Archives for January 2013

Rose Colored Day

 

Rose Colored DayA pink light glowed inside my bedroom
when I woke up this morning.
I looked outside the window and saw
pastel sunrise streaks painting the sky.
Maybe I’ll put on
rose colored glasses today.
I’ll straighten my hair,
put on hoop earrings,
a cotton crochet top,
no bra, and a peasant skirt.
I’ll go about my day hippy-happy.
Why Not?
I’ll look at the world from the
meow-man perspective.
I’ll put a little love in my life,
a new landscape,
a little softness,
a little soft focus at the edges,
Vaseline on my lens
use a pink gel.
Why not?
So that when I sit on the
405 this morning the
cars will take on a magenta hue.
All that pink metal strung
together like a large
moving centipede.
Why Not?
Like that line of poetry
written by Tomas Transtomer
I heard on NPR after he won
the Nobel Prize for Literature
in 2011,
something about how each car
became a segment of a centipede
or a millipede.
Either way,
I think I’ll make it a
rose-colored day.

Whale Waiting

IMG00014-20100912-1136_2

 

I knew instantly.  I saw the boats floating

off of Avenue C, near the Redondo trench.

I parked my car in front of the cream building

with the Spanish tile roof.  The building I lived in

when I was thirty.  The building Mike Lasher

helped me move into and then christen.

The building with my studio apartment that

over looked the Redondo trench.  I’d go to sleep at

night dreaming of oceans and waves and salt.

I parked underneath the window I used to

look out of onto the exact spot

where the boats gathered for church this morning.

I walked across the street and sat on the wall.

I waited.  Three sailboats, two fishing skiffs, one

motor yacht, several kayakers and two stand up paddle

boarders waited too.  Bobbing on the water moving

with the shifts in current. Waiting.  Two grays areIMG00013-20100912-1112_2

taking a break, having a snack, before they continue

their migration.  They are stars here.

If we could, we’d ask for autographs. The boats move

together in circles toward the shifting colors and spouts

following the whales like the paparazzi.  I saw the dolphins

surfing in the small waves. They are much more popular

when the whales  are off swimming on another coast.

More on the State of NAKED

 

Officially defined as:

  1. bare of any covering
  2. stripped
  3. without the customary covering
maskedwoman

hidden truth

What is customary covering?
What I’m supposed to do?
What I’m supposed to be?
What I’m supposed to act like, be like, look like?
What I should … blah blah blah

Get my drift?

I don’t want to be usual
I want to be.
PERIOD.
Just be.
Free to be
easy to be
fun to be.
PERIOD.
Just be me.
PERIOD,
Exclamation point!

It’s been an interesting week.
Being sick sucks

throat red,
burning flame,
dragon breathing
singing the ceiling, my sheets, my husbandfirebreather
snoring smoke in my sleep.
My head gripped
in a vice
the muck pushing up
from deep inside of somewhere
who knew that was lurking
waiting for an opening
to ooze its way through
my body
snaking around organs
pushing up expanding
through my throat
pushing
oozing
oozing
up filling my head
The pounding
Ba boom ba boom ba boom
Blocking my bird’s eye view
To my life

You get my drift.

No focus
no clarity
ahhhh that might not be accurate
no
there was.

Here’s the thing.

I let go and dove into
the green guck
the sleep
the chicken soup
zinc lozenges
vitamin C

and me.

Deep
I dove
stroking through it all
the dragon breath and fire and fog.
I came out
on the other end
really getting it.

Get my drift?

‘I got it’   okay bad inside-dating-myself-kind-of-joke (go rent Semi Tough)

Here’s the thing,
even though I had a new client
to service
a speaking gig
to prepare for
a book
to write
a post
to post (first week I didn’t post on this blog since July)
a song
to dance to
a life
to live
here’s the thing
it’s was all okay
it is all okay
ALL okay.

Everything worked out
I’m writing now
the pounding stopped
and
I see even more clearly
I caught some light.

fogclears

on a clear day…

It’s like when the fog clears
at the beach

the wind blows through
the sun shines bright
the sky is a shade of blue
that’s so fresh
so clean
so blue
that’s it’s hard to capture
even in a picture
and well that’s how I feel

I’m on the other side
a little bit more naked
a feel for
taste of
caress of
nude kiss of
my
naked,

I peeled another layer.
Underneath I discovered
baby smooth, blushing me, smiling in my birthday suit.

Will I find there are even more layers?

skinnydip pier

let’s go for a dip

I think yes
And you know what?
I’m excited to keep on peeling,
stripping, wriggling, loosening, slinking out of more and more and even more layers…

Who’s in for a skinny dip?

Hot Mess

 

“You’re a hot mess!” Rebekah said.

I was still catching my breath.  My skin was hot and sticky.  I was on my knees pushing into the pole, my arms stretched,  tugging at my shoulders, gripping the metal above my head.  It felt cool on my belly. My hair was wild, covering my face, a strand caught in my mouth.  Rebekah was smiling; standing with her right knee bent, right foot resting on her left, leaning against the stereo console.  She held my gold Nano, like a gift in her hand.

I could still feel the swell of my song, the sax, the drum brush, the heat of my music, strong and powerful, wrapping itself inside of me, moving down massaging my spine, circling its way around my hips, through my belly, inside my thighs and diffusing itself in my legs and out my red tipped toes.

swirlsofcolorI had just let go.  I let my body take over. My head would fall to the right, stretch out and around to the left and pull back and down, my body side-stretching vertebra by vertebra snaking itself, following my head. I had to grab onto a wall, crawl on the floor or lean into one of the white overstuffed chairs for support as I danced. I let my body find her  way as she slipped underneath the song and twisted through to her own pulse.  She curved up and down and around poles, landing, back arched, chest forward onto the floor, on her back, writhing onto her belly and pausing, leg lifting into the air, bending back and pulling herself around to her back again. She melted into an oozing rainbow of red, ruffles, black patent leather, lace and skin.  She painted me with splashes onto the wall, with swirls that dripped down the poles, with splatters that marked the chairs.

Now I’m part of a living memory, a history that’s grooved itself into the wood floor, part of the tradition of stripping down and diving into spirit.

I’ll come back in the New Year and sink into soft purple. When I reach my fingers in front of me, arms stretched, legs splayed open, pulling myself into the room, I’ll feel the pulse of my history as I trace my fingertips along the raised surface of tongue and groove boards.  I’ll absorb the celebration of the women who’ve danced before and cheer for those that’ll come after.  I’ll feel the pieces of broken shell and watch soft yolk ooze golden yellow.  That glowing knowledge and love, freedom and truth decorate this room.

I broke free of my shell this year.  I tossed it away piece by piece.  I watched it burn as I flung it into my fire. I watched old memories, old ways and old cares spark orange and light the winter night sky.bruning fire

I like that.  I like that I’m a dancing, happy, free, inspired, chest open, heart forward, arms raised, gorgeous, strong, grateful, smiling, stripping down, layer-by-layer, hot mess.  I like that I’m peeling into myself.  I like that the deeper I go the messier and happier I get.  Yeah.  Rebekah’s right.  I am a fucking HOT MESS.

I smiled.  “That’s my new year’s resolution.” I said.

 

 

The song I danced to on December 31, 2012 was Christina Aguilera’s Nasty Naughty Boy.  Happy New Year!