The Critical Voice Is A Red Wire

Forget. Forgo all necessary information.
Please stop walking into walls.
Reflection is a virtue.
Emotionally the space allotted was too large.
Back of the throat holds an apple, a box.
Glass is a mirror without lead.
Compassion is blue.
Do not put the red wire in a glass.
Voices are on the other side of doors are hinges.
Batter, batter, swing.
Rain never enters in a closed window.
Repeat the directions. Strike one.
She does not dream of Alice.
The girl calls everyone John.
Follow the signs. Strike two.
The only direction is away.
Narcissistic is a lovely word.
She does not date well. Alice
Red wires belong in boxes.
Windows require less space.

my boots arent made for walking

 These are my boots. The car is not mine. It is almost 10 o’clock and the boots and I are going dancing. I am Annie Oakley. I have boots, a skirt and a gun. What more could a girl want?

Yes, there is that….

 

All the people I’ve ever loved were gathered in a dream; swam below like fish only to grow wings.

 
 

This photo is from our favorite Chinese restaurant, my kids go there mainly b/c there’s a circle in the middle of the table that lets us spin the food to each other. This is almost like dinner theatre to my children. I go there because of a mirror which reflects onto the street and when you look, it feels like we are all in a bowl, which of course we are.

Tis the season of the first book manuscripts: Yale, Breadloaf. Tis the season of me pulling my hair out over “a” and “the”, finding type O’s after reading the bloody thing four hundred times. Tis the season of the mad, the crazy.

Grief is an odd friend…it pushes me to work more on the book b/c I don’t want to think. I can loose myself in my work like nothing else. Yet of course, now being older I know grief waits for me like an old man with a ticket in his pocket, patient for the bus to simply pull over.

We are all in a bowl. The world is funny like that.

I promise I will be out of my fish fixation soon

 
 

The fish photos below are titled “things to do in a Chinese restaurant when you are really, really bored.” Plus I am trying to teach the girls how to use a camera. Olivia has an excellent eye—this and her circus skills will serve her well.

I am off to teach a ten hour day. My father called at 6 am to tell me the Mexican government is shipping every American out today. They are boarding them on buses and flying them out. We don’t know where. My brother had a ticket to leave today but now it is not valid. The saga continues.

This means when I travel with the girls this winter to South America my parents are going to be neurotic and my poor brother is not leaving home for a long time. If of course he gets there…any day now.

 
 

I’m drawn to any animal that lives longer than man: koi, turtles, parrots, whales, octopus..ect. There’s something about having to will your fish to someone after you keel over that seems right. And oddly, it seems safer to love. The average dog lasts about 8 years then has to buried in the back yard.

Tonight I am thinking about “safe love” and I am sure it has something to do with longevity. And fish. When the person I love no longer remembers my name, there will be this beautiful silver line swimming somewhere.

 
 

Things I realized today:

somehow, someone attached my mother’s hands to my wrists

driving in a red car, very fast is fun

if you turn up the music loud enough, you can hear it in your heart

I may die

I may die before I write all the books I want to write

I may die before I write ANY of the books I want to write

I cannot make myself want it less

The critical voice I’m paying a therapist to evict is drinking tea in my living room

My hands may look like my mother’s but they not

There’re three ways to tie a shoe, one involves only the thumb

Theory of relativity does not equal numbers

Rewiring the brain: connect the blue wire to the red

I do not want you less

The critical voice is a red wire.

More is something only music understands

Narcissistic is a lovely word but she does not date well

sad news

I just found out that my friend, poet Richard Zola has died.

He collasped at work a few weeks ago
and found out he had advanced pancreatic cancer.

I will miss you and your voice…

i write because i have a tribal mentality and no campfire…richard zola

I need your top three books printed in 2005

Poets and Writers have their emerging writers, most of them I had not read and now I want to know what you think. Who are your favorite first collection for the year?

Honeymoon from Hell

Now I can start breathing again…my brother called yesterday and he and Beth are safe. Thank God. However he is trapped down there because United Air is saying all the tickets dated during the hurricane are invalid. He was supposed to fly out Sunday. My dad bought him new tickets yesterday (not on United Air…and I am not repeating here what my father said they can do with their tickets;) The only problem is there’s no way to contact him and tell him he has tickets. Supposedly there is a lot of looting, gang activity in his area and my father wants to get him home RIGHT NOW. Hopefully he will call today.

He is safe and thank you all for the support and emails. I still however feel incredibly sad for all the people in that area and I feel angry about the way media portrayed the hurricane; if it wasn’t happening on American soil it wasn’t important. I heard more about Florida before the hurricane even hit then Mexico. It never seems we are one people.

early hours of sky 

Already the dead are beginning to say to us their names. You say wind, I say tree. The pit of the peach has no flesh. Yes, stone. Eighth grade science found two fruit flies in a jar produce five by days end. Mating in clear glass, there’s no sound. You say cold, I say prison. There’s only one way to open a lid, the opposite of time. Travel the road of a clock, everything will tighten, nothing escapes. Say a name; together two hands form a bowl. Whisper your word here and my thumb will be a handle to your mouth. You say drink, I say now. The opposite of time is patience. The hand is not meant to be a cup; an instrument of language it’s merely a tool for saying hello, goodbye.

On my wish list this morning, besides of course the obvious “ An Anthology of Contemporary Russian Poets. Because well, I’m that kind of girl ;) One of the best things about being a poet besides the dark clothing is seeing other people who work hard and are recognized for this.

Huge Congratulations to Mr. G.C. Waldrep: G.C. Waldrep of Iowa City, Iowa, won the seventh annual Campbell Corner Poetry Prize for “The Batteries.” And if you haven’t read his book Gold Beater’s Skin go buy it.

I am trying to keep my mind off not hearing from my brother by concentrating on Yale. My goal for the next month is to spend at least two hours a day on my writing (by the way this does not include blogging which somehow I included in the past.) So far it’s going well. I tend to let myself go in waves which, I suppose is okay for writing new work but not so much for putting a book together. Besides as Laux says, if you open the door a poem might come in.

I suck at discipline. I eat good food. I would never run unless something was chasing me. My goals are simple. Wake up. Write. Edit. Do an occasional dish. Oh and of course read…

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