girl, your voice breaks my heart...

.

the desperation is overwhelming.  i know it inside and out.  how many years?  even as a young girl?  how many silly evenings did i spend wishing on the first star for a way out?  and now, with no parents to run from, i still identify with this eagerness.  i spent too many years inside such hunger.

but now i live in a city. i know how to wait tables. there's nothing to run from these days.  i can write poems in the evenings and dream in my lonely hours of hands in my hair, a man that might understand me or, at least, a song like this.  i can read whatever terrible philosophy finds me.  i can curl up beneath a blanket i made with my own two hands.  just me and my crochet hook and a bit of yarn, just like my mama, just like my daddy.  where the fuck did those two go?  oh yeah, one died and the other decided it wasn't worth the trouble.  life.  and so i listen to this song and ache.  people i haven't seen in a decade leave messages on my phone and my eyes sting with tears.  but that was a different life.  i'm not that little girl anymore.  i'm not a little girl at all.  i'm 32 years old.  i'm grown.  i've been thrown against the wall and come face to face with some shit that was way before its' due.  and i'm not mad about it, just please attempt some understanding...  i can't be younger than i am.  i can't be 32 in certain ways.  in certain ways, i'm so much older than that.  how old were you when your mother died?   did you have a stable job?  did you have a spouse?  did you lose a spouse? did you have children?  were they grown?  were they in college?  see, when i was in college i was taking care of my dad.  he's a quadriplegic.  i would go to class and then race home to cook dinner, do the laundry and be a confidant.  on the weekends, sometimes, i'd paint pictures that were sold in a gallery in san francisco.  people only saw the paintings.  they didn't see what went on behind them.  i wasn't a good enough artist at that point.  i didn't know how to make it apparent.  i didn't want to.  i've spent alot of years feeling very alone and very ashamed.

but not anymore.  and no matter.  it's just that i love this song.  and while it plays i crave the same shit she sings of...  that goddamn ache, that reprieve.  just put your hands in my hair, kiss me hard and make me feel like none of this matters, that i am somewhere else...


....


at intervals, i feel like one big gaping wound....  

or one big block of ice. 

does it matter which?  i still need your mouth.  i still need your hands.  i am still a human being, equipped with all the tawdry longings and secrets that most possess, and i still want a strong arm around my shoulder.


i play the old tunes that our parents put on the stereo when we were children.  my heart aches something awful.  not for what might have been but for what is.  and in spite of how i feel tonight, i love us kids with such ferocity.  they don't see it but we have been made so much more beautiful because of what we've come through, dear brother and sister.  the task is for us to see it.  and then, to believe it. 

;)


.

love

.


one of my closest friends gave birth to her first child yesterday morning.

700 miles between us and i feel so overcome.

when i spoke to her yesterday, i started crying and choking all over my emotions. so silly... i don't know how it is that i became the sort of person that gets so choked up at births and weddings but i do. i cried at her wedding and now at the birth of her son. even thinking of it now my eyes sting. and blubbering on the phone with her i told her how proud i was of her, how much i love her and that i'll get there as soon as i can. i told her that if she's half as good a mother as she is a friend, the kid is immeasurably blessed. she's an amazing mother already. and we marvelled together at the word: mother. i can't believe it. she has a son. i have a nephew.

i am overcome. so grateful and astounded and rocked to the core by such a deep, abiding love for too many things to name... by things i don't have the language yet to name.

i can't wait to see her and hug her.


.

3 days

yesterday morning, before leaving to go watch the gallery, i bought my plane ticket. i have 3 days to wait. 3 days to get as much work finished as i can before going to tennessee to see my mom. it is down to that. this is not a freak-out. it's time. and i can't tell you how bad and sick my heart feels. it's hard to do anything. but i feel so much lighter since buying the ticket and making a plan. in 3 days i can hold her. 3 days. 3 days.

i'll be gone about a week and will spend as much time hugging her and looking at her as i can.

i have buried myself in books and crochet. i am making red roses this time. blood roses maybe. i don't know what they are or what to call them just yet... only that they save me. they hold me together. red roses twisted between my fingers and the novels of Jean Rhys digested one after the other. i'm on 'Quartet' now.

a boy came in the gallery yesterday and spent a long time staring at the Worry Roses. he was maybe 20 or 21. i didn't interrupt him. he pulled a small notepad out of his bag and copied down the information about the piece from the tag on the wall. after awhile, i asked him if he had any questions and he came and sat by me in the enormous window at the front of the gallery. he started talking about the roses and choked on his words when he said: that piece... standing in front of it, i just got so sad. could you tell me about it? his eyes seemed wet and i was so struck by his emotion. a total stranger. what a huge gift that was for me. tremendous.

we sat in the window and talked for about 10 minutes and then he was on his way. we shook hands and smiled at each other. it was a very lucky moment.




Worry Roses (for my mother, for myself)
dimensions variable
300 crochet units
2010


detail


it's weird... the piece doesn't photograph well. it looks so small in these pictures but in real life it's huge. it's enveloping. a big embrace.

pain

that feeling in your stomach, in your throat- the awful, the fear, the indescribable, unbelievable, unthinkable. my heart crystallizes. the mad hand flings in to the floor like a plate. smash smash smash smash, over and over again, stuck on repeat, a scratch in the seam, my heart dashed to pieces over and over again.

simone weil says we should suffer passively... accept our suffering, let our pain wash over us, that we must not resist it, that we must accept it. she says that in this way we become aware of our humanity, our nearness to God. that it is in such a state that we can at least see the veil that separates ourselves from our Maker. that in this state we do not add to the evil in the world. it is running from pain, resisting the fact of pain, doing whatever we can to stop our pain, that cultivates cruelty.

and in moments of lucidity, of calm, of intellectual poise, i agree. when i have achieved that cool distance, i look back at the pain of life and i agree. i look ahead at all the imaginary hurts that the future contains and i agree. i write let it polish me, oh Lord...

but in the present-tense, in the moment of it, my Ethics and Philosophies come face to face with my human frailty. my human frailty kicks up, rises to the surface, overcomes me... and where i once said i agree, i beg why? it rises up, screaming, NOT YET! NOT YET!

it is the Horror of watching the advance of terminal illness. the Horror of being able to see mortality, to know death is coming. we know it and we can't stop it. every day, every day. and here i am, so far from her. every day, every day, reading while i wait for the dreadful phone call. and just like a child, tempted to turn off my phone so that the call can never come.

i hate this so much.

this morning, i watched the sky change from out my bedroom window. as the it struggles toward dawn, it finds the most lovely shade of cornflower blue. deep and cool. it is a color that has always comforted me. it was the color crayon i used as a child to fill in all our eyes. all of us with the same eyes. all of us with her eyes. our pretty mama. we all match.

time is out of order. all the numbers are mixed up. it isn't supposed to go like this. we should have another 40 years.

in, and with, honor

today is my brother's birthday and my birthday is on friday.

when we were kids, more often than not, we'd celebrate our birthdays together. two birds, one stone = two kids, one cake. :) and even though i didn't really like that at the time, the memory is very sweet now.

a few weeks ago, my brother started a conversation about the importance of trying, in any small way, to make this week somehow different than all the weeks that have come and gone. the blur of time and routine. and he made a charge to hold that as a weekly goal.

and we talked about how reading a book or taking a walk is very much a political act these days. every choice endorses a particular way of life. how a person chooses to spend their time states a preference about what a person values. and making those choices thoughtfully gives rise to positive action. as a form of Resistance to the deep level of consumerism/greed that our nation currently resides in, taking a walk or sitting on the floor of a used book store and reading some poetry for free is a very good way to begin. while i'm doing these things i'm outside the nagging feeling of Powerlessness. i'm outside that circle of defeat. instead, i begin struggling toward a deeper faith. faith in anything. faith in everything. but faith nonetheless. my conscious comes forward and i can look at the world through a new lens that encompasses compassion and realizes the need to keep sight of what Nietzsche said:

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.


or this statement by Albert Schweitzer:

Example is not the main thing in influencing others. It is the only thing.


these are very hard things to do. very. but the attempt toward maintaining one's honor and personal values in the face of anger and outrage is so so so important. there is a heavy wind of angry blame blowing across our country. maybe it has always been there but, the current level of hate-mongering that seems to have become permissible (if not outright acceptable), is scary to me. it is alarming to me. and it has taken a huge amount of personal strength to not fire back at people who practice hate speech (in whatever form).

it's one reason why i was so quiet on my blog last week. i've been trying to swallow my own advice and apply it.

and so today, in honor of my brother's birthday and the massive triumph he has accomplished in overcoming our personal past, the fact he IS a self-made man who employs an inspiring amount of dedication toward the goals he has chosen for himself, i will undertake the huge 3.5 mile run this morning. when i come home, i will eat a healthy breakfast of fruit and greek yogurt, i will get back to my work, i will draw and write and read and learn something. learn anything. and i will make a conscious sustained effort to not inadvertently practice (and thereby endorse) modes of interaction that i find to be unethical, abusive, and yep immoral.

blame is a superficial emotion. guilt does not require blame in order to exist. and anger is not wrong or bad- it is how a person chooses to express it that is either positive, negative, or of no consequence whatsoever. i will choose to express my anger by focusing my attention on my own morality and see where I missed the mark... find the place where I slipped, look for the site of improvement that exists within myself and take action there.

my brother is 32 today. on friday i'll be 30. :) i am looking forward to this new number in particular. i'm enjoying seeing a grown-up Womanhood take hold of my body and mind. i'm enjoying noticing how i am coming in to my own now. i'm enjoying seeing my brother grow and change and become stronger and more and more dedicated to ethics. i'm enjoying figuring out how to blend lived experience with theory and philosophy and the creative impulse. and, for however hard it is to accomplish, i enjoy the charge to somehow make this week of my life different from all the others. i can start by making myself, my inner world, a bit different. to make my insides match my outsides and vice versa. to live what i believe. and to choose what i believe with care, love, and lots of self-examination.

happy birthday, andy. i love you and i am so proud of you.

we will erect a barricade of our own.

oh strange, oh chaotic, oh insipid madness. where have you come from?

impromptu visit to southern california this weekend. family madness. this time from the other side. normally, it's my family that calls with the RUSH RUSH NOW NOW (and for very good reason lately), but this time it was my partner's and i owe him one. to tag along, at least, really is the least i can do. and that's exactly what he asked me for so that's exactly what i did. threw my jeans and notebook in a bag and grabbed the dog food. 500 miles in a car going down the horrible I-5 just to find out the situation isn't exactly what was told to you on the phone. madness, madness, madness. and MEAN. was anyone dying? no. were we told that death was on the horizon? yes. was that the real reason for the call? apparently not. CON. SCAM. and then the massive agitation, the sweep of deep sadness: learning that the people you haven't seen in 7 years haven't changed one bit... that the reason for such tremendous, unbreakable distance is a good one and obviously still necessary. but that is A Past that isn't mine to chronicle. suffice to say- sometimes even family must be cut away. i've had to do it too. for as much as it hurts, for as much as it offends common notions of "family", not all of us come from those kinds of families. not all of us were born with roses and white fences and kisses on the cheek. not every baby gets told 'i love you'. some families must splinter. some relations must be severed. it is a hard reality and not fun for anyone. some homes have to break so that there is at least the chance of survival, the chance of escape, the chance to find The Beginning of your own life, that site that so many people seem to take for granted, as a given. it isn't given to us all.

and so there we are, in the horrible heat of southern california. 110 degree (plus) weather and a black dog who only wants to pant in the shade and eat ice-cubes. the heat down there is dangerous for rottweilers and i was worried over my little one the entire time.

but it wasn't all bad. i got to see a pair of my old friends, some of the best i've ever had, some of the best people on the planet, people i count myself extremely lucky to know. we talked talked talked and she showed me Sweeny Todd (the one with Johnny Depp because i hadn't seen it yet) and The Mighty Boosh and lent me her copies of Persepolis and Embroideries. I will mail them back with my copy of A Child's Life by Pheobe Glockner.

we are friends that get nerdy together- graphic novels and musicals and lots of chips and salsa. :) and it felt like no time had passed. none at all. that's when you know you have a real friend, a real and true bond. and i said 'i love you' when i left and so did she and that feels wonderful and sweet and good. i think friends should say 'i love you' more often. i will make a point of doing that, for sure.

and then back up the I-5, me driving this time so that J could sleep. and he slept pretty much the whole way back. lots of cops on the interstate so no one was going 90 miles an hour through the Dust Bowls out there. no one sped past the Cow Killing Floor at Coalinga. for as desolate as it is out there, there's a lot to see if you travel a bit slower. lots of sad stuff to see. it is a horrible drive. and half the rest areas are now closed and barricaded.

i left the radio off and drove in silence the entire way back while my man and my little baby girl dog slept off the heat and agitation of southern california. i thought about what life has been, what it is, how it twirls. and with every mile gained closer to home, watching the temperature fall, and thinking of my paintings and my poems and my blog i was just so thankful. when i passed CalArts i thought NO as an option for grad school one day. too many bad memories in southern california for me and my little family. i don't ever want to live there again, even though CalArts holds some wonderful memories for me, one of the few places down there that do.

we got in the door at 11 last night and tumbled quickly in to bed. when our alarm went off this morning, i had to peel myself out of bed. now, here with my coffee and a new sun up in the air, i feel safe and happy and calm. tired, but no less happy as a result. glad to be home, glad for the life we've built, glad for the simplicity of it, the strength of it, and a renewed commitment to keep going, keep trying, and leave The Past where it belongs.

yep.

i need to go back out to tennessee soon. i miss my mama. i don't think a person ever really grows out of that if you have a good one. i sure do love that woman somethin' sparkling and heavy. with all my heart.

i am growing up.

this morning everything is blue and grey and sometimes green. a new storm is either rolling in or rolling out. it is too early to tell. and yesterday it rained almost all day long. not that it mattered much, me locked up in my oils. i broke away from the canvas during a break in the weather so inga and i could obey The Almighty Jog and half way through it started raining again. not just a sprinkling, a hard rain, and we got pretty soaked. but there was delight even in that. and inga goes all frenzied and undone when her face gets wet, running and bouncing and jumping in all directions at once, a spilling frothing joy.

i hope today is along the same lines.

there is coffee in the pot and hazelnut cream and the scent of oil and rain clung up on all the windows. inga is sleeping next to me. the heater is on. it is a cold morning.

lately i've been feeling a strong need for detachment, for quiet, for distance. and it is not of the tranquil variety. not totally angry either. it is an odd ambivalence that seems to crave a great and impenetrable distance and lots of time spent in thought or allowing distraction to sweep my mind back up in to a pile that can function without becoming clogged with resentment. i am working my way back to the things that i believe in, the things that i think are relevant and important and necessary. i am mapping and collecting and investigating my attractions, my past, my loves, my hates... the card i've been dealt and the avenues i've wandered down and i've returned to a more fiery way of thinking... a rebelliousness of philosophy that does not allow me to let the circumstances of my life or birth dictate my present tense or my goals or accomplishments or dreams. i will not be the person sitting at the kitchen table, bitter beyond belief by way of absolute resignation, offering nothing but the excuse of suffering, nothing but the "it's not my fault" refrain, nothing but the callous insensitivity that seethes out of The Know-It-Alls of the world. i will not be that.

and of course i have compassion for those tortured, bitter souls. but i accept that i have no control over the beliefs and behaviors of others. i accept that i am incapable of becoming a savior. i have tried repeatedly to save people, to give them what they cry out for, what they need need need... and i have failed. failed each and every time and then woke up to see my life in shambles, the things i've undone, unknowingly, all along the way, all in the name of Help and Love and Service. i never stopped to make the judgement of whether or not the person on the other end of this was capable of respecting the sacrifice, of receiving love and help.

and so i am in a private war to not allow myself to become a cynic. it is not the only option. i could instead become a better judge of character. i could instead become more accepting of myself- my own limitations and responsibilities and proclivities and interests. i could instead take a good look in the mirror and ask that face "why are you such a push over?"

i've been asking myself that question for years, actually, but lately i've come across a couple answers. i see what my role in certain situations have been... and i know that i am not blameless. naive maybe, but not blameless.

and this naivety of mine is sly. i don't notice it the majority of the time and it has compromised things that i have worked HARD for. i can't allow it to continue. not now that i see it. and so, for the last several months, i've become more and more my true self, less and less obliged to work toward becoming "acceptable" to others, and the backlash is not fun but it is a necessary part of this particular journey. self-acceptance and self-investigation, evaluation, the private wrestling of belief systems, childhood craziness, desire, the root of desire, wrestling with the deep demons, the shape-shifters, the shadows that turn to monsters... it is hard work but it must be done. and i've been caught in this investigation for the better part of a year now and things are falling in to place, becoming clear, becoming obvious, thrown out in to a harsh, bright, unforgiving light. i see my flaws and faults so clearly. but i also see that not EVERYTHING is my fault. not everything is my responsibility. not everything is mine to fix or apologize for.

these lessons wear a person out. but not down. i have not been worn down. in fact, i feel gratitude for all this wrestling and writhing and strangeness. i think there comes a point in everyone's life, eventually, where this particular struggle becomes paramount. it extends to every area of a person's life. and it improves all those areas too.

i am on fire lately inside all of my interests. it's amazing. it really is. everyday i get up, pour myself a mug of coffee and go scribbling in my notebook for as long as i need to. this morning practice, this "waking ritual" of mine, writing while my brain is still too sleepy to censor, has led me to such a wonderful place of acceptance and honesty. and at the beginning of the year i made the decision to follow my heart, to trust the work completely, to only paint images that i was truly captivated by, and to surround myself with people who understand that, who know how important it is to go your own way, and this decision has made all the difference. i'm no longer afraid of anything. i can't begin to express what a relief that is. and how freeing.

images and words are searing out of me now and it is such a wonderful, painful, ecstatic, elating thing. i'm myself again. i'm happy with who i am and how i've decided to live. i'm not afraid to accept the consequences or responsibility of it. i like my work. i like my paintings. i like my drawings. i like my way.

:)

i haven't seen my lady bug again. he probably found an escape route back to the grey forest outside. but on my jog today 3 deer ran with me for a short, startling moment. their white tails up, scared and searching for safe ground. scared of whom? of little ol' me?

i've never been that close to deer before, springing wildly and unsure of direction. for a second i was afraid i was gonna get my ass kicked just like that guy on youtube who tried to box a deer but then they ducked down in to the thick trees and were gone just as quickly as they came.

4 days

i saw the fast-moving clouds and thought "i love you".

the hail dropped down heavy and furious.

i learn words i don't want to learn.

the shattering that follows a reckoning.

wolves among the quail.

we are all mortal here.

the trees and sky and fields are grey white.

i sit as still as a cup. i collect

a dreaded logic.

i open to a hail storm.

i told the clouds "i love you".

we are all mortal here.

safe

there is a lady bug on the wall. a big fat one. and i won't smash him or put him outside. it makes me happy he is here. my little pet for today.

tennessee is beautiful. most of the leaves are off the trees but it's still so green somehow. and quiet. silent, really, out here in the country. the houses that spring up are red brick with white trim. is that called 'colonial"?

and my grandma and grandpa came today with a big baked chicken and stuffing and pies and brownies and all sorts of stories that everyone's already heard a dozen times but me and so i laughed and laughed and laughed. stories about the 6 deer that come through their yard and stories about ravens playing with shiny things on the porch. wholesome and good stories like that.

i feel instantly at home even though i've never been here before. i've already learned the kitchen and what's in all the cupboards. i've got my own room to sleep in that (YAY!) has a computer in it! i've got my books from home stacked up against the wall. last night when i got to the house, my mom and i talked about fairy tales and about Alice in Wonderland and she gave me a large, old copy of the story from the 40s, fully-illustrated, and printed on soft paper from italy. a sewn binding and all. she found it in a thrift store out here for a dollar. treasure.

right now the house is quiet. nap time. and so i will write and maybe work up the nerve to go jog in these foreign woods, maybe paint a small watercolor, maybe just sit on the back porch and admire the things that grow here and the hundred birds that swirl here.

today...

morning coffee in southern california. my brother's big ol' beautiful house. a couple more days of hugs and we'll be back on the road home. my sweetheart came too. and inga is in tow as well. my whole kookie little family. :) i feel much lighter and easier now that i've hugged my sweet mother. there aren't any answers but there's a lot of love and that's something to feel safe inside. sometimes love is better than knowledge. love is always warm. knowledge can be quite cold at times. and i prefer faith to worry.

this one's for you...

dear sweet radish king.


8" x 10"
ink on paper
angela simione, 2009


reminded me of you and yours. :)