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Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23)

December 29

Today I December 29.

I woke unsatisfied—aware of the missing.

Played cat’s cradle—unraveling my innards, wrapping them around my hands. Stretching this way for the ones I can not speak to, pulling that way for the ones I should not speak to, and loop back around. Here I am, I pray, I want to live life well.

Watched the Gilmore Girls episode where Kirk is in the fiddler on the roof production.

Sat in a room of 143 Yogi’s chanting Shanti Shanti Shanti in major and minor chord successions. I later learned this means peace and has to do with the force, life force, breath, shalom. Whatever you want it to mean as long as you don’t fight. I prayed, WWJD, tell parables, love and respect and say, I have never found so much faith in LA.

Cried in the shower. Did not pick up the phone. Spoke—the tones in my throat the bottom of a river. I tried to float, but could not.

Thank God for DVDs.

Dear life. My legs are tired. My mouth is dry. My eyes blink slowly.
The sun shone on the ocean from the top of the santa monica cliffs and 4th street where the plastic people, the iron clad, the make-up’d run up and down stairs for exersize. There are also your average joe people, the just broken up people, the afraid of the sun types and the man in rollerblades running around.
I made the lap of 190 stairs down and 164 stairs up, and the run between the two sets of stairs 3 times before I thought I was going to die. I sat on the grass stretching and catching my breath. I proceeded to do one more run. Then I played catch. My sister did it 8 times. My brother 5.
I can only make declarative statements in past tense. I can only describe what was. My imagination is sore from dreaming last night of lands and times far far away.

Today I wore a bright blue colored robe. It was not navy or royal or aqua or teal blue. It was some strange shade of blue that has yet to be put into words. I sang and I sang and smiled at my family smiling at me as they attended church for the first time in who knows how long. They had come to see me because I had invited them, promising Christmas Carols and Yummy potluck foodstuffs. There were badly sung Christmas carols. Although choirmate Jensaid, “that was fun” when we were done and she had meant it. I wonder about perspectives. Why have a choir, why wish for robes, why when you practice twice you write harmony on the page but never practice or teach it and no one sings be the D L R family and me. Practice in humility?

Yesterday I went to church too. Observing the Shabbat with messianic jews in irvine. They danced so beautifully. It makes so much sense to worship not only with voice and hand claps but with DANCE. So inspiring and fairly multiethnic. the websites not so exciting but the church was so joyfilled it was really an encouraging place to visit. It worth the hour drive. Enjoy. IF I get accepted to UCI I have found a new home church.

This is a blasé post. I feel so discombolulated in my life, I stick to the facts in my blog. Tell don’t show, when your eyes blink so slow.

Limerick

I am poison. Hear me roar
with a shoe in my mouth, the laces hanging out,
the crown on my head turns out to rusty.
The yearbook photo will be memorable
though no pages will be there to doodle.


She’s put in her place by the 'but I am going now,'
and drawn out of the cave by the fool.
Fingernail paint chips a day and half late.
Whats the use of being a girl
The ribcage is the chamber pot.

You can return home, even when some else lives there. It will be awkward, having dinner with a family that’s not yours. You may find out your home is not home any more and you homesick for a life you never lived (thought borrowed from Garden State). But one place you can’t return to is the place where the dandelions were not hunted down by herbicidal gardeners getting paid less than minimum wage in the wee dawn hours. Where the sun rose not on school or doom, but adventure. That is innocence and while I long for it. But I can not return.

I’ve become tree bark. My inside still sap. Carrying buckets of maple sugar.

standing here trying to breathe

and thats about it...

9.29 on a tuesday night

Flip the switch.
Stand on the bookshelf.
Eat chocolate.
Cut the heart strings.

Open the computer.
Run on the tread mill.
Shower with hot water.
Cut the heart strings.

Listen to the fire alarm twitch.
Calculate a year's tithe.
Ask for a cigarrette.
Cut the heart strings.

Write a letter.
Fold it and throw it away.
Brush your teeth.
Cut the heart strings.
Pray.

Look down the hall.
Watch TV.
Cut the heart strings.

Worry about life.
Breath through the too much to do.
Make a reservation at Takami Sushi.
Cut the heart strings.

Walk around the block at night
in downtown, with the hood down and face up.
Watch the rain falling.
falling.
Cut the heart strings.

Put the cellphone in the pocket.
Catch a ride
home with a stranger
Say no to free jack and coke, to vodka tonic, to beer.
Decide to
cut the heart strings.

Holler if you need help.
Feel sad when there were many.
Suck the juice from orange slices.
Blog.

Remove your shoes, and take a deep breath.
Sleep with your face against your pillow.
Find new batteries.
Press print.
Cut the heart strings.

This is the Funeral

Below the Golden Arches of the McDs on 7th Street
pall-bearer policemen shoot the breeze over the body.
Their arms are crossed. It’s a damned cold night.

Women in tasteful jewelry cross the street & head to the whiskey bar.
busying themselves with their purses and their laughter
when they pass by the police tape and the homeless woman.

In the pew of her wheelchair, Bridgette Rose Meyers
ignores the eulogy of the silent ambulance when it drives away.
A cigarette perched between her lips, she opens wide
The newspaper and reads yesterday’s news.