yes I am overly emotional and reactive at times, and sometimes wish I just didn't care so damn much.)
While I agree that your ability to not be bothered is a wonderful one, I see that it is ruling your life, and I would not want such a thing. The monk and nun's life was never for me, nor the life of any ascetic. Only at times of great pain have I wanted to be "comfortably numb," to anesthetize myself from the hurt, the bullshit, the prickly thorns everywhere. I would like to have access to this "skill," it is obviously really useful, but everything in moderation. The problem for me with the preachings of ascetics, monks, and nuns, is that while they can teach you to live a peaceful existence in which you are constantly striving for some connection with a greater being or knowledge, this is too extreme a disconnection from the world.
You say that you love people. In an "at peace" sort of way, through the lenses of the monk that you wish to be, I'm sure you do. But you do not love the world. You do not want to be part of it. You want to be beyond it. You do not wish to be involved with it or with the people that reside here, you just want to "love" them from a distance, like a god or a deity looking down on the silly humans with their silly, silly emotions. For me, this is not "living," this is a fear and restraint of the corporal, the emotional, the bodily, the animalistic, the physiological. I am proud of my ability to feel pain, love, attachment, anger, irritation, warmth, affection, frustration, etc. Yes, pain and all the negative stuff as well. That is experiencing life - not being afraid to experience the nuances of emotion that come with this strange condition of being human. I embrace it.
You want to escape involvement with others, and that is your choice. I cherish my involvement with others. I have understood much about myself from the reflection of myself in the eyes of the other, mainly through my relationships. That is the most intimate place in which you find out who you are. You can separate yourself from that for the rest of your life if you want, some do, but you will never experience the passion, the joy, the bliss, that I do. I'll take the emotional roller coaster over the monk's peaceful nothingness on most days.
As you have noted, I love the workings of the human mind. But the mind is not some disembodied, spiritual entity floating in outer space. It is physical, corporal, chemical, and emotional. There is no disconnect, disconnect can be a useful or detrimental illusion - depending on the circumstances. The body-mind split has been a topic of debate for centuries, but now we understand that the only split that exists is a fantasy. We are not gods, we are incredibly intelligent animals, endowed with self-consciousness, with the ability to appreciate the absurdity of being Einsteins who shit and sleep and fuck.
I am not afraid of this. I love it. I love the paradox that we are. I would never wish to escape my appreciation and connectedness with the world, except perhaps temporarily, to avoid getting unnecessarily upset about something that is not worthwhile, but otherwise never constantly. Restraining yourself too much from physical pleasure, desire, connection, and emotion is a denial of what you are - I would not wish to live under a rock or in some monastery, (real or symbolic.) The very understanding that I have of the world, the clarity with which I appreciate its nuances, comes from the openness with which I experience its complexity. It is unhealthy to be avoidant of your body and its needs. That is when a human being can eventually explode from the buildup of imbalance in his or her life. I believe in balance, and in not unnecessarily restraining the body but understanding how to help it best work in the crazy, complex reality in which we live. And keep this in mind: while some cultural ideas are useful, others are not. Just because an idea has survived for a long time does not mean it is a good one. Obvious examples being kamikaze pilots and suicide. The same goes for religion, customs, traditions, stereotypes, etc. Try to see beyond what your mother or your father or your teacher or anyone (including me of course,) tells you about the world when you make up your mind - question, question, question - that is one of our greatest powers as human beings.
PS: Oh yeah, it's also biased, argumentative and probably overly confident and cocky. Forgive me, I would like to be the first to admit my flaws galore. On the other hand, I do believe in the way in which I try to live, and I am not sorry about that. Take it with a grain of understanding, this is my blathering blaaah-g after all.
About your monastic longings:
I appreciate that the skills you have acquired through meditation are useful for controlling yourself and I realize that I myself could benefit from such an ability - I overreact to life sometimes, and yes I see the value in your ability to separate yourself from your surroundings, to float above it all and be at peace with the world. That's a great skill to have, one that I could have used while growing up with my mother - I turned to poetry writing instead. It helped, but of course only afterwards, not during the horrible fights, the skandali we used to have. (In fact, the more I think about having such a skill, the better it sounds because yes I am overly emotional and reactive at times, and sometimes wish I just didn't care so damn much.)
While I agree that your ability to not be bothered is a wonderful one, I see that it is ruling your life, and I would not want such a thing. The monk and nun's life was never for me, nor the life of any ascetic. Only at times of great pain have I wanted to be "comfortably numb," to anesthetize myself from the hurt, the bullshit, the prickly thorns everywhere. I would like to have access to this "skill," it is obviously really useful, but everything in moderation. The problem for me with the preachings of ascetics, monks, and nuns, is that while they can teach you to live a peaceful existence in which you are constantly striving for some connection with a greater being or knowledge, this is too extreme a disconnection from the world.
You say that you love people. In an "at peace" sort of way, through the lenses of the monk that you wish to be, I'm sure you do. But you do not love the world. You do not want to be part of it. You want to be beyond it. You do not wish to be involved with it or with the people that reside here, you just want to "love" them from a distance, like a god or a deity looking down on the silly humans with their silly, silly emotions. For me, this is not "living," this is a fear and restraint of the corporal, the emotional, the bodily, the animalistic, the physiological. I am proud of my ability to feel pain, love, attachment, anger, irritation, warmth, affection, frustration, etc. Yes, pain and all the negative stuff as well. That is experiencing life - not being afraid to experience the nuances of emotion that come with this strange condition of being human. I embrace it.
You want to escape involvement with others, and that is your choice. I cherish my involvement with others. I have understood much about myself from the reflection of myself in the eyes of the other, mainly through my relationships. That is the most intimate place in which you find out who you are. You can separate yourself from that for the rest of your life if you want, some do, but you will never experience the passion, the joy, the bliss, that I do. I'll take the emotional roller coaster over the monk's peaceful nothingness on most days.
As you have noted, I love the workings of the human mind. But the mind is not some disembodied, spiritual entity floating in outer space. It is physical, corporal, chemical, and emotional. There is no disconnect, disconnect can be a useful or detrimental illusion - depending on the circumstances. The body-mind split has been a topic of debate for centuries, but now we understand that the only split that exists is a fantasy. We are not gods, we are incredibly intelligent animals, endowed with self-consciousness, with the ability to appreciate the absurdity of being Einsteins who shit and sleep and fuck.
I am not afraid of this. I love it. I love the paradox that we are. I would never wish to escape my appreciation and connectedness with the world, except perhaps temporarily, to avoid getting unnecessarily upset about something that is not worthwhile, but otherwise never constantly. Restraining yourself too much from physical pleasure, desire, connection, and emotion is a denial of what you are - I would not wish to live under a rock or in some monastery, (real or symbolic.) The very understanding that I have of the world, the clarity with which I appreciate its nuances, comes from the openness with which I experience its complexity. It is unhealthy to be avoidant of your body and its needs. That is when a human being can eventually explode from the buildup of imbalance in his or her life. I believe in balance, and in not unnecessarily restraining the body but understanding how to help it best work in the crazy, complex reality in which we live. And keep this in mind: while some cultural ideas are useful, others are not. Just because an idea has survived for a long time does not mean it is a good one. Obvious examples being kamikaze pilots and suicide. The same goes for religion, customs, traditions, stereotypes, etc. Try to see beyond what your mother or your father or your teacher or anyone (including me of course,) tells you about the world when you make up your mind - question, question, question - that is one of our greatest powers as human beings.
Monday, April 14, 2008
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.
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.
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