i stayed up so late last night! so late that when the alarm went off at 5 i didn't even hear it. and when my sweetie tried to rouse me 45 minutes later, i sat up, looked at him, and my sight was shaky- something that used to happen to me during my last semester in school when life was GO GO GO and sleep was a rare gift. so i grumbled "one more hour" and laid back down and slept for 3. ha!
i went out to the city last night for one of my friend's openings. the show was gorgeous and i was so inspired and happy to be there. and i lost track of time laughing with people and meeting new people and, before i knew it, it was 10:45 and i still had an hour and a half drive back home, out here to my little spot in the countryside. but i had a fantastic time. it was one of those nights where it's so hard to pull back on the reigns and detach from the happiness at hand. amazing. well worth being tired. well worth the snag in my "schedule". ha! besides... it's friday and drizzling and i've already given myself permission to say the weekend has arrived. :)
lately, i've been spending my weekends with my nose jammed in a book and it has been such a gorgeous experience. i count myself incredibly lucky to have been exposed to the work of such amazing and skilled writers. and reading is so integral to my practice. such a necessity. this huge influx of ideas is my favorite environment- tall grass to roll in, warm and without judgement. and taking in all these words, all these images and metaphors and philosophies and theories and poems and gestures is so much like drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream on top. so comforting and safe. it's an experience in which i feel completely myself, completely at home. i hope the used books i ordered from amazon show up in my mail box today. especially "A Lover's Discourse" by Mr. Wonderful, Roland Barthes, my love. swoon swoon.
and of course, our big built-in excuse to be BIG FAT POETRY NERDS! YAY!!!!!
yesterday, after posting the first poem of the month by the untouchable Sharon Olds, i got in a wonderful email exchange with Jeff Callico about her work- how forceful and hard and gorgeous it is, and how, like Bukowski, she doesn't mess around with metaphor... she wanders the autobiographical and presents the shit, the mess, the joy, the jumble of living. and it made me want to read all her books all over again. to dive in to these black lines and float there on the rim of her life, the memories that crawl back and back again, that twist the present, that caress or corrupt a day.
so let us hold on to her black rope again. a double shot. she is worth it. and she is required reading, for sure.
a poem for Good Friday. ;)
The Pope's Penis
It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate
clapper at the center of a bell.
It moves when he moves, a ghostly fish in a
halo of silver seaweed, the hair
swaying in the dark and the heat- and at night,
while his eyes sleep, it stands up
in praise of God.
(from The Gold Cell)
these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.
thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.
my artist website is here.
my artist website is here.