Wrote a review of I'm Still Here, which I saw with Heather and her Canadian friend Bryan (the undignified one), for L.A. Youth.
http://www.layouth.com/movie-review-im-still-here/
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
day 75.
so here i am, pulling you in.
You had reached the farthest part of your orbit and thought you could break free
maybe in a physics-defying inexplainable moment of
arrow-stabbed still-bleeding humanity
Ignore me and find a new universe so clean such an
expanse--
But here i am
eclipsing your eyes like cataracts
Wobbling in my path around
my planets, my suns, my stars
only they aren't mine at all
and one day retrograde motion will take them out of my life.
and here i am gravitating towards you
only when i am not wanted
because i have to maintain this much distance and
nothing more--
here i am
at arm's length
a galaxy away
here i am because
i am trying to tell you i have been where you are
been the hurtling rock leaving destruction
so someone will know
I was there--that was my shadow you saw around the corner, we only
just missed each other--
and i was the one who was not there (then where?)
but smiled all careful teeth--
Only it's not cosmic or even planetary how we treat each other it's just
small monstrous acts of loneliness
like roadkill whose eyes are still open.
You had reached the farthest part of your orbit and thought you could break free
maybe in a physics-defying inexplainable moment of
arrow-stabbed still-bleeding humanity
Ignore me and find a new universe so clean such an
expanse--
But here i am
eclipsing your eyes like cataracts
Wobbling in my path around
my planets, my suns, my stars
only they aren't mine at all
and one day retrograde motion will take them out of my life.
and here i am gravitating towards you
only when i am not wanted
because i have to maintain this much distance and
nothing more--
here i am
at arm's length
a galaxy away
here i am because
i am trying to tell you i have been where you are
been the hurtling rock leaving destruction
so someone will know
I was there--that was my shadow you saw around the corner, we only
just missed each other--
and i was the one who was not there (then where?)
but smiled all careful teeth--
Only it's not cosmic or even planetary how we treat each other it's just
small monstrous acts of loneliness
like roadkill whose eyes are still open.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Day 74.
from CSSSA; the prompt was to write instructions to someone else
How To Live With Being An Insatiable Klutz
You will smack into the cabinet protruding from the wall. Take it
in stride; run into
other walls; make it a dance.
You will skid on the wet floor, unstoppable momentum.
Keep that look of terror off your face-- this is only a move that took all your years to perfect.
You will walk into plate glass. Pretend to be a bird--
dazed but flying.
You will spill drinks at every opportunity, onto other people's things--
when you go for paper towels to wipe it up, drop them airily on the floor
like snowflakes and
with your feet, push them in a pile.
You will injure people accidentally-- a door swung open exactly wrong,
sudden movements-- this too you can live with, though
they will remember you by a scab or faded scar.
A tumbled, I'm so sorry, and then run off because
you're not just a klutz, you're a socially incapable klutz.
You will break the unbreakable plates your mom bought. Call it
a science experiment.
You will put your foot through the windshield of the family car.
Probably while on the freeway-- but you're the reason they made car glass that crumbles
instead of breaking-- so don't worry.
You will find new verbs for falling, use millions of years of evolved and refined limbs in altogether new ways--
you will not be the dancer in the music box, twirling consistently
but who wants to open to the world on command?
Glory in your freedom from gracefulness, and
you can live with being a klutz.
How To Live With Being An Insatiable Klutz
You will smack into the cabinet protruding from the wall. Take it
in stride; run into
other walls; make it a dance.
You will skid on the wet floor, unstoppable momentum.
Keep that look of terror off your face-- this is only a move that took all your years to perfect.
You will walk into plate glass. Pretend to be a bird--
dazed but flying.
You will spill drinks at every opportunity, onto other people's things--
when you go for paper towels to wipe it up, drop them airily on the floor
like snowflakes and
with your feet, push them in a pile.
You will injure people accidentally-- a door swung open exactly wrong,
sudden movements-- this too you can live with, though
they will remember you by a scab or faded scar.
A tumbled, I'm so sorry, and then run off because
you're not just a klutz, you're a socially incapable klutz.
You will break the unbreakable plates your mom bought. Call it
a science experiment.
You will put your foot through the windshield of the family car.
Probably while on the freeway-- but you're the reason they made car glass that crumbles
instead of breaking-- so don't worry.
You will find new verbs for falling, use millions of years of evolved and refined limbs in altogether new ways--
you will not be the dancer in the music box, twirling consistently
but who wants to open to the world on command?
Glory in your freedom from gracefulness, and
you can live with being a klutz.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Gaaah i should be sleeping. Day 73.
ONE MONTH
I cut my nails twice while the moon grew and shrunk
watched some truly terrible movies and some true ones--
I stayed out of cars but read Autobahn-- six short plays within two front seats and a windshield.
I used a hundred forks, and spilled (only) three drinks
I tumbled down hills, got mowed grass patchworked over my feet-- new nights, new skin.
I ate mulberries and let the juice run down my arms like blood
climbed in a human sized cage
played truth or dare in a shack.
I wrote my fears in a cardboard monster
I lost my glasses, my wallet, bits of Before.
I sang to a crowd, sang with a crowd,
had conversations everywhere-- the tiny stairwell up to the roof, the caves under desks, under stairs and under trees and in trees and
sometimes i remember them, the trees the people,
what was said or how.
I watched the sunrise on the last day from the edge of a parking lot, huddling close to my roommates, and thought about how things have
only the meaning you give them.
like a friend can be for a lifetime or just while time lasts.
like a place can be a home or just a stop on the road.
like a month can be a change or just the inevitable turn of a circle that
nonetheless
holds fragile surprises.
I cut my nails twice while the moon grew and shrunk
watched some truly terrible movies and some true ones--
I stayed out of cars but read Autobahn-- six short plays within two front seats and a windshield.
I used a hundred forks, and spilled (only) three drinks
I tumbled down hills, got mowed grass patchworked over my feet-- new nights, new skin.
I ate mulberries and let the juice run down my arms like blood
climbed in a human sized cage
played truth or dare in a shack.
I wrote my fears in a cardboard monster
I lost my glasses, my wallet, bits of Before.
I sang to a crowd, sang with a crowd,
had conversations everywhere-- the tiny stairwell up to the roof, the caves under desks, under stairs and under trees and in trees and
sometimes i remember them, the trees the people,
what was said or how.
I watched the sunrise on the last day from the edge of a parking lot, huddling close to my roommates, and thought about how things have
only the meaning you give them.
like a friend can be for a lifetime or just while time lasts.
like a place can be a home or just a stop on the road.
like a month can be a change or just the inevitable turn of a circle that
nonetheless
holds fragile surprises.
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