Where have I been for the last four days?

Well, the truth is I have been working on college applications, organizing books to take back to L.A and trying to decide what linens matched up to my new apartment windows (based on the three photographs I have seen anyway). I have been planning my return to college life and all that comes with it. I have been going through boxes of old pictures and ancient mail and burning accordingly. I have resigned myself to minimize the flair and just pack the basics for my first own place since, well ever. As a serial managamist, I have always been on one side of the bed and a partner, a parent, a permanent fixture in a temporary life construction. I have never selected the perfect mugs and dishes for my own 500 square foot studio. It is liberating to say the least, liberating and exciting, and a little scary.

Wednesday is the fourth day of every week .

Well my easy readers, Wednesday is orange type this week. And though it is technically after midnight on Thursday morning, this is to be my Wednesday post...in the blog world is that allowed? Can we swell back the hours to tie the dates together in serene or deliberate prose? I spent today on the phone with my telephone company, paying in full my arrangements with Washingtonian utility companies and renewing my Netflix membership. All in all a good Wednesday. This evening was one of slam poetry and reconnecting with an old friend through spoken word appreciation. Gene, I must say the world is a better place with guys like you in it.

The first poem of the New Year about Rain.

The 2010 Rain ; A memoir



Three hundred splashes an hour on the same vintage leaves
where the Thai Buddha in the back yard has no tears on his face
the sodden ground and the spiny grass like the compost bin are soaking
the icy drops rhythm through the branches
tugging at the waxy boxwood hedges, sticking out like rabbits ears
in the morning rain
hangars of gray birds in sparsely leaved trees cloche the limbs with the the last of Autumn's petals to the seeping earth below
I can hear the breath of lucid angels shining faceless in the puddles
drowning words into the rock walls with concrete microphones
in lower voices, they stand closer together in drops of very white sky
plain spokes of winter wheels tend to want the placard post; fixed in an upright direction when the spidersilk falls to the ground
our hearts ferry in the January morning as beads on the streetlamp bones
the ornaments of finer mist drainpipe love letter drops to the glossing streets, on wet shoulders and lighter steps
we are tiny leaf boats flashing our metallic tongues in the gutters the open sky fortunes fold our bodies like rice candy paper wishes in Cocteau's sketchbooks
we are consecrated once more into the audiovox of God

Day 3: A poem

Light up world


I can put one finger on Iceland
and my thumb on California
with this scale, this trembling axis
the oceans are old world charm pale yellow
and the mountains are blue from the west
to the east of Central America
orange in Canada and lighter blue in Alaska
on this light up world there is a switch on a plastic cord
below an olive green equator

the El Nino gingham tides rise up
like climbing vines on the garden wall
crackled sun through the whispering mist
songbirds the precious flower principle
of window box flowers, winter violets of Africa
and Japanese crocus in the mulch marking Spring

marble mantle tops and mirrors of heaven reflect
daylight through the open windows like milky star clouds
circling dust, thinly veiled as Chinese bridges
breathing in oracles; priestesses and pagans
row by row of candlestick sandalwood sins
steep yellow clove oil through braille tuber roses

melancholy absinthe laughter around the cane coffee table
twisted tongues, the teak matchbox lovers glow like gilded frames
irises aligned and shimmering, we will spin the psychotropic light up world

ahhh, Vermouth Bianco.

Day two 2010. I slept late today, on the inside of the window gray. Dull sunshine streaming through drippy paper mache' strips of Seattle's gloomy new year weekend. I am new to the "blog-mind quips"
and having followed a friend's sunny California beach bum blog this past year, I have assimilated some ideas for beachfront living. Blogs on the best sunblock and glare-free paperbacks for beach-reading, were not really what I had in mind for my dear readers. I am thinking more of just an update of sixty words or so, at least once every day rain or shine (from my lap top in Seattle) or shine and shine (in my new place in L.A.) I make no promises, I tell no lies. I am posting for the sake of posting, and that is really all of it. I am finding new ways to invest the hours of my thirty-seventh year, and surely, I am open to any of your suggestions. Ask us anything, we will respond accordingly. This is the anthem of the rooftop writers.

2009:No repeats

Well, that was 2009. A year of new beginnings, connecting with old friends and classmates on face book, after my second marriage ending and the close of custodial modifications that would chill the blood of the undead, while providing a catalytic return to my inner voice. I took the metro link to a second life-altering relationship and after eight months of grueling dietary fluctuations, a failed vege-girl returns to her Ann Taylor slim boot 4 jeans. A meet-up here, a break-up there, a stray cat. I am still learning life and how to live it, come five more months, I will be thirty-seven. I am proud to be back in college after 16 years, and by the time the earth shakes the Mayan Calender a little over a thousand days: I will have fulfilled my girlhood dream of my Masters in Writing.