aliceoutofwonderland

"Dance, dance, otherwise we are lost"

2012-01-25T07:25:00.000-08:00

I've been enchanted with the contemporary dance choreography of the late Pina Bausch for many, many years. I still have not gone to see a live performance, because it's difficult for me to sell the idea of contemporary german dance to anyone in my life. She was a pioneer of Tanztheater, and a documentary about her was in the midst of production when she received notice from the doctor that she had cancer. Five days later she was dead. The film, "Pina" is now complete, and I think it to be just the thing to tide me over until the day I can see one of her dances in person. I really ought to be cultivating a greater sense of independence, and should just go see a performance by myself. How silly to deny myself pleasure just because I don't want to go alone!

Here is a snip of one of her love dances. Like all her work, it is magical loveliness, emotionally raw and slightly unsettling.

I badly want to go back to my dance classes, but some fear has been holding me back. They make me feel so happy and full of life for days afterwards, and my body begins to move more artfully.

Tuesday's Intake

Breakfast: 1/2 cup Seven Grain oat cereal with 1/2 cup almond milk + coffee brewed at home
Afternoon snack: green juice

Lunch: 1 roma tomato with basil, italian burrata cheese, splash of vinegar and tiny drizzle of extra virgin olive oil
Dinner: 4 oz. roasted herb-lemon chicken with 3 oz. fingerling potatoes + sweet english peas, slightly steamed

I had to drag myself through my workout at the gym, and felt severely dehydrated, but managed to get done:
30 minutes elliptical [-308 c.]
2 miles run [-192 c.]

It has been so sunny the past couple days, that I've been in such a springtime mood. I woke this morning with the birds chirping and my solar powered bee dancing in the window. The sunnier it is out, the more he dances. When it snowed the other day, for instance, I did not even hear his plastic wings clicking, but yesterday (and today to a lesser extent) he was clicking like mad! Even though I know it's not nearly spring yet, I couldn't help but cheat a little, and put on one of my flowery dresses, and wore spring perfume that smells like poppy flowers and honey.

I must go be productive now, so I can play tonight (bowling with my darling sisters in Williamsburg).

love,
jennifer

Overdue

2012-01-23T20:04:00.000-08:00

My, it has been nearly 5 months since my last update! Also, I currently have the hiccups.

Since I was last here I settled into my new/old home in Queens. The walls got re-wallpapered, the carpets got replaced and an entirely new (youthful and cheerful) energy came through. It is much different living here than when I was younger and living with my whole family.

I've gotten a new goldfish, named Edison.

He was won at one of those carnival games in Coney Island where you try to throw a ping pong ball into a fishbowl. When I first got him home he had damaged, discolored fins and swam around very lazily, and I'm certain he was depressed. He refused to eat for most of the first week, even! Over the past 5 months I've gotten him an aquarium, and medicated his fins until he was as healthy as can be, and now he swims around energetically and has the appetite of a shark! I am considering the possibility of getting him a ladyfish for Valentine's Day, though I have never owned a female fish, and have never owned more than one fish at a time. The thought of it makes me very anxious and uncomfortable, so I try not to think about it.

Also, three of my poems have been accepted for publication at Literary Bohemian. I haven't gotten a publication in a while so it's a huge relief, and a great source of momentum to send out more work!

I've been doing very good with eating breakfast lately, and have my spiritual nutritionist Marina in mind when I must force myself to eat first thing in the morning! It *is* the best thing for me though. Today my eating was exceptional!:

Breakfast: 1 fat free coconut yogurt + coffee brewed at home
Morning snack: Coffee at a cafe while I sat outdoors to build up my winter tolerance and looked up healthy recipes on my phone
Lunch: Tomato and basil salad with burrata cheese and 1 tsp olive oil

Dinner: 4 oz. roasted herb-lemon chicken, 1 cup arugula and 3 oz. fingerling potatoes + 1 glass white wine

I had to bake boxes and boxes of chocolate sweets for my part-time bakery, and I'm proud of myself for not taking a single nibble!

I also ran 4 miles at the gym, did 20 minutes yoga/strength training and 5 minutes on the elliptical.

The new year is off to a healthy + joyous start!

love,
jennifer

Humanity is a thing that crawls under yr skin

2011-07-25T18:28:00.000-07:00

Last week I went to Montreal with Miss Elizabeth, and it was a holiday designed primarily to give myself a fresh perspective on things. It is sometimes very difficult when you are in the mud of a situation, to see clearly what needs to be done, and flitting off to another country always seems to do the trick for me. Mini holidays force me to break out of any routine/rut, whether it be mental or physical, and I always return with a purer focus, a more energized heart and an aggressive to-do list. My Elizabeth proved to be the most wonderful friend, dropped everything and met me in Montreal, and we talked, laughed, swam, spent ungodly money on food, and listened to jazz. I'm not quite sure why I deserved the world bringing me a friend like her, but I absolutely will not give her back.

[She took this photo of me which is one of my most lovely/happy in the world]

Also, we found that hugs are a form of currency there, and paid for part of our steak dinner with hugs to the waitstaff. Canada is too adorable to be a real country.

Yesterday Nick took me upstate to Ochs Farm where we were able to pick our own fruit.

We also went to Sugar Loaf, this small and friendly town, and through the hot rain we dodged into various artsy shops. I saw so many beautiful photographs of trees, and a lot of spiritual gifts. When we were driving away he surprised me with this most beautiful perfume decanter that I had fallen in love with in one shop.

So tonight I spent the evening syringing my most expensive perfume into it, and am now in the middle of making an apple galette with the apples we bought. It is a terribly french way to spend the evening, or at least this is what I imagine the happiest, most darling French women do on Monday nights.

It is not too pretty, but I'm sure it's tasty. My life is too lovely for me or anyone...

A most perfect unpetalling

2011-06-30T20:48:00.001-07:00

[jasmine tea and vanilla-lemon cupcakes with my sister at a dessert tapas cafe in the East Village]

I am in the middle of a very difficult journey. It's a spiritual, emotional and practical one, that requires more strength than I thought existed in my little soul. Basically what happened, is I found the man of my dreams. His name is Nick. I realized that all the men I dated before were because I was hunting in them, to find that tiny little fraction, and now I have found the man that is the summation of all those fractions. I may have dated one man because he had the perfect sense of humor I was looking for, another because of the physical attraction, another because his intellect was beautiful to me. I found that one quality in each man, and it sustained me for a short while, but now I realize what I was doing all these years. I was collecting pieces because I could be temporarily happy with a small piece of my perfect heaven. Now that I have found the man who is composed of all perfect pieces, it's a little overwhelming, something my brain has trouble processing. How could I have found this person, it almost seems like he is something I manifested? How can someone fit so ideally into what I want? I've ended up sabotaging things tremendously, and am no longer with him. I refuse to sit around crying about that though, because I've realized that the world sometimes throws hurdles at me to make me prove that I really want something. I can be such a passive person, and don't fight for things, and take a different road often when the road is unbearable. But this time, for the first time, I'm going to fight.

The most beautiful splendors are for the most beautiful of fighters. Wartime is just another way. When the blood is outside of our bodies we realize with a shock that we are human. And sometimes at that point, after the knife wound, it is already too late. And we can only have a few minutes of watching our life pooling at our feet. But sometimes instead: we heal and recover, and continue on, finally human. I think that true living happens only once we have almost lost it. And that must be the same with loving.

I never really believed in past lives, but I have the strangest sensation that I've loved him in a past life. And I know that I love him in my present life. And suspect I will love him in all my future lives. To know that I have found my soul mate is at least comforting a little. If I cannot be with him in this life time, at least I know I've found him. And at the very least, in one of my future lives, I will have him completely, and he will have me completely. I'm learning slowly, to be patient with things.

I went to see a very interesting, old jewish woman last night. She is able to read souls, and she sat across from me, stared into my eyes. After saying a number of startlingly true things she said "Okay, let's get to your love life now", looked into my eyes again, and then said: "Nicholas."

Finding a way out of the ocean

2011-06-20T18:31:00.000-07:00

This is a photo of a man kissing his girlfriend during a riot in Vancouver. She had been knocked down by the armed men storming in, and he bent down to comfort her, and all he could think of was to kiss her.

Sometimes, when we are very lucky, love is a thing of instinct.

Boxes filled with various, precious things

2011-06-12T17:21:00.000-07:00

I spent much of yesterday in the ER, though not for my own ailments. Now, I know. No one is a fan of hospitals. But I, due to many years of being a delicate child and young adult, have gone to the ER several times a year for as long as I can remember. I got used to and started to enjoy the system-- i'd bring books and magazines, apple juice always, a change of clothes and anything else I might need should they ask me to stay the night. It was always interesting for me to be in an environment with such intense experiences going on all around me. People on the verge of death, people in dark places, or people just like me. This time however, the moment I walked into where people were being treated, I felt overstimulated with all their pain-- their moaning and the limp way their bodies stagnated in the cheap hospital carts. Half of them were drunk or delirious, most of them were catatonic. There were police scattered all about to keep watch over certain patients, which I found unsettling, as they obviously must pose some danger. And perhaps I did not enjoy it because I was worrying about someone else for a change. But, since I am a creature of water, I adapted to the environment after a few minutes, and was fine from there.

So in the supermarket today I had an interesting idea for a new cupcake, and this is inspired by my darling E since she drinks these, and I am always thinking of ways to make things that would delight her. I found this beautiful bottle of grenadine syrup, and thought to make Shirley Temple Cupcakes: A poundcake as the main cake, with grenadine cream frosting and filled with a maraschino cherry filling. Charming, no?

In other cupcake endeavors, I've realized how much I enjoy sculpting fondant into pretty particulars to place atop baked goods. It is such a relaxing art form-- I spent hours last week making a single key: tinting it to the perfect shade of rusty brown, kneading it smooth, indenting grooved marks and etc. It is very satisfying for me to create digestible art, i've realized. By that I mean, poetry is easily 'digestible'-- you can read it in a few minutes and get some pleasure from it. And cupcake art is the most literally digestible, as it is consumed and goes through the body and becomes, in small part, a part of the body.

I watched Gattaca again this evening, and it's interesting how this world is likely going to become like that pretty soon. When I was in Disney World a few months ago they had you scan your fingerprint to gain entry into the park, and it was a big problem because my fingerprint wouldn't scan. After trying several fingers we found one that worked finally. I was very embarrassed, but I've known for a long time that my fingerprints have been disappearing. I feel I am slowly leaving the world: the realistic goals, the 9-5 working hours, the cut throat business agendas, taxes, rational ideas of romance, networking and appropriate social etiquette. It is gone from me and I am almost gone. I have a few fingerprints left before I become a ghost, and when that happens no one would be able to find me. Then perhaps I could finally go off and live in a cottage in the woods and write poems and bake pies all day, and count stars and play records all evening. And no one would bother me or ask me to be "sensible" or "rational". And I would not have to worry about people I have hurt because they would be very far away, and I would not have to worry about looking beautiful for anyone but myself, so my beauty would become a pure and honest thing.

The other day I broke down, swallowed my pride, and asked my mother if I could live in our old home, which is currently abandoned, growing weeds and collecting chinese food menus. I want to disappear, and where better to than the house of my childhood. I love that house because there is a sunny porch room where I would sit and write poems in, and a big backyard with a hammock that I would sunbathe in some days, and sleep in some cold and distraught nights. There were so many places to go to in that house. But she told me that I couldn't move there. She wanted to sell it because when she goes back there to maintain it, she hears a ghost hollering my fathers name, constantly.

When Buddy came home tonight we got into a long talk, as usual, and decided to do tarot card readings, which we haven't done in ages. I asked the cards about my love life and this was the solution card:

"A dead end. Stagnation. Hidden undermining forces are at work. Something is desperately 'kept under a lid'".

After discussing things a bit, Buddy told me about how much she had to rely on her gut instinct to keep me around. She said that when we were younger, I hurt her on many deep levels, and constantly frustrated her and treated her badly. But, after the 'divorce' she said it was as though I were the pheonix rising from the ashes, and was given to her as this precious "prize" for her responsibility to take care of. And she has not flinched from the responsibility since.

I was re-reading "Ordinary Genius" by Kim Addonizio this morning. and came across this passage from "Letters to a Young Poet" by Rainer Maria Rilke:

"Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is the question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even realizing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day."

And then Addonizio goes on to talk about this idea of "living the question": and mentions about how Keats called the ability to 'live the question': when a man is capable of being in uncertainties. Mystery, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.

So perhaps we oughtn't be so terrified of what is on the other side of the ocean, after we have done our laboring swim across. Or of what is on the bottom of the ocean floor, or in the bellies of the fish, or back at shore, or anything at all.

Also today I cleaned the top of my desktop, eradicating about 80% of knick knacks. I'm not a fan of them, as I think the more precious something is, the less abundance there is of them. And so I am in one of those moods to get rid of all excess, and only hang on to the things that are terrifyingly important to me. So because of that I throw away a lot of momentos and letters and etc. but I keep a trunk filled with every article worthy of being saved from every romantic relationship. And it is kept locked up and things only go into it once the relationship is completely, 100% over. And I thought something today: I have a trunk filled with all of you, boxes filled with some of you, a heart filled with only one of you.

"We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness."

2011-06-06T19:44:00.000-07:00

[Title of post from 1984 by George Orwell, said by O'Brien to Winston in a dream]

When I open a particularly fizzy bottle of sparkling water, I like to watch it effervesce. It is like looking at a window during a rainstorm, but instead the rain is upside down.

I spent the majority of the day running errands in my car, and went to one of my favorite places in New York, my Hideaway. I'll not name it by name because I go there to be a ghost, and as much as I adore everyone who reads my blog, I do not like running into people, especially not there. I sat in the bookstore and read the current issue of Poets & Writers, because mine has not yet come in the mail, (which defeats the purpose of having a subscription, quel dommage!). Among others, I read an article by Joyce Thomas, one of the Why We Write articles, entitled “The Word in the World”:

“I like to tell my students that only the letter “l”--that bare alphabetic Maypole-- separates word from world.”

As I was reading the magazine I noticed my reading habits: there were several articles or excerpts that I half-read and then moved on. Sometimes I would not even finish the paragraph, or even the sentence I was reading. I feel ravenous for beauty, or brilliance sometimes, and like I am a raccoon digging through trashcans. I'll tear the lid off some things, chew through others, give some a sniff, but if I do not spy any magic in the writing, or any promise for it, I move on quickly. There is so much to read out there, overwhelmingly so, that I do not understand why anyone would waste a second on something just for the sake of “finishing the article”.

My screening process for novels is two-fold: 1. I will read the first page of the book, and decide at that point if I'd like to continue to the second step. Then, after purchasing/borrowing/etc. 2. I will read up to page 60, even if I have to trudge through. Even I, who is among those who crave immediate gratification, can understand that a novel takes a bit of time to set up before we are invested in the story and characters. The page number is a bit arbitrary, as I originally chose it when I was in high school. I was reading 1984 and my reading of it was labor until page 60, when I became enraptured. So now, if I reach page 60, I know whether to continue on or abandon the book to the sad stack I exile to the hidden corners of the bookshelf, to grow a skin of dust and my disdain. If I decide on the other hand, to continue on, then I'll carry it with me everywhere I go and sleep with it under my pillow or tangled in my blankets.

I've met a few people in my life who tell me that if they start a book they always finish it to the last page, even if they are not enjoying it in the least, and this makes me terribly sad. But I have a bit of respect for that behavior too: it sounds to me like going to the funeral of a person you were not too fond of, just to pay your respects.

Also, I want to check out this book: “The Chameleon Couch” by Yusef Komunyakaa. Here are the opening lines:

“Because I mistrust my head & hands, because I know salt/tinctures my songs, I tried not to touch you/ even as I pulled you into my arms.”

This evening I made basil-infused olive oil, and it is the loveliest, liveliest color, and made the kitchen smell like summer. I tend to go a bit mad in the summertime, it is always a difficult time for me, and I'm sure this year will be no different. But that does not mean I don't delight in its traditions and the wondrous little gifts it brings.

"Come live in my heart and pay no rent"

2011-06-01T20:16:00.000-07:00

Summation of my day, in color form:

Blue: lights from the empire state building that I could see from my rooftop
Grey: puppy paw prints embedded in the staircase between 4th and 5th floor of my building
Green: juice I fixed for breakfast
Pink: highlighter used to mark up to-do list
Red: my cheeks after a solid jog
Yellow: notebook I wrote in
Black: bottomed feet from running around barefoot
White: wine I had leftover from my BBQ that I indulged in a glass of. Just one! My doctor will be delighted.
Leopard: print broom from sweeping up.
Polka dot: sunglasses to shield my eyes from the sun

The words I've spoken aloud today:
1. thank-you's (for doors held open, cashiers ringing me up)
2. a 5 minute conversation with my father about impending travel
3. a few lines sung along to depeche mode

N brought me back a book of Russian poetry her relative wrote. I've been asking for this for over a year, and she finally went to visit them in her old country. Every time I would appear excited about receiving this book she would remind me that I do not speak russian and would not be able to understand it. What she does not understand is that poetry is not like other forms of written text. You can drag your tongue through a completely foreign poem's text and find rhythm and meaning in sound. You can look at how the words fall down the page and understand whether the poet is expressing anger or delight. A love poem is obvious, it is usually very small or cannot stop from going on and on. It has soft syllables and urgency in cadence. Or at least it should. All love should be urgent, irrepressible, something with too many words to fit inside your mouth all at once. No love should be expressed too easily.

The majority of America dislikes poetry because they don't "get it". What I think everyone's issue is, is that they are trying too hard. It should be a very simple act. Of course you can spend hours, days, decades deciphering certain poetry, but the most important interpretation is the one you get from the first instant you meet a poem. This is why I like reading foreign poems of a language I don't speak, because: language will not distract me from the meaning of it.

"If I had a boat I would sail to you"

2011-05-21T16:02:00.000-07:00

For the past three years I've been in a very difficult place, a highly dysfunctional place that I've kept a secret from essentially everyone in my life until recently. It was very lonely there, and I had nearly resigned myself to it, but in the past few months I have clawed my way out. I am very happy now, and just returned from holiday in Paris. I stayed in an apartment that was slightly up the hill to the Sacre Coeur, my favorite place in Paris, and there were birds singing everywhere and abandoned cats and fake and real flowers potted in the courtyard. I woke early to revise poems from my manuscript and realized I have much, much more revising to do before my book is completed.

Things I acquired on my holiday:
1. an antique spoon: a tiny silver thing with a rose at the handle
2. postcards that I must hand deliver
3. foreign chocolates with fruit and flower petals inside
4. a love note
5. a pebble that was thrown through my window
6. a music box that churns this song.
7. a couple dozen polaroids
8. a calm heart
9. a system for revision of poems
10. a few extra pounds from excessive frite consumption

In other exciting news, I have been nominated for the 50 best new poets in the US, and I believe I will win and get in because the prospective cover of the anthology features a tree that bears eery resemblance to the tree I have up on my wall. I think that must be a good sign.

My former professor Martha has proven to be such a supportive and lovely figure in my life. She is constantly looking for ways to throw me work, or help my various endeavors. She has hired me to make cupcakes for the poetry salon in June, and sent over many fantastic recipe ideas she came up with. I attempted one such, a Sacher Torte cupcake, but the cake was unbearably dry and I made the apricot jam from scratch which was a big mistake. I like the idea of making things from scratch, mainly because it is so satisfying, like a magic trick, but I need much more trial runs before I can present these cupcakes to her. There are certain women around whom I feel like an orphan, which is strange because I have a very close knit and supportive family, but she is turning out to be one of them.

I completed the 30 poems in 30 days project this April, finished with 7 minutes to spare. I pushed myself a lot emotionally during the month, and finally started writing poems from an honest and vulnerable place, as opposed to writing from the point of view of fictional, detached characters with made up story lines. It seems to be the beginning of my second book, but now all I need to do is finish my first.

Today I went jogging with both of my sisters in Central Park. It took 3 hours, because we jogged extensively, explored peculiar things and got lost often. Afterwards I went to lunch with A, we ate at a very girly outdoor place on the UES and caught up with each other. Sometimes I forget how much I adore this girl, until I see her in person. She has a very calming effect on me.

Here is my fortune that I ripped out of a french newspaper (translated poorly I'm sure):
"Love: Your future is declining slightly in matters of the heart. You are, truly, too demanding in this area. Show more modesty.
Career: A tendency to indulge. Be careful not to rest too much on your laurels.

My god, french fortunes are depressingly astute.

Doll Hospitals + Fun With Fondant

2011-03-29T12:01:00.000-07:00

My workshop with Martha started last week. She was my first workshop professor at Sarah Lawrence, and it's lovely to get to work with her again after many years. It's a private workshop, held in her loft in Tribeca, and from what I've read so far the other poets are pretty amazing, so it will be good to have such a solid group of writers to help and to be helped by. When we got around to workshopping my poem, it started hailing outside, very loudly. The bits of hail pounded against her sky windows and it became slightly frightening and slightly romantic. I like that my poem had such an atmospheric response. I brought in the poem I had posted last week, but severely revised. I brought her these cupcakes as a thank-you:

[they are a spring trio, but it perhaps is not yet time]

Also, I catered my first baby shower, so spent much of Saturday baking and decorating 6 dozen mini cupcakes. The theme was arctic animals, so I went with a family of penguins (and their pet seal):

I had to make some last minute surgical procedures to attend to some limbs that had fallen off/askewed themselves. This reminded me of when I was a little girl, and would play doll hospital with my sisters. We would make ambulance noises and rush our dolls and teddybears to each other, begging for sutures. When none of my dolls were injured I still sometimes wanted to play, and would sometimes have to snip off an ear or finger in order to have something to fix. I don't think that is too different from how many of us act now, 20 years later as adults.

"isn't it time to admit/we are more machinery than gods"

2011-03-20T18:28:00.000-07:00

I hosted my poetry group at my place tonight. They all showed up hungover, since last night was Saturday, but they still managed to give me very helpful feedback on a poem I wrote this afternoon. That is one thing you can count on with a poet-- our brains still function beautifully despite illness or intoxication.

So, one of the many good reasons why I made my blog private, was to be able to post my poems on here again. The poem below is what I wrote earlier today, and it has a ton of work to be done still, as my sweet poet friends helped me outline. For those of you who are unfamiliar with my work, my book is from the point of view of a man named Nick, who's girlfriend Alice dies and he is left with the grieving of it all.

[original replaced with draft #3]:
Super Perigee Moon, March 19, 2011

People blame tonight's moon for natural disasters,
for the radiation leaking into the Japanese Chrysanthemums,
their rain, their dust. I imagine their cities to be filled
with people terrified to eat, walking through a rain storm,
as their black umbrellas burn and disappear,
still digging through, still looking for the buried people.

What is it about the buried that makes us
unable to stop looking?

The explosion is over. But what they really have
to worry about is the fallout, when the haunting bits
of radiation sink down through the sky.
When they no longer expect it, it'll cover them,
an invisible ghost skin. It will make them sick.

Many things in life act this way. You think the worst
is over, then things resurface: a snapshot of Alice
as a little girl, her red hair ribbons behind the couch,
the moon, the difficult air.

***

I do not read the news or keep up with the world unless I need to write a poem. It is all too large and too much sadness to take in on such a regular schedule. But I will use it for my own selfish, artistic agendas.

I've decided to do the 30 poems in 30 days event this April. I did my own makeshift version of it last October, it is an intense ride, but extremely productive. I hope to find more poets who are doing it. V had a great idea-- to make a blog where we all post up our poems for it, so I will be doing that.

I went to my first wrestling match last night in MSG. It was an interesting crowd-- the kind that tends to throw block parties outside my window and curses at their children. But still, much fun, and very exciting to have experienced this. How interesting to witness a fight where the winner has already been determined beforehand.

I baked my father his favorite cupcakes for his birthday on Thursday. I managed to burn a hole in my dress from lighting the candles, and we got into a long discussion about 'political correctness', and it is refreshing to see that he is on my side of things.

The Medicine of Sunlight

2011-03-18T23:09:00.000-07:00

"The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing... To find the place where all beauty came from."
-C.S. Lewis

I woke up at 9 a.m. today, abnormally early, considering I had the day off from work, and even more so because I had only a few hours of sleep. But I couldn't help it. The sun was bursting in its little sunny ways, into my bedroom, I have an entire wall of windows that it welcomes it's way through. I cannot stand the thought of squandering my day sleeping when it is lovely weather outside.

So, my parents were borrowing my car this morning because they are driving my older sister to a performance in Philadelphia. I thought it would be nice to wash and clean the car for them, since that would make a long road trip much more pleasant. I've never washed a car in my life, but I've always thought it was kind of a charming, summery, sexy thing to do. So I bathed Emp, and she looked very sparkly and content afterwards. It was fun, though I have no idea how she got so dirty, as she leads a very sheltered life and doesn't get driven that often.

After my meeting today I went for a long, leisurely stroll through Central Park. I ended up breaking many blood vessels on my neck/shoulder because my purse was too heavy, and I feel self conscious now because I look like an abuse victim or just naughty in general. I don't know why I need to carry so much stuff around. I really am a snail. I just like to be prepared, I think it's probably all that girl scouts training when I was a little one.

I went to Vespa for dinner tonight, and got to sit out in the garden which was full of life and adorned with strung lights. I had a glass of champagne and the freshest tasting ricotta cheese and tomato salad.

Since it is, basically, spring, I have begun my spring cleaning, and splurged on a few items for the apartment. Mainly it was replacing things that needed replacement. New champagne flutes, because somehow all three of the flutes I bought last year have mysteriously disappeared. I also got new towels with my initial monogrammed on it. They gave me the option at checkout to have a gift message included with the purchase, and so I chose "wishing you a lifetime of happiness". I know this technically constitutes 'talking to myself', but I DO wish myself that, so why not. I ought to do more nice things for myself like this.

Please listen to this song: Gymnopedia No. 3 by Erik Satie. And then, try to act as though there are any hurtful things in the world, that there is any cruelty or awkwardness or evil. You won't be able to.

I cannot help it, springtime drives me to happy, happy madness.

"maybe our bodies are no more than jars..."

2011-03-14T17:34:00.000-07:00

"... meant to hold what we name everything

airplane photograph leash glove & song
it all pours in with each breath"

-from 'the captain asks for a show of hands'
by Nick Flynn

I have neglected this poor, sweet blog so terribly. There is too much to catch up on, it overwhelms me, so I will just have to leave many important gaps.

I am 26 now. I celebrated my birthday at Juliette, a French restaurant in Williamsburg. Dinner was delicious, and at the end they brought me a petite chocolate volcano cake that had luscious things gushing out of it and a candle perched on top-- my very own flickering, 26 years of living, hot white birthday candle. Afterwards we went to drink and talk the night away, and spent the night primarily sitting in an old-fashioned bus. I was so touched by everybody who came to my party, all of my favorite people, some of which I hadn't seen in years. It was the best birthday gift I could of asked for.

For the past several months I have been involved with a small group of poets, we meet 1-2 times a month at each others apartments and read poetry and workshop. It is something I look forward to so much each time, and is something I desperately need, to keep me writing consistently. I wish I could be so self-disciplined as to write independently without any exterior constraints, but that's not how it works for me.

Speaking of workshops, I finished up the chapbook class over the winter and now have much more inspiration and interest in making chapbooks. During the class I completed one major project: a choose your own adventure style mini-book of poems where the reader must find a missing lover. I had so much fun writing it and making it: I equipped myself with an awl and sturdy thread and rose-colored linen paper. I don't know if it's quite good enough to be published, but am playing with the idea of giving it away as gifts to my friends.

I participated in a very special and beautiful event for the New Year, it was a private situation so I won't talk all about it on here, but it is something that I will have in my heart for the rest of my years. Hands down the most precious thing I've done for a New Year. Connected to that somewhat, I've been trying to grow a small strawberry plant, which is contained inside this egg:

I'm very frustrated because it has been over 2 months and there are zero signs of life. This makes no sense to me, because I've been watering it with special water. I keep a bottle of water with the words happiness/love written on it, after hearing about the experiments that the scientist Masaru Emoto did on water [here]. I thought this would be the best food possible for an amateur strawberry. I even wrote it tiny notes of encouragement that I buried into the soil. This strawberry is disappointing. I thought it would blossom and be red and plump and full of seeds and make me feel like everything was going to be okay, I thought it would do a lot of things (brighten up the room, be delicious), but mainly I thought it would at least sprout one measly green sprout.

Over the week-end I went into Greenlight Bookstore in Fort Greene and was happy to have stumbled upon a new, lovely place to get my alphabet fix. I came across "The Lover's Dictionary" by David Levithan which looked very interesting: it was a novel told in dictionary form. Extremely poetic, almost prose-poems, but it was hardcover and I limit myself strictly to only a few hardcover books a year. I had pretty much given up on wanting to buy any books and was about to leave when I caught sight of Nick Flynn's new book of poetry, quoted at the start of this post. Unexpectedly seeing a new book by your favorite poet is likely the best feeling on earth: I was short of breath and faint and filled with adrenaline, as though I had just fallen in love. It's his first book of poetry in about a decade, so I have to parcel it out to my hungry mind in tiny, frustrating bits. It is much like how I would imagine being stranded on an island: my only nourishment being milky coconut, the rare salty fish, unrelenting sun and loneliness, and it is enough and more than enough, but it does need to be parceled out carefully so I do not starve.

"It Catches My Heart in its Hands"

2010-10-10T23:48:00.000-07:00

I have the intense desire to read Bukowski in copious, unhealthy amounts.

So I had my first session with the Chapbook Class. I arrived late, which I hate, because I got lost by the river on my way. There is just something about me and rivers that instantly turns me dreamy and distracted. Our assignment this week is to choose a specific time of day and write at that time every day for the entire week. Sounds simple. This is the website of the experiment that inspired this assignment. So on the first day doing it, I was shopping for sweaters in Union Square, since it's getting chillier, and my writing alarm went off. I rushed down the street, trying to find a place to write, and decided to head over to the park. Once I'd gotten a table there, I opened my notebook, got out a pen, checked my clock [I had 20 seconds to go before I had to start writing] took a deep breath, and then a pigeon pooped on my head. I panicked, because I had to begin writing-- I couldn't mess up on the first day! So I, disgustingly, just wiped it away [I apologize for the disgustiness of this all] and started writing. As it turns out, the pigeons unsavory behavior is a sign of good luck, and so I got excited about what good things would be happening to me. I bought a lottery ticket, even. A few hours later I checked my e-mail and learned that two of my [most beloved] Alice poems would be appearing in the Spring issue of Bat City Review. I now feel a huge sense of relief, because I hadn't gotten a single publication all summer, and was starting to feel like my fellow poets were taking off like rockets and I was left behind in the dirt. Enormous weight off my shoulders.

On the second day of the assignment I had to run at full speed 1.5 blocks to make it in time to write in a Dunkin' Donuts. I began breathless and nearly snapped at a small child halfway through. However, today was the third day and I made it to my writing location with 2.5 minutes to spare, and no animals emptied themselves onto me, so a definite improvement.

Ghostliness

2010-10-06T21:27:00.000-07:00

I will admit that I've had a hard summer. A lot of things hit me all at once, and I have to figure out what to do with my life. I ran into a guy I used to date on the subway the other day, and within 2 stops he managed to ask me a round of missile fire questions on what I was doing with my life. I have so many ideas as to what I want to do, but when it comes to stepping off the cliff to do one of them, I just can't do it. My father took me out for coffee the other day, brought me back perfect presents from his journeys across America [sweet wine, a pearl necklace and books-- there is no more perfect bundle of gifts for me]. As I was finishing up my last few sips of burnt coffee he quoted Goethe, as he often does, a quote that was meant to say "just take a step and get going already". At that moment a [different] guy I used to date walked past the window, and I got distracted. How am I supposed to take big leaps forward into this startling new life, when my old world is a constant ghostliness peering in?

A few weeks ago I went to Montauk, and I've wanted to go there ever since I saw the frozen winter scene from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind [one of my favorite movies]. Even though I didn't go during a winterscape it was just as I pictured it: abandoned and romantic and lonely.

Speaking of ghosts, I am getting somewhat excited about Halloween this year. I hated the holiday for the majority of my life, clipping on some kitten ears or some half-hearted leaves to say I was a "plant", but this year I'm 10% more excited and that's mainly because I will be having a small [guest list of 4] Halloween eve party/movie night. I decided we'll watch 2 "spooky" movies. I am a HUGE anti-horror movie person. It's not really that they frighten me, though some of them definitely do. But I have this weird experience if I'm eating food and watching a horror movie, it terrorizes my stomach and I subsequently feel nauseous anytime I try to eat that food again. I will leave the room if I'm eating and a commercial for a horror movie comes on. When I was 8 years old I watched a spooky flick whilst eating strawberry syrup over ice cream, and I still have never eaten that dish again. But anyway, I chose the movie "Casper" for my get together, and plan to do an entire app/dessert/drink menu surrounding that theme. The reason I chose this movie is because I had a half-awake dream about the movie Casper, and then watched some scenes on youtube from it and it brought me back to my youth. When I was recalling the plot for the movie I realized that it had planted a seed, in my tiny child-sized brain, that would eventually meet with other seeds and bloom into my thesis. Because the movie deals with this man who is a widow and he devotes his life to finding a scientific way to communicate with his dead wife. Sound familiar?

So I guess I cannot live without workshop. I enrolled in one at the Poets House, with Anna Moschovakis, and have my first class tomorrow. I feel like I have this unbearable urge to be in a classroom setting, it's so familiar and comforting to me-- ink pens, taking notes, a syllabus, it's heaven. I need to get over this because I ought to be an adult by now, shouldn't I? But for now I will delight in this class and complete a chapbook.

Monsters on the Outside and Monsters on the Inside

2010-09-13T23:34:00.000-07:00

I haven't been to a church in years, and last night, at about 10 p.m. I decided to go. I was/am in such a confusing place that I wanted to pray about, and find some kind of guidance. It was an extremely atypical decision for me to go do this, since I'm not religious. I walked over to a church nearby that was lit up with strings of lights and seemed inviting. After trying all the doors I realized I was locked out, and this made me sad. I thought churches were places that were always open when you needed them?

Victoria came over this afternoon and she magically got me to write. I always feel so inspired after spending time with her, and it was just the creative boost I needed. Right after she left, a storm hit, and the mood for writing was perfect. I made a drawing of my "pain-body" and what it would look like. This was based on a poetry exercise from Ordinary Genius by Kim Addonizio. We were supposed to think about things inside of us that caused us pain, and visually imagine this monster. This is how mine came out:

That is mainly how I spent my evening, until deciding to bake: a chocolate cupcake with fresh berries baked in, and a cream cheese frosting topped with sugared raspberries. I'm calling it "Falling in Love in a Berry Field is Messy". I was excited to use my new food coloring set, so I made green leafy-grass swirls.

Cupcakerie + Domestic Loveliness

2010-08-20T14:56:00.000-07:00

At the beginning of this month I moved into a strange new land, a magical place they call 'Brooklyn'. Here, poets run wild, fire hydrants create tiny waterfalls on every street corner, and sunsets set the sky on fire:

[Bushwick, New York. August 18, 2010]

The sunlight that pours into my bedroom is almost unreal, I'm sure it'll be all the anti-depressants I'll ever need. Also, It's a new building so everything is pristine and it really feels like a fresh start. I created a *baking section* in the kitchen where I keep all my cupcake supplies and cookbooks. I labeled all the jars and boxes with these neat metallic stickers:

Having this baking section is something I've always wanted, and it's inspired me to try out more cupcake recipes from my beloved Martha Stewart's cupcake book. So far this month I've made the Banana-Pecan Cupcake as a birthday gift, which I adorned with puppies woofing out various messages:

You'd think these are far to cute to consider eating, but you'd be wrong. I've started using proper cake flour and real vanilla extract when I bake, and found this to make a noticeable difference in taste and texture.

I also made tea cakes which I diversified with little treats baked inside for my Buddy's birthday. I mailed them and they've been sitting in the New Orleans post office for over a week. She finally was able to go pick them up, and amazingly they were still edible (though a little dry). She gobbled them up right there in the middle of the post office and everyone around her laughed.

Yesterday Alice came over for a picnic lunch on my new roof, and for dessert I made the Tres Leche cupcakes, which require, as the name implies, a lot of milks! After the little cakes get baked they get poked with toothpicks and then swabbed luxuriously with the sweet milks. Though they were delicious, I don't advise anyone to bring these on a picnic, as the hot sun melted the whipped cream topping quite easily and it became a mess! Our rooftop picnic was so relaxing and I got a nice sprinkling of sunshine to add to my summer tan. We drank white peach sangria and ate roast chicken with our bare hands! As a housewarming gift she brought these cheery pink gerbera daisies:

She also brought fruit, including strawberries, which I gobbled up for breakfast this morning. They were so sweet, I decided to make the Strawberry Cupcakes:

And since my oven was already toasty, tried out the recipe for Orange-Vanilla Cupcakes as well:

The recipe called for candied slices of oranges, but as you can see in my picture I opted for slivers of lemon zest instead. This is because when I candied the orange slices they seemed overcooked and smelled marmalade-y and didn't seem too delicious. I was never a big fan of marmalade and surely wouldn't disgrace a cupcake with some.

Last week I came across this amazing shop near Union Square. It's a bakers dream land! I found so many things I've always wanted, plus some supplies I never knew I wanted! Like a teacupcake mold! I exercised amazing self-control and only bought a few necessary things, and my definition of necessary includes these zebra printed cupcake wrappers [photo care of etsy.com]:

I've gained a couple pounds this month, basically from all the "taste-testing" I've been doing. I'll have to start going to the gym a bit more to offset the frosting-weight, but that's a sacrifice I'll gladly make in the name of sweets.

Balloons, Stage Fright, Fireworks

2010-07-21T21:54:00.000-07:00

I had planned to spend the summer after grad school quietly contemplating my future by the river, but instead it has been hurricane jenny, whirling around and being productive. Since I haven't been able to write much (good) poetry at all, I've been trying to be productive in any other way possible. I have been able to enjoy some sweet leisure though, in particular the week-end of July 4th, I spent half the week-end with the British, and half with the Americans! I'm nothing if not fair. I spent a perfect Saturday at my friend's house in Long Island-- got to swim in a pool, be surrounded by nature, daydream in the grass with an adorable dog named Truffle, sunbathe, eat good food and have great conversations with smart, kind people-- we even napped in the middle of the day! The whole experience made me badly want to one day have a summer home myself. Here I am showing off my summery white dress in their house:

The next day I watched the fireworks on the West Side with my family. It was the most adorable thing in the world to see how excited my mother was over the fireworks, we were late to catch the show and she started running-- she outran me! As the show went on she had a smile plastered on her face and kept cheering and clapping loudly. She talked about how there was absolutely nothing like this in the Philippines, where she grew up.

Last Thursday I co-curated my first ever poetry reading for Opium Magazine. It was held at the Bowery Poetry Club, and I was so delighted at all my darlings who showed up to support the event. It was a great turnout and an incredibly fun experience. I did have to be onstage to assist with the finale, which I was a bit nervous about because I have extreme stage fright, but once I was up there the energy and momentum was thrilling, and reminded me what it was like to be onstage (as a child I was onstage often for choir, band performances, high school plays, gymnastic performances, cheerleading etc.)-- what an absolute rush it is, and how you become a different person when you get up there. This has greatly motivated me to take a small step towards reading my poetry in public-- I'm going to find a place out of town where I can do a reading (I would feel more comfortable not knowing anyone in the crowd). I will have a lousy career as a poet if I can't get over this and start doing readings, so this is an important step for me. For some reason (perhaps to make myself even more anxious) I decided to incorporate balloons into the finale (I have an irrational fear of balloons popping in my face) and spent the first half of the show backstage drawing the faces of French and American poets with a sharpie onto balloons, quietly begging them not to pop in my face.

Anyway, I learned a ton about how to put together a reading by doing this, and am so grateful for having been given the responsibility, and for the woman I co-curated with, she taught me a lot and was so motivating to work with-- a great role model for me. She reminded me of my older sister a lot, which is perhaps why I was so instantly fond of her.

Read about how the event went here.

"I confess, I do not believe in time."

2010-06-23T23:45:00.001-07:00

It was the first day of summer, and I was waiting out a sudden rain storm in the South, in a creaky old bar, in a bad neighborhood, writing prose poems about ghosts.

Things have been a bit rough for me lately, so to restore my cheer + health I booked a last minute trip to New Orleans to visit my beloved buddy. I spent the week-end there (and my definition of week-end includes Mondays and Tuesdays) and it was an unbelievable experience. I'd always wanted to go to the South-- I had such romantic and gritty ideals about it, and it lived up to them all. We spent the days walking in the heat, wetting our beaks at various watering holes, and spent the evenings listening to live jazz and eating alligator nuggets (like chicken but more threatening).

Shortly after my arrival, buddy declared that New Orleans was the #1 murder capital in America. I think they could come up with a better slogan, personally. Later that night, an old, old man came up to me and said he was very lonely, he had no one to spend time with, and could he be my sugar pa for the night? I almost said yes, out of sheer sadness at the thought of his extensive loneliness, but then the creepiness of the situation won out. I still feel bad, it wouldn't have killed me to spend some time talking with this old man.

On my last night there, we went down to the Mississippi river and my head stopped pounding, my neck stopped hurting, and I could see in my peripheral vision again. It seems as though maybe, wherever I am, all I need to do is go down to the nearest river and I'm okay. We sat by it for hours, on the rocks, watching the occasional boat go by, just listening to music together and barely talking. I've rarely felt so close to another human being in my entire life.

One night we passed a "poet for hire" and I commissioned her to write me something. I told her to make it about "water birds" and she composed this in about 10 minutes:

I flew back into New York late Tuesday night, and since there was some storming, the sky was magical and tumultuous. My descent back home was in this lightning filled cloudscape, the airplane rocking badly, and I thought I ought to be terrified for a moment, but I'm not afraid of flying, at all. I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned over to get a better look. Strangely, I feel more comfortable flying than any ground transportation. I feel like I have flying in my blood-- my grandfather was, after all, a pilot.

[sky before the storm]

I spent most of today trying to write but was having trouble. Instead I started drawing map-like things, which I termed "visual poetry supplements". Here is one such creature:

And then taping up and taking down cut-out quotes from my favorite scientists/inventors. I can't tell yet, if that's the first thing I want to see when I look at myself in the mirror.

[Blog post title is Nabokov, and probably too beautiful for me to understand, yet.]

"there is always soma, delicious soma...

2010-06-16T19:42:00.000-07:00

...half a gramme for a half-holiday, a gramme for a week-end, two grammes for a trip to the gorgeous East, three for a dark eternity on the moon..." [Aldous Huxley, Brave New World]

I woke up this morning with an intense desire to write, so I went down to Borders-- they have majestically large windows where sunbeams flood you if timed correctly. While there I decided to send my work out to a magazine. Upon checking my records I realized it's been a year (almost exactly to the day) since I last sent out any of my work. What did I expect, that editors would break into my apartment and smuggle out poems from my pink binder? Fairly unlikely.

I (re)pulled a muscle in my neck last week after being startled by a mouse. I haven't been able to sleep well because it's been quite painful, but am thinking of taking the muscle relaxant my doctor prescribed me. After I described how I sustained my injury, my doctor looked at me with his serious face and asked "what was the mouse doing at this time?", his pen poised above his notepad as if he were going to write down the details of the mouse's comings and goings.

Why must I live in a house with a mouse? I see him leave the apartment late at night, but then he comes back, as though he just went out for a midnight stroll or caught a late movie. It's likely my own fault-- I have a penchant for baking but do not have a sweet tooth, so cookies and sweets are often left lying around, which I've realized equals mouse heaven. But the last time we had a mouse we kept a very tidy household and this caused Teddy to commit suicide in a small blue bowl, my roommate got very sad at this and encourages me to make sure I leave enough mouse snacks around.

I read an amazing new poem, My Octopus Orphan (complete with a darling illustration) by Matthea Harvey today, here's my favorite part:

"...his ink sac predictably empty after
the hundreds of gloomy telegrams
with which he's muddied the walls
of his glass world."

Read the rest here.

Miséricorde*

2010-06-14T22:38:00.000-07:00

On Friday, I found myself lying in a hospital bed surrounded by doctors and nurses yelling at each other, with numerous electrodes attached to my body as they prepared to jump start my heart. I had accidentally ingested a bit of peanut and though this was not the first time I've ended up hospitalized for that mistake, it was by far the scariest. I was alone, and I didn't want my heart to give up on me, not when I was surrounded by strangers. I felt my heart beat in my knuckles, my tongue, my eyelashes -- it was begging to escape from my body, but I didn't let it. Then, things calmed down.

I spent the rest of the week-end resting and watching movies I've been meaning to get around to. I finally saw Bright Star and it was better than I expected.

"There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish." -Keats

Also, letting this song break me over and over.

*defined as: "a long, narrow knife, used in medieval times to deliver the death stroke (the mercy stroke) to a seriously wounded knight. The blade was thin enough so that it could strike through the gaps between armour plates." It comes from the Latin word for mercy: [misericordia] and included in that: [cor] the word for heart.

Loose Buttons

2010-06-07T00:14:00.000-07:00

10 things in my kitchen right now:

1. Eye shadow
2. My thesis
3. Bouquet of dead flowers
4. Unopened mail
5. Panties
6. Blueberry mini muffins
7. Polaroids of people I adore
8. Half bottle of champagne
9. Records from the 1980's
10. Book of Miranda July short stories

I have only one day left with my darling buddy. She is leaving for the south and won't be back for 3 months. We have mainly been spending our time left: 1) playing in lingerie, stockings, high heels. 2) Watching our favorite movies 3) Walking in the neighborhood and down to the river 4) Drinking copious amounts of wine 5) Eating overpriced frozen yogurt 6) Sunbathing in our underwear 7) Eating cherry popsicles out on our balcony 8) Coming up with silly dances.

In other news, my sweet Canadian visited me. Some memorable quotes that she spoke whilst in my bed: "If it starts to hurt just let me know and I'll loosen it.", "Is it alright if I just take this off?", "

I'm dying to see the new Miranda July art exhibit in Union Square. I met her once, after standing in line and sweating for 30 minutes, at a book signing. She was lovely and so light I thought she'd float away, but she didn't, and when I introduced myself she told me her middle name was Jennifer, and I melted 10% of my body at that moment.

And, I bought/spent the whole day trying to understand: a record player. Exclusively because, i'd like to hear this voice properly.

"Your letters got sadder..."

2010-06-03T15:01:00.000-07:00

Three years from now I will be receiving some letters. When I was in high school my English teacher had us write letters to our 28 year old selves, that he saved and would mail us when the time came. I wonder what I will say to myself -- it will be like hearing from an old friend.

Speaking of letters, I spent some time this afternoon writing to an old friend of mine, one I haven't spoken to in years (photo above).

Here is an excerpt from the letter: "A fly just landed on this paper as I'm writing this letter. It was the most beautiful creature -- iridescent green wings, black lace netting over its eyes, a plump torso. It hovered over the page, and then it landed on the word "you", and, as if it couldn't stand to be away from you -- it just stayed there, and I continued writing."

Here is a picture of me in a room where women powder their noses and reapply lipstick:

"your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn't help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over the river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you."
— Charles Bukowski (Love Is a Dog from Hell: Poems, 1974-1977)

Anyway. I don't even know if I will send the letter, as I don't know where my friend lives anymore. I've gotten in the habit of writing letters that I keep for months or years and think about whether or not I should send them. I never do.

"I'm tired of being without you"

2010-05-31T15:13:00.000-07:00

Finally named my fish: Bendrix. He's named after the main character in The End of the Affair.

Also, the moon has been beautiful this month:

"You look so fine, I want to break your heart and give you mine."

2010-05-22T20:27:00.000-07:00

At 8:12 p.m. on Saturday the sun set, and I had just finished writing a tiny-short story. I've barely written any fiction at all for the past two years, since I've been consumed with my poetry manuscript, so it was nice to write something else for a change.

I spent the week-end entirely by myself, and enjoyed a distinct feeling of alone-ness. I've walked down to the river 2-3 times a day for the past 5 days. Most likely, I would have kept going over to the river except that each day it eventually got dark out, and therefore I got nervous about rape/drug muling/where birds go in the winter etc. For some reason, probably because I'm a pisces, I am always comforted when I'm by a body of water. If I feel anxious or uneasy, the best thing to do is go out on a boat/swim in the ocean. Since it's a little tricky to manage that on the Upper East Side I opt for the next best thing -- the East River. I also recently bought a new fish, and my heart beat slows a little whenever I look at him. I don't understand how anyone could maintain a sense of anxiety while looking at a fish.

I also don't understand why when I smile people don't understand that I mean I think they're wonderful, and that they're making me happy. Maybe I smile too much and it becomes irrelevant? Occasionally my eyes involuntarily "roll" when I don't mean them to, and it isn't a reaction from annoyance or anything, it just happens. I suppose I don't have much control over my body. Sometimes I wish I could forget about words, words overwhelm me and are not enough. I wish I could just communicate by wrinkling my nose when someone did something unpleasant, or by smiling when someone was being lovely, or smiling a petite/half-hidden smile when someone did something so lovely I didn't want to admit I enjoyed it.

Real-adult-world

2010-05-11T22:44:00.001-07:00

Here is my final erasure:

It reads: "Fish have just the tiniest moment to love". I'm very interested in fish, and having learned about how goldfish only retain memory for 1-2 minutes inspired this mini-poem. I'm very happy with the poem-erasures that came out of the project.

It's stunning to believe that grad school is over with, and that I now have to be apart of the "grown-up" world. I wasn't the most social of people during school, but then, I never am. I'm happy to say that I come out of this with 2 friends that I know I will keep in contact with for the rest of my life. And several more people that I would love to continue talking to. I think that's a pretty great thing.

The day I handed in my thesis was so overwhelmingly emotional. I am very hesitant to become emotional in public, and don't think I often do, but this was a different situation. The printers messed up my thesis and I ended up in nervous attacks over silly things like font or italicization. I ended up crying on the sidewalk on Lexington Ave. because of Staples. It's also become hard for me to understand that 'Nick' and 'Alice', the characters of my thesis, are not real human beings, it's interfered a bit in my day-to-day.

The day after I handed in my thesis, I flew off to Miami for some sunning and 'poetry-free-life'. I actually left all my books and notebooks at home, to make it a clean break. It was the first time I was on a plane with nothing to read but fashion magazines and in-flight brochures.

Erasures and My Future as a Poet

2010-03-16T00:03:00.001-07:00

So I'm workshopping with the amazing Matthea Harvey, and she has lived up to every (idealistic, fantastical) expectation that I had. And on top of her teaching/guiding skills she's an absolute sweetheart. She assigned us to do a poetry erasure: I decided on doing an erasure of a book on the history of pigeons, because I've always had an affinity for them and I thought the vocabulary would be good, and as a side project I decided to combine two of my favorite things ever: poetry and cupcakes, and made a collection of a dozen erasure poems from cupcake recipes [care of Martha Stewart] and frosted one cupcake erasure onto some cupcakes as the cover:

I'm having such fun in this class, you wouldn't believe.

Also, to update my 101 in 1,001 list, I've done the following: 1. A cartwheel in a tropical location (on the beach in Mexico in January). 2. An art exhibit (The "Slash: Paper Under the Knife" exhibit @ the MAD) 3. Attended a ball (the future lawyers ball. Although this wasn't a masquerade ball I'll still count it).

Lastly, I was working out of Starbucks the other day, and for the entire 4+ hours I was there I was seated next to a homeless man who had a shopping cart full of belongings. He was reading a book the whole time, and I never paid any attention to him. As he got up to leave I glanced over and noticed the book he was reading (and all the notebooks and pens he had) and saw that it was a book on poetry craft that I was also currently reading. I thought "fantastic, that is basically my future as a poet". I guess I never will be rich or "successful" or "important" but I think I'll, at least, be happy.

give me a bowl of serial love

2009-12-29T19:13:00.000-08:00

What a ridiculous week-end. Saturday I went to a birthday party and was attacked by an alien sphinx cat; it left me bloodied and undressed me in front of a room full of people. Then Sunday I drove to Connecticut with my buddy, to attend an engagement party. Then we drove back to NYC and went to a cocktail party on the Upper East Side but I was so drained at that point I barely could stay for one drink before I crawled back into my little bear cave. Still, such fun! I wish I had the energy to do this every week-end, but sadly my poems have taken over my life and I really can only be social in intermittent bursts.

Gingerbread man latte, they look even happier than we looked eating them!

I got some really lovely gifts this year -- a framed printing of one of my favorite poems, a heart locket from my father, some amazing cupcake tools from my sis, hysterical comedy mix dvds (genius idea). I put a lot of thought into buying gifts this year but when it came time to wrapping them things weren't as well planned. I got to the drug store late and all they had left was clear easter egg paper and 'congratulations on your wedding' wrapping. So that's what people got.

I went to a cafe today to do some writing and got into a state of mind where I just could not focus normally. I ended up writing a poem on my coffee cup:

On the way home I passed a juice bar and went in for a shot of wheatgrass. It's supposed to detoxify you and etc. but it made me feel funny, like I wanted to dance and sleep at the same time.

Also, I was sniffing around Barnes and Nobles for something to read on this cold night, and found Nick Flynn's newest book 'The Ticking is the Bomb'. I almost fainted with happiness, I didn't think it was coming out until mid-january!

The look on my face is pure luxury, and sad because I know I will devour this book in no time.

Christmastime and Self-Indulgence

2009-12-21T01:35:00.000-08:00

So my darling came to visit:

and we had such Christmassy fun! We went to see the Nutcracker, and Lincoln Center was flooded with adorable kids pirouetting across the floors and dusty older people attempting to do the same. Afterwards we went for cocktails at the Waldorf Astoria. Darling had the Millionaires Martini, and I had the Jaded Grasshopper because I like to hop? Either way, I can cross off new cocktails from my 101 in 1,001 list! And I love rubbing fancy elbows, I have 14k splinters!

I spent the early majority of the day re-alphabetizing the poems in my thesis and calculating how many poems I produced per month this semester. I spent the mid majority of the day nervously crying over my thesis and yelling at it because of all the work that needs to be done until it is a real live book. I spent the late majority of the day baking a gingerbread house and drowning my sorrows in the assembly line of jelly beans and snow caps:

Those are gummi frogs surrounding the house, because I didn't want it to be inhabited by boring old gingerbread men. It was occupied by the frogs and I don't really think that's strange at all.

Earlier this month I threw my Christmas dinner party. I basically just baked some lasagnas, sliced some cheese and made a fabulous Croquembouche (care of Martha Stewart). I adored having my lovelies altogether, we had such fun and no one was robbed or sexually violated this time.

She looks like she wants to decapitate me but really she adores me and I adore her!

The number one thing on my Christmas wish list that I didn't actually put on any of the wishlists people asked me to make.

10 Things in my Bedroom Right Now

1. jar of pumpkin pie spice
2. snow globe
3. leopard print pillow
4. empty champagne flute
5. rock from the great wall of china in a ziploc bag
6. typewriter with half a poem in its mouth
7. fake pearl earrings
8, real diamond earrings
9. stack of overdue (stolen?) library books
10. christmas gifts that need to be wrapped
11. my thesis (which has snowspots from when a homeless man burst into the cafe and fluttered the pages all over the storm floor. [I will never alphabetize in public again] )

I keep listening to the audio of this poem on repeat. Seriously, each time I listen to this I think "What's the point of my writing poetry, he just said it all." But then I get selfish and want to go to a dictionary and scoop up every word and keep it for myself. Sometimes I really hate the fact that I have to share this language with everyone. I wish I could just have a secret language that no one speaks, but when they read my poems they would instantly fall into tears and sadness and think of my words as fresh jam and use their limbs as toast and spread my poems all over themselves until they were so sticky and sweet and ridiculous that no one would touch them, and they would be lonely forever but they would be happy. Those are the kinds of poems I want to write.

I've been thinking a lot about if being a "poet" is a choice. I've been crazy about poetry since I was a kid-- I sent out neatly typed poems to some magazines when I was 11 years old, cover letter included, I even notified them that my poems were "simultaneous submissions". But I never considered it a possibility of an actual career until I was 20. Now, 4 (to 5) years later, I am in a place where I consider my future only as poetess. There is no other option. It's almost as though I contracted some horrid disease. I feel like I don't really have a choice in the matter; if I weren't to write poetry, and if poetry weren't my primary focus and my "identity" for the rest of my life, I'd be heartbroken and at a standstill. If it were taken away from me I think I would just freeze in my tracks and look around confused. This annoys me to a large degree -- I've always relished in the freedom of having any career or future at my disposal, I always thought I could be capable of anything and I could do whatever I liked, but now I have a future set in stone. Are there people out there for which poetry is a luxury? Something that could be snipped away to maintain a budget. Something that could be pushed aside to pursue a more lucrative field? I feel like I've contracted some horrible disease, that milks my blood, dries out my brain tissue, exhausts my resources and claims ownership on the rest of my alive years. I love poetry so much, but lately realizing that it is not just a hobby, not just a career, not just a passion but an identity for me. This has made me nervous.

On a different note, my fabulous sister has adopted one of my poems and is turning it into a complicated, amazing creature. (It will be the base of a 15 min performance and interpreted by dance, music and video). She is doing it in Australia, because she thinks the kangaroos are more receptive to art, and also because she will be there for a good while.

So, my first Christmas on the Upper East Side was interesting. I spent it snuggled up with Oliver, as I was puppy sitting. In the morning we went and played in the snow, everyone decked out in designer snowboots, I watched as all the little kids marched down the street with their department store sleds in hand, and I delighted in sneaking onto my balcony and throwing snowballs at unsuspecting passerbys. Also, I drove down to see the gorgeous homes in Dyker Heights, all decked out in elaborate Christmas decorations. It was pretty impressive, but then, I am easily impressed.

Procrastination, Psychics, Poetry

2009-12-01T01:10:00.000-08:00

I Thought I Was Finished Rewriting My Poem Until I Found Out It's Illegal to Cremate More Than One Person at a Time in the U.S., also: Why Revising a Poem Gives Me a Headache:

1. I write a poem about death/a funeral: I have to research the history behind all burial/death processes.

2. I use the color gray. I spend the better half of the day deciding if I want to spell the word "gray" or "grey". "Grey" seems fancier/more European but "gray" looks more comforting and homelier. Then I decide that "grey/gray" doesn't even belong in the poem.

3. One of the metaphors I want to use belongs to a topic that I don't know much about, so I must wait a week for a book explaining the topic to be delivered after I order it online.

4. Someone once told me to never use an exclamation point in a poem unless I was actually having an orgasm as I wrote it.

5. I sometimes hate a poem after I have changed its font.

6. The period near the end of the poem makes it seem as though the poem is sexual.

7. I have a word such as "peach" in my poem, and "peach" means several things to me that it doesn't mean to anyone else. [I associate it with Princess Peach from Super Mario Brothers, or the time I went peach picking in Long Island, or how I feel nauseated at the smell of a peach pit.]

8. I could never use the word "raven" without conjuring Edgar Allan Poe, as I could never use the word "bees" without conjuring Sylvia Plath, and could never use a red dress without conjuring Kim Addonizio. People who read poetry who will read my poem will have read these authors, and those author's poems will inevitably be serving as the backdrop to mine.

9. I'm convinced that gerunds sound like a disease.

10. I am not sure if the time it takes me to complete a breath corresponds to the average time it takes a human to take one breath, so I have to research it online. Because, of course, if the average reader took a breath before the wrong word it would be a disaster, and I would never survive, etc.

11. Some people pronounce words differently than I do (aka people who have accents, which is anyone who was brought up in a different environment than I was or a different town etc.)

12. The current syntax's personality is more hostile than accepting.

13. Someone once told me to never use the word "tiny" in a poem, but I ran out of synonyms for "small".

14. Sometimes a parenthesis feels like too much love, when I want to be cold and heartless.

Anyway and otherwise: Thanksgiving. I had to bake a sweet potato pie. There was a pumpkin shortage. I've always wanted to be a Southern Belle.

Last week I went for a walk in my neighborhood and found myself outside of a psychic's place, so of course I went in. I'd never been and it's on my list of things. She told me many interesting things; that I had a man in my life who had feelings for me yet didn't express them, and that I was a very lucky person, and that I would have a happy marriage and would not struggle to get by financially. My best friend had her tarot card reading right after mine and was told she was very negative and had a sleep-disturbing dream life and that she'd been cursed by a spanish woman a few years ago. After thinking about things and comparing notes with my best friend I realized something; that the psychic most likely said as many negative things to me as she had to my best friend, and as many positive things to me as to my best friend, yet I remembered all the positive, uplifting things and my best friend remembered the negative. I really do believe in the idea that the entire world exists in your own head, and most things can have a positive or negative slant based on the eyes you're looking through, and this experience reinforces it a bit.

Things I've Done in the Past Few Days Whilst Procrastinating Writing Poetry:

1. Washed the dishes
2. Organized the shoes in the hallway according to size, style and color
3. Hung Christmas lights
4. Called the Customer Service of a website because I thought they were falsely advertising something
5. Watched the entire first season of "Secret Diary of a Call Girl"
6. Printed out and alphabetized everything I've ever written
7. Deleted anyone from my phonebook if I could not think of 3 good things about them
8. Cleaned out my air filter
9. Organized my make-up drawer
10. Sat in my tub for 20 minutes and thought about all the things I'm grateful for (due to Thanksgiving), followed by 20 minutes in the tub thinking about all the things that piss me off
11. Checked the energy level of all my batteries

It's just a hump to get over, not a whole damn camel.

2009-11-17T23:03:00.000-08:00

So today I had a pretty amazing *school day*. I felt like I was just so joyful and glowing with all the positive things that were happening poetry-wise. To recap:

1. My professor unfortunately had to cancel our class today, but we decided to meet for workshop anyway. And, every single person showed up, and we did the class on our own. I was seriously stunned. Throughout high school and college I could never have imagined anyone showing up when the professor canceled class, let alone every single person showing up. Maybe I'm making too big a deal out of this, but I seriously was so proud and happy to be a part of such a talented, devoted group of writers.

2. I experienced such an overwhelming kindness and care from my program advisor as she stuck up for me and got me into the workshop I had my heart set on for next semester.

3. I met with my thesis advisor, and had a significant change in perspective as to where I want my thesis to go.

4. Opium appointed me with a poetry assistant. I'm thrilled that now I will not be all lonesome and there will be a much more powerful team in making the poetry in the magazine even more awesome!

So with all these amazing, heartwarming, inspiring things happening, in 1 single day, it is obvious that I had to get something that would commemorate it all, and it comes in the form of the Sarah Lawrence Mascot Bear, that I purchased from the school store:

Yes, I know it's extraordinarily corny to have so much school spirit at this age, particularly in the form of a stuffed bear in a sweatshirt, but I refuse to feel any shame, and anything besides delight when I look at his squinty, furry face.

"the teeth/ are never finally the/ teeth of love"

2009-11-14T19:54:00.000-08:00

Last week I woke up one morning after having dreamt of Bukowski all night. I woke up loving him terribly, and ate my breakfast over Love is a Dog From Hell. [The blog post title is from his poem "Iron Mike"]

My best friend attended a pot luck dinner at her law school and had to bring something. Since she doesn't cook she asked me to make her something. I decided to take out my beloved cupcake bible: Martha Stewart's Cupcakes. I chose a coconut cupcake dressed like a baby chick!

Here is what they are supposed to look like:

Here is how mine turned out:

So, a bit squatter and a slight lazy eye, but I still thought they looked adorable! I got quite attached to them and was sad when they marched off, brave and determined, housed in a pizza box, into the cold, cold world.

Anyway, I've been madly reading and re-reading: Stupid Hope, by Jason Shinder. It's a horrible thing, to discover an amazing new poet, to feel that hot flush of poems that re-inspire you, that awaken something in yourself, and then read on the back cover that he's recently died. It really bothers me sometimes, that there's so much great poetry out there, right now, that I don't even know about. The fact that it's there is haunting to me.

Edibles

2009-11-06T21:39:00.000-08:00

I've been sniffly and sick the past few days, but have been fighting it like mad. Tons of vitamin C, Echinacea tea and probiotic yogurt, plus my magic green 'cocktail':

I juice apples, lemon, ginger, spinach and celery and end up with a super healthy, energetic and yummy drink. I drink it from a martini glass so it feels more glamorous.

Today I was feeling a bit better and cooked dinner for my sister. I made a steak with blue cheese sauce, a recipe I've been trying to master, and we drank "Bitch" wine:

And for dessert we got these scrumptious cupcakes from Crumbs:

Don't Try

2009-11-01T22:01:00.000-08:00

So the month of 30 poems in the month of October is officially over. I'm so, so proud of myself because I finished the project (though I took an extra day). Granted, some of the 'poems' are kinda crap and a half-desperate attempt to finish, but there was no "quality" laws on this project! Hurrah! I'm done! I don't think I've ever wrote so intensely in all my life! Here's a link again: http://reconsiderthesky.blogspot.com/

I have to thank my fantastical poetess's Victoria and Eugenia for being such great partners in this endeavor. They were so inspiring with their prompts and their own poems!

Anyway, Halloween was a blast. My best friend/roommate has been getting me more and more into this holiday (I used to hate it!). My costume was throwback to the 50's, nothing too elaborate. I'm so painfully un-creative when it comes to costuming. A crazy night though; we debauched some innocent teenagers, someone ended up sleeping in my bathtub and rhinestones were everywhere!

"A black, intractable mind"

2009-10-19T20:30:00.001-07:00

I've been in kind of a dark place for the past few days, but today I dragged myself out of it and spent the evening preparing a delicious autumn meal, consisting of cracked wheat toast with goat cheese, coconut curry stew with a bunch of Fall vegetables and pumpkin cookies with browned butter frosting for dessert.

I also bought some little baby pumpkins to carve tomorrow!

I went to the library today and found the unabridged journals of Sylvia Plath. The reason why I chose to do my poetry marathon this month was in part to honor Sylvia Plath, whose birthday is October 27th. I'm also re-reading her book Ariel, in its restored edition (how she originally intended it as opposed to how her ex husband decided to put it together posthumously). Very satisfying.

So there are some days where I feel very desirable and foxy, like the days when I get the "50% off pretty girl discount" or when a man calls his elevator ride with me the thrill of his life. Then there are the other days, when my womanly sexiness doesn't feel quite so alive, like that time I left a bookstore and the security guard said "Have a good evening, sir".

"Every Woman Adores a Fascist"

2009-10-13T00:00:00.000-07:00

I've been beaming for the past two days because I found out that my poem "Alternative Medicine" will be adopted by the fabulous magazine Redivider, for their spring 2010 issue. I don't get published too often, so when it happens I pop open a bottle of champagne:

Otherwise, I have been galloping. My thesis advisor told me to stop worrying so much about the particulars for my book, to stop obsessing and to just gallop, to write write write! So I wrote gallop on a post-it and stuck it on my bathroom mirror.

Some quotes from very different sources, that I've been adoring recently:

"Some girls they like candy, and others they like to grind. I'll settle for the back of your hand somewhere on my behind. Treat me like I'm a bad girl, even when I'm being good to you. I don't want you to thank me, you can just spank me... Please don't call a doctor, 'cause there's nothing wrong with me. I just like things a little rough and you better not disagree. 'Cause I don't like a big softy, no, I like someone mean and bossy."

-"Hanky Panky by Madonna

"Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you."

-"Daddy" by Sylvia Plath

Live Bunnies! Running Loose!

2009-10-10T00:03:00.001-07:00

The title for this blog post is credited to a line from this amazing poem

My workshop this semester is so interesting. My professor is very particular about details, and tells us that for every poetic choice we make, we'd better be able to defend it in court. She seems like a pretty amazing person, and her guidance has already helped to whip my poems into shape. She's completely changed my perception of the purpose of a poems title, and has helped me to look at each line of a poem with a much stricter focus. (She urges us to attempt some "Stand Alone Lines" or SAL's) In the last poem I workshopped with her, she told me the poem needed more Velveta (the cheese).

I have befriended a lovely Japanese poet who has been trying to teach me some things in Japanese (there are no accents on the following because I have no idea how to do that):

"Watashi no namae wa Jennifer desu" means: "My name is Jennifer"

"Watashi wa shijin desu" means: "I'm a poet!"

and "tentoumushi" means: "a ladybug"

All very important phrases, and I'm pretty sure I could survive on these alone, if I had to. Anyway, she also has such interesting ideas on restraint and emotion and art, and her philosophy on life is enlightening. I love to be around her because she makes me feel calm, and centered, and closer to the world.

So, every April is national poetry month, and a bunch of people around the world try to write 30 poems in 30 days during that month. I've never tried it because, frankly, it intimidated me. But with the glaring deadline of my thesis/book of poetry approaching, I decided to give it a try during the month of October. A few other poets from my school are doing it with me, and they are such stunning writers that it really keeps me motivated. Here is the link to my other blog that I created just for this endeavor. It kind of feels like a monster that I've created that keeps eating and eating away and soon will take on a life of its own. I typically write about a poem a week so this marathon is forcing me to multiply my production rate by 7. But if I finish these 30 days and am still alive/intact I will feel such a cool rush or accomplishment. So, yay!

Also, something I'll add to my 101 in 1,001, I want to complete a journal. I fill it mainly with notes, poems and research for poems. I've never in my life actually finished a journal to the last page. In all honesty I usually write in the first few pages, maybe write in a dozen, but invariably buy a new journal and write in that instead. In an effort to 'finish something i've started' I want to reach the last page of this journal. I started it at the beginning of the summer. The journal has about 300 pages in it, and I have around 20 pages left. The end is near!!

I'm also very excited about Autumn and all Autumn related things. All I want to do is carve pumpkins to put out on my balcony, drink hot spiced apple drinks and take hayrides through the country side!

"I am the one navigating the night without stars"

2009-08-20T18:56:00.000-07:00

I just got back from my poetry conference in Cape Cod. I managed to get my beloved Canadian to come along with me, and it was such a peaceful and lovely trip. We were right by the beach and the town was pretty far removed from everything. It was so quaint and picturesque -- the kind of town that doesn't seem quite real. Everyone is so friendly that by the end of the 4 day conference I felt like I was part of a community. My workshop advisor was Kathleen Aguerro, and she was sweet as a peach and so encouraging, and had such great perspective on poetry and revising work. At first I felt a tiny bit nervous because I think I was the youngest person there by several decades, but I forgot about that pretty quickly when I realized we were all in the same boat.

One great poet I was exposed to, and to whom I credit my blog post title, was Martin Espada. Read his great poem: "Not Here"

I was having such a dry spell all summer, but Cape Cod really re-booted me. I wrote so much while I was there, and haven't stopped since! It was all pretty perfect, picture this -- sitting out on the porch and rubbing ice over ourselves (it was so hot!), playing the harmonica for a lovely mosquito audience, evening strolls along the beach, watching Saved by the Bell movies, eating steak every night, hearing the life stories of about a dozen cab drivers.

Have you ever played that game where you try to guess the color another person is thinking? You touch their temples and gaze into their eyes and have them imagine everything that comes in that color? You probably haven't, because I made it up, but it's a lot of fun. Usually when I play with people they never guess right, but with my little sister she guesses my colors right about 99% of the time. I made my beloved play with me on the trip, and turns out she can guess my color right everytime as well. Everytime she declared "pink" or "blue" with such quiet confidence I screamed and tumbled out of bed. This just further proves my theory that we can communicate on a different level.

Poodle peeking out.

On the way there we stopped over in Providence, Rhode Island, and I bought animal crackers from a man on the street. They tasted horrible but I found this owl cracker!

Running away to the circus

2009-07-13T22:10:00.001-07:00

For the fourth of July I threw a bbq at my house. The main guests were my best friends family whose father had never been to my house for a celebration in all our years of friendship, so of course I wanted to make it extra special. I planned out an elaborate dinner menu, with a prosciutto and melon appetizer, grilled pork loins as a main course, and bumblebee cupcakes care of Martha Stewart. Sadly I had forgotten that her family is Jewish and couldn't eat pork so I had to ditch all the food I made and run to the supermarket and buy chicken at the last minute. I don't know what compelled me to create an all-pork meal for a bunch of Jewish folk, maybe it is the hidden racist within me. We still all had a great time ;)

I made the decision to move from my lovely apartment in Bronxville to an apartment on the Upper East Side. I found a great place and will be living there with my best buddy so I'm pretty darn excited about all that. It's a duplex type apartment so there are 3 floors in it, and we each have our own bathroom!? Also, I have a balcony which I plan to put a mini garden in and grow fresh herbs and flowers with.

Also, I went to the circus at Coney Island the other day. I haven't been since I was a little girl and it seemed a lot smaller than I recall, but still pretty impressive. Here are some girls pre-show:

We also took our picture in a mini photo booth which are pretty much the best things ever:

Yesterday I drove out with friends to a wine tasting in Long Island. It was so nice to be out in the country and I got to learn all about how to drink wine properly and what I should be sniffing/tasting. I smelled amazing things, like grapefruit, smoke, green apple and buttered toast, when before all I smelled in wine was wine!

Afterwards we went to the beach:

I also got some cute salt and pepper shakers shaped like birds!:

But one of the birds keeps leaking pepper out of its butt so it's kind of a problem...

So it was a pretty awesome week-end but then I got into a minor car accident last night at midnight. I was in a Wendys parking lot waiting impatiently for chicken nuggets, and the guy in the car behind me leaned in to kiss his girlfriend and his foot slipped off the brake, thus crashing into my car. I would be madder if it wasn't so romantic.

Things I can only write in the dark

2009-06-05T21:12:00.000-07:00

I love writing letters to my dearest friends on stiff parchment paper and sealing them with an old fashioned wax seal. It's so lovely to communicate to them this way and is a relief in my over-texting, e-mail crazy life. Earth Hour got me started on shutting off all the lights in my apartment and writing by candlelight, and it's such a peaceful time in my week when I can sit inside a quiet pocket of time that doesn't feel like the 21st century:

I wish I could afford to have fresh flowers in my house every week. I think it's a very grown-up characteristic:

Out, out brief candle

2009-06-03T21:24:00.000-07:00

For some reason I've been putting myself to sleep lately by reading various scenes from Hamlet aloud. As a result I wake up in the middle of the night with spooky thoughts.

It is strange to be at a point in your life where you are working on the career you will have for the rest of your life. So I was thinking of all the various careers I could have had that would have been pretty fun in my opinion:

1. Acrobat in the circus -- I took gymnastics when I was younger and always found this fascinating, contortionism in particular
2. Bakery owner -- baking delectable items is still high on my list of things I love to do, I recently made a decadent three layer chocolate cake rife with raspberries, almonds and caramel for my sisters birthday. We celebrated in an open park though, and it was difficult to light the candles. When finally we had them lit, several of us had to crowd around them, cupping the flames to protect it from wind until she could blow them out. How silly.
3. Burlesque dancer -- I've always loved this stuff, the festival
is coming up soon. I think I would have been to shy for something like this though.
4. Matchmaker -- because I enjoy seeing people fall in love, and find the dynamics of that equation interesting.
5. Rockette -- it combines two of my favorite things - dancing and Christmas!

And the living is easy

2009-05-28T17:41:00.000-07:00

So my first year of grad school has finally come to a close and I'm astonished at how quickly it's gone. Summertime is wonderful, filled with sidewalk cocktail hours, seaside picnics and flirty dresses, but at the same time the season always makes me a bit nervous. For the past 10 years it's been this way, I tend to go a little mad at this time of year, which I attribute to the lack of a rigid school schedule/workload. I'm most content when I have a clear set of parameters and consistent deadlines to meet, but summer is like a hot fuzzy tunnel that I have to climb my way through, get lost in, and try to manage to make it out the other side where the crisp leaves and freshly sharpened pencils of Fall semester lies. Okay, that was a slightly convoluted simile now that I think about it. And 'hot fuzzy tunnel' sounds somewhat pervy on second thought. Anyway. So to ward off my typical summertime mental breakdown/depression I've been sticking to a strict regimen of reading and writing since school let out a couple weeks ago, which means I spend most my days holed up in the library.

I've been exploring and hopping around to different libraries in my quest to find the perfect one. In case there's anyone out in the ether that is as nerdy and library crazy as I, I've come up with ratings for some of the libraries I've perused in the past couple weeks:

Research Library - Midtown - Upside: luxuriously ornate and makes me feel like I'm studying to become Queen. Also, an abundance of cute boys to rest my poetry weary eyes on from time to time. Downside: quite the commute from where I live, and you can't check anything out.

Mid Manhattan Library - Midtown - Upside: amazing poetry collection. Downside: suspiciously homeless people lurk about, also the man who works the desk on the lit floor freaks me out with his germaphobia, I'm afraid if I sneeze near him he will behead me.

White Plains Library - Westchester - Upside: very quiet and has a pretty good poetry section, also gives me an excuse to drive to White Plains and nibble at Atlanta Bread Co. Downside: None really, except the ladies rest rooms hand dryer is broken and I don't like having wet hands.

Sarah Lawrence Library - Bronxville - Upside: extremely close, has cozy little desks to study in, good poetry section and great magazine/journal section, really sweet staff. Downside: to hunt for books I need I have to go into a dungeon where the bookcases are all packed together and only separate when you press a button, at which point they float magically apart, but I'm afraid one day the will float magically back together while I'm in the middle and I'll be crushed to death while clawing away at some Sylvia Plath.

Tuckahoe Library - Westchester - Upside: they have a couple leather chairs that are kind of comfortable. Downside: It's tiny, frequented by old people and small children, and when I asked the clerk where the poetry section was she squinted at me like I was a disease and led me to a pathetic half a shelf of dusty poetry books.

25 Things

2009-05-12T14:39:00.000-07:00

1. I'm terrified of driving on the highway, and when I'm forced to I merge by closing my eyes and stepping on the gas.
2. I'm obsessed with the sound of my own voice, and the voices of all people in general. I sometimes record myself reading things (like poems) and try to modify my speaking patterns.
3. I think I'm fancy because I use my vintage typewriter to make up grocery lists.
4. I dress according to the time of year, not the weather, which landed me in a snowfall a little while ago in flip flops and a sundress.
5. I haven't carried an umbrella in years. I think umbrellas are for squares. (Unless you have really pretty ones like E.)
6. Drinking-wise, I'm not a lightweight by any means, but if I have a shot of anything during the night, I'm legally no longer responsible for my actions. (true fact, and this is why I do not drink liquor)
7. I want to read the favorite book of everyone I love/kind of like.
8. I feel inferior to a lot of people because I don't read the newspaper everyday. I don't really know what's going on in the world, but I can recite you a sonnet by heart or explain to you the mating habits of otters. (different priorities)
9. I have a huge soft spot for public libraries, and the only time I write letters to the government are to plead for more funding for them.
10. I wear perfume everywhere I go, because you never know when someone important will sniff you. I have over a dozen bottles of perfume and consider myself to have a master nose. I like to go to department stores and smell perfumes until I get a headache. Sometimes when I'm in a grocery store I'll accidentally sniff a can of soup or a box of crackers.
11. I always have the television on. It's like my adult version of the imaginary friend.
12. I plan on lying about my age once I hit 25.
13. I think people who sing along to songs in public are annoying but I do it myself
14. When I'm feeling musical I'll pull out my violin and play 'Mary Had a Little Lamb'. I've been playing violin for a few years but it's the only song I play, or want to play, really. You would think I'd get sick of it, but I don't, it's a classic.
15. I don't really trust or like people who have small appetites, or people who don't drink.
16. I think that air conditioners make the most wonderful sound in the world.
17. Whenever I buy a new pet goldfish I miraculously end up in a relationship with someone that ends up being a long term relationship. I know this is a silly superstition, but I am a Pisces after all. I'm planning to buy a new goldfish in August so we'll see if this holds true.
18. As much as I try, I cannot walk around in high heels.
19. I dream every night about the most mundane things; buying light bulbs, talking to someone on the phone, paying my rent. And I often confuse things that have happened in my dreams for having occurred in real life. This causes problems.
20. I'm happier in the ocean than on land.
21. There is not a single person in the world that I could say that I "hate". (although at the time of press I may just be forgetting some things)
22. I went through a phase in high school where I wore bright pink everyday, sometimes from head to toe.
23. I'm in a really good mood 90% of the time.
24. I'm a little hypochondriac-y but largely only because of webmd.com, because any symptom you type into it will tell you that you have cancer or AIDS. And also because if I sneeze around my mom she will tell me I'm dying.
25. I honestly believe that one day someone will write a biography about me, and try to live my life accordingly. But who wouldn't want to write a biography about a fancy, word-hungry, violin playing, perfume wearing, imaginary, superstitious, happy poet?

Let us all breathe in again at once

2009-04-26T22:29:00.000-07:00

What a lovely and amazing week. My beloved came to visit and we went for a boat ride in Central Park. I really feel at my happiest when I'm out on a body of water. I also magically get infinitely drunker when on the open seas. I think this all has to do with the fact that I'm a pisces.

And this week-end I basically lived and breathed poetry, as it was my schools annual poetry festival. I spent the hours in the breath and sway of "poet-trees" and I won't even try to name all the amazing poets who read, but I will say that at more than one instance I felt the overwhelming chill that can only come with great art, and experienced the suffocation of awe. Yep. This week-end I also received possibly the greatest gift ever: a vintage typewriter. I've wanted one forever, and since I've gotten it I have been smacking out words and lines like there was no tomorrow, much to the dismay of the people who've stayed with me. But really, how beautiful:

This was the first thing I typed:

When the world is puddle wonderful

2009-04-05T20:13:00.000-07:00

It is now April, and that means it's National Poetry Month. One thing I occasionally dream about is owning my own bakery, and if I did I would give free muffins to anyone who could recite a poem by heart during this lovely month. At this time of year I always engulf myself in e.e. cummings -- to me he is the "spring" poet, if there can be such a thing. Here's a great poem by him, I loved this so much I wrote it on my wall in my old house so I could see it every morning.

I have been updating my 1,001 in 101 list, here. I've added several new goals, but am getting nervous because it's nearing the midway point and I am not half way through all my aspirations. Except "try 10 new cocktails", but let's be honest - I could knock that out in one debauchery filled week-end.

I've always been fascinated with psychology, I think that being a psychologist is #5 on the list of things I want to be when I grow up. So this past friday I attended a live demonstration of Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy at the Albert Ellis Institute with my best friend. They took a few audience volunteers to "therapize" in front of everyone so people could see how it's done. Of course, my buddy volunteered me. I felt like I was insulting the whole situation, since I don't have any mental issues or any real problems, but I soon got into it, and it was kind of exhilarating to bare the deepest things and worries that were living in my heart to a room full of complete strangers.

That evening I ended up at a biker bar somehow, and decided to sleep at my moms house. She didn't know I was there, and woke me up in the morning by bursting in and blessing the place with holy water. She explained that she had this sudden urge to bless the room. I didn't think anything of it, but throughout my day as I wandered around town I was approached by not one, but three psychics, all claiming that there was something that I should know about. This all convinced me that something terrible was going to happen to me, so for the past two days I've been waiting for whatever it is to happen. Then, a couple hours ago I heard police cars and an ambulance racing into my apartment complex, and then heard them stop in front of my building, and come up to my floor. I opened the door expecting that they were coming for me, that perhaps they knew that something terrible was going to happen to me and were going to rescue me. Instead they rescued my next door neighbor, who had apparently stopped breathing. I've been peeping out my peep hole hoping to see her return unharmed, and feeling silly.

Earth Hour

2009-03-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

Tonight I plan on celebrating Earth Hour for the first time. If you don't know already, you're supposed to shut out your lights from 8:30 to 9:30 p.m. tonight. Even the Las Vegas Srip will be dark for this hour. I plan on lighting a bunch of candles to put around my apartment, maybe have some wine and take a bubble bath. People do much funner things though: like street parties and candlelit speed dating! I think it would be neat if every household/store practiced this, if even the street lights were shut off. We could walk around the streets in the complete darkness, with the sky clear and thick with visible stars, and just enjoy the serenity of that kind of desert (between the rapings and muggings of course). Or, we could go up in a hot air balloon and watch the lights go off one by one until it felt like we didn't exist anymore, and were just floating through an endless dark ocean.

"And all disheveled wandering stars"

2009-03-22T19:41:00.000-07:00

There is something about the first day of spring that makes me intensely, unabashedly happy. I feel like this time of year is the real start to the new year, since my birthday is around here and the flowers start blooming and the blood in peoples bodies start moving again after a long and cold winter. There is a small garden I used to go to, where they have a honeybee hive, and I learned about how bees survive the winter. All the bees in the colony formed a furry ball around the queen bee, and they rotated continually throughout the winter to keep her warm. At the end of winter all the bees died, but the queen survived. When I heard this, I thought: that is exactly how my winter went. Well, the little bees that kept me warm did not die, exactly, but you understand what I mean.

I went to Paris and Venice for the most amazing honeymoon like vacation with my beloved, Liz. Paris was a gustatory delight, even the rifraf enjoyed delicacies:

I also discovered that I adore puppets:

One of the highlights of the trip was having a full afternoon cooking lesson with a real live French chef. He taught us how to make a fabulous meal including shrimps in a salad (that's not the official name), pears soaked in red wine, and this stewy thing that was yum. Afterwards, we were so turned on we had to go shopping for lingerie.

As we dream by the fire

2008-12-21T14:57:00.000-08:00

This is the annual holiday edition of Jennifers blog. Thank-you so much to all the lovely people who sent me Christmas cards this year. My favorite was perhaps: "My fa-la-la likes your pa-rum-pa-pum-pum. And my jingle bells? Don't even get me started on what you do to my jingle bells!" Haha. You know who you are.

What becoming an adult has done to me: Since I was little I've adored the snow. Whenever the first snow storm of a year hit I'm always so happy, my friends and family call/text me to say look out your window! it's snowing! A few days ago I waltzed out to see the sky coming down in such a sparkly fluffy mess and was in heaven, it was like I was in my very own snow globe. Since I've started driving though, I've had to deal with icy roads and digging my car out of snow caves, and I'm sad to say that this morning when I was watching the news they announced that it would be snowing again, and I couldn't stop myself from growling softly at the television.

Anyway. I've been going crazy baking for the holidays the past couple days. I've gotten frosting in some strange places and have made a complete mess of my kitchen.

Bear comes to town...

2008-11-16T18:39:00.000-08:00

and she is the ellipses the night sky leaves behind...

My lovely Canadian bear came to visit this week and we had such fun. Went to see several concerts, one at (le) poisson rouge which is possibly the cutest venue name ever. Saw Luke Rathborne twice and a performance by one of the guys from the Strokes. Last night we crashed a fancy cocktail party at Gotham Hall, snuck in through the servants entrance and rubbed elbows with all kinds of people (Patti Labelle as well, apparently, though I couldn't tell because the appetizers monopolized my attention).

I bought a mini polaroid-like camera that takes the most darling instant photos, but it's a bit tricky to use as the instructions are all in Japanese.

Went to see Madagascar 2, and embarrassingly enough we laughed louder than all the kindergarten'ers around us. Afterwards we ate at this super fancy restaurant in my neighborhood. I got such a thrill out of the experience, and thought it fitting to order a snifter of Frangelico to top off my dessert, though when I ordered it I said "i'd like a sniffer of Frangelico, sir" so I guess I'm not as fancy pants as I'd like to believe. I googled it when I got home though, so now I know what to say the next time. Also! they had a shoe buffer in the mens room! And they folded my napkin every time I got up, even if I wasn't going anywhere. It was amazing.

Spookiness

2008-11-01T23:27:00.000-07:00

Had too much fun this Halloween. Me and my best buddy were supposed to be on a float in the Village parade, but we stopped by a bar first and lost track of time and missed our opportunity. We ended up having to sneak our way in, ran away from the parade security that was chasing after us, and manipulating and lying our way onto a float for some band. But it was worth it because there is no funner way to spend Halloween than getting to be the dancing glittering spectacle for two million slightly drunk people.

The Ticking is the Bomb

2008-10-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

he came and did a reading at my school tonight

and my heart went pitter-patter

How things are bright in certain places, and dark in others

2008-10-23T19:22:00.000-07:00

I've somehow bought a car: http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://static.taume.com/image/2009-Honda-Accord-Front.jpg&imgrefurl=http://news.taume.com/World-Business/Auto/2009-Honda-Accord-4494&h=340&w=550&sz=28&tbnid=FQ89lg01BwgJ::&tbnh=82&tbnw=133&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dhonda%2Baccord%2Bpic&usg=__-eKCXuvJxe5Cx03imkpyB1YXcTY=&sa=X&oi=image_result&resnum=3&ct=image&cd=1">car I hate driving alone though. There's no one to tell me to wait! because that bus over there is about to crash into me. And when I drive alone I roll down the windows and talk to myself out loud so everyone in my neighborhood thinks I'm crazy.

And in other news I need to find some new friends. I contacted about a dozen of my friends to see if they were free this coming Saturday, and the majority were free and wanted to hang out, but as soon as I mentioned it was to go to a poetry event they suddenly had schoolwork and sick grandmothers and terminal illnesses. The next time I invite someone to a poetry event I'm going to tell them it's a party with an open bar, and then when they arrive they'll be so dazzled by the lovely magical poems that they won't care about my trickery.

I'm so excited because I finally bought my tickets to go to Paris. I'll be spending New Years Eve there. I can't even imagine what the city will be like at that time. I picture the Eiffel Tower shooting fireworks and Parisians covered in glitter and snow and dancing in the streets. From there we'll be going to Venice, which seems like one of the most romantic places ever. I spent the past summer becoming fluent in Italian, and by "becoming fluent" I mean I listened to 'Teach yourself Italian" whenever I washed the dishes.

This Halloween I have no idea what I'm going to be. I've never been very creative when it came to costumes, but i'll be on one of the floats in the village parade, so I think it ought to be something more extraordinary than my past outfits which have largely been: kitten, sparkly kitten, and slutty kitten.

How blue -- these lips that find the cold, and will not leave it

2008-10-02T23:27:00.000-07:00

So I celebrated Rosh Hashanah in style. Even though I'm not Jewish, I enjoy Jewish people. My best friend invited me to her families celebration and we ate borscht, cow liver, tongue, got drunk off kosher wine and talked about Tolstoy and Nabokov all night. The next day as we were walking her adorable little pooch, we came upon a very small squirrel. It actually let us come up to it and stroke its fur, and let the dog sniff it. I marveled at how extraordinarily sweet it was that this small vulnerable creature let down its guard and let us come into contact with it. My friend said it must have been retarded, or had a brain tumor or something.

In great news, I finally passed my road test! For the first time I wasn't nervous in the least, and the test administrator smelled incredibly good, so I think that might have helped. At any rate, I'm going car shopping this week-end!

I'm also very excited because I've been asked to curate an entire poetry event/reading in N.Y.C. I have absolutely no idea how to do this, but this is such a major opportunity and I plan on knocking it out of the park. I've also been asked to be a reader in an upcoming event, and read my poems. This makes me nervous beyond belief. The thing is, I've always ignored open mics and informal readings for just this reason -- I want my first poetry reading to be legitimate and awesome. So I've always been waiting for this, and I'm so, so thrilled.

I've had many interesting experiences in the past month. I've been to a titillating and sparkly burlesque show (corionyc.com), saw the Phantom of the Opera, and went to my first ever smoky jazz performance (jazzstandard.net). A few weeks ago on a very rainy evening my friend and I decided to construct paper sailboats and sail them down the current of a nearby road. I had the very romantic notion to write our contact information on them, as I believed that whoever would find these sailboats would be our true loves. My friend maintained that the most likely recipient of these love boats would be the nearest homeless man, but who knows what could happen?

The "you" that I remember is a lamp, within a body, within an ocean that never collects enough water

2008-09-04T22:21:00.000-07:00

The title of this blog is the last line of a poem I wrote within a batch of poems which I'm trying desperately to turn into a chapbook for someone special.

I've been registering for class up here at SLC and I'm delightfully shocked at how pleasant their whole administration is. Even though I loved Hunter, I'd always dreaded anything bureaucratic, but everyone here is pleasant and goes out of their way to help me. I can't say the same for the DMV. They rejected me on my 3rd road test because I wasn't wearing the right shoes and I had something written out in pen instead of typed. Who knew that penmanship and footwear were such an important part of driving?

To celebrate my final week of the summer I went to Lake George with my sister and a bunch of girlfriends. View my video travelogue here: http://www.youtube.com/user/Abeautifulmessx (the videos marked 'Liz and Jennifer')

The trip was great, it included horse back riding, wake-boarding, miniature golf, hitchhiking trolleys, salt water taffy, commandeering a strangers lawn, the super 8 motel, boat tours and a haunted house. As I waited in line for the haunted house I mocked it endlessly, but once I got inside I ended up screaming like a fool at any and everything. At the end of the horribly spooky tour they chased us out with a chain saw and I screamed bloody murder and knocked aside the young girl accompanied by her parents in order to get out. It wasn't one of my finer moments in life.

Ever since I've moved here I've been sleeping kind of bad. I think there may be a pea under my bed, like in the fairytale, but I'm not sure.

How possible to be both winged and immovable

2008-08-19T21:22:00.000-07:00

I'm finally living in my own luxuriously adorable one bedroom apartment in Bronxville. I could explain to you how happy I am, but better yet, come to my housewarming and see for yourself.

Living on my own is pretty great. I can smoke wherever I want to, can go to sleep naked and can leave dirty dishes in the sink over night. But there are some drawbacks-- i'm without my little sis and have no one to go for coffee with in the a.m., I have no one to hide under the covers with when a mini tornado hits, and I have no one to read me stories to fall asleep to. But I've begun downloading audio files and last night I fell asleep to a strange man reading me Aristotle's "Poetics".

Also, I've just been put on the masthead as the official poetry editor for Opium Magazine. Honestly, two years ago when I was sitting in a tea cafe drooling over a copy of Opium, I would never have believed that I'd be published in it, let alone have the privilege of being it's sole poetry editor. It's awesome beyond words. I feel like I'm at a picnic and someone has just run up and given me all the cupcakes.

Here is an awesome short story/memoir by my arguably favorite writer, Nick Flynn: http://www.esquire.com/features/nick-flynn-0208?click=main_sr

Starting with the universe

2008-07-10T16:40:00.000-07:00

Earlier today I went to use the restroom at the bookstore I was at, and this elderly lady accidentally opens the door into my stall. Instead of immediately closing the door and apologizing, as most people would do, she stands there and makes small talk. This got me thinking about why old people make me so sad. When I was younger I used to believe that once you get past the age of 50 you'd run out of original ideas and have nothing left to say. But lately I've been realizing that the elderly talk quite a bit, and I think this is because they haven't run out of things to say -- just the opposite. I think that they have, and everyone has, spent most of their lives biting their tongues, for fear of embarrassment or of opening up too much. And when you get to that certain age where you can see the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel, you just start talking about everything -- anything. And don't stop. It would've been nicer if I could've come to that epiphany when my skirt was safely around my knees, but either way.

I've never actually had to apartment hunt before this summer, and I never realized it was so exhausting. I have managed to find this amazingly adorable perfect apartment within walking distance to my new school, but it's through a co-op so I have to go through a rigorous application/interview process in order to get it. It's worth it though, if I get this place it'll be perfect. Once I get settled I'll throw a beautiful dinner party with my closest friends and toast to a new life.

In other news, I failed my road test a couple weeks ago. After I failed I threw myself against a chain linked fence and sobbed unabashedly. It was embarrassing, yes, but you would cry too if it happened to you. I mean, it's a skill that people who can barely read can conquer. So, it humbled me. My mother said that I was only so upset because I'd never failed at anything that I'd set my mind to before, but I think I was just pissed off that I wouldn't be able to drive.

Also, I went to the Whitney this past week-end to get some art, and there was an artist by the name of Buckminster Fuller on display. He was pretty impressive, but very architectural/scientific/mathematical. And it got me thinking. Now, I don't consider things like that "art", but maybe my definition of art is wrong. I think that art, by definition, is strictly non-functional.

Lastly, I've been reading this great novel "The Myth of You and Me" by Leah Stewart. It's a story about the strangest of best-friendships between two girls. Here's a great quote: "A person is not a suitcase, with a finite number of items to unpack. A person is a world."

I'm as thin as your eyelashes

2008-05-05T00:51:00.000-07:00

So recently I've been getting into the opera. I have a lot of fun reveling in the obscenely fancy (yet adorable) things that I encounter when I see one, such as; gold water fountains, disposable champagne glasses, and velvet handrails. I've seen Madama Butterfly (wonderful, poignant, enthralling) and Satyagraha (sleep-inducing, slow-moving, sung-in-sanskrit-with-no-subtitles-kill-me-now). But still, I've found the opera to be an amazing experience and I can't wait to see many more.

I went to visit Sarah Lawrence again, to get a feel for it in the daytime. I honestly can't wait to start grad school there in September. I went with my family and we had brunch at a nearby cafe, discussing politics and finances over hash browns and eggs. And every time the door of the cafe opened, I swear it smelled like flowers.

Also, in recent and wonderful news, I've started taking driving lessons. I've only had two, but I already feel completely at ease behind the wheel and can't wait to get a car. I think my quickness to comfortability is mainly due to the fact that my driving school instructor is ridiculously awesome and makes me totally calm. So yay to him.

Crawling from the wreckage

2008-04-24T22:58:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I admit, I'm very closed-minded. I get an idea of something and clutch onto it for as long as I can. I've always pegged "Fight Club" as a "boy" movie, for no other reason than I once saw a preview of it while half-asleep. But I saw it last night, and wow! Possibly the best movie I've seen all year. I went out and bought the book it was based on, by Palahniuk, an author with whom I'm shyly developing a cult obsession. I searched for half an hour through the bookshelves trying to find the book, until someone finally told me that they kept all of his books behind the register, due to a high occurrence of theft with his publications. So I went and found him sitting amongst the pricey medical encyclopedias and pornographic volumes. All the treasures.

Since I graduated college I've found myself spending many days entirely frittering my time away at bookstores or libraries researching obscure things upon which to base poems. Sometimes I wonder if being a writer isn't just an excuse to get out of manual labor. Anyway, here's a recent poem in the works:

Paper Organs

A paper heart can be as efficient as a live one -- just as
a telephone call at dawn to someone you used to love
can crack the ice of a body, can cover itself with skin and be visible
to scientists everywhere.

The wreckage of daily life isn't what you expected, you considered
artificial organs, artificial communication, artificial/love
to be the problem, but never the highly visible, the ultra-pixelated.

The mechanical process of living can be summarized as – bleach.
Empty the flush of yourselves, you'll find yourself staircasing
into mathematics. The rush of blood can only fill the paper organs
you've folded across your own body.

Like a patient etherised upon a table

2008-04-21T00:02:00.000-07:00

I finally decided which grad school to go to. I know that normal people wouldn't labor over such a decision to this extent, but I couldn't help it. I hate making decisions. When I go to the grocery store I can spend years analyzing the fat content of whole wheat crackers and comparing the flesh of cherry tomatoes side by side. But I made a choice, I got into three of the schools I applied to, it was between the wonderful choices of: New School, Columbia and Sarah Lawrence. So, I'll be going to Sarah Lawrence College, which means I'll be moving to Bronxville in Westchester, come September. I think it's probably the whitest neighborhood I could move to, but I'm thrilled. I can't wait to focus only on poetry, watch the birds tweet outside my window, attend social functions, join their literary magazine Lumina, which I've heard wonderful things about. I've had my heart set on this school for the longest time and I'm so honored they've accepted me.

And furthermore, my youth is being revived. The fiction series I was obsessed with as a young girl is re-launching: Sweet Valley High I can proudly admit to having read over 400 of the Sweet Valley series. My mother used to yell at me because I would even be reading as I strolled down the streets crossing boulevards. I'm sure the feminists of aujourd'hui would love to tar and feather me for this obsession, but I'm unrepentant. I loved these blond twins, as un-politically correct as that may be. I remember being 11 years old in a seedy motel room somewhere in middle America, begging my father to read the latest Sweet Valley High book because it was, and I quote "life-altering". He swore he would read it as cockroaches scurried across his feet and he folded the over-starched blankets over me.

There's majesty in no one but the Common Man

2008-03-23T09:08:00.000-07:00

I've been devouring Marisha Pessl's Special Topics in Calamity Physics She's obviously a brilliant, random, peculiar little bunny. And speaking of bunnies, Happy Easter to you all! Here are a couple Easter gifts:

1. How to Make a Button : Miranda July, one of my favorite human beings alive, shows you how buttons are made.
2. Sea of Love : Cat Powers, this lovely song has been floating in my head for the past two weeks.

I've been experiencing severe withdrawal heartache from being out of school. Oh! How I miss pulling all nighters to study for midterms armed only with instant coffee and cheez nips. I think this best describes the phenomenon: "Consider a Kandinsky. Utterly muddled, put a frame around it, voila -- looks rather quaint above the fireplace. And so it is with curriculum. That celestial, sweet set of of instructions, culminating in the scary wonder of the Final Exam... No wonder so many adults long to return to university, to all those deadlines -- ahhh, that structure! Scaffolding to which we may cling!" Marisha Pessl

I'm so anxious for grad school to start in the Fall. And what's making me the most anxious is that I have no idea where I'm going. I've always been terrible with decision making -- and this one feels like the most important one of my life thus far. The lovely people over at Sarah Lawrence just accepted me, which is fantastic. I can really picture myself lolling about amongst all that greenery and riding Metro North while feverishly scribbling poems. But I've still yet to hear from several schools, so I can't make any decisions, grr.

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

2008-03-10T23:45:00.001-07:00

It has been a crazy past few weeks. Sadly, I wasn't able to see Niagara Falls on my trip to Buffalo because it was cut short. I had to fly back to NYC on about 3 hours notice due to some heartbreaking events <3. But, while I was there I did manage to dine on Buffalo wings at the restaurant where they were created. I have no idea why I didn't put that on my list, because it seems important. And FYI they were very yummy.

My birthday was celebrated in three parts, and each one was wonderful. The pre-celebration consisted of a romantic rainy picnic under an umbrella designed like the clouds, with a champagne toast in Central Park and an unfortunate attack of army-like ducks on me and my picnic companion. My darling Lizbear made me a birthday mix c.d. that I have been listening to for days, I went to a new restaurant that I've been wanting to try (Paradou -- where they host dirty bingo) and saw "Be Kind Rewind" (the latest from Gondry.) My best girls and I toasted again to my birth on the sidewalks of the L.E.S. and I got us kicked out of only one bar from my obnoxiousness. Before the night was over I waltzed into a liquor store (because I love to waltz) and declared it was my birthday, and they gave me several bottles of free liquor. Several hours later I awoke to find myself in a strange bed, within a strange attic, atop a strange ladder. I had no idea where I was, and there was no one around, so I snuck out of the apartment and figured out what borough it was (Brooklyn) and hopped on the train. (Later I found out my best bud had kidnapped me and brought me to her friends house.) The birthday celebrations continued....

What a wonderful week-end! And I nearly forgot to mention that while I was in the MoMA on Friday I received a phone call from The New School, where they announced I was in their top priority of students to be admitted to the poetry MFA program, and they were offering me the highest scholarship possible. I'm thrilled, and so happy that I don't think I've stopped smiling since that phone call. Unfortunately, people think that you're strange, or drunk, or have gas or something, when you smile constantly. But I don't care, because I'm going to grad school!

The people look like flowers at last

2008-02-19T13:36:00.000-08:00

Applying for a second nannying job I accidentally stumbled into the United Pervs Association. And by this I mean, to all you strangers -- please don't call me pretending to have children when really you just want to find out what kind of stockings I wear. I'm afraid one day I'll end up in skittle sized pieces in the trunk of some middle-aged mans car on my way to a garbage dump in New Jersey.

I've been on a bit of a poetry holiday for the past month, because I was starting to get a little crazy/obsessed, but there's nothing like returning to a loved one after not seeing them for a while, and so here's the first thing I've written since the beginning of the year:

The Found World

The terror of finding a small world unexpectedly. Something safe and contained, needing nothing. A definition of containment: can be found rising up inside an oxygen tank, blinking a ship homeward, making peace treaties with all mirrored surfaces, but not in love.

It's easy enough to wear nude colored clothing, to carry bullets with no gun, to play hide and seek with your shadow. But to remember how to make it back home?

The found world is small as a heart-cell, is expanding, contracting in awkward mis-beats. Making innocent mistakes, trying to become real.

A definition of real: can be found keeping a hologram upright. This world is not a fairytale equation, nor tangible, or understandable. Unless you understand the eternity of using a calculator to drink a glass of milk. More specifically – a whole world cut in half repeatedly can never disappear. This is why you trust it.

Inside there is an actual human being. Or a photocopy that's convincing enough. He's devoted his life to this place. Instead of sleep he climbs out of the heart chamber, travels the dark tunnels of the body, making trails for foreigners. Leaves bread crumbs that lead back to the heart.

When tourists visit they take snap shots but never develop them. They forget what they were doing there in the first place, and where they've come from.

***

And here is a little pre-Spring present for you all, Sampson Starkweather's beautiful piece: The Photograph.

I've gotta run out now and find myself some Eskimo clothes and a couple pet penguins, because I'm leaving for Buffalo on Thursday, brr! I mean: yay!

A battered suitcase and looking ahead

2008-01-05T21:37:00.000-08:00

For the new year I decided to participate in: 101 in 1,001 Basically you have 1,001 days (roughly 2.75 years) to complete the 101 tasks you outline for yourself. I like this time frame because it lands me when i'll be 25, at my quarter-life mark. Here's my list:

Key:
Not yet started
In progress
Failed
~~Completed~~

Start date: 1.06.2008
End date: 10.03.2010

"It's a battered suitcase and a hotel someplace -- a wound that will never heal" -- Travel, Adventure and all things International

1. Learn to speak French fluently
2. Eat baklava in Greece
3. Ride in a hot air balloon
4. Go to a thermal bathing pool in Reykjavik
~~5. Get drivers license~~
6. Take a road trip across the U.S.
7. Go camping
8. Try 10 new types of cuisine [2/10]
9. Create a travel journal
~~10. Picnic by the Eiffel Tower~~
11. Create a journal to mail out for 1,001 journals project
12. See Niagara Falls
13. Climb to the top of the lighthouse in Montauk
14. Learn 1,001 new words in French [31/1001]
~~15. Visit my best friend in Buffalo~~
~~16. Set aside money every day for travel funds [600/1001]~~
~~17. Learn basic Italian~~

"All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein" -- Writing

~~18. Get into grad school~~
19. Finish writing a book of poetry
20. Read 101 books cover to cover [29/101]
~~21. Write 101 poems [101/101]~~
22. Learn 1,001 new words in English [0/1,001]
~~23. Write a children's book~~
24. Read 101 magazines (online and print), books [22/101]
25. Attend a poetry reading once a month [16/33]
~~26. Get through backlog of Opium submissions (co-working with others)~~
27. Write to 10 authors I admire [3/10]
28. Send out a batch of poems twice a month [9/66]
29. Enter 10 poetry competitions [0/10]
30. Get published in 10 more publications [2/10]
31. Read 101 Wikipedia articles about things I don't know [40/101]

"If you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison' it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later." -- Health/Body, Food

~~32. Start taking modern dance classes again~~
33. Make 20 healthful eating substitutions [9/20]
34. Wake up by 9 am daily
35. Reach fitness goals
~~36. Attend a wine tasting~~
37. Try out one new recipe a month and put in cookbook [5/33]
38. Complete a facial regimen twice a year [2/6]
39. Meditate/Self-hypnosis once a week [26/143]
40. Sample 10 new cocktails [5/10]
~~41. Design a new henna tattoo~~

"An intersection of many human needs" -- Art, Music, Photography, Crafts

42. Learn to play the violin
43. Knit a pair of mittens and hat
44. Get good photo editing software
45. Photograph every completed task
46. Design 101 post-its to stick places [0/101]
47. Do a series of self-portraits [0/?]
~~48. Attend a jazz concert~~
~~49. Attend an opera~~
50. Get naked and paint something with my body
51. Go to an art exhibit/ museum once per season [6/11]
52. Knit a pooch sweater for Ollie
53. Learn more than the basics of parfumerie

"Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction." -- Love, Relationships, Family, People

54. Volunteer
55. Donate blood once a year [1/3]
56. Learn to read palms
57. Blog weekly [15/143]
58. Cook dinner for the homeless on Thanksgiving
59. Write to my grandparents twice a year [0/6]
60. Take each member of my family on a date once a year [10/12]
61. Have sex in three places I never have before [0/3]
~~62. Buy more lingerie~~
63. (Private)

"Only dead fish swim with the stream" Independence, Finances, Organization

~~64. Organize my file cabinet~~
65. Take myself out on a date once a month [7/33]
~~66. Invest in decorating my new apartment~~
~~67. Find a second job~~
~~68. Organize computer/favorites links~~
~~69. Figure out financial assistance for grad school~~
~~70. Organize room completely~~
71. Save up $10,000
72. Pay off all debt
~~73. Get my own apartment~~

74. -- 101. Reserved to decide on in the upcoming years (as I'm sure new things will strike my fancy)

74. Get custom mixed perfume to put in the crystal bottle I got in Venice
75. Go fishing
~~76. Go to a baseball game at the new Mets stadium~~
~~77. Attend a writing retreat~~
78. Attend a fancy masquerade ball/party
79. Throw a Hawaiian luau party
~~80. Bury time capsule with Miss Elizabeth Ann~~
~~81. Learn to make pasta from scratch~~
~~82. Throw a cocktail in a mans face~~
83. Read a poem in public
~~84. Attend speed dating~~
85. Plant a garden
86. Learn the names and composers of all the classical songs you love
~~87. Finish journal [250/250 pages]~~
~~88. Complete 30 poems in 30 days poetry marathon [13/30]~~
89. Get a new typewriter
90. Make a pop-up book
91. Write 5 more handwritten letters to friends (goal initiated in October, 2009, until the end of the 1,001 days) [0/5]
92. Design and sew a dress for myself
93. Do a cartwheel in a tropical location

FYI, the sky is falling and/or we are falling from the sky

2007-12-22T21:41:00.000-08:00

The first word Charles Bukowski's daughter Marina knew how to read was "liquor". Does this surprise you? No? Me neither. Several months back I asked my mom what my first word was, and she had no idea. I couldn't find any evidence in baby books to fill in the missing clues of my childhood either. This probably doesn't seem like a very big deal to most people, but as someone who bases her entire days/career/life on words, it means a lot. It upset me when I found out she didn't remember. I think I may have even cried a little, as though I'd just lost something precious and irreplaceable. I had fantasies that my first word would lead me to deep dark secrets about myself/my future/my past. But there's a glitch in the system, it turns out. And that glitch is that my mom doesn't give a damn about that kind of stuff. It reminds me of this remarkable poem by my (perhaps) favorite poet ever, Ben Lerner, pardon me while I exploit his words.:

"a program that replicates itself and destroys stored information; a worm unleashed on the canon; writing as vermiculation; the early bird is infested; after a storm, earthworms steam on the pavement; then burrow into the pavement; and destroy stored information; I double-dared Max to put one in his mouth; it burrowed into his heart; and destroyed stored information; a microscopic hairlike process

extending from the canvas; the rhythmic motion of said process; a neogenetic canvas; the worm is mimetic of the intestine it inhabits, therein its genius; a cog which resembles the machine it will destroy; a silverfish; a bookworm; a critic

FYI, debris is falling from the sky, becoming data; FYI, the sky is falling and/or we are falling from the sky"

I was taken on a horse drawn carriage ride through Central Park earlier today, and I'd never been before. I must say as a recommendation, it's one of the most lovely and romantic things you could do in NYC. If you haven't been, please don't wait 22 years like me.

All the world is green

2007-12-15T14:47:00.000-08:00

Check out my poemlette published in the December issue of elimae. I'm so proud and happy that they've adopted it, they have some really great stuff, they do.

I'm very excited about all the wintery things I'll get to do in the upcoming weeks. I'm especially looking forward to my upcoming Christmas dinner party, which will give me an excuse to indulge in all my girliness and cook up a fabulous French feast for all my lovely friends.

I finally paid off my mac bill yesterday so I now own it 100%. And today a piece off the front of it broke off. Lame!

On my Christmas wishlist this year I'd prefer my family/friends to give me experiences with them rather than material objects. Because in ten years that's probably what will stay in my heart.

All afternoon I've been listening to "All The World is Green" by Tom Waits. Fall into the ocean and listen with me.

Pretend Oceans, Real Fish

2007-12-03T00:40:00.000-08:00

*EDIT*

I had to snip out the poem that was here previously. Don't be afraid my little poem, you're going off to a better place, with a big country yard and fresh nibbles in the morning-time.

***

I had a lucid dream (nightmare) the other night. I started experiencing these a few years ago during a tumultuous period in my life, but haven't had one in a long long time. In case you don't know exactly what those are let me tell you:

"A lucid dream is a dream in which the person is aware that he or she is dreaming while the dream is in progress. During lucid dreams, it is possible to exert conscious control over the dream characters and environment, as well as to perform otherwise physically impossible feats. Lucid dreams are known to be extremely real and vivid."

There are two different kinds and the kind that I experience are the: "wake-initiated lucid dreams (WILD) which occur when the dreamer goes from a normal waking state directly into a dream state with no apparent lapse in consciousness."*

When they first started I'd get really scared afterwards because I didn't think I'd been sleeping but rather that I'd gone into some weird paralyzed/hallucinatory state while awake. In the past when I woke up from one I'd reach for my cell phone and call someone. The other night I did just that: I reached for the phone, but then realized I had no one to call. Bah.**

In a moment of clarity I realized that last Sunday I had text messaged my friend Lisa***, asking her if she'd like to come join my friends and I for a drink.

*Smartiness stolen from here.
**Humbug.
***Unfortunately for me this didn't turn out to be my friend Lisa, but my boss Lisa. And now I feel like a weirdo.

I love you more than I can say

2007-11-22T01:14:00.000-08:00

"Lift your arm now, or be alone forever." -MJ

Today is the 8,289th day of my life, and I'm so happy to have you here with me. Unfortunately, I have the hiccups and feel a bit awkward.

I stayed up all night with someone special, writing poetry in 15 minute increments and reading poems aloud from Harvey, Plath, McDaniel and Siken. Here's something I wrote within the hours:

*Somehow we'll push through the symphony of the afternoon,
forget how hard it is to dull our mouths, enunciate the soft casualties
of being. Even if you can't go backwards with me, we can always sit still

together -- eat up the years by teaspoonfull, spit out
the fantastic, spit out the thousands of things we wished
we'd done differently.*

I saw this film http://www.wristcutters.com/ recently and it's so fantastic, you will thank me later. Connect yourself with the surreal and the real and buy some popcorn.

Anyway, I'm crazy crazy crazy about a new contemporary poet I've come across: Here are some of her poems: http://www.octopusmagazine.com/issue08/ana_bozicevic_bowling.htm#light

I just ordered the two chapbooks she has published, and I'm sure that after I read them I will never be the same. I want to kiss her over and over again and tell her how wonderful she is, but instead I e-mailed her, some sad words put together, in cyberspace.

You are everything I always wanted you to be

2007-11-14T22:39:00.000-08:00

I can't sleep because I'm obsessed with the characters in my story. I'm astute enough of a writer to know that my story is nothing amazingly impressive (yet!) but my affection for these characters is so strong that I know if I keep plugging away at it, I can make something fantastic.

I was upset on the subway coming home earlier because I was thinking about how numbers under 10 must be expressed in word form (this is the accepted rule) For example: you must say "two" or "seven" when you write of numbers.* But why is there no reciprocation? There is no accepted numerical format for words. What if I said: "8!" to you one day, and expected you to understand that I love you, that you're everything I always wanted you to be? You'd probably think I was nuts. And for good reason. I just feel that there's a dichotomy between the rational/numerical/scientific world and the world of words/thoughts/feelings, and I shouldn't have to say "nine" to mean "9". It's as though that world is encroaching upon this world (the world of words). I know that things aren't as black and white as I make them out to be, but I sleep better at night thinking of things this way.

And when I was speaking of love earlier, I said that "If you sit still and just be quiet the world will collect around you" and someone told me what I meant was "entropy". Now, I know nothing of thermodynamics, and if someone could explain exactly what this word means I'd appreciate it. The dictionary says it's: "a hypothetical tendency for the universe to attain a state of maximum homogeneity in which all matter is at a uniform temperature (heat death)." But that is the third defintion, the definition no one ever gets to. Does this mean we'll all balance out to zero? That if we add up the people who love us and hate us we'll have to start over? I think it all has something to do with closed systems, stagnancy vs. the outside world, and as my friend mentioned: "the constant daily upstream struggle to maintain a system we can live in."**

*I've been critiqued several times for writing "5" instead of "five" in my poems. A film I watched a long time ago actually involved a man who wrote an entire novel in numerical code onto a calendar (afterwards dying and someone else getting the credit for it).
**I'm paraphrasing because I was half asleep when I was talking to him, and he talks about a lot of interesting and grand things but I understand maybe 50% of them.

If you sit still and just be quiet the world will collect around you.

2007-11-14T13:27:00.000-08:00

I'm sick of masquerading as a fiction writer. I've been working on my sad attempt at a novel (or novella most likely) and it's just not working. I feel like all my stories are just a bunch of fluffy words surrounding my attempts to sneak my poetry in.

You know how people with bipolar disorder have manic and depressive states? I feel like I've been in a manic state, regarding writing, for some time now. I wake up thinking about it, I read and write throughout everything I do; while i'm in classes, on the train, eating, and then before I sleep I review poems so that my subconscious can work on it during the night.

I feel I've become increasingly happier/more cheerful/more focused as the years go on. Exponentially. At first I started by acting happy even when I maybe wasn't because I figured that my acting bitchy would only make other people feel bad. But I believe in the saying "pretense becomes reality" and it kind of has.

So my friend just moved into a new apt. and I went to visit him. He said it was a nice neighborhood on the upper east side, so I took the train up. I encountered 3 rats walking to the apt., the counter at the liquor store on the corner was protected by bullet proof glass, and I got robbed in the subway on the way back.

Sweetcakes and milkshakes, I am a fantasy parade

2007-11-07T18:18:00.000-08:00

I attended my first wedding ever over the week-end and everything went smoothly, so I guess my wedding curse is over. It was a glamorous and lovely event, but I admit I was close to tears at several points throughout. It's easy enough to be sad at the end of things; a death or a failed romance, but it's the beginnings that really get to me. Just as it's sad to see a newborn baby, and know he/she will do dirty and terrible things, will hurt people and hurt themselves, will one day stop breathing.*

A great quote from Before Sunrise: Celine - "I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt." I wonder if anyone could really be happy living completely alone, outside society. I think we would all probably create imaginary friends, or try to constantly remember the past. Because wouldn't life in that case be more 'existing' and less 'living'? I used to have an imaginary friend when I was little**, my younger sis and I actually shared the same imaginary friend. Her name was Berry and she spoke with a lisp. She always said bad things about people who were mean to us. I just find it funny that my sis and I had each other, yet were still lonely enough to create this imaginary person.

I saw an old friend the other night and we went out for German food and drank beers. He had a ridiculous amount of beer and went home, later e-mailing me all the poems he wrote during what he calls his 'Jennifer Period'. It can be very difficult when someone loves you and you don't love them back. It must be the worst thing ever, and makes me feel selfish. Here's one of the poems he sent (I've deleted line breaks to save space) It's a strange feeling to read about yourself from someone else's perspective. Like watching an old black and white movie where all the actors are dead:

"To J: You are a train wreck about to happen, A suicide about to occur, A fit about to be had, A fight about to break out, An apology about to be given, A tear about to be shed, A curse about to be uttered. I jumped off the train long ago, And am driving along on the side, Waiting for it to crash, And that will naturally occur. You will blame others, but never yourself, You will hate others, but also yourself, Not realizing that the hate is the fuel for your destruction."

Also, I'm 3/4ths done with Palahniuk's Choke, which I finally was able to buy. It's so fantastic, but is filled with such god-awful explicit things that I think I must blush a little when reading it on the train.

* I stole this general idea from somewhere in the dialogue of Before Sunrise, but couldn't find the quote online.
** Why are we allowed to have imaginary friends as kids, but if we have them as adults we're mentally insane? Are we supposed to be less lonely as adults?

So quick bight things come to confusion

2007-11-03T17:57:00.000-07:00

I've had a crazy week so tonight i'm staying in to read Shakespeare and watch Cast Away. I think I have a great job because last night, though I didn't get home from work till almost 2 a.m., I essentially was paid to sit on a couch, eating other peoples food, and reading Shakespeare plays/writing poetry.

My Halloween/Autumn Harvest dinner party was a lot of fun, we were all packed into a small kitchen in Williamsburg but the food/drinks were yummy and the company was even better. For the real Halloween, several days later, I dressed up as a fairy ghost princess accompanied by her magic pirate owl. (Pictures coming soon!) The fairy princess took an express carriage to meet her prince for the movie 'Nosferatu' at a haunted castle. It would have been the perfect spooky thing to do for Halloween but the princess forgot her enchanted metro card and alas, they missed the movie.

I'm very excited because I just saw a commercial for Wintuk: http://www.cirquedusoleil.com/CirqueDuSoleil/en/showstickets/wintuk/intro/intro It's the newest performance by Cirque du Soleil which just started playing at Madison Square Garden a couple days ago. I love love love them but have only ever seen them on t.v. because I can never get anyone to go with me the 2 times i've been in the same city as them. They are only playing through December and I'm pretty sure tickets will be gone soon.

in rainbows

2007-10-25T20:52:00.000-07:00

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.

Deep Sea Divers

2007-10-16T20:29:00.000-07:00

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.

Spookiness

2007-10-01T21:43:00.000-07:00

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)

Cute.

How strange it is to be anything at all

2007-09-26T23:10:00.000-07:00

In psychology there is a thing called imprinting. This is basically the period of time after an animal/being is born, when they fill in the gap of certain info they require to survive. With Greylag goslings (which are a baby kind of geese) they imprint who their mother is during this time. Basically they'll imprint the status of "mother" on anything that moves. You can consider me an expert on this subject, because I recently aced my psych exam :) The psychologist Konrad Lorenz conducted experiments with them, and after they were born they imprinted on him, he was their mother and they followed him wherever he went, looking for guidance:

I wonder if I were a Greylag gosling, and after I was born I sat in front of a mirror, opened my little geesy eyes and saw myself. Would I follow my reflection around as though it were my mother? Would this make any sense? They have been known to imprint on ships, even.

I'm sad because I miss my best friend, who has moved upstate. I don't believe in replacing friends, there is only one slot that she has filled, and it's impossible to replace her. I thought I would be able to visit her, but I was supposed to go with someone and for certain reasons i'm afraid it might not happen.

I'm sad because I miss a girl I knew at Hunter, who I just found out has overdosed and died. I felt I knew it was coming, and I could have helped her. I knew that her brother had died several years ago, and whenever I talked to her I just knew there was a sadness hidden. I probably couldn't have helped, but anyway, she was such a sweet girl, and deserved a better end than this.

I also miss my old friend Craig, who has joined the army and is in Iraq. We talked on the phone a few minutes ago. There was static, because there is a war going on, and there is a lot that seperates us. A female operator warned us we had only a few seconds left to talk. We said our "I love yous" and then the operator cut us off.

Autumnal Equinox

2007-09-24T02:53:00.000-07:00

So yesterday was the autumnal equinox, marking the official beginning of Autumn. It makes me excited because I love this season and vow to celebrate the beginning of it in all ways possible (leaf hunting, hot tea, pumpkin carving, harvest parties etc.) It happened at exactly 5:51 AM and I was awake at that time. It always bugs me when I passively live through events of importance (like when I slept through that mini hurricane).

This photo is how I feel right now, taken by this talented photographer: http://www.flickr.com/photos/minas_papadopoulos/1373541409/

People always try to set me up with very literary guys, and in particular, writers. I only rarely get along with these types of people. Aren't we all, at the end of the day, sick of ourselves? We want to come home to someone with a different perspective.

The main thing is that writers are strangely selfish. They go places, hold conversations, form friendships, even (in some cases) sustain entire relationships just to get writing material. Am I making a sweeping, ridiculous, generalization? Maybe...

But I'm terrified that someday I'll reach a point where people are no longer people, but only social experiments or research. I don't want to end up where fun times, friends and romances are just an excuse to have something to write about later. I don't want to befriend a psycho so that I have an interesting character, or dump someone for a plot twist.

Everyone in my life has been in my writing in some form. How could it be any other way? Even my childhood sweetheart, even the drunk homeless man who once insulted my shoes and then spit on me. You're all there. E-mail me and i'll show you how.

Sugar Cubes

2007-09-23T01:43:00.000-07:00

Love should be allotted out to people, and measured out like sugar cubes. That way they could be neatly stacked up, in some cold austere ware-house, until they were shipped off to various pharmacies. People would line up to get their prescriptions filled. The cubes would taste as sweet as the ordinary sugar variety, and would crumble if enough pressure were applied, but they would cost a hell of a lot more.

This was taken upon returning to the city from a holiday in Boston. It makes me feel all dreamy and cozy, until I spy the little Verizon logo. Grr.

One of my guilty pleasures is that I'm crazy about self-help books. I guess it's not so much of a guilty pleasure, seeing as I find myself really proud of it. I love books about positive thinking, finances for a young woman, establishing a career, oh and of course, dating!

I just finished reading a book about the science of love, and I'm so crazy about this stuff I swear i'll write a self-help book myself one day (when i'm old and gray and very happy)

I also started reading 'The Know-It-All: One Mans Humble Quest to Become The Smartest Person in The World' by A.J. Jacobs. You may have heard about his having read all 23 volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica. The book so far is very funny and informative in a quirky way. He also edited the compilation: 'Equire presents: What it Feels Like...' which includes riveting accounts of what it feels like to, be shot in the head or walk on the moon for example. Is that neat or what?

So I'm proposing a photography treasure hunt, with an open invitation to participate extended to everyone, friend or foe (though I would prefer friend.) The objective is to find every item on the list (however you interpret it- feel free to be as creative as you like with interpreting) and then photograph it. If you decide to do it, e-mail me what you come up with and it will be posted in one collective thing.

The List

1. blueness
2. war
3. the future
4. the past
5. opposites
6. something where it doesn't belong
7. religion
8. romance
9. new york
10.peek-a-boo (something/someone trying to hide)

Deadline :let's say end of the year

Reflections on a decade of writing

2007-09-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

I went to Teaspot this evening to brainstorm ideas for my next short story. I sat with my pretty mac in a dark corner and drank about four cups of 'Suns Up' tea (which tasted like flowers and peppermint) until almost 11 p.m. I started writing about a guy who has to work in the servers room of a company (James took me to the one at his office and it was pretty nifty). But then I thought: Why can't I stop writing from a male point of view? The last 6 or so stories I've written have been from male perspectives. I initially started doing it so I could stretch my writing muscles and flip the coin, but now i realize there are so many reasons I keep it up:

1. The majority of amazing writer's I've read have been male
2. I'm sick of writing about what's familiar, or of writing a story that's secretly my own life- writing from a male perspective forces me to be completely seperate from the main character.

I wrote my first book when I was ten, my second at the age of 12. They were most likely the worst things ever written in the history of time. But they had a plot, characters, and enough words that came together to total almost 200 pages each. I keep them locked up in a trunk (where I keep all my other shameful things) for fear of anyone actually reading them.

Now, a decade later, after countless hours of writing and 7 writing workshops, I feel as though I'm worse off. For the life of me I can't come up with a plot idea for my next story that is not:

1. cliche
2. already been done
3. unbelievable (not unbelievable as in "Wow, this story is unbelievable! but unbelievable as in "Oh please, that could never happen)

People always say that when they write, the hardest part is cutting out stuff. For example, a girl I knew would write a dozen+ pages for a paper that was only supposed to be 3-4 pages long. Now for me, I have the exact opposite problem. I feel like every line I write has to be perfect and as concise as possible. Every word seems to take effort, it drains me. I'm afraid of rambling on too long about stuff no one cares about. How was I able to, 10 years ago, produce such massive amounts of writing, and I now have to bleed myself dry for a lousy 10 page story?

Long story short, I need to find a plot, a good plot, one that will keep me up at night wondering how I can keep it's machinery well-oiled.

Whoever saves your life is responsible for your welfare forever

2007-09-13T02:02:00.000-07:00

I found this photo on a writing prompt blog and just love it. It prompted me to write several story beginnings involving; a superstitious stripper, a man who talks into the telephone when no one's on the other line, a kid being followed to school and a ride in an elevator that changes someone's life. I can't clearly see any connection to the photo and the ideas that sprung from it (except maybe the telephone thing).

So I'm awake at 5 a.m. after writing most of the night and watching Leave It to Beaver. (I lead a wild life.) Now in this episode Beaver and his brother Wally are at the dinner table with their parents and want to discuss a secret with each other, so they drop their utensils so they can crawl under the table every time they need to exchange a message. I wish someone would drop a spoon on the floor and crawl under a table to talk to me. It reminds me of a scene in Love Me if You Dare which, by the way, is a fantastic film. In the scene there's a little boy and a little girl who show each other their private parts. Now, when I was little I never got to do anything like that.

I went to Borders this evening to catch up on reading. I started doing this recently because I've outlawed myself from buying books or magazines, so instead I go there for a few hours and catch up reading magazines and new fiction. I read the first several chapters of some books by Chuck Palahniuk. I got completely sucked into Choke, a novel about a man who makes money by pretending to choke in restaurants. The Chinese motto: Whoever saves your life is responsible for your welfare forever, being the motivation behind this. He also attends sex addiction group therapy meetings to try to get laid. Through an enormous exertion of self control I resisted buying the book (even though it was on sale!), but am headed to the library as soon as I wake up tomorrow to check it out. My ears perked up a while back when I heard that throughout Palahniuk's 2003 book tour 67 different people fainted while listening to him read his story Guts. It's pervy and revolting and amazing and you have to read it. But if a boy's intestinal tract being sucked out of his butt while he's masturbating underwater is a problem for you, maybe don't read it.

Airbag and I'm a Pedestrian

2007-08-30T16:24:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to be diligent about doing free writing and writing excercises every day. I went to Borders to try to pick out a writing prompt book and decided on: A Picture is Worth a 1,000 Words, which is full of b+w photo prompts. I've realized I respond very well to visual stimulation. Anyway, here is what I produced today, I organized it a bit into 2 parts:

Poem in 11 Shades

Blue: mailbox blue eyes, let's begin.

Orange: it must be afternoon; the venetian blinds are humming softly in tangerine.

Brown: potato skin hair. You are a distraction. You are a comfort.

Purple: she looked through the crisp button down of his chest, imagining the palpitations of that eggplant heart. With each invisible squeeze she imagined his blood emptying out and retracting like an ocean.

Red: the pomegranite sky clustered around the horizon, slowly giving itself up to the evening.

Yellow: the sun was swallowed up slowly by the sky, as though it were a large egg yolk getting sucked down the sink drain. When night hit there was clear fluid left; he was the only one to see it.

Pink: His cheeks had two deep strawberry rashes streaking across; as though he were embarrassed about everything, all the time.

White: Upon hearing this he paled; the color flashing out of him, as though someone had bitten his cheek and drawn it out.

Black: It's now Friday and the evening sky gives nothing back. It's a dull television screen shut off, without even the wandering static of clouds.

Green: The tunnel walls absorbed the reflected lights like a waxed apple. The gloss of the train station was nearly palatable, when the tracks received the onslaught of the A5 express.

Gray: There are nearly 500 variations of gray* that a human eye can recognize. As a child he was a crayon fanatic, coloring everything in sight. 20 years later he has been slowly eaten up by the color gray; it glowers in his irises, streaks down the flanks of his body, colors in his expanse of morning. It is all gray for him now.

*This fact gleaned from the nifty site: http://www.sensationalcolor.com/ where you can find out lots about colors.
**This poem is dedicated to my beautiful color crazy buddy Vera, who inspired me with her color questionnaire!

Airbag

The only understandable thing
is the air bag. The crash is misinterpreted.
Plotting it out for rational people results

in a mess. Spiked lines and no symmetry.
The driver was looking both ways. The pedestrian
was only a pedestrian in the strictest sense

of the word. The STOP sign is a message
to us all. When we reach a crash we all
get nervous, it's a rattling unknown thing.

The air bag fills up the space in front of us,
blossoms plastic and stitching, gives us something
tangible to hold on to instead of hope.

*I realized I subconsciously stole the title of this from a Radiohead song of the same title*

the white tonguing of a coffee break

2007-08-29T19:18:00.000-07:00

I've been obsessed with nonsense lately. Reading Alice in Wonderland, various strange poetry and brainstorming. When I say nonsense though, I don't mean purely incoherent rambling nonsense, but nonsense that makes sense on some weird guttural level. Like, when you look at it all as a whole, from far away (inches, hours, years) it makes sense and it makes more sense than anything else in the world!

Just started Fall semester and am working on graduating in December. It should work out, unless something unexpected pops up. But there are often jack-in-the boxes hiding about. Honestly, I wouldn't mind staying in college longer. It feels really sad to leave.

I'm currently poring over: Spunk and Bite: A writer's guide to bold, contemporary style, by Arthur Plotnik. Witty, eloquent and an illuminating must have for any writer. One thing he quotes I particularly like:
"Within minutes of my first kiss I was stripped like a squid..and something inside me hardened, turned into a chunk of cement. A girl becomes a comma like that, with wrong boy after wrong boy; she becomes a pause, something quick before the real thing." (-Lisa Glatt, A Girl Becomes a Comma Like That)
I started reading it because I'm taking an advanced fiction class and have a story due next week. I'm not too experienced writing short stories; wrote my first about a year ago, but with this book i'll be a master story teller in no time!

Being silly in bean city

2007-08-13T21:23:00.000-07:00

The past week has been a week of several various celebrations. I went to Boston this week-end. A very fun city to explore even though the frogs are metaphorical and the people are rude.

Took the freedom trail to learn about Boston's history, I ended up here.

Because it's just cute.

I ought to get a life. But I won't.

I'm finally going to be a published poet!

2007-08-06T19:40:00.000-07:00

Astor Place subway station. Went to the 'Rock the Bells Concert' last Sunday. Madness.

I'm very excited today, because I found out that my poem 'Cartography for Beginners' is going to be published in Opium 5: www.opiummagazine.com (which is my absolute favorite lit magazine ever!) I can barely speak complete sentences, and every thought in my head is punctuated by a: "woo hoo!" I can't believe that my poem is going to be touchable-- (on a real page that real hands can touch!), in a magazine that's sold in barnes and nobles, a magazine that's published writer's like Stuart Dybek and Jack Handey !??

"Whenever I see an old lady slip and fall on a wet sidewalk, my first instinct is to laugh. But then I think, what is I was an ant, and she fell on me. Then it wouldn't seem quite so funny." -Jack Handey (funniness)

Anyway, I've been terribly inspired all day to write and do everything poetry. I wrote this poem earlier today after thinking about my last radiohead inspired blog title. It needs a lot of work but I am fond of some parts already :)

UPSIDE DOWN IS THE NEW RIGHT SIDE UP
We sleep upside down, as bats, trying
to reverse the harmful effects of gravity.
All this talk about pollution, global warfare
and we've neglected the obvious.

We're not made of metal. We're soft
and bio degradable. We need to construct
a pickling system for our hearts; so they don't
leave us, so they can last throughout the winter.

Our humanity clings to our organs, like the last
defiant teaspoon of ketchup in the bottle.
Doesn't it know it'll have to go at some point?
Doesn't it know how delicious it'll taste?

"Down is the new up"

2007-07-23T21:08:00.000-07:00

Roethke poetry + a woman's body + music, beautiful don't you think?

It has to get worse before it gets better, is the saying. So maybe we should just make it worse and worse and worse and we'll have nothing to worry about anymore.

Woman's studies class has me thinking i'm a "socialist feminist", as there are many kinda of feminists (which i did not know). Which means basically, I believe in the differences between men and women, and celebrate the differences that women have. What's so wrong about women being delicate and precious and beautiful and strong? We can achieve anything as men can, we just go about it in different ways ;)

We should all take some sidewalk chalk and write out all our grievances for the neighborhood to see. and wait for the rain.