seen in a store front

by my snarky friend Cheryl. Brilliant, I say.

baghdad redux

Wow... just returned from a long day at the Getty and then an evening at the Kirk Douglas Theatre (Los Angeles) to see the amazing play, Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, by brilliant playwright Rajiv Joseph. Compelling story about the war in Iraq, ca. 2003. Dramatic portrayal of the tragedy of man's inhumanity to man. Chock-full of absurdities, atrocities, actualities; a vivid depiction of all the reasons war is inherently evil. If you didn't see it you missed out. (Click the photo to link to the Los Angeles Times review of the play.)

26 Newsworthy things you didn't know about me and didn't care about anyway

1. I am an extreme introvert.

2. I am a sucker for Weimaraners.

3. I did the Ironman Triathlon 7 times.

4. I want to travel the world before I die.

5. I'm such a bookworm, it's scary.

6. My favorite book is Jane Eyre.

7. I think Johnny Depp is cute.

8. I'm addicted to decaf-soy-with-whip mochas.

9. With any luck, I'll get my PhD by the time I'm 92. Still working at it.

10. I need to stop drinking diet cokes.

11. Intimidate me and I'm a skittish little hellcat.

12. Sylvia Plath is one of my favorite poets. "Female Author" is one of my favorite poems, except that my breasts are brown.

13. I'm a yoga-pilates nut.

14. I absolutely must watch From the Top at Carnegie Hall on PBS every Sunday.

15. I wish I could play the piano better.

16. I want to learn to play the harp.

17. If I could, I'd rescue every animal I came across.

18. My parents met in Nigeria. How cool is that.

19. I am a snarky, sassy shrew.

20. I think pedicures are imperative for a woman's mental health.

21. I think Anderson Cooper is cute.

22. I love Paula Deen, even though I don't eat butter.

23. I have an exceptional, inscrutable sense of humor. I get it from my dad.

24. The fat ass and frizzy hair I get from my mother. But I love her anyway.

25. People think I'm a white girl but I'm not. Can't you tell from the fat ass?

26. The last one is a secret. No, really, I just couldn't think of anything else to say.

Virtuality and the Roads It Can Lead To

So, I was having a virtual conversation with a member of one of my creative writing clubs earlier today (isn't that the way we all communicate now?). At a certain point in the conversation, this virtual friend (whom, of course, I've never met in person) commented--after offering me a generous proposal of marriage--that William Blake once wrote “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”

My virtual fiancé then commented, Heck. I’m just along for the ride. Let’s all get aboard that train.

Well, I wonder where the road of paucity leads to? I seem to have gotten the wrong directions. It's all good though, lots of interesting things to see on the way!

The good news, of course, is that I accepted his offer. I shall invite you all. Better yet, I hear Las Vegas is hurting for business; perhaps they are offering cut-rate discounts at the Chapel of Love. In which case, I shall post the pictures on my blog.

Having fun, wish...

24th Annual Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival

The Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival is accepting submissions for its Second Annual Fiction Writing Contest. The winner will recieve a $1500 prize, a $500-value VIP pass to the festival (March 24-28, 2010), publication in the New Orleans Review, and more. Open to writers who have not yet published a book of fiction. For all the details, go to tennesseewilliams.net. Sounds like a good time to me!

NPR: Already Poor, Poets Don't Much Mind The Recession

How sad is that statement?

Here's the article.

Female Author

by Sylvia Plath

All day she plays at chess with the bones of the world:
Favored (while suddenly the rains begin
Beyond the window) she lies on cushions curled
And nibbles an occasional bonbon of sin.

Prim, pink-breasted, feminine, she nurses
Chocolate fancies in rose-papered rooms
Where polished higboys whisper creaking curses
And hothouse roses shed immortal blooms.

The garnets on her fingers twinkle quick
And blood reflects across the manuscript;
She muses on the odor, sweet and sick,
Of festering gardenias in a crypt,

And lost in subtle metaphor, retreats
From gray child faces crying in the streets.

Look what the cat dragged in

...I know, I know, I've been gone for a while, MIA, but I'm back. Throw me a party.

friends

When all other friends desert,

he remains. When riches take wings and reputation

falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love
as the sun in its journey through the heavens.

If misfortune drives the master forth an outcast
in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks

no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard
against danger, to fight against his enemies…

faithful and true even to death.

--From a speech given by the late Senator Vest of Missouri,

in the trial of a man at Warrensburg, who had killed a dog

belonging to his neighbor. Mr. Vest represented the plaintiff;

he won.

The speech is inscribed on the Old Drum Memorial,

Warrensburg, Missouri, 1870.

just a dog

Dearest Lindie:

I found you at the pound,

we busted you out of prison.

Quicker than 5-Second Nail Glue, fast friends instantly.

You defined loyalty. In a New York minute.

Like a child, you innately distilled

the purest meaning of love. Love so pure

it hurt. You wet-kissed me

when I cried. I kissed you gratefully

every night.

My BFF. I miss you.

I can do this!

I think. I can.

I think I can, Thomas

who is my friend said

so, and so I can.

http://tinyurl.com/dylmot

white plastic box

Because she is so
linda.
My best friend
ever.

Oh, God
I love her.
Why
did she have to die?

She's just a dog
they all said; just get another one.
Bury the body. In any old back yard;
now she's just a pile of bones, soon forgotten.
Alone, numb, weeping mutely, I lifted her stiff body.
Her once-warm heart no longer beating. One final trip in the car.
This last, a misadventure.

Would you bury your mom
in any old back yard?
A small, white plastic box,
its neatly typed label: Lindie Beller.
Renews my river of sorrow.
Hot, salty tears, torrents, sting my cheeks;
impossible heartache crushes my chest. Just bones. Now ashes.

Oh, dear God! the pain, its weight unbearable.
My heart, warm only from the blood still pulsing through it,
has cracked, ripped, fractured: tiny pebbles of glass
from a vandalized car. My heart, now a black hole never-ending.
Black as coal, dark and dense, and rough-edged.
My grief is fatal, hopeless, beyond recall.
Please, God, bring her back. please.

for sydney louise, continued

Oh, yes, and by the way
thank-you for the flowers, and the lovely sea-shells
adorning Lindie's resting-place, in the purple sky.

Alice, in Wonderland, a very silly girl
says in honor of your grandma and the color pink
I'm going to call you Squeezie! Just because.

Go to bed! It’s very late
the Princess looks like Grumpy Bear, early in the morning.
Oh! Thank goodness! There is no need to dress for school.

But my, oh, my, what do I smell?
Rebelliousness brewing, in the coffee-pot.
Please watch out, mama! This coffee can be hot.

couldn't sleep again last night

The Nightmare by Fuseli (1781)

a draft of my latest nightmare

I'm suffocating. In this thick,
oppressive, Mojave Desert
heat. Choking
in this dust-bowl. Stagnating
in this godforsaken, fruitless, one-
horse-town. Asphyxiating in this armpit
of America.

This barren desert earth mocks me
with a mirthful cackle.
This howling arid wind groans
with a forlorn song. Together
they sing, a cacophony
of baneful voices,
to my wearied soul.

for sydney louise, continued

Multi-colored crayons draw
kaleidoscopic rainbows
all by my niece Sydney, a most gifted artist.

I collect them all, to some day make
a great big, giant rainbow. So that I can climb,
into the sky, with diamonds.

It’s all in the mind y’know, that’s what Ringo says
and I’m in back, head in the clouds
then I’m gone!