So Cappelli gave us the quote at the top of my last post and told us to write a sonnet based on it.
I don't know how I feel about this one.
The lights are always on near where you live.
In your yellow windows lightning pauses,
and soon that illumination will give
way to thunder. I don't know what causes
the delay that lets me measure in time
our distance, whisper the seconds in some
improbably dark corner, where sublime
fists start fights; where compelling wrecks become
legend or tragedy, or both. Because
your blackened eye like a ripe plum will swell
and you will tell me that maybe there was
sort-of beauty in how these pieces fell.
Broken things have stories, so we listen.
We mark them ours to watch the shards glisten.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Day 82. Autobiography.
"Don't tell me the moon is shining, show me the glint of light on broken glass." -- Anton Chekhov
here it is:
my dirty city, my
strung together suburbs like christmas tree lights city, my
neon signs up all night city, my
roadside attraction city, my
isolation city, my
strip clubs next to middle schools city, my
black magic city with young blood, young bones--
my air conditioned buses leaking freon city, my
city of a thousand movements.
my city of women on the beach who sell chopped
mangoes with lemon and chili powder and my
city of whatever lives under the pier, my
frontier city breathing santa ana winds, my
"meek wives with carving knives" city , my
"garbled vomit on the shore" city.
i'm yours,
my city with sneaky seasons. my
city of tour buses and eleven million languages
one for everyone get your own today only 9.99 call now-- my
city of lost cats and found dachshunds.
my city wanting so hard, my
sleek and waxy city like the clementines that come in crates each winter.
underneath is the leathery skin,
pins and needles smell of citrus
the shade of groves--
that past is long gone, what could it mean to my
fifteen seconds of fame city? my
planes for shooting stars city, my
scribbled notes found crumpled in parking lots city, my
sweet disposition-ed downtown buildings city, my
high-up curlicued stone city, my
monsoon melodrama city, my
union station city with spanish tiles and sunshine. my
neighbor's pungent gingko tree city, my
city of droughts and floods and sidewalks sanded with broken glass.
my hallways of ficuses and palms city, my
pilgrimage city. my amnesiac city, my
city of myth, my
city where we worship
people who pretend to be heroes on a screen. my
seizing grin city, my song on the radio city, my
curving prows of silver ships echoing centuries of oceanic crescendoes city, my
roach coach city of deliciousity. my
city of postage stamp gardens and potted hopes. my
opinionated city, my grandmother's city when she
worked as the telephone operator-- connecting
one angeleno to another like los angeles itself.
here it is:
my dirty city, my
strung together suburbs like christmas tree lights city, my
neon signs up all night city, my
roadside attraction city, my
isolation city, my
strip clubs next to middle schools city, my
black magic city with young blood, young bones--
my air conditioned buses leaking freon city, my
city of a thousand movements.
my city of women on the beach who sell chopped
mangoes with lemon and chili powder and my
city of whatever lives under the pier, my
frontier city breathing santa ana winds, my
"meek wives with carving knives" city , my
"garbled vomit on the shore" city.
i'm yours,
my city with sneaky seasons. my
city of tour buses and eleven million languages
one for everyone get your own today only 9.99 call now-- my
city of lost cats and found dachshunds.
my city wanting so hard, my
sleek and waxy city like the clementines that come in crates each winter.
underneath is the leathery skin,
pins and needles smell of citrus
the shade of groves--
that past is long gone, what could it mean to my
fifteen seconds of fame city? my
planes for shooting stars city, my
scribbled notes found crumpled in parking lots city, my
sweet disposition-ed downtown buildings city, my
high-up curlicued stone city, my
monsoon melodrama city, my
union station city with spanish tiles and sunshine. my
neighbor's pungent gingko tree city, my
city of droughts and floods and sidewalks sanded with broken glass.
my hallways of ficuses and palms city, my
pilgrimage city. my amnesiac city, my
city of myth, my
city where we worship
people who pretend to be heroes on a screen. my
seizing grin city, my song on the radio city, my
curving prows of silver ships echoing centuries of oceanic crescendoes city, my
roach coach city of deliciousity. my
city of postage stamp gardens and potted hopes. my
opinionated city, my grandmother's city when she
worked as the telephone operator-- connecting
one angeleno to another like los angeles itself.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Day 81. The Purgatory Between Buildings E and F
(first draft)
Truth is, you won't remember now.
If you're living day by day,
keeping time on a pocketchain,
you'll keep record of the small
things that momentarily halt the routine--
but even so this will
evade you like an invisible gorilla.
The days sneak past and
even your ups and downs are predictable.
You could take a different staircase but it wouldn't
get you there just right just
so
Yes, it's better this way.
--although
you do wonder, right?
When the future will come
(if it does.)
and your mistakes will only be toys
you let your children play with--
when there will be nothing to jeopardize.
This isn't a call to action.
You don't like it when books or movies, stories about youth, get into
the inevitableShort. Verb. Command. Sentences
(goleaplaughcrysoar)
because you feel only the absence of feeling
you should be crying, you should be throwing that story across the room as you
say yes to motorcycles, to tequila-filled chocolates--
but you're alone and no one's watching
so who's to say you're here?
Alive.
It's a word you've heard since birth and before
but you still don't know what it means.
The sugar bones in your feet were made to break
and you've worn your claws to stubs;
still you feel the growl inside.
Alive.
Forget your stolen promises to make this a better year.
Time is found in transitions, so linger
for the long goodbye.
Plays would not be the same without their (beats) and neither would you.
Let this be your first memory.
Unfold the origami of a staircase.
If you want to remember-- find the hidden sides.
Truth is, you won't remember now.
If you're living day by day,
keeping time on a pocketchain,
you'll keep record of the small
things that momentarily halt the routine--
but even so this will
evade you like an invisible gorilla.
The days sneak past and
even your ups and downs are predictable.
You could take a different staircase but it wouldn't
get you there just right just
so
Yes, it's better this way.
--although
you do wonder, right?
When the future will come
(if it does.)
and your mistakes will only be toys
you let your children play with--
when there will be nothing to jeopardize.
This isn't a call to action.
You don't like it when books or movies, stories about youth, get into
the inevitableShort. Verb. Command. Sentences
(goleaplaughcrysoar)
because you feel only the absence of feeling
you should be crying, you should be throwing that story across the room as you
say yes to motorcycles, to tequila-filled chocolates--
but you're alone and no one's watching
so who's to say you're here?
Alive.
It's a word you've heard since birth and before
but you still don't know what it means.
The sugar bones in your feet were made to break
and you've worn your claws to stubs;
still you feel the growl inside.
Alive.
Forget your stolen promises to make this a better year.
Time is found in transitions, so linger
for the long goodbye.
Plays would not be the same without their (beats) and neither would you.
Let this be your first memory.
Unfold the origami of a staircase.
If you want to remember-- find the hidden sides.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Day 80. True Facts.
Night. Residential backyard. MOM closes the back door; it locks. EMILY, CONNIE, and SAROH are walking to the car already. MOM reaches into her pocket, then looks up in panic
MOM
Emily, you have keys right?
EMILY
Uh... no....
MOM
Connie, do you?
CONNIE
Yeah they're in my backpack, let me go get them
MOM
Your backpack... inside the house?
CONNIE
Yeah... OH.
MOM
Okay, nobody get worried, we're just going to think this through. I have the car keys, my phone, and my purse..
CONNIE
Emily, didn't you break in through the bathroom window that one time?
EMILY
Yeah but then I told Dad and instead of being proud of me he fixed it.
CONNIE
What about the time you broke in through the patio door?
EMILY
He fixed that too.
Meanwhile, SAROH hunts for paperclips
MOM
I didn't bolt the door...it's just that flimsy lock...
(she shakes it)
I'm going to go around the house and see if any of the windows are unlocked.
CONNIE
Can't we just like... kick it?
series of increasingly awkward high kicks to the door
Has anyone here watched more than an hour of Cops?
silence
EMILY
Wait wait I can totally do this.
EMILY begins trying to kick in door. CONNIE grabs her by one calf; EMILY grabs onto door; chaos ensues. EMILY is on ground in fetal position clutching her arm when MOM comes back.
MOM
Oh my god what happened
CONNIE
Well see Emily was trying to kick the door in so I tried to
EMILY
I'm pretty sure you removed my arm from its socket.
MOM
NO GOOFING AROUND. Connie, go get the toolbox from the car.
EMILY
Hey Mom? Should I break the window, or the lock?
MOM
NEITHER
House phone rings; ALL strain to hear as it goes to voicemail.
DAD
Hey guys, it's Dad, Arrowhead's great, it's so nice up here, just wondering how you are. I bet you're out having a good time. Alright talk to you later!
CONNIE is attempting to open the back door with a leaf wrapped around a stick. EMILY is trying to hand her a credit card.
MOM is scrolling through phone contacts
OH STEPHANIE HAS KEYS! I'll call her.
EMILY, CONNIE, and SAROH: BUT WE WERE SO CLOSE!!!
MOM
Emily, you have keys right?
EMILY
Uh... no....
MOM
Connie, do you?
CONNIE
Yeah they're in my backpack, let me go get them
MOM
Your backpack... inside the house?
CONNIE
Yeah... OH.
MOM
Okay, nobody get worried, we're just going to think this through. I have the car keys, my phone, and my purse..
CONNIE
Emily, didn't you break in through the bathroom window that one time?
EMILY
Yeah but then I told Dad and instead of being proud of me he fixed it.
CONNIE
What about the time you broke in through the patio door?
EMILY
He fixed that too.
Meanwhile, SAROH hunts for paperclips
MOM
I didn't bolt the door...it's just that flimsy lock...
(she shakes it)
I'm going to go around the house and see if any of the windows are unlocked.
CONNIE
Can't we just like... kick it?
series of increasingly awkward high kicks to the door
Has anyone here watched more than an hour of Cops?
silence
EMILY
Wait wait I can totally do this.
EMILY begins trying to kick in door. CONNIE grabs her by one calf; EMILY grabs onto door; chaos ensues. EMILY is on ground in fetal position clutching her arm when MOM comes back.
MOM
Oh my god what happened
CONNIE
Well see Emily was trying to kick the door in so I tried to
EMILY
I'm pretty sure you removed my arm from its socket.
MOM
NO GOOFING AROUND. Connie, go get the toolbox from the car.
EMILY
Hey Mom? Should I break the window, or the lock?
MOM
NEITHER
House phone rings; ALL strain to hear as it goes to voicemail.
DAD
Hey guys, it's Dad, Arrowhead's great, it's so nice up here, just wondering how you are. I bet you're out having a good time. Alright talk to you later!
CONNIE is attempting to open the back door with a leaf wrapped around a stick. EMILY is trying to hand her a credit card.
MOM is scrolling through phone contacts
OH STEPHANIE HAS KEYS! I'll call her.
EMILY, CONNIE, and SAROH: BUT WE WERE SO CLOSE!!!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Day 79.
line your eyes so everyone will see your wet despair, your hairless hope.
coax your hair to look like the picture from a magazine (torn edges, you stole it while
waiting in the grocery line)
wear your heels like cat's bells so everyone knows where you are, what little mischief
you will accomplish next--
twitch on their table--let them pin you down
as they try to understand their own creation(you).
the effort is
heartfelt.
then
stand at precipices, skirts billowing
around you in a shell
and bellow from your gut (not your petticoat, nor your girdle)--
I AM NOT VENUS--
SHE WAS NOT BORN
coax your hair to look like the picture from a magazine (torn edges, you stole it while
waiting in the grocery line)
wear your heels like cat's bells so everyone knows where you are, what little mischief
you will accomplish next--
twitch on their table--let them pin you down
as they try to understand their own creation(you).
the effort is
heartfelt.
then
stand at precipices, skirts billowing
around you in a shell
and bellow from your gut (not your petticoat, nor your girdle)--
I AM NOT VENUS--
SHE WAS NOT BORN
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Day 78
the night the Gore and Spectacle stopped
we were suspended on puppet strings,--
minds aloft,
we were transfixed in taxonomy-- the carousel
turned, chasing lights of spinning mirrors
accordions breathing in the yellow-gold gauzy light and
gilt horses leaping mechanical magic
tracing out centuries of
souls leaving bodies
except, they don't quite anymore, just pull at the edges
until we shake them back into our shapes.
beside me you sang low notes from the back of your throat.
we leaned on the banister and watched.
tears in my eyes, i hoped it would collapse--
all our strings could strangle us and still we'd move like marionettes
for as long as the music played.
we were suspended on puppet strings,--
minds aloft,
we were transfixed in taxonomy-- the carousel
turned, chasing lights of spinning mirrors
accordions breathing in the yellow-gold gauzy light and
gilt horses leaping mechanical magic
tracing out centuries of
souls leaving bodies
except, they don't quite anymore, just pull at the edges
until we shake them back into our shapes.
beside me you sang low notes from the back of your throat.
we leaned on the banister and watched.
tears in my eyes, i hoped it would collapse--
all our strings could strangle us and still we'd move like marionettes
for as long as the music played.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Day 77
JUNIPER
Rob, this is ridiculous. I really, really don't want to confront you about this but...... I keep finding blowup dolls in the closets and frankly, it worries me. I'm kind of disturbed. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that you offered me this room at such low rent, but you need to keep your ........things...... in your own room.
If I find one more doll, I'm out of here, I'm serious. One more flesh-colored inflated plastic harbinger of chauvinism and I am gone.
ROB
Juniper-- Juniper.
(he's been trying to interrupt her the whole time)
I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know they bothered you.
JUNIPER
Of course they bother me!! It's like being attacked! Yesterday I almost fainted when I pulled open the shower curtain and found one in there, I thought there was an intruder in the house! And just this morning two of them just sort of fell on me when I was trying to put away my clean laundry!
ROB
You weren't hurt, were you? They're not very substantial.
JUNIPER
(deep sigh)
It's creepy, Rob, okay? It's creepy.
ROB
(regards her, perplexed)
They won't fit in my closets anymore.
JUNIPER
(intensely uncomfortable)
Well.... great.
ROB
Deflating them seems wrong to me somehow.... I don't know.
JUNIPER
Christ almighty.
ROB
I shouldn't have put them in your closet. I should have asked you.
JUNIPER
Yeah, you should have.
ROB
They're very clean, though.
JUNIPER
That's ...sort of reassuring. I guess.
ROB
I think the one with the brown eyes is the prettiest, don't you?
JUNIPER
Why do you even have multiple blow up dolls?
ROB
Impulse purchases, mostly.
JUNIPER
Cause, I don't know if you know this, it doesn't seem like you do, but those are meant for guys who can't get real women. You know.
(pause)
in bed.
(pause)
So.... I just don't get like......why do you need six--
(she sighs)
Do you just not understand my discomfort at all?
ROB
No, no, it's just.... I don't use them like that.
JUNIPER
Oh my god what.
ROB
I just like being held sometimes. Before I go to sleep.
(pause)
I keep ordering more, but none of them really live up to their advertising.... They just don't feel like people, do you know what I mean? There's imagination, but I mean, only to a point.... anyway, I can move them out of your closet. They'll probably fit under the sink.
JUNIPER
It's... okay.
ROB
Maybe you could just put your clothes on them? Like mannequins! Then they wouldn't be so scary, because they'd be wearing your clothes.
JUNIPER
Rob, I didn't know you were lonely.
ROB
Are you going to move out?
JUNIPER
I don't know.
(ROB nods, then leaves)
Later that night, outside Rob's bedroom. Juniper knocks on the door.
JUNIPER
Rob? It's me.
Rob, this is ridiculous. I really, really don't want to confront you about this but...... I keep finding blowup dolls in the closets and frankly, it worries me. I'm kind of disturbed. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that you offered me this room at such low rent, but you need to keep your ........things...... in your own room.
If I find one more doll, I'm out of here, I'm serious. One more flesh-colored inflated plastic harbinger of chauvinism and I am gone.
ROB
Juniper-- Juniper.
(he's been trying to interrupt her the whole time)
I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know they bothered you.
JUNIPER
Of course they bother me!! It's like being attacked! Yesterday I almost fainted when I pulled open the shower curtain and found one in there, I thought there was an intruder in the house! And just this morning two of them just sort of fell on me when I was trying to put away my clean laundry!
ROB
You weren't hurt, were you? They're not very substantial.
JUNIPER
(deep sigh)
It's creepy, Rob, okay? It's creepy.
ROB
(regards her, perplexed)
They won't fit in my closets anymore.
JUNIPER
(intensely uncomfortable)
Well.... great.
ROB
Deflating them seems wrong to me somehow.... I don't know.
JUNIPER
Christ almighty.
ROB
I shouldn't have put them in your closet. I should have asked you.
JUNIPER
Yeah, you should have.
ROB
They're very clean, though.
JUNIPER
That's ...sort of reassuring. I guess.
ROB
I think the one with the brown eyes is the prettiest, don't you?
JUNIPER
Why do you even have multiple blow up dolls?
ROB
Impulse purchases, mostly.
JUNIPER
Cause, I don't know if you know this, it doesn't seem like you do, but those are meant for guys who can't get real women. You know.
(pause)
in bed.
(pause)
So.... I just don't get like......why do you need six--
(she sighs)
Do you just not understand my discomfort at all?
ROB
No, no, it's just.... I don't use them like that.
JUNIPER
Oh my god what.
ROB
I just like being held sometimes. Before I go to sleep.
(pause)
I keep ordering more, but none of them really live up to their advertising.... They just don't feel like people, do you know what I mean? There's imagination, but I mean, only to a point.... anyway, I can move them out of your closet. They'll probably fit under the sink.
JUNIPER
It's... okay.
ROB
Maybe you could just put your clothes on them? Like mannequins! Then they wouldn't be so scary, because they'd be wearing your clothes.
JUNIPER
Rob, I didn't know you were lonely.
ROB
Are you going to move out?
JUNIPER
I don't know.
(ROB nods, then leaves)
Later that night, outside Rob's bedroom. Juniper knocks on the door.
JUNIPER
Rob? It's me.
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