Thursday, November 30, 2006

This is what salvation must be like after a while

Read tonight. Face Muck Red tired of blushing. Smiling Hard. SQUINTING at the light, hard not to see faces. LIQUID courage. And baby I wish you could've seen ME shine. Literary Presence. My present for BEING so patient. My surprise? First Reader. PROUDLY announced. Good JOB. LIKED your Piece. Great. seeing stars seeing far still redfaced.
Don'T care if I never MAKE a RED cent.

  • Passion Pays offfffffffff in dividends

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Fucking Corporate America ...

I can't memorize the sandwich list. Manager boy is hassling me.
M: "Well if you worked at a corporate location, you'd be fired by now."
G: "Good thing I'm not."
M: "They make you take a test your second shift, you have to get at least 80% right, or they fire you"
G: "That's dumb, I'd be out of a job."
M: "How long have you been working here?"
G: "About four glorious months."
M: "What's on a Country Club?"
G: "I don't know"
M: "You don't know?"
G: "No, I don't KNOW. I'm bad at memorizing things."
M: "But it's been four months"
G: "There are a lot of sandwiches. Now do you want me to slice this cheese log or what?"
Manager Boy walks away shaking his head.
Look folks I'm trying to memorize the damn list, does anyone have any memorization tips? My memory is a real problem, now it's affecting my work (ha ha I've always wanted to say that!).
Can't wait till urban co-habitation in the FALL. Can't hardly wait. I'm still riding some inexplicable wave of goodness, but I found some writing from about a month or so ago whereas that wave did not ebb and flow.
It's that weather, the kind that wells up in your gut and makes you feel sorry. Sorry for things you did in the past, sorry for your neighbor whose boyfriend cheated on her, sorry for being a poor friend and a bad listener, sorry for your ex-boyfriend and sorry for your new boy-friend, sorry for that lost soul who can't get his shit together long enough to function to his potential. And on days like this it all hits you at once. Two thousand tons of unfiltered sorry, and all you can do is cry. Not exactly sure for whom or why or for how long. Luckily it hit me at night, and not in the middle of class or while making sandwiches. I didn't sleep but I crawled into bed, curled into the fetal position, and let my pillow catch the tears. I walked out of the runway and stifled my sorry sobs. Sat on the toilet. Tired of being sad. Roommate, rapped gently. That even sounded sad, "Last Unicorn, are you okay?" I choked back phlegm and despair, "Uh-huh Roomie sorry for waking you I - I- I'm fine." I finally fell asleep around four a.m. My big sister woke me up in the early morning with baby names. I didn't like the name, but I knew that this was the best way to wake up. I'm going to make a conscious decision not to live in the past. Not mine, not yours, not Wallace Steven's, not even neighbortron's. That's hard when I have a past like you dear.
Mmmm. I remember that night. It was such an overwhelming feeling. I had never been so affected. It's good to have those times though. I think I've been on an up and up since. Started two new pieces very exciting. Not too excited about all the academic bull-shit I need to get done in the next two weeks. Shit bags. I turned in an over thirty page critical analysis today. It was heavy on the hands. Reading tomorrow with a microphone. I hate microphones. Ew.

Busy Busy you probably won't see me till the weekend.

Prescribed Sticky Balls and Love Lorn Sponges

It’s funny how much pomp and circumstance people prescribe to their lives.
This is how I want to be perceived; this is what I want you to hear when I’m talking etc. blah blah. Not to say I don’t do the same, but lately I feel like I’m more of a passive observer than an active participant. I’m on a different plane. Not in a holier than thou way, but in a people watching kind of way. I don’t mind this at all, sometimes it’s funny to sit beside myself at a party and wonder about everyone’s motivations, and for once not have any of my own. I don’t talk as much as I used to; I suppose I don’t need as much social stimulation. That could very well be a lie, I still need a ton of social stimulation, but I think I’m in a latent period (ha ha PR vocab in a blog?). Or, I just require a different kind of stimulation, one that this town, these people (besides a very very select few), and these professors (again a select few) cannot provide. Right now I'm sponging up as much as I can before I make my departure.
Sponge Sponge Sponge.

STILL SICK Couldn’t really enjoy Thanksgiving food as much as I like, can’t keep much of anything down. I feel fine, but blech nothing agrees with my insides. Today I ate approx. one half a popcorn ball, a fourth of a dry ass baked potato, two fluid ounces of warm sprite, and about three cups of unsweetened coffee.

Popcorn balls. Ha ha. Got me thinking.
He knew I liked Popcorn balls, and I heard his Grandpa made the best. His grandpa was perfect, a retired something or other, with a porkpie hat and a slight German accent. When he smiled you felt really special. He’d always wear checked button ups and v-neck cardigans. One day while boyfriend did yard work with the men, I sat down for a chat.
He said, “Now, darling I heard you like popcorn balls. Well you haven’t tried mine. The best you’ll ever taste. Christmas wrapped up in sticky kernels. Come see me on Saturday. We’ll cook. My balls are an old family secret; I will show you the way.”
I started giggling and he lit his old man pipe. Boyfriend came in, “let’s go let’s go.”
I didn’t get to cook with him that day, but he sent over a pretty red basket full of his “famous balls.” We gorged ourselves that night, and boyfriend confessed in a sickly sugar coma, “I love you girlfriend, I really love you.” I’m sure I turned green; my reaction, “uhhh Thank You? Let’s have another sticky ball.”


What an awful gal. What an awful feeling he must have felt when a proclamation of love was met with a Thank You? Oh I’m still hopeless. Love eludes me. I’m just not very good at it. At least romantic love, I’m getting better at the rest (hopefully). When on again off again boy told me he loved me I sighed, and convinced him otherwise. That could have been worse than a thank you. Of course karma caught up with me, and the only time I’ve wanted to tell someone I love them, I didn’t. Now it’s unrequited. Serves me right I suppose. So now I manifest my love in other ways. Writing, nature, roommates, best friends. I’ve taken to texting my darling old man, sporadic proclamations of familial love. The only male whom I’m quite absolute would step in front of a speeding bus to save my lovelorn soul. He doesn’t receive enough love from his wife, so I am glad to supplement. We are alike in so many ways and it’s quite a revealing experience getting to know him. Someday I suppose LOVE (love love love) will find me, it has seemingly found everyone else (oh boohoo I know), but until then I think I’m mostly okay with loving life, trees, fathers, words, and the occasional popcorn ball.

Talked to an old friend today, it really lit me up. Feels good to know people struggle, wallow, smile, and drink booze for nerves just like you. From now on he will be dubbed wiseone. Visiting in two weeks, can't wait. Progress is better seen over a cup of shitty coffee. I have another reading tomorrow, with my class this time. Less Nervous, but not really. I'm reading something I really dig though, first time I've ever done RED well. Microphone, ew. Published a story and an old poem check em' Or a Writer's Burden and Kinks.

Kinks is an oldie, about ex-lover, still makes me feel happy. Provided the un-happy circumstances these days (oh boo-hoo I know). Didn't think it would get published. Or a Writer's Burden was the first thing I wrote this year. I like it a lot, but since submission it's been bastardized in various forms. I love it, but I'm not sure as a whole. Oh well first steps in a very long journey!

oh and this is so kitschy of me but hell, I've been in a kitschy mood, and it's my blog.

anyway it works with my title. what the hell am I doing up so late?

Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.
- Albert Einstein

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Stranger Than Fiction

Break is over, back to busy. Boo.

America, by Simon & Garfunkel is one of the most perfect songs in my life.

This passion that I've found, is sometimes overwhelming. I am astounded by the immense possibilities laid out before me. I feel as though I may be exactly where I should be in this big ol' world.

I decided to end my break with a bang ... mhmm I'm a rebel, I saw a moving picture!
Stranger Than Fiction, is one of the better movies I've seen in the past six months (perhaps longer). Three of my most favorite actors starred in this delectable piece of cinema (Maggie Gyllenhaal, Will Ferrell, and Dustin Hoffman). Maggie is a wonderful actress and a true beauty. Will Ferrell has such a thick awareness of self. He can play funny, he can play ironic, and he certainly played lead character Harold Crick amazingly. The movie was about a simple man leading a simple life. But of course so much more. One day Harold Crick's mundane life began being narrated by an articulate british woman. Is Harold crazy? How's one to react when your life becomes narrated by a voice, presumably inside your head? The screen play written by a virtual unknown is superb. Look at me, I'll stop right now, I feel like a film critic (I'm no critic).

I just love to watch movies.

See this film it will make you excited about really living your life. Then let's have a talk.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006


Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Man, oh man, I'm thankful for so much. I haven't the server space for that. So suffice it to say I don't save up my thanks for one day of the year. I feel really great about this holiday season. I'm in a damn good place right now. Don't know where it is I'm going or whom I will be going with, but I know it will be a wild journey. If I have to pick the top thing I am thankful for well it is most definitely love and patience. I've got a lot of both in my life, and I would be a hapless hack without it. You people know who you are, thanks for the massive amounts of love and patience that it takes to keep this ol' android up an runnin! I will try my damndest to continually return that which is given to me (and then some).

Thank you thank you THANK YOU tHaNk YoU ThAnK yOu
and on and on forever and ever and into the endless winter sunset

a connection was made and that's all I needed.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

I thought he said maple leaves

Jens Lekman, now he's the kind of guy I could get along well with.


I haven't been dreaming lately. This is probably a good thing, better sleep, but I don't like it much.
I'm getting really good at sauteing mushrooms. Yipeeeee.

little known fact: Mushrooms contain lots o' calcium.

A great man passed on today: RIP Robert Altman you made me laugh a ton. Kudos for being brave enough to take risks and leaps in an industry wear risks are viewed as hangman's nooses.
I got a lot of writing done today, but it was of the academic persuasion, Blech.

Where have all my dreamy dreams gone? Ahh yes, I use them up during the day.

Monday, November 20, 2006


Breaks are nice. Catching up on sleep, eating, exercise, crafts, people etc.

STILL NO MAIL. But holy hell the weather is amazing. Late November and I'm not perpetually complaining about the cold. Haily Mary it is a miracle!
Didn't get as much writing done today as I would have liked, but this is today's favorite sentence: I was a grape amongst the prunes.

Run-in with ex-boyfriend #6 last night. It was actually pretty glorious. How run-ins with exes should be. I can only pray that if their is ever a run in with ex-lover it could be half as amazing! Ex#6's jaw dropped. I literally watched his mandible un-hinge.

Tonight for exercise, I perused my roommates dvd collections, and found two gems:

Yoga for Weightloss, bored me to tears.
Carmen Electra's Aerobic Strip Tease, did NOT make me feel sexy, or very aerobic.

Conclusion: Writer defaulted and danced around in her undies for cardio benefits.

Not Aerobic

Sunday, November 19, 2006

Wish List

Is it too early for a christmas list? We already put up our tree so I say NO!
1) Vintage type-writer (must work, 1965 or prior, EBAY!)
2) Record Player
3) Cardigans
4) Gift certificates to grocery stores and restaurants
5) A wood-burning kit (eh eh Tory)
6) Dresses
7) Warm socks
8) Books
9) A nice leather bound journal

I am eagerly awaiting my literary splurges in the mail. I shamelessly ordered a book that will help me with the enigmatic and illustrious comma that I so often abuse (if you read this blog, go ahead correct my comma usage). No doubt "Eat shoots, and leaves" will make me a better writer. My second book is my literary nemesis' chap book. She doesn't know she's my nemesis. Actually she's not my nemesis at all. Let me explain. A young lady from New York came to do a poetry reading at my school. I thought her performance/what she read was terrible. My proffessor (who will go unnamed) had a few choice words to say about her as well. Then I found out that she was a Stanford Stegner fellow, which means she gets paid thousands of dollars to just write. A coveted spot among artists. I was perplexed by this woman.

But alas the wonder of the world wide web, has shown me the light. Through her blog, and exploring her writing, I have grown to at least respect the Sing Songy Stegner Fellow. We have a favorite book in common (The Passion by Jeneatte Winterson READ IT!), and she has a very romantic way of looking at her world, which I find very interesting. She also referenced Anne of Green Gables in one of her blogs! The Anne of Green Gables series is a large part of me and my big sister's childhood. Anyway reading Sing Songy's chapbook will certainly be the deciding factor upon which I base my decision.

Anne Shirley: I know I chatter on far too much... but if you only knew how many things I want to say and don't. Give me SOME credit.

Friday, November 17, 2006

when this and that falls away

and tonight lit up like magic. thursday night, not a minute too late. instead of drink drunk. I stayed in with 2 1/2 of the most beautiful life shapers in the world. my roommates. put up green tree, green tree, o tannebaum. shiny ornaments. homeade cider with real spice. and we saw our life lit up from the outside and we were proud and happy and our hearts soared into the night. we laughed till we cried and smiled at being in the presence of true friends. for a moment we forgot about bills, heartbreak, fluctuating weight, and the expectations of the elders.
we sang we sang we sang. opera, stuffy nose, unsure, and tone deaf. perfection and I think if god was around he'd say
"shit I need to hire them as my back-up singers."

home, gee, that's where my heart is.

got another reading coming up Nov. 28 or something. still get the nervous jitters. reading something old and close to my heart. close and very far away. been listening to a lot of music that makes me feel like creating.
Good feeling, I don't even mind the cold ... yet.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Ay Que Lindo!

This morning the baby and I couldn't stop smiling at each other. I'd cover her face with the blanket and she'd coo in delight till I pulled it off Peek-A- BOO! Baby laughed so hard, and when I looked away she'd furrow her brow until I caved. She drank her bottle and fell asleep mid-suck. I couldn't bear to wake her up, so her and I lay silently on the floor. I feel sorry for all the people who don't have a little baby around to perpetually keep them in awe. Someday I would have one of my own. I wonder if when I stare into her fragile glass eyes I could see me and her father and all the love and chromosones it took to make her.

But that's not what I'm here for today. In the laze of the sleepy morning I got to watch a little t.v. Probably the most I've watched all semester.
I saw the documentary Yo soy Boricua, Pa'que tu lo Sepas! I was so ashamed. When had I lost my culture? When did I give up on espanol? Did it start with ex-boyfriend? Him chiding my culture playfully? Did it begin when I stopped spending so much time in the domestic sphere? Or was it college life surprisingly devoid of cafe skin and sassy accents?

My round ass has let me down. In middle school it had reminded me what, for once, I had that the other girls did not. I used to display my flag obnoxiously, like so many other loud banana bundlers. When did sugar cane and platanos stop tasting so good? Now I dream idly if only I could go to Europe, when days of old I would dream about the moon-lit beaches of Arecibo where I was once concieved.

The documentary was about the history of Puerto Rico, where it's at, and where it's going. Such beauty marooned against such proverty. How proud my heritage is and resilient. They, we, were invaded by the red white and blue. Ravaged by venture capitalists and Uncle Sam's insatiable sweet tooth. Puerto Rico was reduced to a big sugar plantation and rum factory. 50% of Puerto Rico is currently at the poverty level. Fifty fucking percent. But amidst the poverty boricuans continue to dance, sing, and proudly wave their flags. Because no matter how poor, they know that they live in the richest port in the whole world.

In the documentary I discovered the poetic beauty of Pedro Pietri. One of the famed Nuyorican poets, he captured the essence of what it is like to be a boricua living in the United States. In his poem "The Spanglish National Anthem" I swear he was writing about my old Papi.

As a little girl I was so much closer to my culture. I would go with my dad down to river street to visit my Tio Nino. As soon as I walked in a barrage of hands would assault me. They smelled like guava and arroz con frijoles. Tia Ancy would pinch my cheeks, "Aye que lindo!" My dad would play dominos in the front room, while I sat under the kitchen table and played barbie dolls. I was only six or seven, but they always gave me a little coffee to drink, "Yesse, cafe for you baby. No tell jour mami, Okay?" Lots of milk and even more sugar, now I drink at least two cups a day. Sometimes they'd give me "candy", and it would be cherry cough drops! Even though my little blond hair stuck out like a stalk of broccoli in a coconut tree they always made me feel like a little boricua nina. The documentary reminded me of a beautiful part of myself that had been forgotten.

Ahhh rediscovering oneself is always a beautiful process. It's like make-up sex without getting all sweaty!

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

As if I don't have enough to do already ...

Yeah, I'm an overextender.

A late start (the story of my life), I plan on 25,000 words by November 30!
That will be the longest body of work, I've composed in my entire life.
Scary and exciting.

Cheers and good luck to me!

Boys who like girls (awkward, bespectacled, sassy girls)

"I do want to live next to you and fall in love with you for real."

If I believed half of the stuff that boys said to me I'd be a real mess.

Luckily distance has kept me from any real life heart shaped risks.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Summer in November

She's growing on me, that sing songy Stegner fellow. It's better for your karma not to hate people anyway. I may even learn a thing or two ... maybe.

68 degrees and sunny. I'm wearing my green dress, with the navy blue piping. I feel so confident in this dress. My back hurts from last night, but I'm so happy I don't even care.
I don't know exactly why I'm so happy, but I think it has something to do with the future.

The other day I put the ex-lover in a time capsule. It was precious. I hope I forget before everyone else does ...

Life IS Beautiful!

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

VOTE GREEN, or blue or red, or whatever it is you are aligned with.
Hell, do what my mom does and vote for Bozo! Just vote for gosh-sakes.

Monday, November 06, 2006

An assault on everything
Deemed Sophisticated

Fuck you.
I'm from the Midwest,
I've got frost and heat rash.

Fuck the new yorker
you bore me to tears.

From coast to coast
Boston to San Diego,
landlocked is where it's at

Fuck you caviar, cristal, and pate
you impale my palette.
Give me rice pudding, french fries, and fancy ketchup.

Fuck you fishnet stocking
sing songy
stegner fellow.

I like my music on the seedy side,
No harpsichord or well tuned strings.

Muddy Water sweating like a sow, no sexy inflated
bustier rocketing him to the top o' the pops.

Bob Dylan snorting cocaine off a piano is a real gas
not, because I advocate drugs,

but because I advocate rock & roll excess and
sloppy creative wanderings (trips).

Who makes these rules?
Is it you?
Because I'm just unsophisticated enough to
punch you right in the face.

That is if it will allow me the right to:

drink straight from the cotainer
rest my damned elbows on the table
mix black and brown
wear white after labor day.

But, I'm a mid-western pacifist.

I'll just stay out too late
Kiss too long, and talk out of turn.

Reservation is overrated,
just ask the Indians.
My Date with Fidel
They made it a contest.
Win a date with a dictator!
My, that's very appealing
Unfortunately it was government sponsored
Subversion was on their minds
Fifteen minutes in, the agenda wasn't so hidden
Castro brought me a coconut and a cigar
It wasn't even a Cubano
He had an American flag pinned to his lapel
He asked me where I live and who I voted for
I asked him where HE lived and who HE voted for
He had croissant stuck in his beard
They didn't even bother to hide their motivations anymore
He said take me to your leader, I asked if he meant my mom
"Little guy, big ears"
I see. Date's over. I politely rose.
Thanks but I don't smoke
I told him to go to or perhaps DC
I think this false facade was more for their amusement
Democracy looked better with a pretty face
as I walked out of the dive, I heard snickering
The Patriot Act had been watching all along
The gentleman never comes out on top.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Today I'm feeling nostalgic.
I remember
the one thing you tried to teach me:
Demand more.

Funny how you've already turned into that, Professor tender button the sophisticate, a black market nostalgia runner. Please don't tell anyone I've dipped into our stash.
My stash.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Virgin Epistolary

Exes and Exes and Sexes
still the same
preserved innocence
as when you left
one of the last unicorns