after electronically thumbing through bukowski's musings. i've come to the conclusion that we spend our lives bouncing back and forth between the need to be alone and the desire to share life in the witnessing... whether desire or need, it's just the way we are. there's no use in fighting it really.

Attention

There are a series of images in front of you. There are a few patterns that leave an impression, a visual imprint that becomes a familiar feeling. One day you notice something; an image you haven't seen before. You wonder if something changed, if the pattern was replaced. You start to question memory and loss of comprehension. The lines drawn and color fades. You think... "I need to start paying more attention."

Neon

I have this feeling... you know the feeling you get when you want to say something but you don't quite have the words? A feeling like being on edge, on the verge. All rush and no decline. I have this feeling... The approach blurs into the leaving and I am left standing on the curb watching a never ending line. Neon blind.

mellows like snow fall

My mind is on holiday I think... Maybe hibernating for winter and I am relying on only my body to get me through. Oh this is not good. I feel heavy and slow. There are things I would like to do like sledding, snowboarding, drink hot cocoa, send smoke signals to someone i don't know, watch planes navigate the starry sky, skate away on ice. Oh I don't know. I will just sit here and sigh, when I should be sleeping or working or creating... something, (shouldn't I?).

paper dolls

Petite hands wield pressed pulp to pliancy.
Still and all we palpate gently.
Pinch and paper dolls tear easily.

What goes on

"Do you realize what just happened... the enormity of what we just did?"

This question wasn't meant for me. The voice echoed off the stairwell's concrete walls and there I was by inconsequential necessity. Think of all the conversations going on this minute... Audible life stories, digging deeper with language, with the substantial weight of sound. It makes me sleepy. And the electrified exchanges spark and flame but the quiet here puts it out.

Goodbye Emily Dickinson

Everyone is talking, even the geese flying in V formation are chattering. The cause for commotion? Winter is here suddenly and full blown. The first big snow fall was a blizzard and the next day the temperature dropped suddenly from the 30's to 1, 2, 6 degrees. Winter has officially arrived and I don't own a shovel. Having busted my neighbors shovel I now have to buy two.

I'm painting again, though the ideas are slow to transpire from head to hand. I don't feel the need to rush though. There are a few activities I should throw myself back into after a long hiatus... like cooking (I've been saying this since July). Winter months mean lots of soup and stew which are easy enough to prepare. I've discovered something about myself recently though... I apparently dislike following written instructions (this is a challenge for cooking if I need to look up a recipe). Running is another thing... I've been lazy about running lately. My standard excuses are "I'm so busy" and "it's so cold" or "I haven't eaten enough to go running" (see above). I have on the otherhand been spending time with friends and this makes me feel warm and whole. Goodbye Emily Dickinson, hello you.

1902

In the morning on my way to work, I pass by a building that is situated near the train tracks. The building address is marked clearly in black Sans-serif font. It reads "1902."

In 1902 Mount Pelée erupted twice in Martinique. The first eruption fell on Ascension day and killed over 30,000 people, which must have seemed like a terrible coincidence to doomsday believers and end of the world enthusiasts. The second main erruption occurred on May 20th and took more lives in its wake. Like aftershocks with earthquakes, the volcano didn't just go away quietly. It continued to erupt over the next few months. I don't think I would want to live near a volcano. It doesn't seem very safe.

She blinks

Her tempered glance falls sideways
No one is hurt in the shattering
The edges are dull but heavy
Eyes behind the screen
No one is hit
She blinks

Dear Colette

This poem is perfect and I couldn't have expressed my love of Colette any better... and how sad is it that so many wonderously talented women have taken there own life? Here's to Colette and all her strength and endurance of heart and mind.

Dear Colette by Erica Jong
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.

I want to tell you how your face
enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . .
hangs above my desk
like my own muse.

I want to tell you how your hands
reach out from your books
& seize my heart.

I want to tell you how your hair
electrifies my thoughts
like my own halo.

I want to tell you how your eyes
penetrate my fear
& make it melt.

I want to tell you
simply that I love you--
though you are "dead"
& I am still "alive."

Suicides & spinsters--
all our kind!

Even decorous Jane Austen
never marrying,
& Sappho leaping,
& Sylvia in the oven,
& Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale,
& pale Virginia floating like Ophelia,
& Emily alone, alone, alone. . . .

But you endure & marry,
go on writing,
lose a husband, gain a husband,
go on writing,
sing & tap dance
& you go on writing,
have a child & still
you go on writing,
love a woman, love a man
& go on writing.
You endure your writing
& your life.

Dear Colette,
I only want to thank you:

for your eyes ringed
with bluest paint like bruises,
for your hair gathering sparks
like brush fire,
for your hands which never willingly
let go,
for your years, your child, your lovers,
all your books. . . .

Dear Colette,
you hold me
to this life.

Making lists

Today I...
*got the oil changed in my car along w/ rotation of tires and a wash.
*bought fabric with little gold stars to sew curtains in my bedroom.
*recovered my kitchen stool with newly purchased oil cloth.
*washed two loads of laundry.
*made dinner.
*came up with a new treat of rice, milk and honey warmed up on the stove.
*read lord byron's poetry.
*decided to write my own poem.
*thought it turned out silly.
*became aware of the full moon.
*fell in love with this song:

*washed dishes.
*fed cat twice.
*didn't drink enough water.
*or eat breakfast and i realize that was a mistake.
*thought about someone.
*marked off items on my to do list.
*made this list of things i did.
*remembered that there's more i need to do still.

The scene

The tangle of limbs
shiver and flex
as a bird in the thicket
flits her wings
hopping from branch to branch
causing a scene
in the hollow of daybreak
on an otherwise becalmed
and wintery morning