empty elevators & the people who ride them

~'All the world is green' by tom waits. this song is quite possibly perfect: lamenting, romantic, brilliant lyrics, hopeful. this is one of those if i was in a relationship, this would be our song songs, but it's also intensely personal so i'm not sure i'd want to share its meaning. but it's DEFINITELY a care to dance? song.
i mean, look, this song is so good it almost brings me to climax just by filling my ear-space. i hit replay and sway as i'm doing the dishes.

~Bleu- i know, i refer to this movie all the good goddamned time, but it runs so many themes and messages and emotions yet somehow manages to keep it all contained in such a lovely photographed packaged. i recently watched it again and it struck me that you can be with someone, really with them - married, joking, fucking, looking, working, loving, fighting, driving, eating, caring, supporting- and still feel so absolutely abandoned.

~ “Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief." W. Shakespeare. as with most things that are worth anything, i've spent a lot of time with this quote. it's just…pretty.

hi gang. i don't anticipate making an entry this weekend so i thought i'd just drop a quick line or so. i'm going on nite 2 without sleep. no reason in particular except that the old noggin's been working overtime.

here's what happens when the ruler of deeannland doesn't get sleep:

*i find a collection of typos and grammatical errors totalling 7 in a hefty three-sentence construction

*i make a completely off-the-wall (but hilarious nonetheless) remark regarding a co-worker's rambunctious children & maybe something to do with ny-quil & the silent game. not for naught; the super quiet guy in the far corner let out a raucous howl thus piquing my interest. 

*in an attempt to compose a tale around the terms 'black-bearded papa' & 'lemon jade' i instead come up with two ideas for new TV shows:
'Marilyn Manson Dinner Theatre' & 'The Last Amputee Standing'.

enjoy your weekend, pals. you've been good to me. cheers and leers of the foxy-persuasion may they come your way and stay.

implications of synchronicity, diane baker, 3rd floor survivors and a coming together of what was is now

~'Brother Lee' by Citizen Cope because my silver dancing pants prove to be a hit and approve this song as a hit. just fun.

~“While her heart is still in the grave of one love affair, she is making eyes at another man." -a companion of Edna St. Vincent Millay.

~Morvern Callar, because, gruesome & despicable or not, the sight of Samantha Morton (sigh) in 70s shades, drinking brandy and prepping her bathroom for when she hacks her beau to bits...is beautiful dammit.

hi gang, pull up a tall one. a full day to relay! sometimes, things just align. don't know how else to put it.

had lunch with my pal jeff today which always sets a good tone. i love to talk to a man about scrabble. gave him his octopus and he was officially beside himself with pleasure. nice. good feeling.

next: received some terrific pics from a dear old pal from college. we were a tight-knit group and the photos feel like yesterday. seems i've had a thing for fishnets since i've been old enough to.

next: talked to sis Kel today which always makes me think of 'silence of the lambs'. she's a huge fan and i have good memories myself of going to see the flick. i'm leading up to it. sit tight.

i walked home in the late light of spring - the light that promises to caress my shoulders and carry me to my beloved sandy-beach naps - to greet my sweet captain dirtyface, Louie. tonite was his first bath at the hairgrove hotel.

to prepare for his bath i headed to my local for some treats (jerky for Lou, bubbly for me). so i sidled up to this tasty boy in grocery line 4, but when i looked to the lady in the next line, a bolt of lightning, kids, a bolt! anyway, line4boy was too much a hippie for my tastes.

a bottle of wine, asparagus, a magazine, et cetera...she seemed a tad frazzled, harried even, but she looked at me. i smiled, she smiled. then i asked "senator martin?" ...she looked at me with a question mark and cock of her head, smirked and said "yea, yep." kids, senator martin from 'silence of the lambs'!! i said, "you did a two-hour episode of Columbo. the commander episode."

kids, i met Diane Baker! what a doll. she said that she heard peter wasn't doing so well & had i heard (uhm, yea), she'd tried to call him without success. we chatted a tad then said tah tah.

so fun.

i beat it home to give Louie his bath--a perfect gentleman! he's currently super-poop'd and splayed on the couch.

the real reward of the day comes next:

a fellow stupid cancer happy hour attendee and i have played tag with the last couple of happy hours. she's there when i'm not & vice versa. i added her on facebook and noticed she's listed some info about where she works. ...it's the same place where i work. small world yea?

she's a victim of a rare form of cancer for which there is next to nil re: research.

www.dtrf.org

since there's no research (read: interest), this sweet biscuit is starting a fundraiser/party. her beau plays in a blues band with john lee hooker's nephew & it's sure to be a dancin' bash. i'll be writing a press release or two for it so stay tuned over the next few months.

60% of the victims of this type of cancer suffer recurrence and many, amputation, due to lack of research>primitive "treatment". my gal's friend is going back into surgery this week and we're all crossed-fingers and hope.

just so happens that i'm freelancing for an orthotis/prosthetist.

1+1+1 = full circle. i'm looping him in on the fundraiser, and hopefully, some results will come from this lovely coincidence. at the least, comes support and resources.

i'm spent, kids. thanks for your emails about the previous post. so many of us. it's weird. it's unusual, but it isn't. and that's too bad. but it isn't.

where discombobulation is a way of life: deeannland! make yourself at home. i love to have you. kisses and near misses. clink.

not nothing

~'Running up that hill' by Placebo. i know i know- Kate Bush did it first and best, but their version is truly stimulating. i first heard it on 'CSI: Las Vegas'…and i effing hate that show…but there's an end scene where jorga fox (cool chick) lets her face just own everything and it gives me chills.

~You Can't Take it With You because the title seems apropos today and it's a goofy tale with some sweet performances. Anarchism, false arrest, consumerism, eccentricities? a true feel-gooder.

~"You've got a great set of gams, Hairgrove" -my chiro dude. thanks doc!

hi gang-

not going to lay any exercise copy on you. i relay the above quote because it felt good to hear that. i've taken stock of my stuff and it ain't bad. i don't need anyone to tell me that, but it sure felt nice to hear it. once in a while, i like to be reminded. a great number of readers have emailed me with stories about how cancer (yes, there it is AGAIN. the other C word) does a number on your confidence level. on the one hand, we feel like awesome victors with unparalleled tolerance, and on the other hand…unappealing wastes of space.

i've been freelancing for this pretty remarkable guy who invents and fabricates prosthetic limbs. i've interviewed about 15 of his patients and their stories are our stories: lose a part of your body >> feel inadequate and embarrassed. you can't help it. all the logic and well-meaning advice-givers tell you about how it's a badge, it's what makes you unique blah blah blah. there are other ways to display my uniqueness.

i've had any number of people say I shouldn't be so concerned since, with clothes on (and a padded bra and only the right kinds of "careful" shirts) you could never tell i've had a mastectomy. to someone such as me who is tremendously sensual by nature and loves skin-on-skin and intimacy…looking decent in your clothes is only part of the situation. it's a horribly personal and sensitive issue. don't get me wrong, i'm the first to shout out my good fortune, but…i miss my breast. that's just the truth. i'm getting a lot better about missing it and maybe someday, someone will look at me and just love no matter what it looks like. if i ever have the courage to let anyone in.

again, i don't require that kind of confirmation, but just like the long legs comment, it helps lift my spirit and that can't be anything but a good thing.

just for today, and at this moment, i know i'm not unbeautiful.

~'Conquest' by The White Stripes because it begs, borrows and steals.

~'Arrested Development' because when did Jason Bateman get so yummy and fun to watch?

~"For the crown you've placed upon my head

Feels too heavy now
And I don't know what to say to you
But I'll smile anyhow
And all the time I'm thinking

I want to be a hunter again
I want to see the world alone again
To take a chance on life again
So let me go." -Dido, because i forgot how good independence feels.

hi gang! typing at you on Morning 1 after Nite 1 on the new bed. a queen-size sleep number. plenty of room to stretch and it doesn't sag like a second chin! bliss i tell ya. and, perhaps more importantly, Louie likes it too.

much news on the front lately: i begin passport proceedings next week. more on that later.

headed to the hospital in a few so i'll just do a quick drop of some more exercises. thanks for staying, playing and parlaying. i send a wink and a clink and happy weekend wishes.

~~~~~~~~

celery root

Ugliness is the predominant trait, but you're a woman and so, forgiving. Shortly, its gnarls and sworls become quite endearing. You'll see, it's mild inside. It's like a man you don't like at first.

Don’t be intimidated by the large pot. After it's filled, you're soon surrounded with warm earth.
Be reasonable with the choppings of onion and rational with the portion of potato. Measure with your eyes and your intuition. Ingenuity requires it.

Don’t forget the soup stone! I keep mine in my apron pocket. The stone will let you know where it wants to live outside the pot.

Garnish with lovage and soigne bleu.
As you pull apart bread to serve with the stew, say this little prayer -

please love these hands
please love these hands
as they keep my soup stone warm.

words: predominant & intimidate

~~~~~

circumstances

The ocean prepares a woman for loss
as a first kiss readies her for bruises
so the seamstress teaches her daughter to lie.


The way the insomniac styles her hair
as sad as dimples gone unnoticed
so trained is a timid eye.

As silence makes a meal strange
the way morning makes a mother sick
so the placement of his hand did cast this dye.

words: train & meal

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ven con Migo

To stop a man from cheating, plant a bovine liver in the whore's front yard. Place a swatch of red velvet in her letter box and she'll know what it's for.
To receive his full attention in the evenings, greet him at the door wearing a tangerine scarf. Place a plump green pepper next to the wine. For optimal concentration, shall his glass be made of crystal.

Does your child sleep on his stomach? If he ignores your commands with heavy-lidded reserve, let him be. He is not simple, the little one is clairvoyant. Kiss his eyelids -first left, then right, then left again. Best to place a pearl on his bedside should he foresee too much.

For a woman who hesitates to marry, rub her nape with butter while she sleeps. Then make her a gift of fresh fish. Very important that it lose no scales in the giving.
For a woman who only births little girls, light a blood candle in the morning and ask her to wear rouge to church on Sunday.
If she is greedy for your affection, do not drink wine out of crystal.

words: optimal & clairvoyant

~~~~~

cheers!

~'Never Get Old' by Sinead O'Connor because it's a slow-motion moving song and it feels like an 'i came to the show by myself' song.

~Girl 27, an investigative flick based on a true story (from 65 years ago) of a rape victim hired along with a hundred or so other girls to perform a dance routine for MGM studio heads. not only did no one have to pay for the brutality, but her reputation was ruined and she eventually disappeared. oddly enough, her daughter went to work in the police force, retired due to injury, and taught a criminal justice class that my sister took. some may disagree, and i might even disagree with myself at some point, but sex crime is the most brutal and ever-lasting type of victimization imaginable.

~"The man least dependent upon the morrow goes to meet the morrow most cheerfully.", Epicurus


clearly, i'm working no theme tonite. i've got a party to attend tonite and some wicked boots to go with it. just going to drop in a couple of my marathon'd tales. i wonder if it's better if i tell you what words i was assigned AFTER the tale. ....hrmmm. let's try it.

here we go.

~~~

Mr. Porter

The kids think I'm a dolt. I'm not that much older than they are, that's the thing.
Like them, I want to yell YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M CAPABLE OF.

Part of me wants to explain my 'marshmallow shoe', tell them about the scar tissue. Tell them I played every sport. Part of me thinks they'd throw some sympathy my way, collectively say 'Hey, he's had it rough. Let's ease up on the guy.' and then volunteer to wash the eggs off my car.

Most of the kids drive new cars. They park in the teacher's lot but they aren't supposed to. Most days I end up parking on the street. I've had that car for 9 and 1/2 years.

Part of me wants to tell them that the consequence of injury is Geometry.

words: marshmallow & consequence

~~~~~~~

Courtesy of a Bandit

I could have worked at hospital or university. Certainly I've brains for it,
just not the proper tolerance.
I could never sit through seminar or academy conference with such windbags and their abrupt pomp. Not for me, I'm afraid.


I can lay in wait for hours, cramped in a crawl space waiting for a couple to leave; I have the ability to stand still long enough, silent enough until a family finally sleeps, not scratching my ear, not clearing my throat, not once.

Regard these nice velvet slippers which I prop upon a lounge chair. Regard the lounge on the deck of this ship for which I purchased a transatlantic ticket. In full, with paper money.

I have all of my hair which is kissed with silver just where it ought to be. My smoking jacket has someone else's monogram on it, but it is hand-stitched and lined with satin cool to the touch.

I'm lean, not winded. My custom- to eat slowly, to eat with my eyes, my nose and tongue, to leave on my plate several bites of food no matter how divine.
To leave a woman wanting, no matter how much of a gift she makes herself. This manner trumps all others as it can be learned but never taught.

I sip champagne, stamp a cigarette, request a dance in one fluid sweep. This evening, I've my eye on the widow with the ivory cone to her ear. I believe it safe to say that not one in this sizeable dining room has noticed the andalusite snap on her clutch.

I am a purveyor of purpose. Those I visit are ultimately thankful.
Once I've gone, they feel the fortune they have left.


words: trump & abrupt
~~~

cheers all. thanks for your comments and curiosities. clink.

taking stock, quietly

~'Knights of Cydonia' by Muse because it reminds me of sitting in the passenger's seat of my pal Christian's car, driving in LA. it's a good place to be sitting.

~Repulsion, hey rocky! watch me pull a rabbit outta my purse! but seriously, some of Deneuve's stares make perfect sense to me.

~"...this girl I see has grown so unfamiliar/and as she stands to leave with a stranger by her side/she can't help but laugh at a life grown so peculiar." -Cowboy Junkies, because that's me recently.

hiya gang, it's early-ish on the fifth day of the week. i've got a weekend packed with activity so i wanted to get my well-wishings out before i depart. i wish you well.

i've got a couple more tales to share, but before i do, something interesting to report about the untitled one.
if you haven't been keeping up, here are my self-imposed rules to get my ass back in gear and churning copy again:
1. assign myself 2 random words
2. give myself 15 minutes to write a tale surrounding those words
3. pencil to paper and it must be complete in 15 minutes and all tweaks and alterations are to be completed within those 15 minutes. it's not that i'm limiting myself so much as i'm just trying to get. it. out.
4. generally, i title it (or not) after it's written but once in a while a word will tug at my brainsleeve and say 'i should be paired with those other two words'.

so something really cool happened when i went to title untitled. i was writing ferociously, finished ferociously and immediately titled it "cape cod, 1914". i swear to Sara Lee that i don't know anything about cape cod or why the year 1914 crept in. i've scraped my days and happenings and could find nothing that would spark this date. hand to Godot.

so i got curious about what the f** that date meant and it lead to some really really fascinating research. i love research almost as much as i love deadlines. turns out to be a great story about this fella named August Belmont, Jr. here's what i uncovered:

on july 29, 1914 wealthy NY financier August Belmont opened the Cape Cod Canal. the isthmus was cut and cape cod effectively became an island.

Belmont's toll was too expensive for mariners. even if it could have accommodated their pockets, it certainly didn't accommodate their vessels. with too narrow a width and too shallow a depth, mariners bypassed the canal and used the standard outer routes.

-Belmont was a harvard grad and known sprinter. responsible for introducing spiked track shoes to the US.
-he owned/bred race horses, built Belmont Park Racetrack.
-he was one of the earlies investors of Interborough Rapid Transit, NY Subway. he owned the world's only private subway car which he used to give free tours of the transit. the car's name is Mineola.

one of his race horses, named Rock Sand. Belmont sold him and Rock Sand was taken, along with many other wealthy americans' horses on account of the anti-betting laws in NY, to europe.

because of his finely-strung temperament (most likely inbreeding and stress), Rock Sand developed a number of nervous habits, among them gorging himself on his straw bedding and kicking and throwing himself against the walls of his stall, frequently injuring himself
this prompted the owners to pad his stall and replace his bedding with sawdust.

Rock Sand's heart stopped on July 20, 1914--9 days before Belmont opened Cape Cod Canal.


there's a great tale in there. enjoy and thanks for staying. happy week's end. cheers.

~~

words: torpid & silver

untitled



Our women wait for the new moon before cutting the children's hair. They bury
the tips in the evening sand behind a makeshift, yellow-birch fence.

A horseshoe moon means a dry season approaches.
A season so dry that not even the hale and hearty beach plum will answer.

There was such a moon when fever struck your body. The wood of our house cracked as if to let the salt air in to please you. The house claims and protects you with a suspicious ardor.

When our women came with silver bread and sea carrots to rid you of the curse, the house would not allow them entrance. They declared us dire and let loose our goats.

We had five days of night and winds that whipped the sea grass with violence. When next the moon swelled, the house heaved a torpid sigh and your fever broke.

Our goats found their way back, wide-eyed and bleating, through the front door. Their harried return blew in whorls of baby hair and sand.



~~


words: admit & nothing

Sweatshirt

He backed out of the kitchen and into the snow, barefoot and breathing.
The house had taken on a smell of ages with nothing to show but stains.
Pockets of his sweatshirt had been haphazardly filled with coins and a stop watch
and an article from the local paper
A Baby in Arms is Worth a Thousand Dollars

His uncle had been taken in cuffs and a flash, admitting nothing.

He could time how long it would take for his feet to freeze or how quickly they would carry him across the Line.
He left the landscape to its own accusing quiet.

~~~
fin

Slow Strum

~'Keep their headz ringin' ' by Dr. Dre because he manages to rap "call me Clearasil" and still look like a bad-ass. what??

~Jack the Bear. it's tender and who couldn't use a little right about now?

~"El Tiempo No Importa"



words: legume & proboscis

Understory


Mister Picture-Meyer suffers full-moon symptoms whenever the Red Widow approaches.
All nicotine and brass she asks, 'What's that for?' and points to the calipers.
He's still explaining as she walks away.
'And what about that?'
'That's my lunch.'
'Tragedy.'

It's two days before she visits again issuing a command with the confidence that only hips and cashmere can afford. Seven-thirty and he's responsible for dessert.

Mister Picture-Meyer is buttoned-up and knocking on her door. He's brought books and star fruit.

'What're them books for?' leads to his explanation of the differences between Assassin Bugs and Ambush Bugs, though both in the same order Hemiptera.
He just about loses her until he presents the photo of the Wheel Bug Nymph with its proboscis penetrating a Satin Moth larva. The Red Widow's hand touches his as she reaches for the book. She wears a bumble bee brooch.

Mister Picture-Meyer is silently thrilled when she presents her dish of legumes and mayo and it looks like a bowl of bugs.

not much today, kids. i'm too tired of doctor appointments to make much sense today and not come off as sounding really pissed.

as always, thanks for playing, heads & spirits up. cheers.