Oi! Last Night...

stayed and stayed and stayed and kept
staying at work last night. waiting.
waiting. waiting. til 9pm when i finally
got out of here. in the morning i
felt lively. energetic. looking forward
to going to dance class after work.
after lunch the desire to jump around
increased even more. REALLY looking
forward to dance class. needed to MOVE.
happy about the prospect. by 5 I knew i
wouldn't be getting out by my first
class at 6. that's ok. i'll go to the
7 class. by 5:30 starting to tire. this
is turning in to need motivation to go
to dance class but need it more than ever
and GOT to go. by 6:30 i knew i'd miss
that class too. bummed. nothing i can do
about it. thinking my job is controlling
my life. not a fun thought. it provokes my
flight instinct to flee this life-controlling
job. i'm a girl who needs freedom to follow
my heart. i'm glad i'm that way. and i will
do that. but right now, cheri, you must have
a little discipline and pay off your debt.

is jimi the real santa claus?

on christmas eve sit in front of your red blue
green and yellow blinking-light christmas tree,
put on your biggest bulbous headphones and stare
at all the colors as you trance out to jimi's guitar
screeching and humming merry christrip to you via
little drummer boy and silent night on acid. and
all this for only $5.99 at Waterloo records!
It's like you're stealing christmas on high.
  • Current Music
    my inner jimi

The dominant male

they say russell crowe is irresistible to testosterone-challenged women.
he and jody foster were supposedly
making out at an oscar party. pre meg. they say he's
a guy guy. can get rowdy. he plays guitar in a band
called gruntland that recorded recently in austin.
he isn't polite or well-groomed like most hollywood
types. he doesn't play the game. he's like the
dominant male in the jungle. with the dominant
smell. one woman said it looks like you can smell
him. i think she meant that as a compliment. they
say the director of gladiator kept him from scenes
with his girlfriend, maximus's wife, because he was
afraid russell would attract her too much. i was
wondering why there weren't more scenes with the
two of them. and i can certainly smell him. even
on screen. even in the insider where he was all
fat and unattractive, i was still drawn to him.
something very strong and assured about him. like
he could protect and guide his woman through the
most dangerous situations. I think
laslo has this quality too.
  • Current Music
    low-volume sinatra on my radio

Wishes

i wish i were on the other side of the world.
walking across a stone bridge over a creek in a japanese garden.
or watching an ice-carving master in St. Petersburg Square.
or ice fishing with a group of eskimos
covered from head to foot in warm, thick fur.
or being whispered to by a strong, gentle voice.
i wish i didn't wish.
why wish? isn't that living somewhere else,
at another time? when the present is
so perfect as it is.

yesterday i saw requiem for a dream.
a disturbing, film. i couldn't get
the images out of my mind all night.
i dreamt about the characters, and when i woke
up throughout the night, their faces
blocked my view into my room. i couldn't stop
looking at them whether i was asleep or
awake. the perky happy black boy who ran through
a dirty, ugly apartment building, straight
into his apartment and leapt into his mother's
lap with one bound declaring, "I'm gonna make
something of myself." she hugged him and
said "you already are just by being yourself,"
and that image of her holding him popped up
like a ghost as he cradled himself as an adult
in a florida prison bed.

(no subject)

it's true what they say. my irritated journal entry of yesterday is due in part to my period starting today. although i feel those things often, i don't usually feel irritated and pissed off enough to be compelled to write about them. i guess big waves of hormones can get you in touch with the powerful essence of your feelings, like prebuscent boys constantly seem to be.

a lot to do today:
pay rent
clean the bathroom
try out Big Steve's gym
deposit money
pick up the gainsbourg CD?
beg them to buy my clothes at buffalo exchange?
christmas shop?
pick up a young latin male prostitute?
seems like i'm missing something.

next improved health idea:
do resistance training 15 minutes a day. alternate top and lower parts of body per day. bring walkman, listen to groovy tunes. i get so bored working out on machines. at 15 minutes, my workout will be over right when the boredom usually starts. and even a little weight training does wonders for your body.and the gym is right around the corner from my house so i can just run in right before work and on top of all that, i won't be so restless sitting at my desk all day because of my workout. With that and the at least 4 hours of aerobic excercise i already get a week, i think i'll be good. Just need to incorporate a stretching regime. Then I'll be all set.

Now to errandville.

Days of Dreaming Are Not Over

I thought days of dreaming were over.
I thought reality would be the dream
I dreamt before.
But I want more.
They never tell you insomnia
gives you a strange persepective
on life. If you're able to stay
awake during the day, how does sleeplessness
take its toll? It must somehow.
Emotions flatten and anger melds into joy and becomes gray matter. My computer is two dimensional, as is my phone and stapler
and everything else I see. People are irritating.
They run into each other too,
with their damn constant personalities.
The incessant talkers are the hardest.
I have shaky tolerance for self-obsessed
yakkers. Let's just say they're working
my last nerve. The persistent electric irritation
of sitting through a dinner with THAT person ONE MORE TIME.
Well. Maybe if i could sleep more. I might have
the strength to interrupt and force my own
thoughts into the conversation, because, ya know, i've always got thoughts.
  • Current Mood
    grumpy grumpy

Silence and seduction

stillness. silence. floating.
sometimes it's easier to go into a coma,
to put your spirit in suspended animation
when you don't understand the game,
to hold out for the change of rules,
when you get it. when you know you can play.

last night i had a dream. i was madonna's assistant.
on her bed in the middle of a room. but before
that i was a young white woman coming off a bus.
a black man was there. he was complaining because he wanted to have sex but not with the two fat
black women who surrounded him and without talking
or stopping at all or even looking at him, slowly forced him into their house with their bodies, as though they were not thinking of him at all. i followed him
because he was my friend and i didn't want him
to be flowed into having sex with these selfish fat
women. he'd warned me that the carpet was covered
with shit and it stank and that's one reason he
was repulsed by them. i was overcome with revulsion
as i walked through the rust red carpet that had same colored little bits of shit all over it.
I had to watch very carefully every step i took
and still i stepped on some. no one could have helped it.
then I walked up to them where they'd stopped with
him at what looked like an altar. I tried to reason with
them not to have sex with him but they didn't even see
me. then i was suddenly outside walking
around a movie studio that was made to look like
a vintage clothing store. when you first looked in
the store was window-dressed with the most amazing
silk dresses with sequins and lace. i could design
one right now and i bet they'd sell. but when i
looked in further it was just an empty dirty warehouse. then i suddenly knew they were all madonna's clothes. and she appeared, blonde with perfect pale skin like like in her Vogue ere. but she was dressed in a white button down shirt
and tight blue jeans. more like marilyn during the misfits.
then we were on her bed. it was a wooden rectangle in
the middle of a room decorated sparsely with
medieval relics and crosses. the bed had cream-
colored satin cotton sheets on it. i was lying in the middle and she was lying on her stomach across the
foot of the bed while kneeling on the floor, talking to me. then she started crawling toward me
to kiss me, and the edges of the sheets and mattress started getting wet, i think that's
because the sheets i washed last night didn't dry
completely at the edges, and then the whole bed
turned to water under the sheets and i almost
sank in unable to control it or understand it, a little afraid of not knowing what would happen.
then john nicholson walked in. he tried to seduce
me with words. "our minds are the same. come with me. take off your dress." words like that. he
said he had to leave. then he came back
with a blonde girlfriend, tall as him, 6' 3",
one he'd been with for a while but whom i knew he
was just passing time with. but he wasn't aware of
me. i walked past them
into a hallway with several small bathrooms along
the hallway. i knew they were john's bathrooms. i was nervous the whole time thinking
he would walk in and catch me. each bathroom had
jewelry in it with my name engraved in a few of the pieces.
i found a detailed silver brooch in
one that said "charstar lives forever". then i felt his presence. i looked up and he was staring at me
not saying a word. i thought he was going to kill
me. then i woke up.
  • Current Mood
    indescribable indescribable

Another doting aunt note

I want to send a note to my nephew for his graduation from high school.

Coming very soon in May
is your graduation day.
You'll need a present from your aunt,
so in your mind this seed I'll plant:
Think of where you'd like to go,
New York City or Mexico,
or anywhere in between
i'll give you the trip
of your dreams.

I'd love to take him to nyc and to a broadway play. he's very enthusiastic about art museums too so the Met and guggenheim would have to be on the agenda. he could bring a friend. maybe lazlo would like to come and we could entertain the kids and show them how cultured and knowledgeable we are. a long fun-filled weeken

Wise, happy children

saw my children this weekend. my nieces and nephews. i think i can relate
to them more intuitively and easily than almost
anyone else i know. strange you'd think for
an adult. but sometimes and quite often it seems, i'm guilty of this too, older people can be blinded by their own pasts and they project thoughts onto people and don't even know it's from their mind, not the other person's. that can be hard. my kids, my nieces
and nephews, are very open minded and easy to talk to. they listen and want to know the truth. we laugh a lot together and talk about all sorts of things.
my sister, their mother, and i are adopted, so we're the only blood relatives i know. and it makes me think there really is something to blood and genes we all have some kind of a common intuitive bond. we all like to express ourselves, get mad and love with equal passion, and we laugh a lot. my niece is my role model. she's 11. her name is sierra. she dances and makes jokes that are really funny, and she gets nuances that require higher levels of thought even more amazing for an 11 year old like the subtleties of braveheart. she told me she asked this boy out. he told her that he couldn't get involved with anyone because it would interfere
with his relationship with christ. so she simply said to him, "that's bull." i asked her what he
said back. she said, "he just smiled." and she
seemed impressed with that response. i was impressed with her for rising above the dark suction of rejection and still thinking good thoughts about him. then she said he's going out with her best friend now. i asked
her how she felt about that. she said, "well, i asked him out three whole weeks ago." like that should explain everything. my nephew jesse said he's not interested in any girls at school. they seem immature he said. they seem to lack confidence, they don't speak out enough. he wants to go out with someone with confidence, who has a personality. i said, like sierra? he said, "yeah, like her. but, she's my sister. or someone like my mother." i don't think he's looking at these girls beneath their shy exterior's, but it's nice he respects the women in his family. and my nephew river, 4, hugs every kid in his montessori class when he first gets to school. and he has a really cool black leather jacket that i envy, that he wears with cowboy boots and sometimes with football shoulder pads. he insists on dressing himself.

(no subject)

Lazlo's depressed today. His journal says
so. He talks about why have goals? Why
wish for things when they won't happen?
Why risk getting frustrated? He's wondering
if wanting something, going for something
and not getting it will negate his existence.
although he probably doesn't think that
specifically, consciously (it's a buddhist
thing). a lifetime of being beaten down can
do that to you. first, being suppressed in
your childhood; being ignored as a way
of life is like someone telling you no all the time.
no, what you want doesn't matter. no,
what you say doesn't matter. no, your presence
does not matter. you do not exist. this silent no
whispered in his ear when he was awake, when
he dreamed, over days, weeks, years, and finally
rooted itself in his body and stayed there. his angry
teenage rebellion didn't blast him out of it. it only
floated him for a while in a black cloud of cigarette
smoke and booze. an easy illusion.
then he goes through adulthood playing
in this illusion, not really knowing what he wants,
and not knowing why. he takes a chance. gets
married. finally a commitment, a decisive movement
toward making his own life, something he chooses,
something he wants. that ends in betrayal, an
absolute and utter no. again. no, you are wrong.
no, you shouldn't have wanted this. no, like i said,
what you want doesn't matter. you do not matter.
you do not exist. and here he is. laslo. craving
cigarettes. remembering the booze. trying to
learn how to say yes.