Posts Tagged ‘Artumnal’

Sunshine Day Dream

October 21, 2015

I woke up to daisies on my doorstep.

Not a bad way to rise and shine.

Happy.

That will be my principle today.

Not that I had any time,  not a single down moment or minute, to spare, to call my person and check in with her that my principle was such, but it was.

October is one of my favorite months in San Francisco.

It’s a gorgeous kind of Indian Summer that most out of towners are not aware of, the sun shines bright, there is a lick of cool in the wind if it’s windy, there’s not usually fog and there usually is sun and high, wide, blue, blue, robins egg blue, skies.

My kind of weather.

My outfit was inspired by the flowers.

I wore my bright yellow polka dot shirt and pig tails with a daisy, fake, but still, in my hair.

And gold on the eyelids.

I could have been a bumble bee if you had stuck some antennae on my head–I wore black tights as well–in fact, I had a moment when I thought, if I didn’t already have an idea for a costume for Halloween, I would go as a bumble bee.

It would be super easy.

Maybe for when I go trick or treating with the boys this year, they were in their police office costumes all day today and are definitely ready for the holiday.

Although, Halloween is on a Saturday this year, so I may not be trick or treating with the boys.

Still it’s nice to know I have a couple of costume ideas and options before the day sneaks up.

It always sneaks up.

And then it’s suddenly here and everyone is raiding Mission Community Thrift and Buffalo Exchange and all the stores in the Haight and no, really, I don’t want to spend money on an outfit, but I don’t also want to be left out.

I only have been invited to one Halloween event so far and I am not certain I want to head over to Berkeley on a Saturday night to play Halloween with the kids.

Maybe.

I also just checked and I do have another invite to the party at the Park Gym, that’s a possibility.

Although, I am not sure about heading into the Mission on a Saturday night Halloween.

The Mission on a Saturday night is enough of a horror show as it is.

I heard of another party in Glenn Park.

Who knows.

If I do go out

I will probably dress up like a pin-up girl.

I have all the stuff.

Polka dot dress with a flare out skirt and crinoline, high-heeled pumps, and I know how to draw on a pretty good cat eye.

What I would need, is someone to do my hair pin-up style.

I know a lady who does her’s in a victory roll and it’s hella cute, but I have never done one and I have neither a flat-iron or a curling iron and I can’t tell you when the last time was I owned hairspray.

Never?

But it would be fun.

I did have a couple of girl friends that wanted me to go to the Armory party, there’s great dance music going on there and there’s another good party at Public Works, but I am hesitating to commit to anything right now.

Committing the most now to getting as much reading done before school rolls around this weekend.

In fact, I set my alarm a little early for tomorrow so that I can get to the rest of it.

Halloween.

I may pass you by.

However.

I am interested in getting dressed up and going to the ARTumnal Burning Man event that rolls around in November.

I got word from the photographer/architect/artist that I am collaborating with for a project he wants to present there.

I would love to see my work out there in the public eye.

He was quite happy to receive them.

I was happy that he was happy.

I really quite adore them.

In fact.

I am thinking of submitting them to The Bastille–the publication in Paris that published one of my stories when I was living in Paris.

They reached out to me today and said they were looking for submissions.

It’s not paid, but it’s a chance to have my work in another publication and I would get a copy of the publication and an invitation, haha, to read from my work in Paris at Shakespeare and Company.

Not that they would pay to fly me over.

I was thrilled when they picked my story The Button Boy to publish and invited me to speak at the event and read the story at Shakespeare and Company.  But by the time the publication came out I was already living back in the states.

I do want to have a reading one day at Shakespeare and Company.

I mean.

Really.

What writer doesn’t?

So in lieu of going to Paris, not that I won’t hey, you want to go to Paris?

Let’s go!

I speak some French and know a few folks over there.

But realistically.

I think the ARTumnal is more likely for me to get into than Paris at this time.

I do want to go back to Paris, especially since one of my fellows in the program at CIIS is from Paris and it would be tres cool to hang out with her there–ma poulette across the Atlantic.

I will too.

I can tell.

I keep digressing on the Paris track.

Ah, the Bastille e-mail is doing it to me.

Anyway.

I would like to go to the ARTumnal.

The tickets are pretty steep.

But I am thinking that I want to be there.

I know I will see people I love and care about.

I know I will see some art and I might even see my own poems somewhere in the big mix of spectacle and carnival, music and mayhem.

If I don’t go out for Halloween, I definitely want to go and get dressed up for this.

Oh.

Shoot.

I just looked up my school syllabus.

I am in freaking class that weekend.

Damn it.

Ugh.

I don’t know that I can get out to it.

FROGS.

Oh well.

At least the poems are done.

And I am happy I wrote them.

They make me happy.

That’s what important anyhow.

Happiness.

Sunshine.

Daisies.

Love.

I got it all today.

Who needs more?

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Melting Pot

September 16, 2015

Yes.

There is that too.

That melting into another person, that kind of intimacy that is indicative of the idea of “into me you see.”

I am thinking of big green meadow eyes and a hug.

A long, lingering, could be uncomfortable, if I were serving up hugs at the Hug Deli at Burning Man, kind of hug.

But is not uncomfortable, no, is rather delicious and melting and luscious.

I have two more days of waiting for said hug.

“How was your Burning Man?” I have been asked that many a time since I returned.

I have told folks it was my best yet, aside from my first one, which really did blow my mind–and was also the most challenging as I was there with my best friends ashes and had just gone through one of the most harrowing months of my life watching him die and being there for our community the best way I could.

“Your first year was amazing, I was there!” My friend said to me tonight as we were riding our bicycles home on the WIggle.

The nice thing about a changing work schedule is doing the deal in places and rooms I don’t normally go and seeing faces I don’t normally see.

I hadn’t seen this friend in over a year and it was so nice to sit next to him and get caught up and my excitement at getting to ride home with him was great.

He was my mentor on the AidsLifeCycle ride as well, so riding with him had special significance.

I realized I hadn’t been on a bike ride with him in five years!

I remember well how I cried after my first training ride, it was three miles I think, perhaps five, but really no more than that–hell I ride more than that to get to work everyday, I don’t even think about it anymore–and I just could not imagine how the fuck I was going to ride 545 miles.

“You’re not going to ride them all tomorrow,” he told me and patted my arm and got me a bottle of water.

He was always there to pat me on the back or cajole me up and over the next big hill.

And there were so many damn big hills.

But I made them.

I got up and over and when the time came to do the ride, I rode every last mile.

Even with saddle sores.

Saddle sores are no picnic, let me tell you, and I rode with saddle sores the last three days of the event.

Yuck.

I digress.

But I did fill my friend in on all the details of the burn and why it was my best since my first one.

Partially since I did not work that much.

I actually went to Burning Man.

I went dancing.

I saw friends.

I spent a fair amount of time at AV, a village a lot of friends camped at.

I did a lot of the deal.

And.

I met him.

You know.

That guy.

The dreamy one I spent three and a half days with consecutively.

Yeah.

That guy.

He’s a peach that one.

I get to see him this week.

The day has been set.

Or I should say, the evening.

We’re meeting on a school night and I don’t care.

Sometimes you just got to do the things that are a little taboo, I mean I’m not breaking some huge personal rule, I’m just going to have a sleep over on a school night.

I’m looking forward to the companionship.

I am looking forward to the play.

But I really am looking forward to the connection.

We have a connection and we both know it and its been acknowledged and we both are doing our own thing.

Adult like.

I won’t deny there is some salient school girl crush thing happening.

But really.

When I look at the underlying text of the document, there is more to it than that.

“Am I just going to be that girl you met at Burning Man,” I teased as we eased our way back into the default world.

“You could label it that, I suppose, but you know that’s not the truth,” he said and turned, brushing the side of my face with his hand.

Yes.

I do know that’s not the full story.

And.

The thing is.

I don’t even know what the full story is.

I suspect that we are both going to show up and be our best selves and maybe it takes a minute to get back there, to the dust and the honesty, and that place where I am vulnerable and not worried about what I am wearing and what music should I play and how does my house look.

“I really like that I got to see where you live, it’s so you,” he said as I came out of the bathroom to my studio.

I like that he saw it too.

I like that when people have visited me here, they have all said the same thing, how much my place reminds them of me and how lovely it is to be in it.

“You have a party going on at your place all the time,” a dear friend of mine said when he described my place.

It’s true.

It’s a party.

I like to have my music on.

I like my candles lit.

I like the good smells and the good sounds and I like that where ever I look there is something beautiful to rest my eyes on.

Speaking of which, maybe this is the weekend I finally get the DIebenkorn print up on the wall, it breaks my heart leaning against the table.

I need to go get my Marilyn print from my trip to LA framed as well.

Art.

God.

How I do love thee.

Let me surround myself in it, swim in it, wallow in it, drown in it.

Thank God I am an artist.

“You are so much more than just a nanny,” my friend told me sternly in the car.

He had given me a ride to Safeway to do a big grocery shop, so needed after my busy on the go self neglected to do any last week and was also dropping me off at work so I wouldn’t have to push it on my bicycle.

I was telling him about how I have been asked to provide some poetry for a fellow artist who wants to present something at the Burning Man ARTumnal event.

I wonder if I should ask for a ticket, or two, I might have a gentleman I would like to bring with me, to the event.

And it was with some chagrin that I realize, yes, I do down play that part of me.

Or.

I assume that the only reason a man might want to be with me.

Well.

It’s more than just a cuddle, right.

But no.

There is more.

“I’m most excited about looking into your eyes silently and getting one of those melty hugs.”

Really?

Me too.

Really.

And maybe some sex on the side.

But yeah.

The silent song of staring into someone’s eyes who I have connection with.

That is where the good stuff is.

All the things.

All the good, sweet, juicy things.

In fact.

All the best things.

Lions, And Tigers, And Bears

September 15, 2015

And poetry.

Oh my.

I just received a really inspiring piece of e-mail from a friend I made standing in line at the Chapel piece by Mike Garlington out on playa this recent past Burning Man.

We were waiting to get into the chapel and the dust was blowing and the noise was high and the excitement to see the piece was big.

I gave my poem to a man standing in line with his daughter.

It was their virgin burn and it was sweet to make a connection in the moment, to share my art with another person.

I have had this poem memorized for over a decade and it never fails to surprise me how much people connect with it.

“I realized why I love listening to you,” he said in the dark of the RV, the cold air pressing in, drawing ourselves tighter into the embrace, “I love listening to you tell stories because I love the sound of your voice.”  He nuzzled the back of my neck and squeezed my breast, growled low in his throat, “tell me another story.”

I complied.

I don’t usually have to be asked twice to talk.

I have stories.

I do.

I have poems too and it’s been a sweetness to be approached for my poems.

The man in question found me on facebook and gmail and has reached out to me since he returned from the burn, reached out to say he was honored to have made the connection with me and also to ask for a copy of the poem.

And tonight I got home to another e-mail asking me to collaborate on a piece for the Burning Man ARTumnal.

The gentleman is a photographer and will be donating pieces to the art auction and asked if I would write poems using the 10 Principles of Burning Man as a jumping off place for the poems.

I am awed and flattered.

And.

Oh.

I am so fucking busy.

But.

I think I’m going to say yes.

The ARTumnal is not until November and I could write 10 poems by then.

In fact, it might be a great practice for me, I haven’t written that much poetry in a while, my main focus has been this blog, for good or bad, and I have a hankering to say yes.

Yes, why not, why not put something else on the plate.

I could write ten sonnets on the ten principles.

I could write one long rambling piece.

But I think ten poems on the principles that are shorter make more sense.

I like sonnets anyhow and what with the lack of analog work in the blinky blinky that is so Burning Man, it might be nice to offer something by way of writing as a construct and art that is woefully underrepresented there.

Although there was a grand typewriter out on playa that one could write missives on, I was unable to leave my poetic footprint there as the young woman on some sort of hallucinogen or other, was adamant about standing on the “s” key and not moving off the keyboard.

I acquiesced to her trip and made my way out onto the playa.

But when I think of some of the big moments in my burn, they were always the small, intimate pieces that happened between me and one person and the connection made there.

The night I gave this new friend the poem.

The same night I got caught up reciting it for another man, a man who I had a soulful interaction with that rocked me while I was reciting the piece, in just that moment, under the lights of the Midway around the Man, we had a deep and profound connection.

One so profound that I was a tremble doing the poem, but reached in there anyhow and pulled it all out.

“You do know that you risk people falling in love with you when you do that?” He asked me at the foot of the Storied Haven piece.  A gigantic shoe that you could access from the bottom door which led into a small foyer with a winged back chair and a bunch of books in the book shelf that were exquisite pieces of art, panoramas, lighted shores and stories, the absolute disappearance of my self into an experience, it might have been one of the most amazing art pieces i have seen period, let alone this Burning Man.

I had just recited him my poem.

That means I recited it four times at the event, which is unusual for me.

But there it is.

The line to get into the piece moved excruciatingly slow because there was so much to look at inside of it and the cargo was so beautiful and precious they only let in a few people, two, three at max, at the same time.

I offered a fairy tale or a poem to the gentleman manning the door.

I blushed when he offered the compliment.

I had never thought of it like that.

Allowing someone to fall in love with me for my words, for the heart-felt stirrings and strivings behind them.

I like my voice, I won’t lie, and I won’t be facetious, I have a nice voice.

But to know that I can be a better artist in a way for having not only written the words but having voiced them too, that is powerful, there is power there.

I haven’t done spoken word in a long time, here, there, at the retreat for school I did a few pieces, in Paris at Le Chat Noir in the Belleville district, but not really anything where I have gotten up on stage and let the voice roll out.

That might be something to look into.

In what time?

I don’t know.

But I do know that I am an artist and I take great pleasure in that, even if it is analog.

Even if it is old.

There is beauty there.

The craft of the words and the thoughtful placing of rhymes and rhythms, means a lot to me.

I don’t have to question why.

I don’t have to justify.

I can just know that there is a singing there and that I need to continue to answer the call and response of my own muse.

And if you want me to write you some poems.

Why not?

I am honored to be asked.

Thank you for letting me be of service.

Thank you for letting me be an artist.

I am pleased beyond these meager words.

I am.

And.

I say yes.

Yes please.

And.

Yes, thank you, too.

Thank you for seeing me as a poet.

That means the world.

It really does.

Boogie Nights

November 11, 2014

Some of the ladies have been reaching out to me about dancing.

Ladies.

I am down.

Downtown down.

Let’s do it down.

Let’s get down.

At the moment the two options on the table are the Opulent Temple benefit at the Armory on Saturday the 22nd of this month.  The other is the BRAF (Black Rock Arts Foundation) Artumnal.

Burning Man people

Actually Opulent Temple would be a lot of Burning Man folks too.

The BRAF part is expensive though, $60.

The Opulent Temple $20.

Either way, I am going out dancing.

I am ready to do it.

Get out and shake some tail feathers.

I mean, yes, I did go out dancing on Halloween, but it was an amateur dj, I mean, I love that the venue was of service, but it wasn’t the quality or caliber of music I like to get down to.

It would be divine to have some grooving on the dance floor.

And maybe ask someone on a date.

I need to get myself back in the mix.

I don’t know what next, but yes, that thing when you ask someone out.

I just haven’t anyone on my radar at the moment.

Suggestions?

OkCupid is just not panning out, I mean, I have had a profile on this site for years, I think I may have had a date or two that went well, but for the most part, really not good fishing.

Time to move to another pond.

I know all the kids are doing Tinder and I have waffled on whether or not to try it.

I get the distinct impression it’s really about hooking up with someone, not dating so much, but casual sex partners.

Nothing wrong with that, but I’m not sure I’m ready to peddle myself out like that.

There was little opportunity for me this weekend.

Well.

That’s not entirely true.

My friend who helped me with the scooter is someone I have on again off again considered, but he’s such a heavy smoker, I just can’t take it.

Anytime I think I might want to kiss him, there’s a smoke in his mouth and riding in his vehicle is like being in a giant rolling ashtray.

He doesn’t give a shit and figured he’d be dead by thirty, so smoke ’em if you got ’em Johnny, but I’ll pass on asking you out on a date just because of that.

I did talk to a guy Saturday about going out, but we got our wires crossed and didn’t end up exchanging numbers.

It felt good, though, to ask, to not be hung up on the last dating experience I had, and move on.

I’m not going to be sad Sally sitting by the phone.

Nope.

I got things to do, places to be, boys, er men, to kiss.

As a friend recently pointed out he was a little concerned that the only guys I was seeing were 2 and 4.

Those would be the monkeys I nanny for.

And wow.

They were a handful today–first day back, Monday, longest day for me on the job, swimming lessons, up and down routine, and a grand temper tantrum from the oldest boy.

Which happens, but they can be exhausting.

Temper tantrums usually stem from an inability to express or communicate what is needed, and often times are exacerbated because the child wants something and knows how to get it be throwing a tantrum.

I’ve seen a few in my time.

I just patiently wait them out and go about doing my thing, but it’s hard, and it can get exhausting and I was looped by the end of the day.

Not tired enough to not cast an eye about my environs this evening for a possible dating candidate, but no one stirred my interest.

I thought about one guy, and then thought, nope, he’s sweet, I know him through friends, but there’s nothing there, just friendship.

I have another guy who always tries to engage with me, we went on a date a few months before I moved to Paris, he was unaware I was moving he told me at the date, and was only interested in pursuing something that would have longevity.

Which was fine with me, it was the easier softer way to let him down, he excused himself from the pool before I could turn him down.

But I see him on the occasion and he’s definitely interested and I am definitely not.

He has not asked and I won’t even give him an opening, and I know better than to suggest we go out just to fulfill my goal of a date a week.

That would be a shoddy thing to do to someone.

I’ve got to be principled about this the best way I can and show up as my best self.

My passionate self, mind you, I still want that, the singing in the blood, the pull of the moon on my heart, the flutter in the stomach, the shyness, then the boldness, the touch of electricity that zips and zings along my nerve endings, I got to have that.

So dancing it seems like a good place to start.

I get to be myself, I love to dance.

I get to dress up.

I get to be sexy.

I get to flirt.

And hopefully I will get an interested party.

I don’t doubt something will come of it.

And in between, I keep focusing on today, and showing up, and doing the next actions in front of me for graduate school.

For instance–I received an e-mail back from the admissions department and the program that I want to apply to, I do NOT have to write the 8-10 page academic paper with sources.

Yes!

I still have a letter of intent, a CV to formulate, and an autobiographical statement to write, but really, I do that almost every day.

The letter of intent is one page, the CV will be one page, the autobiographical statement is 6-8 pages.

I got that down.

I have one more letter of recommendation to secure from a second source, and to order my transcripts on-line this week.

Plenty to keep me occupied.

And then.

The dancing.

Oh yes.

 


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