zipcode art

curious how grants are so lopsided, favoring counties.
aside from the obvious fact that the county designates
funding, why should it matter where the artist comes
from? what happened to the art? that's what i want to know.

anonymity

"Names no longer apply and he can't find a satisfactory substitute. All the limits and expectations and experiential bullshit people bring to nomenclature, like the attitude copped when they hear the name of their first lover, their estranged mother, their crazy aunt or their incorrigible ex-husband. No one is truly different because name, rank, profession are always reminiscent of someone else’s identity, someone else’s station in life. You are only true to yourself, he thinks, that is, if you’re capable of it."

ruff ruff

i talked to her over the phone
and she licked it. my mother told me
she was just back from the vet, a pound lighter,
with a nice, soft crew cut. my brother asked me about
the parakeet we had when we grew up. the one that
used to ride around on the back of daisy maidle,
our pup. davey crockett, i told him. but of course.

speechless

longing to be a visual artist
words so tired, so poor, so arrested.
not sure what being a writer means any more.
without an attention span what's left?
recording for the sake of it
validating the alphabet
creating new syntax
for what?

why not?

there's always this vague suggestion
of meaninglessness masquerading as dependency.
i don't know what to do with it
because of course it's meaningful,
and there's no path, nothing
circumscribed, nothing definitive.
there's now and then there's
nothing and we're supposed to figure
out how to navigate in between.
that thought, that touch, that sound,
that space, that breath. this is it.

the calm...

where is my mother?
backward, forward, that rocking motion.
we become accustomed to it. expect the shift.
a member of the hemlock society in its nascent years,
now she is projectile, a missile with a programmed
target and the ability to forget.

time out

mindlessness
joblessness
wanderlust
all add up to the disappearing act.
the one you long to pull,
to become, to succumb to.

best friend

“If he really thinks about it, he doesn’t exactly hate Mark. It isn’t in his vocabulary to hate a man he loved so much for so long. While he might have the impulse to kill him, he doesn’t harbor the kind of animosity that inspires violence. It comes from some other place, that unknowing place where chaos presides and hangs in the air, waiting to explode."

the deeper resonances

In retrospect he finds it hard to believe he was actually capable of giving life... remote the more he thinks about it. The life force that seems to come of its own accord, free of premeditation or constraints. He wishes it was infectious, her vitality, her confidence, her devotion but knows she's paying a price she can’t afford. If anything, he has to give her more. He has to find a way.

remember me

don't know what's more important. memory or substance. as in, what do i remember in my conversation with my mother vs. what were we really talking about. and then, let's not forget this other dynamic that gets in the way. huh? the question? why? where? was i there? were you? love, love, love. that's what i keep reminding myself. all about love.

no brainer

what is it like to grow old. old beyond your time. older than you ever thought you were capable of being. so old. how can this be? because it's never in the conventional sense. it's not about growing old, it's about being, believing or not. it's about not being afraid of being alone. it's about losing. all that loss. and then, nothing. is that what we're supposed to become accustomed to? no matter how many times, how many ways, how unspeakable, how unpredictable it may be, we'll never get used to it.

reality check

forget the paycheck. time for a reality check. to check in
and see what's really going on.

1. am i doing what i really want to be doing with my life?

2. if not, how can i redirect?

3. and with all that excess energy from doing what I want, how can
I help someone else do...whatever.

what if we were, no, are happy? what if...

Pentimento

inspire me

thought i'd never look to government for inspiration
but today i think of the possibilities. intellect,
diplomacy, patience, consideration, compassion, endurance.
these are not qualities to which we've become accustomed
but it is time to move in close, take a chance, reach out
to the optimism that has been dormant for so many years,
optimism motivated by activism and involvement. today our
president is capable of empowering so many. tomorrow the
empowered will rise up and take responsibility for governance.
the two will become one and the consciousness of one will bring
justice and harmony to a world out of balance.

What Have We Got to Lose?

According to Zev Vilnay, the name "Gaza," from the Arabic Ġazza, originally derives from the Canaanite/Hebrew root for "strong" (ʕZZ), and was introduced to Arabic by way of the Hebrew, ʕazzā, i.e. "the strong one (f.)"; cpr. English stronghold.[2] According to Mariam Shahin, the Canaanites gave Gaza its name, the Ancient Egyptians called it Gazzat ("prized city"), and the Arabs often refer to it as Gazzat Hashim, in honour of Hashim, the great-grandfather of Muhammed, who is allegedly buried in Gaza City, according to Islamic lore.

So much to lose. Too many to die for.