. . . the mouths of babes

SCENE: Taking a 4 year-old child in my afterschool program to the bathroom.

Him: I want you to come in there with me.
Me: No, you know I can't because I'm a girl (I know I can't because it reeeeks!)
Him: (long stare, brief pause, then revelation) No - yes you can because you're both.
Me: I'm both a boy and a girl?
Him: Yes.
Me: OK, you've convinced me, I'll go.

confuddlment

dirty sheets and breakbeats . . .

rethinking Jesus.

. . . the blending in of the beginning and the end . . .

HANDS FREE!!!

FINALLY!!!

It's exactly like remembering what you didn't remember that you'd forgotten until you remembered it again!

Lady Parts

Out of all the reactions I've had to the unveiling of my naked body, none have totally discombobulated me the way my niece's did about a week ago.

Picture it: Cape May, August 2009.

My mother, niece and I are on a mini beach getaway and as we're preparing to hit the waves I, obviously, begin to change into my bathing suit. My 5 year-old niece has been wearing hers since we left Maryland earlier in the day - since she woke up and got dressed as a matter of fact.

After successfully pulling rank and scoring the highly coveted un-shared bed in our two-bed, one-bedroom accomodation, I turn towards my bed and begin to take off my pants. My niece, standing behind me, apparently thinks that I'm not aware of the fact that this is happening. "I can see your bu-utt," she says informatively.

My response to her: I grab my pants at either side (making sure I've got my underwear included in the grip) and snatch them down to my ankles in one fell swoop. I add a little rump-shake at the end and laugh.

I know, I'm taking pleasure in mooning a 5 year-old, real classy

But before my pants even make it to the ground, my niece lets out the kuh-rayziest squeal! "EeeeeeW! I can see your BUTT!!!" And she instantly breaks out into a fit of throaty, uncontrollable giggles.

Alright fine, she got a kick out of the moon too - this is what I'm thinking - I'm sure she'll get over it in a second. So I turn around, laughing with her, and continue to disrobe.

Get over it she did NOT my friends! Oh NO! On the contrary, after one glance at my pubes (aka The Garden of Love) she proceeds to go into hysterics! "EEEEEEEWWWWWWWW!!!!! EEWWWW!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!"

And granted, I'm pretty taken aback, but nonetheless I swiftly continue on my mission because it's about to be high tide and there's not a moment of body-surfing time to waste. So in about 3 seconds I'm standing in front of her, completely naked.

I shit you not, she can barely catch her breath.

Her eyes bulge out of their sockets and she CANNOT stop squealing! And staring! And pointing! And GIGGLING!

"EW!!! EWW!!! EWWWW!!!! (giggle giggle) (high pitched squeal) EEEEEEWWWWWWWW!!!!! (giggle) EWW!! EEEEEEWWWWW!!! (high pitched squeal). . ."

you get the point

It's so obnoxious at this point that my mom walks into the room to see what the hell is going on. My niece is still carrying on so there's no use trying to compete with the mania - I pantomime to my mom, "You never get naked in front of her?" To which my mom simply responds with a shrug and a shake of her head.

This I find surprising, seeing as how I definitely grew up with my mother's naked form being an occasional, inconsequential part of our existence. I had assumed that with her raising my niece there would be a similar level of domestic bohemian nudie-time . . . but apparently . . . I was wrong.

My niece is still losing her marbles and I'm still naked, only now I'm beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable. In truth, something about the way she's freaking out makes me feel just a little bit . . . like I might be traumatizing her.

My mother however, seems to think it's all just GRAND fun. Grinning, she takes a seat on the other bed to watch the spectacle.

I grab my bathing suit and switch into 'Youth Worker' speak. I say firmly, "Knock it off. Stop it."

My niece is still giggling and staring, but she's come down in volume - thank GOD.

I keep it up as I start putting on my bathing suit: "Quiet down. Stop it. You're gonna look like this too when you get bigger. All women have the same parts, OK?"

"Heh heh heh . . . eeewww. . ."

"OK? Do you hear me?"

She's still staring.

Finally, mercifully, I'm covered.

"OK?"

She looks me in the eye, for the first time in what feels like forever, and smiles.

. . .

What a weirdo :)

Stars

In thought today I realized that we're none of us with the need to conceal that light that begs to shine forth from within. In all honesty, it belongs to none of us just the same as it belongs to all of us, and so our attachment (or even lack thereof) is purely inconsequential.

(SHINE)

Light lifts heavy and all waves flow smooth once you're in a roll.

thought no. 83645

Don't you ever just wanna blow some bubbles?

mind's eye

She waits.

Knowing the comfort of his gaze without ever having felt it.

Inside it, she exists.

random hilarity

If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why is there a song about him?

- unknown

the never ending story

something tells me not to give up so easily, something else tells me that i wouldn't be thinking about giving up if it was worth fighting for, something else tells me to cut it with the excuses already, something else. . . . . .

question mark

Is it just me, or are we gonna do it? And by 'it,' I mean 'it' and it.

It just seems like the right thing to do, you know?

Do you?

Know, that is.

what i have time for

what is it about obligation that has the uncanny ability to sap me nearly entirely of my motivation?

is there anyone there with the remedy for this borderline nonsensical situation?

(lil' help)

quote no. 3339

Now is the time for us to take the next step in consciousness.

- unknown

thought no. 6453

. . . it's amazing how much the naysayers have to say . . . !

quote no. 898

Creation is the logical result of the out push of Life into self-expression.

Ernest Holmes

after party

It's all fun and games until the sun comes up.

in conversation

I don't get you and you don't get me. I guess we're gonna have to agree to disagree.

C'est la vie.

hip hip HOORAY!

Here's to Love!

For all that it is, and all that it makes of us when we allow it to be!

moment no. 3098

. . . the eager anticipation of inebriation, coupled with the long-standing fixation on copulation . . . .

pure-bred daytime elation.

thought no. 9099

I'm through being full on appetizers; let's get to the main course already.

thought no. 487

what the fuck is her problem?

The Contender

predator and prey . . . predator and prey . . . .

must i really play the part of the defeated? can't i just let you know that i'm free? that i won't put up a fight if you ask me nicely?

won't you give me a decent reception without the guise of my weakness?

. . .

fingers crossed . . . or rather a dream deferred.

from the mouths of babes

"Did you know that you can only grow as much as you love?"

- uttered by a two-year old over breakfast one morning

A Many Splendored Thing

All hail the divorcee! I don't know how to sum it up altogether, but like, for real, divorced women are my heroes. When I meet a woman and she tells me in the course of conversation (rather than as some overly-dramatic, painfully transparent announcement, revealing more than I care to know about the nature of her intimate relationships) that she's been married and divorced, I bet you almost anything that if you look into my eyes at that moment they get really glossy and round.

I just get so star-struck by these women (Oh! And let them have multiple divorces under their belt - watch out! cause I'm about to be a fanatic . . . . )!

Somewhere inside of me the over-grown 5 year old who won't let go of 'happily ever after' sees these women as the ultimate romantics.

It makes complete sense!

They fell in love so deeply that they believed it would be forever. But it wasn't . . . and that's alright.

For me, that's the whole thing about these women in particular, versus the 'I need therapy let me tell you how fucked up my marriage was' types - They're doing just fine! They're not beaten down, they're not defeated, and most importantly they're not sorry! They're ready to love all over again!

Can you imagine?!

Swoon . . . !!!

moment no. 8681

Sometimes I'm grateful to realize that the world doesn't have to boil down to pushing and shoving . . . but at the same time, I take pains to remember that inertia builds upon existing force - that of the mind most notably.

FYI

As a gentle reminder to all of the men who care: So long as you continue to fall short of your potential and behave as though the world does not continually travel through time and space, I will eventually come to a place where I will have lost all interest in the possibility of a union between our genitalia.

I'm just sayin' . . . .

After all, why should I pasture on barren fields when the Universe is so abundant and love is so Universal?

. . .

So if that day comes when you see me hand in hand with another, and that other looks a lot like me, don't be surprised. Instead, you should point at us and say out loud to anyone willing to hear, "I did that."

That's right fella - own it.

yoga gem no. 86 (aka Own It)

You are not the body, but the embodiment.

You are not the thought, but the thinker.

You are not the breath, but the breather.

curiouser and curiouser

Literally at the end of my block, not quite 200 feet from my house, there's a rather stately-looking nursing home. Is there a PC term for nursing home or is that it?

So how come I never see any of the residents? Not even in the windows? I get the impression that the ambulances coming are bringing in new arrivals and those going are taking away recent departures, but that's not really what I'm talking about.

I wonder what 'they' would say if walked up one day and said I wanted to come in and pay a visit.

I think I have to do it now.

Stay tuned.

that's right, i said it

VERY much so am I over having to hear the sounds of people I don't find attractive having sex . . . !

And yes, I wouldn't mind so much if at least I was at times contributing my own lovesong to the ambient sounds of the night, but the fact is that I don't and so I do.

So there.

respirare

the moment you are no longer breathing, you are no longer living.

true.

so why then the constant need to remind and remember and recall what it is to breathe?

perhaps without the process another version of death would take over.

coming up

OK, so this is some randomness: I'm coming out of the Metro and there's a homeless man standing at the top of the escalator - asking for whatever he can get, you know?

And I start to walk past him, but then I have a Spirit-induced nudge turn me back around to address this man - this, I'm sure too-often-slighted fellow human being.

And I'm aware of my moral auto-pilot turning on as I say to him 'I can buy you some food.'

Now, upon addressing him directly I realize a couple of things immediately: that he's much taller and well-kept than he appeared to be from afar, and that he's kind of sort of high.

He says to me, in a mildly annoyed/dismissive sort of way, shaking his head as if I just asked him what two plus two is, 'Nah . . . I don't have anything, I don't have a place to go, anything to eat--'

OK . . . so maybe he didn't quite hear me. His eyes are kind of unfocused . . . I'll try again.

Me: I'll buy you something to eat. Do you want something to eat?

Him: Oh . . . Well, yeah . . . I'll take a cheeseburger and a soda if you gonna do that.

Me: What kind of soda?

Him (again apparently losing patience with me): I don't know, a coke, it don't matter.

Me: Alright.

And I go inside Five Guys (a rare establishment in that they're open at that time of night, and strategically placed so that you see and smell them before the escalator even brings you to street level) and I wait to place my order.

A minute or so passes and I order, after which I turn around to look outside and see where he is. After some glancing around I finally focus on him. Sure enough, he's looking at me. I stay in line and wait to pick up my order.

Another couple of minutes pass and it comes up. I pack the bag with appropriate condiments and some change and then I head outside . . . and homeboy is NOwhere to be found.

A 360 walk around the Metro entrance reveals NOT A TRACE of his whereabouts.

. . .

And there I am, not only less 10 dollars, but holding in my hands a meal that lies entirely outside the realm of my dietary preferences . . . .

Admittedly, I had about a 30 second bout of feeling extremely foolish, but then for whatever reason, I got alright. Like, all the way fine about the whole deal.

Funny, no?

Just Do It.

. . . I love the words that come from your mind. Even better when they've made it to your mouth.

But the very best is when they've made it to reality.

higher heights

(Feeling marginally inspired, yet placing my fingers along the board nonetheless.)

Forcing myself to rebuild and regain a trust that I had no business eliminating in the first place. Regarding the natural assembly of existence, the struggle to comprehend the ease with which I am supposed to function reminds me to release myself from all resistance.

Having fallen freely at some point(s), I attest that landing comes painlessly (so long as you wish to no longer remain airborne).

sleep over

(laughing)

the 4 year old internal that knows there will be no reprimand . . . . the woman and a half who needs no reprimand, knowing she knows what she needs to know . . . and do.

they meet once again, as the clock strikes and tolls and tells us all where to place our heads.

earthquake weather

The curious composition of what fits . . . married with the unflinching desire to cause a rift. Seeking something always present, seldom allowing for the simplicity of what by nature is truly pleasant.

Why and how are you right now?

Why and how are we anything I suppose, so moot the question . . . .

Unless you have a response. 

If not, I'll imagine my curiosity satisfied, save for the moments of incomprehensible thoughts ablaze in my mind. 

. . .

Such as: Is this where I leave good enough alone?

oxy moron

. . . incomprehension of the intensity of this emotion - a way i'm made to feel i wouldn't have thought possible as a result of you.

what we've left undone for so long lets me know that she's been waiting for a chance to breathe . . .

haven't we all?

the weight i feel is beyond unexpected - in entirety i'm nearly bereft . . . yet strangely abundant.

devel

I gets no love from boys with blue eyes,

boys with blue eyes tend to make me cry.

I gets no love from boys with blue eyes . . .

Lord only knows why.

my neck and my back

. . . the pull, the pinch . . . the searing indication of a form reaching another point of it's existence, one where elasticity indicates that there is a breaking point.

reach that edge.
now slice yourself and lick the wound.

. . .

pleasebabybabypleasebabypleasepleasepleasebabybaby . . . .

funeral pyre

What makes you come here to seek what you're looking for? I suppose my patterns are indeed in need of re-configuration, because it struck me as unnecessary for there to be any more than the remnants I believed we made ceremony for and bid farewell.

Maybe it was just me . . . .

Correction: It was just me.

The ceremony I needed, and so it was what I constructed: placing you across from me, making attempts to catch my gaze over the coffin. Only once I allowed us to engage; selfishly to retain a final memory of your beauty - heightened by regalia.

. . .

There was no goodbye.

There was only me coping. And healing. And healed.

And you forgotten.

. . .

for the most part

Aung San Suu Kyi

Having just had that moment when I realize the greater extent of human existence and the need for continual perspective when falling into the 'wallowing world.'

So many 'what ifs!'

So many ways my life may have been a thing of unprecedented, indisputable tragedy . . . .

To ever cease in celebrating that it's absolutely not strikes me deeply . . . shakes me unsettled and wrings out tears.

. . .

Just one story, just one country. Just IMAGINE . . . .
http://www.thefreedomcampaign.org/takeaction.php

in session

". . . as a matter of fact it did matter, although not as much as i led on . . . ."

Do you believe in 'the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?' Yeah, neither do I, but still, I'd like to retain some level of face-value when it comes to self-expression; mine and that of others as well.

You've let me know countless times that this is, indeed, asking too much. So at what point do I learn my lesson?

I suppose when I enroll in a different course.

moment no. 11

. . . more of that stuff they call love - the thing they say is free . . . am i supposed to ask for it still?

perhaps i'm not ready yet to offer up my pride as tender - i'd rather have you up on the auction block, going for pennies and a hayride . . .

nothing sweet to be found in this bitter, nothing sweet to be sought either - the sheer indulgence in the emotions i've allowed myself to fold into . . . to succumb

scum

minus the 's' steers clear of me nonetheless

. . .

what a contraption to be enveloped in the conviction of righteousness . . . pure tomfoolery, fool-hardily expressed and indulged . . .

throw the goddamn baby out with the bathwater already.

almost doesn't count

so near as to fall within affective range, so close as to warrant unprecedented pathways . . . . . . yet still too far.

moment no. 9

burning and bursting through elations, all the while snagged on elaborations of tribulation. save for mountainous realizations, fates may conclude the need for an entirety of re-evaluation. nonetheless, the breath flows and minus the cold of the soul-bent shaped hold on it all, i'd call for a dose of massivity.

Courage

. . . so there was this episode of X-Men on the other night where Morph came back from rehab after his near-death-by-sentinel experience. So he's back and everyone's so happy and he's like, 'Yeah baby, put me in where there's some action 'cause I'm ready.' And right away he's back to his life as an X-Man, which at this point doesn't involve sentinels because they're supposedly eradicated.

But low and behold, they're NOT! And on his first time back in the field with Wolverine, Wolverine doesn't tell Morph that he smells sentinels because he doesn't want Morph to freak out, but then when Morph finds out that Wolverine didn't tell him he gets all suuuuper pissed and he's all: 'Don't fucking baby me! I'm in it to win it!' or whatever.

Ok, so then I'm like, 'Yeah - he came back 'cause he's ready and if there're gonna be some sentinels in the mix, Morph's gonna take care of himself 'cause he got fixed in rehab . . . yeah. . . .'

Yeah but no because then the sentinels come to nab Professor X and Morph's standing RIGHT the fuck next to him - WITH a laser blaster gun thing nonetheless - and he COMPLETELY freezes and THEN starts crying like a lil' bitch when the sentinels fly off with Xavier.

And I'm like, 'Oh no! He's not fixed! He's a fucking liability! What a gyp!'

Alright, but THEN (and trust me, I'm getting to the point) in the final showdown with Master Mold (the King Koopa of sentinels - the UBER sentinel) Morph TOTALLY comes out of NOWHERE and pulls off all these super-phatty textbook X-Men 'kill all bad guys while saving all good guys' moves and I'm all like 'OOOOooooh shit! NICE Morph! You totally redeemed yourself!' Right?

And everyone else is like that too - all psysed and getting ready to go into town and do some shots to celebrate or whatever (I really don't think X-Men drink, but you know what I'm sayin) and they look up . . . and Morph's walking away!

And we're ALL like, 'WHA - !?'

And he's like 'I know I was all mega-fly this time and rocked that shit for real, but word, the next time I don't know if I'm gonna do that or start crying like a lil' bitch again, so I gotta roll. I'll be back when I'm ready for real.'

And then he gets in the chopper and bounces!

And for real, at first I was like 'Man! What the fuck!?! He just PROVED that he can pull it together when it counts, what the hell? He doesn't have to leave! That doesn't make any fucking sense!!!'

. . .

But then I met you. And now I get it.

You know what you gotta do and you're doing it.

Right on.

handle with care

hanging my head to think about those poor wildflowers . . . .

they're not so hearty as to be watered on whimsy, perhaps left in appropriate-intensity sunlight and thrive nonetheless.

they're not 'safe.'

'they're so beautiful and exotic,' you say. 'i'd love to keep one in my home, but i just know i'll kill it.'

i'm disappointed in your pussy-like attitude. grow some balls already.

oh. but wait a second. i'm scared to kill them too. that's why i'm surrounded by succulents and spider plants . . . palms . . . ivy . . . .

they're 'safe.'

. . .

hmm, sadness . . . .

theatrical pause

wait! i just remembered! i DO have wildflowers! i do! they were a gift!

and i tried!!!

. . . and they succeeded!

oh sweet relief . . . !

hold off on the hypocrisy.

Capitol-ism

For the first time in my life, I'm actually proud to be an 'American.' I'll give you one guess as to why.

You got it, I'm sure.

But if you didn't, here you go: Obama.

This man, whose name alone defies so many ill-begotten conventions of this nation, has inspired a slew of people worldwide. He has single-handedly (in a sense anyway) brought together the old, young, black, white, gay, straight, fat, skinny, tall, short . . . and made us all give a damn, all at once.

I mean, come on. That's pretty impressive.

. . .

When I think back to the night that he was elected, I lose my mind all over again (and it feels phenomenal!).

The rejoicing . . . ! The elation! The collective ecstasy of a people who had finally allowed ourselves to be vulnerable again; to possess a dream that just barely kept an inconceivably cruel nightmare at bay.

We did it (Yes We Did!!!)!

And if you weren't here to cry and scream and dance and laugh and scream and cry that day, no worries! You still have a chance to phatten up your nostalgia bank on Tuesday the 20th.

Who cares where you're coming from, just come. Who cares that you'll have to miss work, just come. Who cares that you don't have a place to stay. . . .

You can stay with me. For free.

moment no. 6089

lessons learned from the constant confrontation:
life/death
birth/decay
fruit-ful/less

and an imagination that refuses to conform to previous realities and their constraints.

kudos to you!

without an etched-out path, one must be created - so long as plenty of breadcrumbs are at hand.

and by the way, i never believed any of the bullshit you wanted me to say. . . .
yes to, that is.

begin-again

. . . born bathed in glory, drenched in dreams.

Tides and seasons and cycles of the moon all serve to soil the soul if care isn't taken to remember: the only thing that means anything.