Thursday, October 25, 2007

in rainbows

I just spent the past hour deleting people from my phone book, which I tend to do on a yearly basis. Kind of like a new years resolution, I decide who I should keep in my life, and who I shouldn't. This way I don't end up in any lasting friendships with drug dealers, child abusers etc. If you call me and I don't know who you are, don't feel bad. We were most likely better off without each other.

And because I'm a hypochondriac I was in the emergency room all afternoon today and all yesterday. Apparently, they have this silly system where they take people on a basis of 'how urgent' the case is. As I was sitting next to a man who'd arrived before me, who was literally bleeding onto the floor, I decided I'd better give up.

I have a knot in my tummy. A travel bug. Nothing would make me happier than getting out of this city for a little bit. Here's a poem i just scribbled out.

The Wind-Up Doll

We are unmanageable. The wind-up doll
relies on the metallic coil, the spring
of ghosts that don't swallow themselves

into the walls. You are a Portuguese tongue,
speaking in electric romance, the marriage
of syllables that seduces the unknowing,

The unknown march in rainbows. Declares
nothing at the airport. They open their luggage
to you all. We are at the Stop and Go. We

are all meeting together, at once, have found
somewhere bright and dreamy, it's widened itself
as a yawn does. The march is electric and for once

we know where we're going. We reach the exit
and push. A gasp, we realize, is only as meaningful
as the punch in the stomach that brings it about.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Deep Sea Divers

I finally buckled down, accepted my sad sad fate as a functional member of society, and got a job. I'm a freelance babysitter for an agency, which affords me enough time to pursue my bubbling, glow in the dark dreams of being a writer. I've been so happy lately -- over the moon with happiness, because I really feel like I'm starting my life. A real life, not something I could pick out of a cereal box.

Last week I met two of my favorite writers. They just might be my two favorite living writers.

Nick Flynn signed my book "To Jennifer- A door in a rock". I waited after his reading at the Bowery Poetry Club so he would sign my copy of 'Some Ether'. I was so nervous, I had about 3 glasses of wine beforehand to calm my nerves, wore a beautiful silk purple dress and held my breath for most of the night.

I've been working on a short story for my fiction class. I sit down to write it everyday for hours. After about an hour I start to get discouraged, all of my words become vague, my thoughts drain off into a kitchen sink from another planet. At that point I pull out my copy of 'Bed' by Tao Lin, which is a collection of short stories that is beautiful in a ridiculous way. Reading the book feels like dipping into an exotic cartoon land, but at the end of the day, before you fall asleep, you realize it's realer than real life. And after re-reading a story or two, I get back to work, and everything works better. I repeat this process several times a day. And to me, this is life.

Here's an excerpt from something I hope to turn into a short story:

They were smoldering in that building, side by side. The smell of ashes hung in the air like ghosts. They noticed it starting to take up residence within them; the sad brittleness of it, it filtered in through the keyholes and laid itself down like carpeting. They walked along it, pretending not to notice. Elliot had never been a paranoid guy, but the recent fires were starting to change that. It wasn't the flames that scared him, he'd seen men in movies walk right through them, waving their arms, head pushing forward, eyes searching. No, it was the smoke. Fat, viscous smoke that could pack into him. He pictured it decorating his organs in cobwebs, squeezing his lungs repeatedly with tiny see-through hands. All that smoke would bully away the oxygen molecules, would force the oxygen to hide under the bed, or behind some other bigger molecule that could protect it. But Elliot wouldn't be able to get to it, to the breathable air, would maybe be able to grab onto a handful of it and press it against himself. The whole city could catch on fire from one wimpy, half-hearted spark, the city would be smoked out; the chalky gray pushing itself outwards as though it were a sad thought, a heavy, dull memory replacing the skyline. Skyscrapers would be crisped down to match-size, rivers and ponds would sludge over with smoke. Maybe everyone would move out, evacuate the city and find a place that still twinkled at night. Or maybe people would stay; invest in oxygen tanks and move down the sidewalks like deep sea divers.

Monday, October 1, 2007


Why October will be the greatest month ever:

Oct 1. Matthea Harveys book 'Modern Life' came out.

Oct 6. The 'Learning to Love you More' (Miranda July + Harrell Fletcher) book launch party at the Journal Gallery.
Oct 5-7: The New Yorker Festival! Virtually an orgy of literati.
Oct 11: Matthea Harvey reading at McNally Robinson Booksellers
Oct 18: Nick Flynn (Another Bullshit Night in Suck City) reading at Bowery Poetry Club
Oct 23: Opium5: Bad Company launch party/Literary death match at The Kitchen.
Oct 30: My Autumn harvest/Halloween dinner partyish party-party on Halloween eve
Oct 31: Boo! it's Halloween!

Photo taken by: them
Not to sound like a broken record, but I miss Paris terribly. I've currently been job-hunting like crazy. Hopefully after I pay back a certain babe, and pay of my credit cards I can afford to go on an exotic holiday somewhere! Or back to Paris ;)

So the other night my sis and I heard a lot of crazy banging around going on downstairs (no one else was home). We went to investigate and found our 2 kitties hiding and scared for their lives. Now these kitties, esp Oscar, don't get scared for nothing. We searched for an hour for Nina and finally found her hiding in the heater. Then we heard a strange low growling coming from somewhere. Heard it again later. What could this be? Very spooky. We finally realized that we have a ghost. (I thought-- perfect! I have a Halloween party coming up!) I've named him Fred. Fred le Ghost. My mother is strangely superstitious. When she got home later she said:

"I knew that when I went to that restaurant by the graveyard I'd picked up a ghost, I could feel it." -mom (when she says these things she's not being facetious.)
"Aw. Well you'd better not go back there then!" -me (teasing her for being scared)
"Oh, I know. If I do, I will take a cab." -mom
"Ghosts can't go as fast as a cab?" -me
"Oh, no of course not" -mom (being completely serious)